a I B R. A R Y 
 
 OF THE 
 UN 1VER51TY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 ?926r 
 
 V.1 
 
 H)fY
 
 W-t A tu LhM^ 
 
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 EED TOWERS 
 
 ELEANOR C. PRICE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'alexia,' 'GERALD,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON 
 
 ^ttbUshcrs in ©rbinars to ^cr ^faajestB the <Q,nnn 
 1889 
 
 [All rights resen-ed]
 
 8S5 
 
 v.l 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL - - - 1 
 
 IL OWLS 22 
 
 in. RIVER GATE -....- 42 
 
 IV. CELIA - - 64 
 
 V. CELIA'S LOVER - 97 
 
 VL VINCENT 130 
 
 ■^ VII. ILLUMINATIONS - - - - - - 157 
 
 ^ VIIL HOLM - 179 
 
 ^ LX. NEW CONQUESTS - 200 
 
 s^ *X. AUTUMN MISTS - - - - - - 231 
 
 vj^ XI. TEA WITH THE COLONEL - - - - 259 
 
 ^^^XIL LA TOUR BLANCHE - - . . . 289
 
 M 
 
 n
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL. 
 
 \ Hidden and very remote among the Surrey 
 hills, ^ away from men and towns/ little 
 haunted by tourists, except of the artist 
 kind, approached by narrow and intricate 
 lanes, which wind betw^een deep banks 
 among the woods, and climb up and down 
 breakneck hills from one valley to another, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 lies Red Towers, the old house belonging to 
 Paul Romaine. 
 
 It is six miles from the station, and two 
 from its parish church and village of Holm ; 
 but it is not quite lonely, for it stands on 
 the edge of a clearing in the woods — a small 
 common, crossed by sandy roads, which come 
 up here into the light, on the high ground, 
 before plunging down into shadows and 
 hollows again. On the common there are a 
 few low stone cottages, their gardens almost 
 invaded by bracken and heather, and sheltered 
 by tall pines, the advanced guard of the wood. 
 
 At one corner of the common stands the 
 little new house that was built for Canon 
 Percival ; at the other end, nearly opposite 
 the gate of Red Towers, is the quaint old 
 dark cottage where Colonel Ward lived for 
 many years. Red Towers itself cannot be 
 seen from the common, beinsf hidden in
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 3 
 
 depths of wood ; but it is the great house of 
 the place. 
 
 Houses, cottages, woods, all those sandy 
 unprofitable tracts of wild ground, belong to 
 Paul Romaine. He is landlord and lord of 
 the manor there, with a power and inde- 
 pendence that many greater landlords might 
 envy. His forefathers have been in the 
 same position for three hundred years. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon in September, a 
 few years ago. Colonel Ward and Mr. 
 Romaine, and six or seven dogs, were coming 
 back from a walk together. The two men 
 were as different from each other as intimate 
 friends could be. Colonel Ward was sixty, 
 short, grey, and close-cropped ; he was very 
 upright and military, with blue, clear-seeing 
 eyes, and he was not at all afraid of using 
 his cane on dogs or children, who, however, 
 invariably made friends with him. 
 
 1 — 2
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 Paul Romaine, who was the Colonel's 
 friend by right of inheritance, in succession 
 to his father, was a tall young fellow of 
 three-and-twenty, so quiet in look and 
 manner as to give outsiders no idea of the 
 talents that had taken a First Class a few 
 weeks before. He strolled along, slouching 
 carelessly, by the Colonel's side ; his eyes 
 looked half asleep ; his dark face, rather 
 thin and delicately cut, expressed nothing 
 bat a sort of indifferent content. Paul was 
 not a great talker, except now and then, 
 when he had something to say. He let the 
 Colonel talk, and knew how to listen — 
 ' which is not so easy as one thinks, and 
 which no stupid man was ever capable of 
 
 They came up out of the dark, soft j^aths, 
 the deep silence of the fir- wood, a real thing 
 that day, for not the faintest wind was stir- 
 rrno*. They crossed the common among
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 5 
 
 dying heather and great yellow fronds of 
 bracken, and red blackberry brambles flung 
 across the narrow paths that children and 
 dogs had made. Opposite them, the chimneys 
 of Canon Percival's house stood up against 
 a clear sky and lower levels of wood, not fir- 
 wood there, but masses of varied leaves be- 
 ginning to change. 
 
 Colonel Ward flourished his stick towards 
 the chimneys. 
 
 ^ Why did your father do that, Paul V he 
 said. ' Spoilt the place, spoilt the common, 
 and all for nothing. They never come here, 
 and perhaps it is as well they shouldn't. But 
 it brings interlopers — artists, and all kinds of 
 rubbish. We have had horrid people there 
 this summer — vulgar, unpleasant paople. 
 Yes, Mrs. Percival liked it at first, but she 
 is tired of it now.' 
 
 ' They are coming next month,' said Paul.
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' No ! Are they?' exclaimed the Colonel, 
 in a voice of the greatest delight. 
 
 ' As soon as his residence is over. What's- 
 his-nanie is going back to India.' 
 
 ' That's a good thing,' said Colonel Ward. 
 ' You don't like him, Paul, do you V 
 
 ' We don't get on much,' said Paul. 
 
 ' I bet you don't. The most conceited 
 puppy I ever met — correcting me about 
 things I knew before he was born. People 
 tell me all vouno- fellows are like that, but 
 I don't believe them. Can't imagine how 
 the Canon can stand such an ass in the 
 house ; but he nevei' had much sense.' 
 
 Paul laughed. ' But you're singular, you 
 know,' he said. ' Most people like Vincent 
 about there. He's a great swell in the Close.' 
 
 ' Ah ! the Close !' said Colonel Ward 
 wickedly. ' Yes, I dare say he suits them 
 well : they make a fine hero of him.'
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 7 
 
 ' Well, they are all very jolly,' said Paul 
 in his lazy way. 
 
 They were now walking side by side along 
 the road that led to their two houses, ]mst 
 the shady garden of the post-office, and one 
 or two other cottages. The Colonel's eyes 
 were everywhere ; Paul looked absently 
 straight before him. 
 
 ' Don't o'o in too much for these clerical 
 people,' said the Colonel. ' Your father 
 was the finest man that ever lived, and my 
 greatest friend ; but I never could under- 
 stand his friendship for old Percival. And 
 not giving him up, too, when he married 
 the woman we were all in love with. How- 
 ever, your father was not so far gone as I 
 was, Paul — of course not — your dear mother 
 soon consoled him. For my part, I never 
 could forgive Percival.' 
 
 ' You don't seem revengeful,' said Paul.
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 It seemed necessary to say something, 
 though he knew all this by heart, having 
 heard the whole story from Colonel Ward a 
 hundred times before. 
 
 ^ I'm civilized, of course ; I can't show 
 my feelings,' said the Colonel. ' Besides, 
 Mrs. Percival must always be her old self 
 to me ; and she knows it. She knows she 
 can count upon me. I don't believe in 
 being faithless to old friends, Paul.' 
 
 ' Well, my father and the Canon were 
 friends at school.' 
 
 ' Ah, well, your father was right, of 
 course. But Percival was never good 
 enough for him. A hollow sort of chap ; 
 and those men do more harm than good, 
 especially when they go into the Church, 
 which ought to keep up its character. 
 No ; I never cared for your seeing so much 
 of -Percival.'
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 9 
 
 ^ I couldn't help it, as he was my guardian/ 
 said Paul, ' and they have always been 
 awfully good to me.' 
 
 ' What a strange thing that was, now !' 
 said Colonel Ward. ' As if one guardian 
 was not enough for a fellow. I could have 
 managed you and your affairs well enough 
 by myself, and I should have arranged 
 things rather differently. You are a fine 
 fellow, no doubt, with your degree, and so 
 on ; but in my opinion you have studied 
 too much. A man with property, like you, 
 has something to think of besides the 
 classics. Everything here might have gone 
 to the dogs, in the two years since you were 
 of age, while you w^ere reading as if your life 
 depended on it. All Percival's doing : your 
 father would not have cared for all that.' 
 
 ^ But things have not gone to the dogs, 
 thanks to you.'
 
 lo RED TOWERS 
 
 ' No thanks at all. I happened to be 
 living here ; I kept my eyes open, and saw 
 that people did their duty. By-the-bye, 
 you ought not to keep that old fellow at 
 the post-office. He is a lazy old scoundrel. 
 His wife does all the work, and she is a tre- 
 mendous gossip. I don't approve of them.' 
 
 ' They have been here such a long time,' 
 said Paul. 
 
 Colonel Ward came to a stand at his own 
 gate, and the dogs thronged round him ; 
 they were all his dogs, a family of Clumber 
 spaniels, except Paul's little rough terrier, 
 who jumped up at his master's hand, proud 
 of belonging to him. 
 
 A low dark arch over the gate led into 
 Colonel Ward's garden ; the windows of 
 his house peeped out with difficulty under 
 masses of ivy and Virginian creeper, which 
 hung over the porch, so that a tall man had
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL ii 
 
 to stoop to go in. The smooth turf of the 
 ofarden was all bordered with brilliant 
 flowers ; it was a charming little place in 
 summer — all the year round, its master 
 thought. 
 
 He stood among his dogs and looked at 
 Paul with bright impatient eyes. He loved 
 Paul ; but how his friend, Sir Paul Pomaine, 
 K.C.B., the distinguished, dashing cavalry 
 soldier, who, next to Mrs. Percival, had 
 been the enthusiasm of his life, came to have 
 a son like this, must always be a mystery. 
 He was haunted by a fear that Paul might 
 choose to be a clergyman, or might go in for 
 science of some kind, or take to composing 
 music, or writing books ; he believed him to 
 be capable of anything of this kind. Not 
 that he did not respect these occupations, 
 especially the first of them, for he was a 
 good and a clever man in his way ; but as
 
 12 RED TOWERS 
 
 Paul could not, or would not, be a soldier, 
 he thought that Providence must mean him 
 to be a landlord and a j)olitician. He was 
 terribly afraid that Paul would turn into an 
 oddit}^ an old bachelor like himself ; and in 
 objecting to Paul's intimacy with the Perci- 
 vals, he forgot that they in their common- 
 ])lace world of gossip, and fashion, and tennis, 
 were a strong influence the other way. 
 
 * How are you going to learn to manage 
 your tenants, I wonder !' he said, and he 
 looked hard at the young Squire standing in 
 the middle of the road. ' We shall soon 
 have all the bad characters in the country 
 settled on Holm Common.' 
 
 * There wouldn't be room for them, unless 
 I build more cottao^es,' said Paul. 
 
 The Colonel swuno- his stick and lauo-hed. 
 
 ' There's only one hope for you, Paul,' he 
 
 said. ' You're vouno-, to be sure, to talk
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 13 
 
 about it — but you must many a sensible 
 woman.' 
 
 Paul made no direct answer to this. He 
 had turned half away, playing with Scamp, 
 who was impatient to be moving off again ; 
 and Colonel Ward did not see his smile o-;- 
 the light that suddenly woke in his eyes. 
 Perhaps he w^as not so young as his old 
 friend thought, after all. 
 
 * I say, Colonel, will you come and dine 
 with me to-night ?' 
 
 ' All right. Nobody else V 
 
 ^ No, nobody else,' said Paul ; and then 
 the Colonel with his family dived into his 
 little dark den, and Paul and Scamp went off 
 at a great pace to their abode in the woods. 
 
 When the two friends met again, three 
 hours later, Colonel Ward looked the picture 
 of cheerful smartness, while Paul w^as flushed 
 and tired. He had been to church, and,
 
 14 RED TOWERS 
 
 finding that the organist was away on his 
 hoHday, he had put on a surphce and played 
 the organ, as he used to do in more boyish 
 days. After service, he went on playing 
 for twenty minutes or more ; a few people 
 lingered in and near the church to listen, 
 for the orrand strains of a weddino- or trium- 
 phal march — which yet could be traced to 
 no known composer — echoed in the high 
 roof and rolled out through open doors and 
 windows into the quiet churchyard, with its 
 yew-trees, down to the valley where other 
 people were slowly walking home. 
 
 The Vicar, a shy young man, who always 
 found Paul hard to get on with, came up to 
 him afterwards at the church-door, in the 
 twilight, and asked him if that music came 
 from the mountains ; for Paul had been in 
 Switzerland nearly all the summer, almost 
 ever since he left Oxford.
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 15 
 
 * No,' said Paul ; ' it came from Wools- 
 borough.' 
 
 ' Ah ! from the Cathedral !' said the 
 Vicar, thinking he had made a mistake ; 
 and Paul did not correct him further. 
 
 The establishment at Ped Towers was 
 small and military. Indoors, Sabin ruled. 
 He, in former years, had been Sir Paul's 
 soldier-servant. Ford, the groom, a very 
 solemn fellow, had belonged to the same 
 regiment. Mrs. Sabin was housekeeper 
 and cook, with two maids under her. Out 
 of doors there were two or three gardeners, 
 one of whom had been a soldier. The 
 house had never been let since Sir Paul's 
 death, seven years ago, but had been kept 
 in splendid order by these servants, under 
 Colonel Ward's vigilant eye. Mr. Bailey, 
 the agent, sometimes came down from 
 London ; and Canon and Mrs. Percival
 
 i6 RED TOWERS 
 
 walked about agreeably, and enjoyed the 
 garden and the woods when they were in 
 villeggiatura at their httle house hard by. 
 The young master was there sometimes, 
 too. He was always a solitar}^ boy, with 
 a taste for moping about at home, which 
 his guardian's wife struggled against as 
 much as she could. And she succeeded in 
 getting him away a great deal, for Paul, 
 like most other people, was very fond of 
 her. 
 
 The rooms at Red Towers were large 
 and rather gloomy, being furnished heavily 
 and in dark colours. The whole effect was 
 dark, beginning with the black oak window- 
 frames ; and there was nothing modern in 
 the house at all. The Romaines had never 
 hved there much ; they were nearly always 
 soldiers ; and their wives generally did not 
 like it. The present house had been built
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 17 
 
 by one of them about the time of James II. 
 It was a sort of place that wanted large 
 families, dogs, games, cheerftdness. The 
 rustlinDf of the woods and their weird cries 
 and noises had always been rather terrible 
 to anxious women waiting for news from 
 battle-fields. 
 
 The rooms at Red Towers opened chiefly 
 into each other, and Mrs. Sabin very often 
 kept the shutters shut for weeks together ; 
 she thought light was not good for the fine 
 old pictures and the beautiful china. Now 
 and then she condescended to show these 
 treasures to some intelligent and fascinating 
 tourist ; but very seldom. Colonel Ward 
 never failed to hear of these exhibitions, and 
 they made him angry. 
 
 When the Squire was at home, all the 
 rooms were open, and carefully arranged. 
 He could spend as much time as he liked 
 
 VOL. T. 2
 
 1 8 RED TOWERS 
 
 among his forefathers and their possessions, 
 and sometimes, in fact, he would stroll 
 through the room with his hands in his 
 pockets, looking up at the pictures as if he 
 wished they could talk to him. 
 
 But he lived chiefly in a small room near 
 the entrance, close to the square tower which 
 held the hall and staircase. This room had 
 two windows, one in the angle by the towei', 
 looking out on a corner of red wall, and 
 woods beyond it, the other on a wide 
 sheltered lawn with rose-beds and cedar- 
 trees. The Avindows were near the ground, 
 and Paul, with his long legs, could jump out 
 easily. The walls of his room were covered 
 with heavy bookcases, now full of modern 
 books, which had arrived that summer in 
 large cases from Oxford. Colonel Ward 
 had unpacked and settled them with his 
 own hands while Paul was abroad, sending
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 19 
 
 away the old ones into the much less literary 
 room which was called the library. There 
 was a piano in a corner, and over the 
 chimney piece were two small portraits of 
 Paul's father and mother when they were 
 young. In a velvet frame underneath hung 
 a few miniatures, and Sir Paul's medals ; 
 Mrs. Percival had arranged that frame for 
 the young man at Oxford. Above the 
 portraits hung Sir Paul's sword ; and on 
 the black carved mantelpiece were his 
 travelling-clock and a few things that be- 
 longed to him. Paul's peaceful propen- 
 sities did not mean any want of pride in 
 his father. 
 
 Sabin would have thought it much more 
 correct that his master and Colonel Ward 
 should dine in the large dining-room. But 
 Paul said, ' No, in the study ;' so into the 
 study Sabin brought his fine old plate, his
 
 20 RED TOWERS 
 
 Worcester china, his best wine, and waited 
 on the two friends with a beaming benevo- 
 lence which made the nervous Colonel glance 
 at him severely. 
 
 After dinner, when Sabin was gone, Paul 
 became very silent and dreamy ; even Scamp 
 could hardly catch his attention. At last 
 the Colonel, who was smoking and talking 
 serenely, noticed his host's absence of mind, 
 and fixed his eyes upon him in a momentary 
 anxiety. Paul always looked young, for he 
 wore no hair on his face ; but that evening 
 he looked like a boy of eighteen. He looked 
 very handsome, too ; eyelids drooping a little 
 over dark eyes like his mother's, and faintly 
 smiling, some new life lighting ujd the 
 dreams that had taken hold of him. Sud- 
 denly, as the Colonel stared at him curiously 
 —but quite unaware of that — he looked up 
 and said :
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE COLONEL 21 
 
 ' Colonel, you were saying something this 
 afternoon about marrying -^ 
 
 Colonel Ward stared still more, in con- 
 sternation now. 
 
 ' What ! My dear chap, take care what 
 you are doing. Don't be in a hurry, what- 
 ever you do !' 
 
 * Xo,' said Paul, ' I have not been in a 
 hurry. Do you mind our going outside, and 
 talking about it ? This room is so fearfully 
 hot.'
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OWLS. 
 
 Outside in the garden all was coolness and 
 stillness. The woods hardly rustled, that 
 quiet evening, and all their living creatures 
 seemed to be asleep. The old red brick 
 house lay dark in the moonlight ; its rather 
 fantastic towers and chimney-tops standing 
 out clear ; its long rows of windows shining ; 
 its ivy and Virginian creeper hanging in 
 silvered masses. On the lawn there were 
 spaces of clear light and deep shadow, and 
 the great dark cedars stretched their arms 
 motionless.
 
 OWLS 23 
 
 Even outside here, in the free air, with 
 his old friend, Paul seemed £o*find it difficult 
 to go on with his subject. Colonel Ward 
 smoked his pipe, as they walked up and 
 down, and waited for him as long as he 
 could. At last he said, with real anxiety 
 in his voice : 
 
 ' Talk away, ni}^ boy ; what is all this 
 about ? Hang it, Paul, you are not in 
 earnest, are you V 
 
 * Yes, I'm in earnest.' 
 
 ' But nothing positive — nothing settled, 
 of course ?' 
 
 ' Well, yes, it is settled ; at least, I hope 
 so. Yes, Colonel, it was settled just before I 
 went abroad ; but we agreed to say nothing 
 about it. I suppose everybody will know 
 soon now. I don't see why they shouldn't.' 
 
 ' Why didn't you tell me before ?' said 
 Colonel Ward rather sharply.
 
 24 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' You must not mind about that, you 
 know,' the young man answered quickly. 
 ' Mrs. Percival wouldn't let me say any- 
 thing, and of course I had to do as they 
 wished. She wanted me to wait till they 
 came here ; it would make such a lot of 
 talk at Woolsborough. I am going to 
 Woolsborough now, though — but I came 
 liere first — partly on purpose to tell you.' 
 
 From Paul's manner, and rather hurried 
 way of talking, it was plain that he did not 
 expect his old friend to be much pleased 
 with the news he had to tell him. Colonel 
 Ward listened to him gravely, and did not 
 speak quite at once. 
 
 * Ah ! Then I may be supposed to know 
 who it is,' he said presently. ' Mrs. Perci- 
 val — well, there may be some excuse for her. 
 Women don't always know at once what 
 view to take, and, no doubt, she found she
 
 OWLS 25 
 
 had to do with an obstinate ytmng fool. But 
 Percival was very wrong. He ought to 
 have interfered. He ought to have put a 
 stop to the thing at once. That is what an 
 honourable man would have done.' 
 ' I don't see why,' said Paul. 
 
 * You would see plainly enough in another 
 man's case. Percival was your guardian. 
 A year ago his wife's niece came to live 
 with him — a girl whose parents were good- 
 for-nothing, and who had been badly trained 
 in every way.' 
 
 * Look here. Colonel, you always say what 
 you like ' 
 
 ' Yes, and I mean to do so still.' 
 
 ' You must remember that you don't 
 
 know Miss Darrell. You have only seen 
 
 her once.' 
 
 ' I know all about her,' said the Colonel. 
 
 ' I grant you she is a very pretty girl.
 
 26 RED TOWERS 
 
 Clever, too ; I haven't a doubt of that. 
 But she has nothing, and for that and 
 twenty other reasons she is not the right 
 match for you. And the Percivals ought 
 not to have hstened to such a thing for a 
 moment. Tliey were bound in honour to 
 resist the verv notion. A vouno- felloAV 
 with a good j)i*operty Hke you, with your 
 talents, and a grand future before you ! 
 Why, hang it, Paul, you might marry 
 anybody ! What the deuce was old Perci- 
 val thinkino- about ? I ahvavs knew he was 
 a fool, but hang me if I knew he was a 
 knave.' 
 
 ' He couldn't have jDrevented it. He had 
 nothing to do with it,' said Paul. 
 
 ' My dear fellow, that's nonsense. I 
 wonder at Mrs. Percival. But I suppose 
 she took the sentimental view ; she always 
 was soft-hearted. And this is not the
 
 OWLS 27 
 
 first mistake she has made, I am sorry to 
 say. How long has this affair been going 
 on V 
 
 ' For a year, with me. Ever since I 
 first saw her. But I said nothing till I 
 went down from Oxford the other day. 
 And you are awfully unfair to the Perci- 
 vals, you know, Colonel. Mrs. Percival 
 thought at first I was too young ; and then 
 she wouldn't have anything said about it all 
 the summer.' 
 
 ' I see nothing in that, if she allowed the 
 thing to go on at all,' said Colonel Ward 
 dismally ; he was torn between loyalty to 
 his old love and faithfulness to the interests 
 of Paul Romaine. ' Do you write to the 
 young lady V 
 
 ' Of course ; we are engaged,' said Paul. 
 
 ' And do you mean to tell me that nobody 
 knows anything about it V
 
 28 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Canon and Mrs. Percival ; nobody else. 
 They have not even told Vincent.' 
 
 ' Why not V 
 
 ' I don't know. The fewer people the 
 better, she thought. And I think Vincent 
 isn't always the pleasantest fellow in the 
 world ; and as he was to be there all the 
 summer, perhaps it was better for her that 
 he shouldn't know — because he and I don't 
 get on particularly well. He might have 
 made himself disagreeable. But of course 
 Mrs. Percival did not tell me any reasons 
 like those ; I have only guessed them. She 
 said it was best that only she and the Canon 
 should know. And it was easy, as I was 
 going abroad.' 
 
 ' If the thinof was allowed at all, I see 
 no reason for keeping it secret,' said Colonel 
 Ward. ' I shall ask her to explain that to 
 me one of these days.'
 
 OWLS 29 
 
 Then he and Paul walked the whole 
 length of the lawn, past the cedars, from 
 liofht to shadow, and back to lio-ht ao^ain, 
 without saying anything more. The Colonel 
 in his honest old heart was very unhappy. 
 Though he would not exactly say so, he 
 thought Mrs. Percival had done very wrong. 
 There could be no doubt, really, that the 
 whole thing was her doing. With a penni- 
 less niece on her hands, of course she had 
 encouraged Paul. A young fellow at college, 
 open, enthusiastic, simple-hearted, he was 
 ready to fall in love with anybody ; and 
 Miss Darrell was a very attractive girl. 
 All the unhappy history of her father and 
 mother had been told to the Colonel by 
 Mrs. Percival herself; the girl was friend- 
 less, homeless, penniless. The chance of 
 such a marriage as this for her wa^, no 
 doubt, a great temptation to her aunt ;
 
 30 RED TOWERS 
 
 but, to Colonel Ward's mind, a tempta- 
 tion which ouoiit at all costs to have been 
 resisted. He was a man of strict notions 
 and high old-fashioned ideas ; his prejudices, 
 therefore, were strong ; and Mrs. Percival's 
 niece was just the kind of girl who always 
 made him reflect on the degeneracy of the 
 age. He did not like her ; and the news 
 of her enofaofement to Paul seemed to him 
 worse than any news he had heard since Sir 
 Paul Romaine died. 
 
 The Colonel was hurt, too, though he did 
 not wish to show it. Under his stiiF grey 
 outside there was a great deal of warm affec- 
 tion, with the sensitiveness which is its 
 wrong side. He had thought that there 
 was always a perfect confidence between 
 himself and Paul, whom he loved as if he 
 were his son. He had flattered himself that 
 all Paul's tastes, and ways, and weaknesses
 
 OWLS 31 
 
 were known to him, as they would have 
 been known to Paul's father ; and he had 
 never really much dreaded the influence of 
 the Percivals, though he talked about it, 
 feeling sure that Paul was his own boy in 
 spite of them. It w^as something of a shock 
 to him to find how far that influence had 
 now extended itself; that Paul, body and 
 soul, w^as to belong all his life to the Perci- 
 vals ; and that this thing had been going 
 on for a whole year past, while he, the 
 blind old friend, had thought that Paul 
 was only too much wrapped up in reading 
 for honours. 
 
 ' And this is a settled thing !' said the 
 Colonel at last. He spoke sadly, but not 
 angrily ; after all, young people must be 
 young, and it was not Paul he was angry 
 with. He himself had remained unmarried 
 always for the sake of a foolish woman. ' Xo
 
 32 
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 hope of any change !' he went on, perhaps 
 hardly speaking to Paul. 
 
 ' No fear of any,' said the young man, 
 smiling. ^ Look here, Colonel, it makes me 
 awfully happy, you know, and you must con- 
 gratulate me.' 
 
 ^ No — can't do that,' said the Colonel. 
 
 ' You will when you know Celia a little 
 better.' 
 
 The Colonel shook his head. 
 
 ^ I won't deny, my friend,' he said, ' that 
 this news of yours has startled me consider- 
 ably. I can't talk to you about it now. I 
 must go home and think it over. Good- 
 night.' 
 
 ' No, Colonel, I won't let you,' said Paul, 
 taking hold of his arm. ' You must be con- 
 vinced ; I'm going to argue with you.' 
 
 ' You may as well argue with the owls, 
 my boy. I'm a kill-joy, I know. I'm a
 
 OWLS S3 
 
 prophet of evil ; but I don't like this en- 
 gagement of yours. Miss Darrell is pretty ; 
 in fact, she comes as near being beautiful as 
 any woman I ever saw ; and no doubt she 
 has taking manners. But if she had money 
 as well, she is not the wife I should choose 
 for you. I believe in heredity, and she 
 comes of a bad stock. Her tendencies are 
 horsey, and I hate horsey women. Her 
 father was an idle, dissipated chap, never 
 to be seen off a racecourse ; and her mother, 
 jjoor thing, was as w^eak as water.' 
 
 At that moment the silence of the night 
 was broken by a wild ' Tu whit, tu whoo !' 
 and an owl flew slowly across, in the moon- 
 shine, from one great tree to another. Paul 
 was, in fact, arguing with the owls, it 
 seemed. 
 
 ' I know all that,' he said, in answer to 
 the Colonel. ' But I don't know why she 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 should be made responsible for their 
 sins.' 
 
 He might very well have been angry ; 
 but he had a philosophy of his own, which 
 at this time took the form of perfect trust. 
 In his mind he knew and trusted Celia so 
 entirely, that his old friend's fears and pre- 
 judices were only worth a smile. He could 
 not quarrel with him about anything so 
 childish, knowing how easily Celia would 
 captivate the Colonel, when she saw him 
 again. 
 
 ' Don't you think it will be a very good 
 thing, Colonel,' he went on, ' if she knows 
 more about horses than I do ?' 
 
 ' Well, yes ; you are a muff about horses, 
 certainly, Paul,' Colonel Ward was obliged 
 to confess. ' You would get into endless 
 scrapes in that line, and be cheated right 
 and left, if vou hadn't Ford and me to look
 
 OWLS 
 
 35 
 
 after you. It is a miracle that your father's 
 son should be so ignorant.' 
 
 ' She will manage all that,' said Paul in 
 his low pleasant voice. ' She is very 
 clever ; she will look after everything. 
 And she is tremendously kind and charit- 
 able, you know — and good — a thousand 
 times too good for me. Why should I be 
 obliofed to marrv a woman with monev ? 
 This other arrangement seems quite right 
 to me.' 
 
 ' To you — but to nobody else, my boy,' 
 said Colonel Ward. 
 
 Slowly, under Paul's influence, his indig- 
 nation was melting away. It was plain that 
 the lad was very happy, very much in love ; 
 and he was engaged ; and of course there 
 was not the smallest chance of his breaking 
 oft' his engagement now ; the Colonel could 
 not expect or wish him to do that. The 
 
 3—2
 
 36 RED TOWERS 
 
 only feeling must be regret and deep vexa- 
 tion ; but still, if Paul really knew anything 
 about Miss Celia Darrell, a little hope might 
 creep in. She might make him a tolerably 
 good wife after all. 
 
 ^ Why, Paul,' he said, ' you talk as if 
 you were a millionnaire. You're not, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' We shall do very well,' said Paul quietly. 
 ' We shall live here ; and by-and-by, if you 
 push me on, I may try for Parliament. That 
 is Mrs. Percival's idea.' 
 
 ' She is quite right, perfectly right,' said 
 the Colonel, highly pleased ; and with this 
 prospect he forgot all about Paul's bad news, 
 and began building all sorts of castles in the 
 air. 
 
 This was the future he had always fancied 
 for Paul ; fearinof all the time that he was 
 too lazy, too refined, too studious, too artistic.
 
 OWLS 37 
 
 ever to put himself in the way of it. It 
 even occurred once to the Colonel's mind 
 that a spirited woman, if she was really 
 worthy of Paul, might be his greatest help 
 in a political career. Possibly, in Celia 
 Darrell, her father's recklessness might take 
 the form of a courage worth something. The 
 Colonel was afraid not ; for when he had 
 seen her, and heard her talk, dislike had been 
 mixed strongly with his admiration ; but he 
 beofan to think that he miofht have done the 
 girl injustice. 
 
 So, instead of saying ' good-night ' early, 
 and going home sulky to his cottage, Colonel 
 Ward talked politics with Paul for another 
 hour. Paul, to tell the truth, was tired 
 and bored, and wished that he had said 
 nothing about Parliament. At last he took 
 advantage of a pause to change the subject 
 suddenly.
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' I suppose the place will want thoroughly 
 doing up all round,' he said, looking up at his 
 old towers. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! It is in perfectly good 
 order.' 
 
 ' I know it isn't tumbling down ; but it 
 is not half smart enough. People make 
 houses beautiful in these days, don't they ? 
 Mrs. Percival's house is awfully pretty. Of 
 course this has a character of its own ; but 
 it is very old-fashioned ; all the things in it 
 are old-fashioned.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Paul ! They were good 
 enough for your mother.' 
 
 ' Ah ! but that was lono- ao*o. Well, she 
 must look at it all when she comes here. 
 There will be the servants to settle, too — 
 but Mrs. Percival will tell me all about 
 that.' 
 
 " ' It is not to be a lono' engagement, then V
 
 OWLS 39 
 
 said Colonel Ward, with something hke a 
 sigh. 
 
 ' Why should it be V 
 
 ' Why ? Because you are very young ; 
 too young to know your own mind.' 
 
 ' I have known it for a long time.' 
 
 ' Well, about the servants. Of course you 
 must have things correct. I know nothing. 
 I have been out of the world too long. Mrs. 
 Percival will tell you, as you say. One 
 thing I feel pretty sure of — you will have 
 to part with the Sabins.' 
 
 ' No ; why should I do that ?' exclaimed 
 Paul almost angrily. 
 
 ' Mrs. Sabin has been used to having her 
 own way far too long ; she won't knock 
 under. And Sabin — to tell you the truth, 
 I have not been satisfied with Sabin for 
 some time past. He is too familiar ; his 
 manners are shocking. To-night, at dinner,
 
 40 RED TOWERS 
 
 I thought he was vulgar ; broad grins the 
 whole time. He has been a faithful servant, 
 no doubt ; but you will have to part with 
 him ; your wife will never endure him. She 
 will like to have her own way in the house.' 
 
 * Poor old Sabin ! I never noticed any- 
 thing wrong. He always does what I tell 
 him. Of course, if Celia doesn't like him 
 and his wife, that will be another affair ; 
 but I think she will. They are sure to be 
 awfully nice to her. It would be a horrid 
 bother to part with them.' 
 
 ' You will find a good many horrid bothers 
 in store for you, my boy. You had better 
 have been contented as you are.' 
 
 ' Why, Colonel, it was only this afternoon 
 that you told me I ought to marry a sensible 
 woman.' 
 
 * I didn't mean what I said,' answered the 
 Colonel boldly.
 
 OWLS 41 
 
 It was near midnight when Paul walked 
 with him up the dark avenue, and across the 
 road to his own house. Under the arch at 
 the door, Colonel Ward shook hands with 
 him and muttered a few words. 
 
 * My best wishes, my boy. God bless 
 you r 
 
 Paul went back to Red Towers, and walked 
 restlessly about for another hour in the moon- 
 light. He felt as if he must go to Wools- 
 borough to-morrow ; it seemed very hard of 
 Mrs. Percival to put him off for a week. It 
 was easier to live without Celia in Switzer- 
 land than here, with only a few hours' rail- 
 way between them. 
 
 The owls in the wood seemed very restless, 
 too ; they hooted dismally now and then, as 
 if to condole with their young Squire on the 
 cruelty of circumstances.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RIVER GATE. 
 
 Canon Percival, in his own line, was a much 
 cleverer and wiser man than Colonel Ward 
 pretended to think him. 
 
 He was by no means a fool : he had a 
 remarkable faculty for sticking to his point 
 and having his own way. He had done 
 everything he wanted to do in life, so far. 
 His college w^as reasonably proud of him, 
 and had given him one of its best livings, 
 St. Martha's, in the city of Woolsborouo-h : 
 a canonry in the Cathedi^al had followed. 
 He had married early in life, carrying oflf a
 
 RIVER GATE 43 
 
 prize whom two at least of his friends envied 
 him. He had pleasant manners, and managed 
 his cm-ates and his parish very well ; he was 
 also very friendly with his brethren of the 
 Chapter. Some evil-disposed people laughed 
 at him, though he was a good-looking, dig- 
 nified man ; perhaps because he was a little 
 too dignified sometimes, and they said he 
 was ambitious, and wanted to be a bishop. 
 There were also people who disliked and dis- 
 trusted him ; no one, perhaps, liked him 
 heartily ; and yet no one had anything 
 really to say against him. 
 
 He was not a rich man ; but he was care- 
 ful and prudent, and managed to live very 
 comfortably in his beautiful old house close 
 to the Cathedral. Everyone liked Mrs. 
 Percival, and was charmed to go to her 
 parties, which had been made more attrac- 
 tive than usual this summer by the presence
 
 44 RED TOWERS 
 
 of her soldier son from India, and her pretty 
 niece, Miss Darrell. 
 
 River Gate was a large square red house 
 at the south-^Yest corner of the Close. Its 
 tall stately door and rows of windows looked 
 north, fronting rows of elms and the Chapter- 
 house, and then the Cathedral. To the 
 west and south of the house, a fine old 
 garden in terraces sloped down to the 
 broad river, which was the charm and 
 life of Woolsborough. Under the lowest 
 terrace of the garden was an ancient arch- 
 way, crumbled by time and overgrown with 
 ivv, where one could turn in from the tow- 
 ing-path and mount up by steps into the 
 Close, and so on, by narrow walled ways, 
 past fragments of old towers and defences, 
 to the west front of the Cathedral. This 
 river gate, which gave its name to Canon 
 Pereival's house, was also a private way, by
 
 RIVER GATE 
 
 45 
 
 a flight of steps with a locked gate, from his 
 garden to the river. 
 
 Mrs. Percival was alone in her drawing- 
 room on Saturday afternoon. Outside, on 
 the high gravel terrace with its red flower- 
 pots, the sun was shining with a soft Sep- 
 tember brilliancy ; but the three tall west 
 windows were darkened, so that there was a 
 deep restful shade in the room. There was 
 also a delightful scent of flowers, and a great 
 deal of varied colour, for which Mrs. Perci- 
 val had such a fancy that the Canon had 
 been heard to remark, ' This room is scarcely 
 ecclesiastical.' There were several little 
 dogs, and a tea-table, and a slight general 
 confusion, as if people had been there not 
 long ago. And this was the case, for some 
 visitors had just gone away with Canon Perci- 
 val into the Cathedral ; their large carriage 
 was still driving round and round the Close.
 
 46 RED TOWERS 
 
 Mrs. Percival appeared to be a little un- 
 easy in her mind, and disturbed from her 
 usual amiability. She snubbed the little 
 dogs when they begged of her, and told them 
 they were greedy. She walked round the 
 room, pushed the chairs about, went out on 
 the terrace, listened, and tried to look up 
 the river ; but trees and walls and houses 
 prevented her seeing much. 
 
 ^ I wonder if I have done right,' she mut- 
 tered to herself, taking a quick turn along 
 the terrace ; ' but knowing Vincent so well, 
 poor dear — I wonder if I ought to have put 
 him off till Monday. He is sure to come 
 now — still, the train must be late. Good 
 gracious, here he is !' 
 
 With both hands stretched out, and the 
 sweetest smile, and all the pretty grace that 
 belonged to her, she hurried back into the 
 drawing-room to receive Paul Eomaine.
 
 RIVER GATE 47 
 
 ' Here you are, my dear ! I had almost 
 given you up. So glad to see you ! How 
 well you are looking !' 
 
 Paul was glancing quickly round the 
 room, the dear old room, bright and sweet 
 as ever. Red Towers was certainly dismal 
 by contrast. But where was his own par- 
 ticular possession, who was going to make 
 Red Towers the most brilliant place in the 
 world ? 
 
 ' Thanks so much ! Where's Celia ?' he 
 said, smiling and half shy. 
 
 * Yes, of course she oug-ht to have been 
 here to meet you. Try not to be impatient ; 
 she will be in very soon. Sit down and 
 have some tea.' 
 
 ' Could I find her ?' said Paul. 
 
 He had been unreasonable, no doubt ; but 
 somehow he had expected to see Celia on 
 the platform at the railway-station ; and
 
 48 RED TOWERS 
 
 Avhen she was not there, he made sure that 
 she would be under the archway at the 
 entrance of the Close ; and then he had 
 told himself, ' Xo, she wouldn't like that ; 
 she will be here in the hall ;' but no one 
 received him in the hall. Even the drawing- 
 room was empty, till, after the first instant, 
 Mrs. Percival came in. And he had not seen 
 Celia since the end of June, when he went 
 abroad, immediately after his engagement. 
 
 Paul had been patient enough : he had 
 allowed Mrs. Percival to put him off on one 
 excuse or another, untroubled by doubts. 
 The time was to come w^hich would make 
 amends for evervthino- • and now it was 
 come, and had brought nothing but disap- 
 pointment. Paul took no notice of the little 
 dogs who were jumping upon him, or of Mrs. 
 Percival's kind advice and offer of tea. He 
 walked across to the window.
 
 RIVER GATE 49 
 
 ' Is she anywhere in the garden ?' he 
 said. 
 
 There was a certain sacred spot in the 
 garden, where one evening, more than two 
 months ago, Ceha had let him worship her. 
 Everyone else was very proud of his Uni- 
 versity honours ; but she only smiled, and ' 
 looked at him with a shade more interest 
 than before. He had known well enough 
 that these things made no difference to her ; 
 but still he had worked with all his strength, 
 partly from natural love of the work, partly 
 to make himself in his own eyes more worthy 
 of her. Some people said that Celia flirted ; 
 but she had never flirted with him. Her 
 manner was even cold. Whatever Colonel 
 Ward may have thought, Paul had not had 
 much of what is commonly called encourage- 
 ment. Perhaps she knew that a look, a 
 smile, a word now and then, were enough to 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 keep Paul where she chose him to be ; and, 
 if so, she was a wise girl not to give him 
 any more. Anyhow, when he could be kept 
 within due bounds no longer, she let him 
 speak, and smiled in earnest, and very sweetly 
 accepted him, and Red Towers, and all the 
 rest of it. 
 
 Mrs. Percival was of course immensely 
 pleased. She had a great respect for Celia's 
 talents, and thought she would make a very 
 good wife for Paul. For Celia herself, what 
 could be more desirable ? One may fear 
 that Colonel Ward's notion of anything dis- 
 honourable in the arrangement never even 
 occurred to Mrs. Percival's mind ; and yet 
 she was not quite at ease. She was troubled, 
 at first, by three anxieties : that their sum- 
 mer at Woolsborough would be quite spoilt 
 bv tiresome gossip, curiosity, and congratu- 
 lations (Celia disliked this prospect as much
 
 RIVER GATE 
 
 51 
 
 as she did) ; that her son Vmcent, who did 
 not like Paul, and scoffed at him, and was 
 very meddlesome, would in some way spoil the 
 whole thing if he knew it ; that Celia had 
 engaged herself to Paul without earing for 
 him in the least. For Mrs. Pereival, though 
 she might be worldly and calculating, was 
 soft-hearted too, and sincerely fond of Paul. 
 
 The two first anxieties were disposed of 
 by Celia's wise resolution that no one but 
 her uncle and aunt should know of her en- 
 gagement till they left Woolsborough in the 
 autumn. As to the third — when her aunt 
 murmured a few caressing words on the 
 subject, she answered calmly : 
 
 ^ Oh, Paul is a dear boy. I always love 
 boys.' 
 
 ' Will he find that satisfying ?' suggested 
 Mrs. Pereival, lifting her eyebrows with a 
 faint, dismayed smile. 
 
 4 9
 
 52 RED TOWERS 
 
 ^ Don't be anxious about him ; he is 
 quite happy,' said Ceha ; and she added 
 after a moment, ^ If I wait to marrv till I 
 am in love, dear, I shall never marry at all. 
 I don't know what it is. I haven't got it 
 in me.' 
 
 ' Oh, Celia !' 
 
 Mrs. Percival smiled a little more, and 
 ceased her remonstrances. 
 
 But since then, throughout the summer 
 months, she had often been visited by 
 troublesome thoughts, doubting whether it 
 would not have been the best policy, after 
 all, to tell the whole truth at once — to the 
 Bishop, the Chapter, the county, the city, 
 the household — and more especially to 
 Captain Percival, her son. He — his long 
 idle hours passed perpetually with Celia, 
 intimate, friendly, admiring — was, in fact, 
 his mother's one great towering anxiety.
 
 RIVER GATE 53 
 
 Words of warning had been on her Hps 
 several times, and then the truth would 
 certainly have slip23ed out ; but then she 
 remembered Celia's cool worldly wisdom, 
 and Vincent's expressed conviction that in 
 these days a man must marry money, or 
 not at all ; and the Canon, when she hinted 
 something to him, asked her, smiling, whether 
 either of these young people was a fool ; and 
 so she kept to her intention, and now, in Sep- 
 tember, Celia's engagement to Paul Eomaine 
 was still a secret. Only Mrs. Percival 
 wished in her heart that she could have 
 kept Paul, for his own sake, away from 
 Woolsborough a few days longer. 
 
 She looked at him anxiously as he moved 
 restlessly to the window. In old days she 
 had always been able to manage Paul : his 
 affectionate, unsuspicious nature had given 
 her no trouble : but this sudden chill of dis-
 
 54 RED TOWERS 
 
 appointment, this eager pain, which made 
 him turn away suddenly from her now, 
 seemed for a moment almost beyond her 
 diplomatic powers. She felt angry w^ith 
 Celia, who had known quite well what time 
 Paul was coming. But perhaps it was 
 Vincent's fault. She wished that they had 
 not gone out together on this particular after- 
 noon. But Vincent was going away on 
 Monday, and would have been di^eadfully 
 injured if his cousin had thought it necessary 
 to stay at home to-day. 
 
 ' I am very sorry Celia is not in, Paul,' 
 said Mrs. Percival in her sweetest tones. * I 
 know she meant to be here. But Vincent 
 wanted her to go out in the boat vdth. him 
 — he leaves us on Monday — and as he 
 knows nothing, you see, it may have been 
 a little difficult to brino- him back in time. 
 You mustn't be anoTv with Celia.'
 
 RIVER GATE 55 
 
 ' Angry ! Nothing of the sort,' said Paul. 
 He laughed, and came back to the table, and 
 quietly took his cup of tea from Mrs. Perci- 
 val, who looked up smiling into his eyes. 
 ' I rather wish everybody had known about 
 it from the first,' he said. 
 
 ' Do you ?' she answered. ' But it would 
 not have made much difference to you, dear 
 boy, as you were away all the time. And 
 we had our little reasons, you know. But 
 now, after next week, of course everybody 
 may be told. We think of moving to Holm 
 in about a week's time.' 
 
 * May I stay here till then ?' asked Paul. 
 
 ' Of course. I thought you would. And 
 now tell me about Switzerland.' 
 
 ' There's nothing to tell you, except that 
 it was very jolly.' 
 
 ' And what have you been doing since 
 you came home ?'
 
 56 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Shooting. There are really a great lot 
 of bh'ds this year. The Colonel and I have 
 had some capital sport.' 
 
 ' The Canon will be glad to hear that/ 
 said Mrs. Percival. ' And how is the dear 
 old Colonel ? So you told him our news — 
 and how did he take it ? Was he the least 
 bit hurt that you had not told him before V 
 
 ' Well, perhaps he was/ Paul confessed. 
 
 He looked on the floor, slightly confused, 
 for certainly he could not tell Mrs. Percival 
 how Colonel Ward took the news. 
 
 ' I was afraid of that,' said she. ' He is 
 a little touchy, poor dear !' 
 
 ' He soon got over it/ said Paul. ' He 
 thinks it's a good thing that Celia knows 
 more about horses than I do. And I was 
 talking over servants and things with him, 
 you know — and he thinks it won't do to 
 keep the Sabins.'
 
 RIVER GATE 57 
 
 ^ Why V said Mrs. Percival with her 
 pretty' laugh. ' Does he think Ceha will 
 want a dozen powdered footmen ? Old 
 bachelors are not the best judges, are 
 they ? But there will be plenty of time 
 to settle all that ; you need not bother 
 yourself about changes just yet. In fact, 
 if I were you, I would begin quietly — 
 because you are not making a great match, 
 you know, Paul.' 
 
 ' I think I am,' he said in a low voice. 
 
 He always felt very stupid when a pretty 
 speech seemed to be demanded of him, and 
 generally rushed on to something else as fast 
 as possible. 
 
 ' When do you think she will let it be, 
 Mrs. Percival ?' he asked. 
 
 ' You must ask her. But you are both 
 so young that there need be no hurry.' 
 
 ' I hate waitinsT,' said Paul. ' What is
 
 58 RED TOWERS 
 
 the use of dragging through miserable days 
 without any reason ? It's a waste out of 
 one's hfe — don't you know it is V 
 
 ' Well, no. I must say I was very happy 
 and comfortable when I was engaged. 
 Arthur, to be sure, was just as ridiculous 
 as you are now. But then he had some 
 reason for it, because I was not such a good 
 steady girl as your Celia.' 
 
 ' Ah, I know,' said Paul, smiling as he 
 looked at her. ' The Colonel has never got 
 over it.' 
 
 Mrs. Percival smiled too, looking quite 
 conscious and ]Dretty and young, though she 
 was past fifty. Her hair was brown still, 
 frizzed and curled under a most becoming 
 cap ; her complexion was soft and white ; 
 she had lovely hands ; and her brown eyes 
 had a way of smiling and shining which to 
 this day was irresistible.
 
 RIVER GATE 
 
 59 
 
 * Poor dear ! I do wish he had married 
 somebody,' she said. ' And yet I don't 
 know ; he is very happy in that nice httle 
 house of yours. By-the-bye, you must 
 always go on asking his advice, Paul, or he 
 will be injured.' 
 
 * Trust me for that. Besides, I should 
 be a fool if I didn't ; he knows such a lot 
 of things.' 
 
 ' Yes, so he does. And he is as good as 
 gold, dear old fellow ! I wonder now, Paul, 
 whether he means to leave you his money.' 
 
 ' His money ? Colonel Ward ? I never 
 thought about it,' said Paul vaguely. * Has 
 he got any ? Not much, I should think.' 
 
 ' His uncle left him at least three or four 
 thousand a year,' said Mrs. Percival. ' Do 
 you mean to say you didn't know that ? Of 
 course he has lived all these years on three 
 or four hundred.'
 
 6o RED TOWERS 
 
 * Eeally ! Well, I never thought about 
 it,' repeated Paul. ' Leave it to me ? Of 
 course not. Why should he V 
 
 ' He has no relations ; and I believe he 
 likes you better than anybody else.' 
 
 * Except you. You are his favourite 
 person in the world. I don't beheve you 
 could do anything the Colonel would think 
 wrong, strict as he is. It's beautiful, you 
 know, the way he talks about you, and the 
 way he looks when one mentions your 
 name.' 
 
 They went on talking about Colonel Ward 
 for some minutes, till the Canon came in 
 K with his rather strand air of welcome. After 
 a few speeches to Paul, he began talking to 
 his wife about the visitors who had just 
 driven away ; and then Paul, leaving them 
 together, went out into the garden, and ran 
 down to the lower terrace, and out under
 
 RIVER GATE 6i 
 
 the old gateway to the towing-path, to 
 watch for Ceha. 
 
 It was a still, oppressive evening. Away 
 across the deep green meadows, beyond the 
 river, the sun was going down into a bank 
 of cloud and fog, all suffused with a red light, 
 which made the slow broad current glow 
 with a sort of burnished splendour. Blue 
 evening mists were beginning to hover about 
 the river, and to creep up the steep old 
 irregular streets that wound down to the 
 quay, between the Cathedral and all its 
 buildings, and the bridge a few hundred 
 yards above. There were boats about the 
 bridge, and children playing and screaming, 
 and the river came sweeping down under the 
 three wide arches, but Paul did not see the 
 boat he was looking for. After all, he did 
 not know whether Vincent Percival had 
 taken his cousin up or down the river ;
 
 62 RED TOWERS 
 
 Mrs. Percival could not tell him. So he 
 looked up towards the bridge, and saw 
 nothing ; and turned round, and walked a 
 little way in the other direction, tow^ards a 
 distance of willow-trees and far-stretching 
 meadows, with houses and gardens here and 
 there, the southern outskirts of the town. 
 No boat, no Celia : the sun w^as almost ob- 
 scured now, glinmiering, a dim red ball, in 
 the midst of the clouds, and the mists were 
 gathering over the water. It was almost 
 twilight ; and still Paul paced up and down 
 the towing-path, under the old river gate 
 and the dark half-ruined walls with their 
 heavy tresses of ivy. It struck him that 
 he might go up to the bridge, to the man 
 who had charge of the boats there ; he 
 would know if they had passed ; and then 
 it would be very possible to take a canoe, 
 and go to meet them. But some mysterious
 
 RIVER GATE 63 
 
 instinct said : ^ Celia would not like that ;' 
 and so he stayed where he was, loitering 
 about the archway, straining his eyes one 
 way or the other, as the minutes dragged 
 on and the twilight deepened.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 CELIA. 
 
 Celia Darrell was a woman of a happy 
 disposition. She was always amused ; as 
 they say, all was fish that came to her net. 
 She was, indeed, a delightful girl^ with ex- 
 cellent health, high animal spirits, and a 
 ofreat love of admiration, or rather of beinsf 
 liked ; for, with all her beauty, she was not 
 vain. And everybody did like her, women 
 as much as men, except a few prejudiced, 
 old-fashioned souls like Colonel Ward. 
 
 How could the world help liking anyone 
 with such pretty manners, always ready to
 
 CELIA 65 
 
 join in any fun, enjoying the dullest party, 
 and being kind to the stupidest people ! A 
 woman like Celia need never fear that she 
 will not be liked. The only danger is — but 
 that will not matter to her — that some rash 
 creatures may allow themselves to like her 
 too much, to trust her too far, and then find 
 out, with more or less pain, how very little 
 worth is love or friendship from a character 
 like hers. 
 
 But it was most natural that jDCople who 
 loved Celia should idealize her, for her sweet- 
 ness and charm were very real. If they 
 sometimes bestowed themselves in the wrong 
 place, who can be perfect I If, when the 
 man to whom she was engaged arrived hot 
 and tired from his journey, with no thought 
 in his mind but that of seeino' her ao^ain, of 
 finding her waiting for him, she ^vas linger- 
 ing over her tea in perfect peace in tlie 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 RED TOWERS 
 
 garden of an old inn, three or four miles up 
 the river, lauoiiino- with her cousin Vincent 
 as if she had no interest in the world but 
 him — well, perhaps, this only showed her 
 perfect confidence in herself and Paul, and 
 her splendid power of keeping a secret. 
 
 The old Queen's Head was a long white 
 building, with a brown porch all overgrown 
 with purple clematis, standing high on the 
 river's bank. Boating people often stopped 
 there ; one mounted uj:) to it by flights of 
 red brick steps in the garden, which was all 
 brilliant on this autumn dav with dahlias 
 and nasturtiums and clove pinks — a varied 
 mass of deep-coloured flowers. Half-Avay 
 up, off" the steps, there was a little quaint 
 wooden summer - house, very clean and 
 shady, with a peaked top and a weather- 
 cock. 
 
 The smilino' oirl of the inn had brouo^ht
 
 CELIA 67 
 
 down tea there for Vincent and his cousin, 
 by no means for the first time that summer. 
 Their boat was lying at the foot of the 
 green steej^ slope below the stej)s ; swallows 
 M^ere twitterino- and o^atherino^ in rows on 
 
 k:> c> (D 
 
 the roof of the old inn ; the shadows grew 
 long very early now, and the dewy nights 
 were cold ; they were no doubt talking of 
 their near departure, which seemed to 
 trouble them much more than Vincent's 
 troubled him. 
 
 There was something by no means j^lea- 
 sant or contented, however, in Captain Perci - 
 val's face, as he sat there and looked at his 
 smiling cousin. He was what people call a 
 handsome man ; from his looks he misfht 
 have been a hero, but he was not a hero. 
 He was a very j^i'^ctical man ; he knew 
 excellently well how to enjoy himself, and 
 how to make himself aoTeeable to other 
 
 5—2
 
 68 RED TOWERS 
 
 people, if he wished it ; but he did not 
 know how to smile, and had never yet 
 been known to deny himself anything for 
 anybody. After all this, one is inclined to 
 say that he and his cousin Celia were not 
 badly matched. Perhaps he might have 
 thought so himself, for different reasons, if 
 the course of the world had been different. 
 Celia had been a delightful companion all 
 through these summer weeks ; she had made 
 River Gate and the dull old society of Close 
 and neighbourhood quite endurable. They 
 had chaffed each other from morning till 
 night, and he had let her drag him about 
 where she pleased, pretending to be very 
 lazv and unwilling to move. 
 
 Mrs. Percival had been grateful to Celia, 
 till she began to be anxious, for Vincent was 
 a diiBcult person at home, very hard to 
 please, and giving himself the tremendous
 
 CELIA 69 
 
 airs that Colonel Ward complained of. He 
 was only in England for six months at this 
 time, and Paul had seen him at Easter, 
 when they naturally found nothing at all to 
 say to each other. When Paul came down 
 from Oxford after taking his degree, Vincent 
 happened to be away, so that Paul had 
 those few glorious days, which ended with 
 his engagement to Celia. And Paul believed 
 that Celia loved him : and he went abroad, 
 because they all told him he had better, 
 and lived on her not very satisfying letters 
 all the summer, and believed, and trusted. 
 Well, after all, Celia had no idea of de- 
 ceiving him. 
 
 She quite meant to marry him by-and-by, 
 and to enjoy life w^ith plenty of money ; at 
 present she was enjoying her tea, and the 
 warm sweet air of the old garden, and the 
 lovely lights on the water, and her jokes
 
 70 RED TOWERS 
 
 with Vincent, though he was hardly so agree- 
 able as usual that afternoon. Her clear pale 
 skin was burnt a little by the sun, but the 
 colour was becoming ; it suited the fair hair, 
 with a tinge of reddish gold, that curled 
 under the brim of her sailor hat. Her eyes 
 were very pretty, cloudy blue grey, with 
 dark lashes ; they could be very cold and 
 indifferent, and then they were only grey ; 
 but with any excitement they became blue, 
 and wonderfully expressive. They could smile 
 quite distractingly, while the rest of her face 
 was still ; they were smiling now, as she 
 looked at Vincent, and she had altogether 
 what he amused himself by calling her 
 * electric look.' 
 
 Vincent had all along said anything in the 
 world he pleased to this pretty plaything of 
 a cousin : lately he had been a little angry 
 at finding out how much he really admired
 
 CELIA 71 
 
 her ; but this was such hopeless nonsense 
 that he kept it quite to himself, and meant 
 to go on with their easy chaffing intimacy to 
 the end. 
 
 ' Don't look so cross,' said Celia in her soft 
 voice. * Is the tea too bad ? or are the 
 midges beginning to bite you — or is there 
 anything dreadfully wTong with my hat V 
 
 One of Celia's advantages over other people 
 was her way of speaking, clear, deliberate, 
 and slow. It was impossible to ignore what 
 she said. Her voice was musical, though 
 she knew nothing of music ; a little high- 
 pitched, and plaintive ; her enemies said it 
 was an affected voice. 
 
 * Nothing wrong with your hat ; it's a 
 very pretty hat,' said Captain Percival. ^ Of 
 course the tea is beastly, and so are the 
 midges. They will be worse on the water ; 
 but you can pull, and I can smoke.'
 
 72 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' They never bite me,' said Celia, looking 
 at her hands. 
 
 * Nothing ever bites you, I should think,' 
 said her cousin. ' And you are never ill, are 
 you ? never even a finger-ache. I suspect 
 you don't know what pain means.' 
 
 * That would be saying a little too much, 
 perhaps. I used to tumble down and hurt 
 myself, when I was a small child. But 
 I have never been ill. I suppose I 
 don't really know what pain means. Do 
 you mind ? Very sorry, but it's not my 
 fault.' 
 
 ' The worst of people like you is,' said 
 Vincent rather viciously, ' that they can't 
 feel for anybody else. Nothing makes any 
 impression upon them.' 
 
 ' You are quite mistaken. I'm not so 
 heartless. I think it is very horrid of the 
 midges to bite you.'
 
 CELIA 73 
 
 Vincent twisted his moustaelie, looking 
 rather crosser than before. 
 
 * I'm not chaffing/ he said, ' I'm serious, 
 do you know. I beheve you have no more 
 feehng than a stone. Did anything ever 
 happen in your hfe to make you unhappy ? 
 Did you ever stay awake at night, or not eat 
 your dinner, because you were unhappy ?' 
 
 Ceha gazed at him, her eyes growing 
 more and more blue, and smiling more than 
 ever. There was wonder in the smile, for 
 she perceived that he was in earnest. For 
 the first time in that long summer flirtation, 
 their talk was going a little below the surface. 
 It was not her doinof. 
 
 ' Why do you ask me such absurd ques- 
 tions ?' she said. ' And why do you think 
 I have no more feeling than a stone ? Do 
 you know, I am very glad you are not gene- 
 rally serious.'
 
 74 RED TOWERS 
 
 Vincent made no reply at once. He was 
 not looking at her now, but away towards 
 the river. 
 
 ^ Now do something to please me/ she 
 said, after a moment of really uncomfortable 
 silence. ^ Wait till we get home, and then 
 be serious with Uncle Tom in the study. Or 
 wait till to-morrow ; that will be better still ; 
 to-morrow is Sunday. Will you, Vincent V 
 
 After a minute he answered, rather roughly 
 and suddenly, ' I don't know whether you are 
 a witch, or a baby.' 
 
 ' Give me the benefit of the doubt,' said 
 Celia, half under her breath. 
 
 Vincent's manner was really puzzling. 
 She had very often seen him out of temper ; 
 the usual calm of River Gate was seriously 
 disturbed now and then by his unreasonable- 
 nesses ; but these bursts of rage were gene- 
 rally concerned with his dinner, or his clothes,
 
 CELIA 75 
 
 or mistakes of servants, or fancied insults and 
 neglects from his devoted fattier and mother. 
 Celia had never been the object of them her- 
 self, and had always succeeded ia bringing 
 peace back directly. She could not imagine 
 why he should be cross now, or what she had 
 done to injure his feelings. Perhaps she had 
 a right to be injured at his asking her whether 
 she had ever been unhapj^y : the touches of 
 black on her white dress might have kept 
 him from forgetting that a year had not long 
 passed since her father died ; and if she had 
 never loved any one else, she had loved her 
 father. 
 
 There were few enough moments in Celia's 
 life when she had any deep feeling, either 
 of joy or sorrow ; and still fewer were the 
 moments when such a feelino- found its wav 
 into words. In fact, she was harder and 
 cooler than most young women of her age
 
 76 RED TOWERS 
 
 and kind ; and yet she did not like Vincent 
 to call her a stone. But she did not con- 
 tradict him any further at that time, and 
 seemed to deserve the character he gave her. 
 To her quick instincts, after the first sur- 
 prise, his unusual earnestness was a danger 
 signal, and she had no wish to find herself 
 among any troublesome rocks. So far, she 
 had sailed with him over a smooth sea ; for 
 every reason, she wished their present terms 
 of easy cousinship to continue to the end ; 
 and indeed, so did he ; but he was a little 
 ofi* his guard that afternoon, and man is not 
 always master of his fate. 
 
 For a few minutes they sat in silence : a 
 most extraordinary thing for them. Vincent 
 was still staring away up the river, frowning 
 fiercely. Celia, having slowly lowered her 
 eyes from his handsome, sulky face, played 
 a little tune on the table, and tried to look
 
 CELIA 77 
 
 ofrave too. The state of thinofs both bored 
 and amused her ; she was also conscious of 
 an odd httle excitement, which made her 
 heart beat rather faster than usual. Celia was 
 nothing if not practical ; she was never afraid 
 to face facts, or their consequences either. 
 
 ' He and I in love with each other ! What 
 an awful business ! Oh, nonsense ; how can 
 he be such a fool !' 
 
 This thouo-ht flashed throuo^i her mind, 
 while her fingers tapped the table impatiently. 
 Glancing up again for an instant, she knew 
 that life would have been a different thing if 
 such a man as A^ncent had been in Paul's 
 place. The thought was not quite new ; she 
 had crushed it dov\m before, as she crushed 
 it now, at once and without jDity ; but tu- 
 da}^ there was this to be said in excuse for 
 it : Vincent had never before given it a right 
 to exist.
 
 78 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Isn't it time to go V she said presently, 
 in her gentlest, coolest manner. ' Those dear 
 things will be getting anxious about us.' 
 
 ' Sick of it, are you ? So am I,' said Yin- 
 cent savagely, as he met her blue eyes looking 
 at him in a sort of sweet mockery. ' The 
 sooner it's over the better. This sort of thing 
 is unbearable, you know.' 
 
 ' Weak tea, and midges that bite one's 
 nose,' said Celia. ' Xo, I agree with you ; 
 the sooner it's over the better. Only do try 
 not to be so cross about it. Remember, it 
 is our last afternoon, except Sunday, which 
 doesn't count for much. Xext Saturday you 
 will be ever so far away.' 
 
 ' And much difference that will make to 
 you. You will sleep just the same on Mon- 
 day night, and laugh and play tennis with 
 some fools all day on Tuesday, and never — 
 well, never give me another thought, after
 
 CELIA yg 
 
 all these ^Yeeks we have had together. And 
 now you tell me not to be serious. It's 
 the truth, Ceha — I was thinking just now 
 — in spite of all our jolly time together, you 
 wouldn't care one straw if you heard I was 
 dead.' 
 
 So Celia found herself among the rocks in 
 earnest ; but her power of steering was still 
 equal to the occasion. She answered him 
 very quietly. 
 
 ' Please don't say what is not true. I 
 shall miss you very much ; but is that a 
 reason why I should make you and myself 
 unhappy by being dismal beforehand V 
 
 At the same time she knew that Vincent 
 was riofht in his forebodino^s of her behaviour 
 next week, only — poor A^incent — with the 
 addition of Paul. His last bitter words, 
 ' You wouldn't care one straw if you heard I 
 was dead,' she could have answered effectively
 
 8o RED TOWERS 
 
 in certain lines from ' Chastelard,' which had 
 been copied out for her once upon a time by 
 a fiiend who knew her well, and loved her 
 with a romantic girl's love in spite of it. 
 
 ' Nay, dear, I have 
 No tears in me ; I never shall weep much, 
 I think, in all my life ; I have wept for wrath 
 Sometimes, and for mere pain, but for love's pity 
 I cannot weep at all. I would to God 
 You loved me less ; I give you all I can 
 For all this love of yours, and yet I am sure 
 I shall live out the sorrow of your death 
 And be glad afterwards.' 
 
 But Celia was not at all inclined now to 
 run into any poetical exaggerations, or to 
 think of the future, even the near future of 
 next week. The present, with its sudden 
 and strange developments, was quite enough 
 to occupy her. She was no longer amused 
 now, but vexed and astonished. Vincent had 
 chanofed so unaccountablv, while she had not 
 changed at all : it was really most provoking.
 
 CELIA 8 1 
 
 She had beheved both him and herself out 
 of reach of violent feelings of any sort. She 
 saw no reason why their summer should 
 not end as pleasantly as it had begun ; to her 
 his reproaches would have been absolutely 
 laughable, if they had not been unspeakably 
 tiresome, and had not brought with them, 
 like an echo, the slightest sting of regret, 
 the faintest shiver, making her fancy for a 
 moment that she herself was as foolish as 
 Vincent, and that a sort of dark curtain 
 was drawing down over her world, flowery 
 garden and stealing river, because he was 
 going away. 
 
 But she was only weak for a moment, 
 and proceeded to behave with all the calm 
 ofood sense for which her aunt o^ave her 
 credit. She looked up at him again, this 
 time leaving all mockery and chafl* out of 
 the question. 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 RED TOWERS 
 
 ^ Don't be silly,' she said, ' and don't be 
 unjust.' 
 
 'I beg your pardon, Celia,' he said, 
 brought back suddenly to reason by a 
 stronger nature than his own ; and then 
 she laughed a little, and he smiled rather 
 queerly. 
 
 ' I had better go and pay for this tea,' 
 he said. ' We may as well start : it will be 
 getting foggy.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Celia ; and w^hile he 
 Avent off up to the house, she strolled down 
 to the boat, stopping on the old red-brick 
 steps to gather clove pinks, almost black in 
 the shadow, but richer scented than ever 
 after the sunny day. 
 
 There she stood, looking into the water 
 till Vincent came, wishing a little, too late, 
 that he knew of her engagement. As for 
 telling him, she did not feel inclined to do 
 
 i
 
 CELIA 83 
 
 anything so disagreeable, especially as Paul 
 was now at Woolsborough. She w^as sorry 
 now that she had not told him to stay away 
 till Monday ; not that she could not keep 
 him in perfect order ; but Vincent's newly- 
 discovered feelings would make his eyes un- 
 naturally sharp, she knew, and a scene 
 before he went was a thing very much to 
 be avoided. 
 
 She took the sculls on the way down, 
 and he sat in the stern, and smoked cigar- 
 ettes, and watched her as she rowed. The 
 autumn afternoon was already growing misty 
 and dim ; those mounting clouds, which Paul 
 saw from the towing-path at Woolsborough, 
 were slowly climbing in the west ; the red 
 suffused light of the sun as he descended 
 made the broad calm river glow like polished 
 copper. There was no sound but a taint 
 splash against the bank here and there ; a 
 
 6—2
 
 8,4 RED TOWERS 
 
 ripple about a fallen tree, showing how fast 
 that silent current ran ; or the rising of a 
 fish suddenly. Vincent and Celia started 
 on their last little voyage in silence, but she 
 put out all her young strength, and the boat 
 went flying down the stream. She rowed 
 as if she was anxious to bring this chapter 
 in her story to an end. At first Vincent 
 did not interfere, but he very soon began to 
 show that this wish was not his. 
 
 * Easy now,' he said. * What's the use 
 of a pace like that ? The stream will take 
 us down quite soon enough.' 
 
 ' I don't think so, do you know,' she 
 answered. * It will be nearly dark when 
 we o^et home, and Aunt Flo will be anxious 
 about us.' 
 
 * Celia, how false you are !' 
 
 * Vincent, you are very disagreeable.' 
 
 ' No,' he said gravely. ^ I can't go on
 
 CELIA 85 
 
 chaffing for ever, like you, but I am never 
 disagreeable. I'm in earnest, and I'm un- 
 selfish, which is an awful thing to have to 
 be. Some people can do that sort of thing 
 cheerfully, but I can't. They are either 
 cold-blooded, like fish, or else they are 
 saints. I am neither one nor the other.' 
 
 ' You are very mysterious,' said Celia, 
 pulling a little harder than before. ' I never 
 suspected you of being a saint, but then — I 
 didn't even know you were unselfish.' 
 
 ' I don't suppose you did. That is youi* 
 coldness. As cold as a fish, as hard as a 
 stone ' 
 
 ' What a character !' she said, with a 
 little laugh. * False, cold, hard. It is a 
 pity you have found out aU that. We 
 might as well have parted friends.' 
 
 * Look here. Change places with me.' 
 
 * No, thanks. I would rather stay here.'
 
 86 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' If you don't, I shall upset the boat,' 
 said Vincent quietly. 
 
 She hesitated a moment. On any after- 
 noon before she would have dared him to 
 do it ; but to-day his temj^er seemed a little 
 dangerous, and she did not even care to 
 provoke a dispute with him. After all, 
 what did it matter ? Celia had one great 
 secret of success in life. She could see the 
 relative importance of things. She had no 
 small humours and obstinacies, and knew 
 when she had better give in. On this 
 occasion, the chano^e would onlv mean o'et- 
 ting home rather later ; nobody would be 
 angry, and nobody, except Paul, would be 
 anxious. So they changed places, and 
 Vincent almost immediately shipped his 
 oars and lighted another cigarette. Ceha 
 settled herself very comfortably among her 
 cushions in the stern, and wrapped a warm
 
 CELIA 87 
 
 shawl round her shoulders. They went on 
 drifting slowly down the stream. Damp 
 mists were gathering ; the red glow was 
 becoming still more lurid and dim. 
 
 * So you did not know I was unselfish ?' 
 said Vincent presently. 
 
 * I really don't believe I ever thought 
 about it,' Celia answered languidly. 
 
 She was half angry with him, and in her 
 heart she said, with quite human impatience : 
 ' What a bore you are !' But the voice that 
 spoke, in its utter sweetness, coldness, and 
 indifference, might have belonged to the 
 classic nymph who reigns over that river, 
 and might have warned a daring mortal to 
 venture no farther. If Celia had spoken 
 like that to Paul Romaine, nothing more 
 would have been heard of him or his pre- 
 tensions ; but Captain Percival w^as not so 
 sensitive.
 
 68 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' After all,' he began, ' Celia — don't you 
 think we may as well understand each other 
 before I go away ?' 
 
 ^ About your unselfishness, do you mean ?' 
 said his cousin, in the same languid 
 tone. 
 
 If she could still keep ofif the evil moment 
 she would ; and yet with her vexation a 
 little feeling of triumph mixed itself That 
 Vincent — selfish, worldly, mercenary (but 
 she only called it prudent) with his fault- 
 less taste, and his tremendous admiration 
 for himself — should be reduced to making 
 love to his penniless cousin, and breaking 
 all his fine resolves to leave England a free 
 man unless ten thousand a year happened 
 to fall at his feet — it was too funny really. 
 Celia was sorry, of course ; but she was not 
 altogether displeased. Imagine the feelings 
 of. Aunt Flo and Uncle Tom; could they
 
 CELIA 89 
 
 ever have suspected their iiiagniticent son 
 of such an aberration ! 
 
 It would have been better, after all, to 
 spoil the fun of the summer by letting the 
 world and Vincent know of her stupid en- 
 gagement. Must she tell him now ? No, 
 she could not. There were plenty of 
 obstacles without that. She must write 
 to him next week, or make Aunt Flo write 
 for her ; a letter might catch him at Gib- 
 raltar. But even now, in s^^ite of his 
 strange talk, she could hardly believe that 
 Vincent absolutely meant to ask her to 
 marry him. If so, it was a pity indeed 
 that the thing was impossible ; for though 
 she was not actually in love with Vincent, 
 any more than with Paul, she admired 
 Vincent more than any man she had ever 
 seen. 
 
 ' Yes, about my unselfishness, if you like
 
 90 RED TOWERS 
 
 to put it in that way,' he said. ' I want 
 you to understand that. There's nothing 
 else in the way, that I know of. Don't 
 you know what I should do if I was selfish, 
 Ceha ?' 
 
 ^ Riddles are far too much trouble,' she 
 said. ' As you are not selfish, and can't 
 do it, why should I bother myself to 
 guess ?' 
 
 ' Very true,' said Vincent. ' I should ask 
 you to marry me.' 
 
 To this Celia made no answer at all. 
 
 * You have made a conquest you see, dear,' 
 her cousin went on. ' Well, we both know 
 it is no use thinking of it. The Canon does 
 not see his wav to making me a larofer allow- 
 ance, and a man can't very easily alter his 
 tastes, or his way of living. You would 
 hate poverty just as much as I should ; in 
 fact, I could not expose you to it. Xow,
 
 CELIA 91 
 
 Celia, perhaps you understand that going 
 away is something of a grind.' 
 
 A long silence followed. The light was 
 fading fast now, and the wooded banks 
 loomed dark above the water. Vincent 
 seemed to feel that he must do something ; 
 he unshipped the sculls again, and began 
 rowing gently. He looked at Celia, sitting 
 dark and muffled in the stern ; her face was 
 turned away from him, a little towards the 
 bank, and looked very pale. 
 
 ^ Can't you say anything, Celia ?' he said 
 at last. ' Of course it is for my own misery 
 vthat I love you. I didn't mean to tell you 
 — but it could not be helped.' 
 
 ' Why did you tell me ? I don't quite 
 know,' she said. ' What do you want me to 
 say ? I can only say I am very sorry.' 
 
 ' You see what I mean, don't you ? You 
 think it is impossible ?'
 
 92 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Perfectly impossible.' She was going to 
 add — ' for more reasons than one,' but she 
 stopj)ed herself, fearing to bring on worse 
 explanations. 
 
 At the same time, Vincent's words, and 
 the tone of his voice, gave her more intense 
 pain than she had thought possible, and she 
 was angry with herself and with the pain. 
 But it only made her own voice colder and 
 harder when she spoke again. 
 
 ' I cannot imagine why you told me. What 
 could be the use of it V 
 
 ' It did seem useless,' Vincent confessed ; 
 ' but put yourself in my place, and you won'1^ 
 wonder so much. Going away for years, 
 and leaving you, and not knowing what 
 might happen ; and then the thought that 
 somebody else might turn up — of course he 
 will ; and Celia, am I going beyond the 
 truth when I say that you like me better
 
 CELIA 
 
 93 
 
 than the rest of the world ? in fact, that 
 both you and I are never so happy as when 
 we are together. You will miss me, I know, 
 though of course not so much as I shall 
 miss you.' 
 
 * Have you forgotten that I am hard, and 
 cold, and false V said Celia ; ' or that I am 
 to play tennis and enjoy myself more than 
 ever next week, when you are gone away V 
 
 *• Nonsense ! I only said all that because 
 you provoked me, and I wanted to see what 
 you would say. Now listen. We can't 
 know anything about the future, hang it ! 
 but, dear, will you be engaged to me ? and 
 some day I shall get an appointment that I 
 can marry on, or I shall leave the service 
 and go into trade, or something. Anything, 
 so that we shall belong to each other. Will 
 you, darling ?' 
 
 In spite of all Celia's common sense, for a
 
 94 RED TOWERS 
 
 minute or two she wavered terribly. It was 
 a, good thing that Vincent could not see 
 what she was thinking of, or know what a 
 thrill of pleasure his words sent through her 
 whole nature, strong and cool as it was. It 
 was a good thing, too, that they were in a 
 boat, where he could not behave unreason- 
 ably. In the few moments before she spoke 
 Celia reviewed the pros and cons in her 
 mind. This was a man she could love — but 
 he would soon cease to love her. She knew 
 him too well to deceive herself about that. 
 Poverty, discontent, repentance, to follow on 
 a little romance unnatural to both of them. 
 While Paul Romaine and Red Towers would 
 be always the same, always her own, and 
 life would be what she chose to make it. 
 
 ' I would not be so unkind to you, Vincent,' 
 she. said. ' No ; please say no more about 
 it. Your father and mother would be awfully
 
 CELIA 95 
 
 vexed, and it would be ruin to you. I am 
 not unselfish, don't think so. You are 
 rather mistaken about me — at least, you 
 were more right in what you said before. I 
 am a very cold person, I dare say. Any- 
 how, I couldn't do this. And you have 
 astonished me so utterly, that I feel sure it 
 is not my fault.' 
 
 After that the boat flew down the river 
 again, and was soon passing by old red 
 houses and gardens full of fruit-trees, and 
 then flashed with dangerous speed under the 
 railway-bridge, and over many broken re- 
 flections of the lights of the town, and then 
 under the other bridge where the boats were, 
 and up at last to the landing-place at River 
 Gate. There, in the dark, Paul was stand- 
 ing, and Celia, who had steered through the 
 last half hour in some fear of her life, caught 
 both his hands so joyfully that he was
 
 96 RED TOWERS 
 
 repaid for his waiting. She laughed and 
 talked excitedly as she walked up through 
 the garden. Paul too was in the highest 
 sjDirits ; but they did not let out their 
 secret to Vincent, who followed them silently.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CELIAS LOVER. 
 
 There was a small dinner-party at River 
 Gate that evening. It was not a very 
 happy evening to any one concerned, except, 
 perhaps, to the Canon, who liked giving 
 dinner-parties. Mrs. Percival was painfully 
 aware that her son Vincent had come back 
 from his boating in a very bad temper. At 
 first she suspected that this must be because 
 of Paul, and that the secret of the engage- 
 ment had leaked out somehow. But she 
 soon perceived that Vincent and Paul were 
 VOL. L 7
 
 98 RED TOWERS 
 
 quite as little interested in each other as 
 they had been at Easter. They were both 
 watching Celia, to be sure : Vincent silently 
 and sulkily ; Paul silently and sadly : he 
 had not yet had a chance of speaking to her 
 alone, and thought this party a real piece 
 of barbarity. He supposed they thought 
 that he was made of patience. Then his 
 meditations took the form of an admiration 
 of Celia, that grew more ecstatic every 
 moment. How wonderfully good she was ! 
 How unselfish ! how kind ! How prettily 
 she talked to the old men ! how sweetly she 
 amused the old ladies ! how amiably she 
 listened to that awful ass young Jackson, 
 the ncAV Minor Canon, and even played his 
 accompaniment while he sang a song full of 
 * Darling ' — the horrid fool ! — looking at her 
 all the time. It bored her to tears, that was 
 plain ; foi* she got up instantly, hardly wait-
 
 CELIACS LOVER 99 
 
 ing to be thanked by the hopeless idiot, whom 
 she left standing by the piano, and came 
 straight down the room, and stopped where 
 Paul was planted behind a table. It was 
 covered with some of Mrs. Percival's most 
 i:)recious curiosities, which he had been care- 
 fully examining one by one. Celia lingered 
 a moment by the table, and looked up at 
 him, smiling. He little knew what his lady- 
 love really was, or the trouble in her heart 
 just then, and he looked at her as if he cared 
 to know nothing but his own love, and pride, 
 and deliofht in her. 
 
 ' It isn't all for money,' thought the 
 strange girl, trying to explain herself a 
 little. ' He is such a dear fellow. But he 
 has stolen his eyes from some woman. His 
 mother must have been lovely.' 
 
 It seemed to her that she had forgotten 
 Paul's face in the weeks he had been away, 
 
 7—2
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 and had only remembered his other posses- 
 sions. 
 
 ' I shall be very hapj)y/ she thought, while 
 he looked at her. ' I wish this horrid worry 
 had never happened.' 
 
 ' What are you doing all alone here ?' 
 she said to him softly. ' Why don't you 
 sing, or play, or something ? Do — ^just 
 to show that poor little man what sing- 
 ing is.' 
 
 But a triumph over Mr. Jackson seemed 
 to Paul quite unnecessary. Unlike many 
 musical people, he was generous about other 
 people's music. 
 
 ' He's not so bad — except in his style of 
 songs,' he said. 
 
 ^ And I dared to play before you — -I, who 
 can't play two right notes. Poor thing, 
 hoAV you must have suffered ! Why didn't 
 you come and do it for me ?'
 
 6 
 
 CELIACS LOVER loi 
 
 ^ Next time I will, if it's Jackson,' said 
 Paul ; and Celia laughed. 
 
 ^ Do go and talk to Mrs. Archdeacon,' she 
 said, and was moving away, but he stopped 
 her. 
 
 * I have a hundred things to say. Will 
 you come out into the garden to-night, when 
 they are all gone ? There is a moon — just 
 for a few minutes,' he added quickly, for it 
 was easy to see that she did not mean to 
 say yes. 
 
 A sort of pained anxiety seemed to put 
 out the light in his face. 
 
 * Am I never to have a chance of speak- 
 ing to you ?' he said in a whisper, leaning 
 on the table, while she turned half away. 
 
 ' Oh, don't you be unreasonable,' she said, 
 with an emphasis he did not understand. 
 ' You must trust me — I thought you did.' 
 
 ^ I would trust you with my soul.'
 
 I02 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Then don't bother about the garden/ said 
 CeHa Hghtly ; but her look and smile were 
 quite reassuring, and scattered his troubles 
 at once to the wind. 
 
 After all, he did not know what they 
 were. The enofaofement was still a secret : 
 therefore Celia was of course quite right. 
 Some girls would have defied the chance of 
 being found out ; the talk of servants ; 
 possibly the prowlings of that odious Vincent. 
 His noble Ceha was too wise for that. She 
 had left him now, and was laughing with the 
 Ai'chdeacon over the cartoon in Pv.nch. 
 The light fell on her fair bright head, and 
 flashed in little sparkles on the shiny orna- 
 ments of her black dress, which made her 
 pretty arms and neck look even whiter than 
 usual. Her eyes smiled on everyone ; but 
 so unaffected and unconscious was she in her 
 happiness, that no one could have guessed
 
 CELIACS LOVER 103 
 
 she knew how desperately two men in the 
 room were in love with her. The Arch- 
 deacon certainly thought himself her chief 
 admirer, though he half suspected a rival in 
 young Jackson. That youth, evidently, was 
 not good enough for her, and he himself was 
 married. However, there w^as no harm in 
 spinning out the interest of Punch as long 
 as possible. Meanwhile, Paul, a little shamed 
 by the unselfishness of his love, left the 
 table of ohjets d'art and went to talk to 
 Mrs. Archdeacon, who received him kindly, 
 and asked questions about Switzerland. 
 
 Poor Paul ! Celia might well ask him 
 to trust her, for altogether she treated him 
 very badly that first evening of his return. 
 She wished him good-night before everybody 
 and went upstairs with her aunt. And then 
 his disappointments were not quite over, for 
 when he wandered out, in a very sentimental
 
 104 RED TOWERS 
 
 frame of mind, to the moonlit terrace under 
 her window, he found that some one was there 
 before him — Vincent, sitting in a garden- 
 chair, smoking. Considering that the night 
 was by no means a summer night, and that 
 Vincent was a shivery Indian, Paul thought 
 this the most ridiculous sight he had ever 
 seen. Perhaps Vincent suspected something, 
 and did not think the match 2rood enouo^h 
 for his cousin ; besides, it was plain enough 
 that he did not like him. Anyhow, there 
 would be no peace or freedom till Vincent 
 was gone. Paul walked quietly away, giving 
 up his hour on the terrace. But thinking 
 of the afternoon, and putting things together, 
 he began to dislike Vincent as cordially as 
 his kind nature could. 
 
 The next morninof thing-s were rather 
 better. The respectable, old-fashioned world 
 of WoolsborouQfh was waked bv its chiminsf
 
 CELIACS LOVER 105 
 
 bells to a Sunday of glorious sunshine, still, 
 serene, and veiled in s^olden mists which 
 rolled off gradually. 
 
 Paul ran down the broad old staircase at 
 River Gate ; all the doors were open, and 
 the house was full of sweet morning air, and 
 smelling of roses, though a little of autumn 
 too. 
 
 The tall dining-room windows stood open 
 on the terrace. As Paul came into the 
 room, Celia too came in from that outside 
 Paradise of soft light and flowers. She was 
 dressed in white that morning, with a knot 
 of red carnations fastened at her throat. 
 Paul's moment had come at last ; and he 
 could say : ' Now you are all my OAvn !' 
 without being interfered with or heard by 
 any one but his love herself She was not 
 demonstrative, certainly ; but he thought 
 nothing of that at the time.
 
 io6 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Why were you so cruel to me last 
 night V he said ; but then she freed the 
 hand he was holding, and pushed him gently 
 away with both of them, and would hardly 
 give him one of her red carnations, though 
 he begged for it humbly. 
 
 ' Dear, how beautiful you are !' said Paul, 
 when he had got his carnation, and had 
 become a little more reasonable, as Celia 
 called it. ' And I let you send me away 
 for the whole summer ! You will never do 
 that again.' 
 
 " Hush !' she said, for the footman was 
 coming in with a tray. She was sitting 
 now in a large chair by the window, and 
 Paul was standing opposite to her ; she had 
 refused to go out into the garden. She did 
 not herself think that she was looking at 
 all pretty that morning ; even Celia, as she 
 rashly trusted to nature to keep her beau-
 
 CELIACS LOVER 107 
 
 tiful, could not be quite proof against the 
 ravages of a bad night. But then she 
 never had a bad night : this was her first 
 experience of such a horror, except the 
 night after her father died. 
 
 ' What are you going to do to-day V 
 said Paul. ' Cathedral all day, I suppose ? 
 I shall ask old Chanter if he will let me 
 play this afternoon.' 
 
 Dr. Chanter, the Cathedral organist, a 
 genius in his way, and an autocrat, was 
 Paul's chief friend at Woolsborough. 
 
 ' Will you give up the Cathedral to-day,' 
 said Celia, when they were alone again, 
 * and do something for me V 
 
 She was looking at him anxiously ; some 
 shadow of trouble had found its way into 
 her eyes that morning, as Paul now began 
 to see. 
 
 ' What is the matter, dear ?' he asked
 
 io8 RED TOWERS 
 
 with sudden eagerness. ^ Of course ! What 
 can I do ?' 
 
 * Oh, Paul, you will think me such an 
 odd girl,' she said. ' I am goino- to treat 
 you so badly. I want you to go away to- 
 day, to go off somewhere for a long walk, 
 I mean, and not come back till the evening. 
 Will you do this to please me, without my 
 telling you why V 
 
 One need hardly say that Celia knew the 
 nature she had to do with ; she knew that 
 an appeal like this would touch its highest 
 point. A man with the makings of a poet 
 in him is of some use to other people, 
 though they may agree in calling him a 
 muff. Still, it was a hard thing to ask of 
 her young lover, who had been banished 
 from her all the summer, and had scarcely 
 yet seen or spoken to her since he came to 
 Woolsborough. Paul looked at her im-
 
 CELIACS LOVER 
 
 109 
 
 ploringly ; her eyes as they met his were 
 mysterious, and told him nothing, except 
 that she meant what she said. He made a 
 httle movement towards her ; but then the 
 Canon's dignified step was heard slowly 
 coming downstairs. 
 
 ' Do you love me, Celia ?' said Paul. ' If 
 you do, it is all right, and I will give you 
 my life itself 
 
 * Don't make conditions,' she said. ' I 
 don't want your life. There is another red 
 pink for you.' 
 
 And then the Canon came creaking in, 
 with his satisfied smile, and his half-confi- 
 dential ' Good morning, young people !' — 
 that emphasis on the 'good' was a trial to 
 some of his acquaintances, who did not quite 
 believe in the Canon. 
 
 Then came Mrs. Percival, really kind, 
 happy and smiling, and breakfast was very
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 pleasant, though Ceha had just turned Paul 
 out of Paradise. In her presence, Paul was 
 a little shy with the elder people, and she 
 herself that morning did not seem much in- 
 clined to talk ; but Vincent did not appear, 
 so that there was nothing discordant. 
 
 Afterwards Paul went off through the 
 garden, and across the ferry, without a 
 word to anyone of his intentions. 
 
 When the Cathedral bells had nearly 
 done ringing, and Canon Percival, looking 
 very handsome in his surplice and college 
 cap, had started off across the broad sun- 
 shine of the Close, Celia came down and 
 overtook her aunt at the door. Vincent had 
 not yet appeared ; but his mother had 
 seen him, and explained that he had a 
 headache. 
 
 * I felt rather angry with him last night,' 
 said Mrs. Percival. ' He kept you out too
 
 CELIACS LOVER 
 
 late on the river. It was hard on Paul. 
 He behaved like an angel though.' 
 
 * He is angelic,' said Celia quietly. ' But 
 Vincent didn't know.' 
 
 ' Xo ; very true.' As Mrs. Percival 
 said this, she determined in her own mind 
 that she would tell Vincent before he 
 went away. ' And where is Paul now ?' 
 she asked. ' Xot escaped to Dr. Chanter 
 already V 
 
 * Paul ? I can't exactly tell you where 
 he is now. He has ofone oif for a lone walk 
 somewhere.' 
 
 * Really, Celia ? How odd ! how very 
 unlike him !' 
 
 * Between ourselves, Aunt Flo,' said 
 Celia rather haughtily, and with a slight 
 effort, * it was not his own wish. I sent 
 liim.' 
 
 ' You sent him 1 Why V
 
 112 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' You are clever enough to guess my 
 reasons.' 
 
 ' You think Vincent will guess if he sees 
 too much of Paul. Well, my dear, if he 
 does, I think that would be better than 
 making a sacrifice of Paul.' 
 
 But as she spoke there spi^ang a keen 
 suspicion into Mrs. Percival's mind. Was 
 there anything underhand in Celia's affairs ? 
 Could anything possibly be going on be- 
 tween her and Vincent that the elders did 
 not know ? He certainly had come in very 
 dismal from the river, and his behaviour all 
 the evening had been singular in its rude- 
 ness. She quite believed that he knew 
 nothing of Celia's engagement ; but had 
 Celia misled him in any way on that sub- 
 ject ? iSTaturally, perhaps, Mrs. Percival 
 felt sure that her son, and not her niece, 
 must be the injured person. Women, she
 
 CELIACS LOVER 113 
 
 would have argued smilingly, can always 
 take better care of themselves than poor 
 dear men. However, as the deep shadow 
 of the Cathedral porch received herself and 
 Celia, Mrs. Percival resolved to say nothing 
 more till the evening ; and then, if things 
 led up to it, to have an explanation with 
 her son. 
 
 Meanwhile, Paul had left the city and 
 river far behind him — Cathedral, and organ, 
 and chapter, old elms in the Close, red 
 gateways, beetling old windows ; narrow 
 streets with their shutters shut, full of 
 smart shop - people in ^ Sunday garments 
 glittering gay ' ; back lanes and courts, 
 where dirty men and women crouched on 
 doorsteps, untouched by the grand religious 
 influences that for so many centuries had 
 governed the town, deaf to the meaning of 
 the bells that clanged from a dozen steeples 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 RED TOWERS 
 
 in rivalry of the deeper chime of the 
 Cathedral — the Woolsborough Sunday was 
 left behind, only its bells following the 
 truant for miles, that still autumn day, and 
 the scent of the River Gate garden going 
 with him always in Celia's red flowers. He 
 was not thinking of much besides Celia, as 
 he walked westward across meadows and 
 through the green luxuriant lanes where 
 blackberries were ripening, and leaves begin- 
 ning to be tinted with the last glories of 
 the year. He was not unhapp}^, and it 
 never occurred to him to be angry with 
 Celia, though she had sent him away from 
 her for a whole long day. He was one of 
 those people, of a dreamy disposition, who 
 can always be happy alone. The strong 
 passions and excitements of life, which they 
 share with other human beings, seldom 
 come to people like this without bringing
 
 CELIACS LOVER 115 
 
 them pain, all the sharper for their seeming 
 indifference : these sleepy natures suffer ter- 
 ribly when they are awaked, but they enjoy 
 intensely too. Still, they seem to find their 
 true happiness — perhaps content is the 
 right word — in following their own pursuits 
 quietly. And yet they are those who have 
 it in them to reach far, even to 
 
 ' The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too 
 
 hard, 
 The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the 
 sky.' 
 
 Before Paul fell in love with Celia, he 
 used to tease Canon Percival a good deal 
 about those dwellers in the back lanes of 
 Woolsborough. He wished very much to 
 talk to the Dean about ib, and to have a 
 Minor Canon sent out from the Cathedral, 
 with a few chosen choristers, to hold an 
 open-air service on the quay, at the foot of 
 
 8—2
 
 ii6 RED TOWERS 
 
 a certain steep dark street running down to 
 the river. Then he saw in his mind's eye a 
 procession headed by these choristers, in 
 which all sorts of strano^e beino-s would be 
 led gradually up the street, on across the 
 Close, into the Cathedral itself. Why was 
 that great church built, if not to gather 
 souls like these ? But Paul's arguments 
 did not commend themselves to the Canon, 
 who smiled blandly, and remembered an 
 enofao-ement. Mrs. Percival was much 
 more sympathetic, and sighed over impos- 
 sibilities. Celia, when she came, gave no 
 sympathy at all. She would not even listen 
 to such dreams, but quietly put herself in 
 place of them. 
 
 Paul walked on across country, that Sun- 
 day morning, in a sort of vague golden 
 atmosphere made of thoughts of Celia. He 
 understood pretty well that he was sent
 
 CELIA'S LOVER 117 
 
 (jut of the way of that sulky Vincent. He 
 thought it was rather a pity, and could not 
 quite see why the thing should have been 
 hidden at all. If Vincent did not like it, 
 what could that matter ? It was no aftair 
 of his. Celia was not his sister ; the fact 
 that his father and mother had been very 
 jjfood to her did not oive him a riofht to be 
 consulted. Paul's reason told him all this, 
 but he would not have expressed it to 
 Celia. He was obeying her wish, and that 
 was enough : the time of trial would soon 
 be over now. 
 
 Paul walked on through that peaceful, 
 pastoral country, never lonely, though so 
 still. The villages, which he avoided, lay 
 to right and left of him ; the deep meadows 
 were full of cattle, feeding ; the old red 
 farmsteads lay half-asleep in the sun, in the 
 middle of their loaded orchards ; and the
 
 ii8 RED TOWERS 
 
 church-bells answered each other across the 
 stretches of shining, shadowy plain. He 
 had started before ten o'clock, and two 
 hours' walkinof broug^ht him to one of the 
 most picturesque villages in the country. 
 There was nothing new to be seen there ; 
 the houses, set, as it seemed, in masses of 
 many-coloured flowers, were all built of grey 
 stone, a few whitewashed — nearly all roofed 
 with beautiful old thatch. The church and 
 churchyard were set on the side of a hill ; 
 its small wooden steeple was silent when 
 Paul got there, for service was going on. 
 The hand of restoration had touched this 
 church very gently, only helping it to bear 
 its weight of years ; for it was one of the 
 oldest, and, to some people's eyes, the most 
 beautiful, in all the country-side. Someone 
 had planted a rose by the porch, which was 
 now climbing all over the roof, mixed with
 
 CELIACS LOVER 119 
 
 the ivy it found there. The small, sloping 
 churchyard was fenced with a stone wall, 
 lovely in itself, with a yellow and green 
 embroidery of moss and fern. Two old 
 yews laid their heavy shadow on the graves, 
 especially the older ones ; out in a patch of 
 sunshine were the newer graves, with fresh 
 wreaths upon them. Behind the village, 
 above the churchyard, the country suddenly 
 chano'ed its character, breakino' into a ridsfe 
 of hills, from the highest of which — a wild 
 sheep-walk, partly clothed with bracken, 
 and crowned with fir - trees — one looked 
 down first on a very great house, in a park, 
 belonging to a certain Sir John Lefroy, and 
 then on a wide westerly view beyond, 
 bounded by blue hills that suggested Wales. 
 Paul was rather hot and tired when he 
 reached the little village. He crossed the 
 stone stile into the churchyard, and walked
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 softly on the grass to the entrance of the 
 low, dark porch. He had heard the people 
 sinofins: as he came alonof the road : thev 
 were singing still, not very musically, to 
 the groaning of an organ badly played. 
 Presently, as Paul listened, they stopped, 
 and the sermon began. Paul knew some- 
 thing of the good old Yicar of the place, 
 whose sermons matched his church excel- 
 lently well. But this morning a harsh 
 new voice startled him unpleasantly. Some 
 strange clergyman began preaching on the 
 Creeds of the Church. Their days were 
 numbered, in his opinion ; but he spoke of 
 them with a kindly air of patronage, and 
 advised his hearers — the old blacksmith, 
 the carpenter's wife, the waggoner and his 
 family — to bear with them for the present : 
 * Till you and I can make something better 
 for ourselves.'
 
 CELIACS LOVER 121 
 
 Paul, though a young Oxford man and a 
 thinker in his way, turned impatiently from 
 the church door, and was crossing the path 
 on his way to the upper stile, when a man 
 came out of the church with such hasty 
 strides that he ran against him and nearly 
 knocked him down. 
 
 ' Mille pardons, monsieur !' he exclaimed 
 in great confusion, adding thus to Paul's 
 amazement. He recovered himself instantly, 
 however. 
 
 ' It is I who must apologise,' Paul said in 
 English. ' You naturally did not expect to 
 find me there.' 
 
 * Mon Dieu, non !' 
 
 Paul was glad to find himself understood. 
 He looked at his new acquaintance with 
 some interest and curiosity, as they both 
 turned off across the grass in the same 
 direction, passing open windows, through
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 which the advanced doctrines of the 
 preacher still fell upon their ears. By 
 mutual consent they were silent till they 
 had climbed the slope to the stile beyond the 
 church, which led to a path crossing the hills. 
 The Frenchman walked on a pace or two 
 in front of Paul, w^ho remembered, as he 
 followed him, that the Lefroys were Roman 
 Catholics, and had a good many foreign 
 connections. That mioiit account for what 
 
 o 
 
 seemed at first such a strange phenomenon. 
 
 This foreigner was a good deal older than 
 Paul ; a man of forty, or rather more. He was 
 dressed in an English suit of light tweed, in 
 wdiich he looked odd, somehow. But he w^as 
 unquestionably a good-looking man ; tall and 
 broad, with a short, fair beard and fierce 
 moustache, and particularly amiable, gentle 
 blue eyes. In his younger days he had been 
 considered the handsomest man in Paris. In
 
 CELIACS LOVER 123 
 
 fact, he owed his wife to his good looks and 
 charming disposition, for he was a poor man, 
 though the head of one of the oldest and 
 noblest families in France. 
 
 When they had reached the top of the hill, 
 he turned round smiling to Paul, and began 
 to make another apology, this time in English, 
 which he spoke remarkably well. 
 
 * I am perfectly desolated and crushed by 
 my rudeness,' he said. ^ I also disturbed the 
 poor dear congregation, who were listening 
 like the best of sheep to that oversetting 
 sermon.' 
 
 * They could not understand it, I should 
 think, luckily,' said Paul. ' I came in for a 
 few sentences, which seemed to me very 
 ignorant nonsense.' 
 
 ' Well, I am glad we agree. You are 
 perhaps a Catholic, sir ?' 
 
 ' No ; not in your sense,' said Paul.
 
 24 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Well, forgive me. I shall understand in 
 time. My catastrophe to-day was a punish- 
 ment, I must tell you. Let me explain. I 
 am staying at the Hall down there — with 
 a sort of cousins, the Lefroys. But you are 
 acquainted, no doubt V 
 
 * This is not my county. I only know 
 Sir John Lefroy by name.' 
 
 ' Ah — pardon — well, yesterday evening 
 there was a party at dinner, and a very 
 charming English lady was kind enough to 
 inform me about the Church of England, 
 which she said was purely and simply another 
 branch of ours. She beo^ofed me to attend 
 the services to-day, and to judge for myself. 
 We had our own mass this morning, of 
 com'se, in my cousin's chapel. Afterwards 
 I kept my promise, and visited the village 
 church. All I will say is that I do not see 
 much resemblance.'
 
 CELIACS LOVER 125 
 
 He smiled pleasantly, and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 * But you must not judge by what you 
 heard this morning,' said Paul. ^ That gentle- 
 man is one of our new lights, I suppose. To 
 me they ai-e all rather illogical — but he is 
 worse than that.' 
 
 ' Many people will not believe in a creed 
 of his making ?' 
 
 ' I should think not — but I suppose he 
 will be satisfied if he believes in it him- 
 self 
 
 ^ And it is all like that. Then my pretty 
 friend was mocking me.' 
 
 ' No ; I don't think so,' said Paul. 
 
 It was a puzzling position to be placed in 
 suddenly, the ^Dosition of apologist for the 
 Enoflish Church. However, Paul was o-ood 
 at argument : and he had not to do with a 
 bigot or a specialist, but with an amiable,
 
 126 RED TOWERS 
 
 liberal, and perfectly courteous man. They 
 crossed the stile and slowly climbed the hill. 
 Under the fir-trees at the top they sat down, 
 and talked for a long time. Presently they 
 heard the chatter and tramp of the congrega- 
 tion comino' out of church, but no one came 
 their way ; they sat in the hot, still shade — 
 there was not even wind enouo-h to make 
 music in the branches above them — and they 
 talked on, passing from religious questions to 
 politics, and then to more personal matters, 
 till they had actually talked themselves into 
 a sort of friendship. It was, of course, the 
 Frenchman's doing ; he was the most friendly 
 and sociable of men ; and he liad taken a 
 fancy to Paul in the moment that they met 
 so strangely at the church-door. It was not 
 very wonderful. Paul was cultivated, he 
 was thoughtful and clever, he was a little 
 old-fashioned in his manners and talk, and
 
 CELIACS LOVER 127 
 
 he was not limited by any suspicion of 
 foreigners. He liked older men than himself, 
 and had preferred Colonel Ward, till now, to 
 any of his younger friends, of whom, in fact, 
 he had not many. With such men, if they 
 suited him, he was not boyish and shy, as 
 w^omen often found him ; or odd and dismal, 
 as some men thought him. Paul, at his 
 best, was a young man worth knowing, and 
 worth talking to ; but not very many people 
 were aware of this. 
 
 Before they parted, Paul had told the 
 Frenchman about his old home in Surrey ; 
 and the Frenchman had told him that he, 
 too, had an old house of his own down in 
 the west of France, but almost too ruinous 
 to be inhabited, except in the height of 
 summer. He also told Paul that his w4fe 
 had died several years ago, and that he had 
 one child, a daughter of fourteen ; but Paul's
 
 128 RED TOWERS 
 
 confidence did not go quite to this length, 
 and he said nothing^ about Ceha. 
 
 At last they were disturbed by the clang- 
 ing of a bell from the great house of the 
 park. 
 
 ' I must go/ said Paul's new friend ; ^ but 
 first, my dear sir, let us know each other s 
 names,' and he handed Paul a card on which 
 the inscription looked very splendid. ' Mis. 
 de la Tour-Montmirail.' 
 
 ^ Thank you very much,' said Paul. ' I 
 haven't got a card. My name is Romaine 
 — Paul Pomaine.' 
 
 ' That is not hard to remember,' said 
 M. de Montmirail. ' And you are staying at 
 Woolsborough ? I hope we shall meet again.' 
 
 He bowed, and then took Paul's fingers 
 for a moment, smiling : then bowed again, 
 and walked off with rather careful steps- down 
 the rough side of the hill.
 
 CELIACS LOVER 129 
 
 Paul sat where he had left him for some 
 time longer, gazing at the wide blue view, 
 thinking of the queer encounter and all they 
 had talked about. Then he suddenly found 
 out that he was ver}" hungry, and he left his 
 hill-top and went down into the village, where 
 he got some bread and cheese at the little 
 inn, before startinof off bv a lono- roundabout 
 way back to Woolsborough. If he did not 
 reaj^pear before six o'clock, he supposed Celia 
 would be satisfied. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VINCENT. 
 
 Paul's little world at River Gate had not 
 been very peaceful while he was away. He 
 had the best of it, out in the quiet country, 
 with the easy and agreeable companionship 
 of M. de Montmirail, and the silent friendli- 
 ness of cows, sheep, and butterflies. Of the 
 people he had left behind, not any were 
 without their own causes of disquietude, 
 except perhaps the Canon, who was a very 
 happy man. 
 
 • Vincent was in a terrible temper that 
 Sunday afternoon. He visited his private
 
 VINCENT 131 
 
 griefs on his mother and the servants, finding 
 out that his packing for India had been 
 entirely neglected, though, in fact, her head 
 and their hands had been busy with it for a 
 week past. He tormented everyone fright- 
 fully for about two hours that hot afternoon 
 — everyone but Celia, who kept prudently 
 out of the way. At last, Mrs. Percival 
 began to see that he was growing more calm, 
 and beginning to beheve her assurances that 
 everything had been thought of She could 
 not exactly be angry with Vincent, when he 
 was going to leave her the next day, pro- 
 bably for years ; but his selfish, inconsiderate, 
 ungrateful complaints and grumbling, his 
 exigence beyond all limits, were almost too 
 much for her generally charming temper, 
 and she was looking quite pale and tired 
 when she escaped at last into her shady 
 sitting-room, sank into a low chair, and took 
 
 9—2
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 up a fan. Hers, however, was one of those 
 natures which rebounds instantly, and sees 
 the bright side of things in spite of itself 
 Of course she loved her son, and his going 
 away was a serious trouble to her ; but, at 
 the same time, she was conscious that his 
 departure meant peace. Perhaps, after all, 
 he would be ordered home before so very 
 long ; and in the meantime Celia's affairs 
 would be happily and irrevocably settled ; 
 there would be no more anxiety on that 
 account. But Mrs. Percival decided, as she 
 fanned herself, that she really could not tell 
 Vincent of Celia's eno'ao;'ement to-dav. Celia 
 must be left to manage her own affairs ; and, 
 beinof now harder-hearted than in the morn- 
 ing, Mrs. Percival reflected that Vincent 
 was perfectly able to take care of himself 
 The Canon was right ; neither of the?e 
 young people was a fool. As Mrs. Percival
 
 VINCENT 133 
 
 comforted herself thus, the door was opened 
 impatiently and Vincent came in. Her little 
 room, and especially her very comfortable 
 sofa, was a favom'ite refuge of his on these 
 summer afternoons ; it looked over trees and 
 down the river, away from the Cathedral, 
 which Vincent did not care to contemplate, 
 and away from its chimes, which he hated to 
 hear. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Mrs. Percival, when her 
 son came in, and flung himself as usual on 
 the sofa. ' I see you have a horrid head- 
 ache still. So have I. You had better ofo 
 to sleep for an hour, my dear.' 
 
 Vincent made no reply at once. Pre- 
 sently he said : ' Mother, I have something 
 on my mind.' 
 
 ' I hoped it was all off your mind by this 
 time,' said Mrs. Percival. ' Something else 
 forgotten ?'
 
 134 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' No, no, mother ! don't go on plaguing 
 about that. It is something you will have 
 to do for me while I am away.' 
 
 ' Oh certainly, dear Vinny ! What is it ?' 
 
 * Take care of Celia.' 
 
 To say that these words startled Mrs. 
 Percival would be speaking very mildly. 
 They literally took her breath away. She 
 gasped, and her j)ale face became crimson. 
 Vincent, staring out of the window, was not 
 instantly aware of her consternation ; but her 
 silence made him look at her. 
 
 ^ What's the matter ?' he asked, with 
 something like a smile. * I say, what the 
 deuce have I said V 
 
 ' Take care of Celia !' Mrs. Percival re- 
 peated, in a stifled, horrified whisper. 
 
 * You think I ought to make a better 
 match — is that it ?' he said coolly. ^ I 
 think I am old enough to judge for myself.
 
 VINCENT 135 
 
 Anyhow, I mean to marry Celia. Not just 
 yet, of course. But I have friends out 
 there who can get me a staff appointment, 
 if they exert themselves ; and then, if I 
 can't get leave, she can come out to me. 
 Many girls do the same ; it's nothing. As 
 for being poor, of course we shall be poor. 
 You are surprised, of course ; you did not 
 expect it. I am rather surprised at myself 
 But there are times in a man's life when 
 the only thing to say is, " Prudence be 
 hanged !" and this is one of them, my dear 
 mother, you see.' 
 
 * Vincent, I don't know^ what to say to 
 you r exclaimed Mrs. Percival. ' How 
 
 could you What a dreadful, dreadful 
 
 thing !' 
 
 Her son stared at her now in some astonish- 
 ment ; he had not expected that his announce- 
 ment would be so terribly hard to swallow.
 
 36 RED TOWERS 
 
 She started up from her chair, and walked 
 away from him to the farthest window, 
 swinging her fan backwards and forwards 
 violently, while the sudden colour fled from 
 her face, leaving her painfully pale. 
 
 * Would anyone believe that a woman 
 could be so worldly !' said Vincent in a voice 
 of extreme irritation. ^ Your niece is left 
 without a penny ; you have her to live with 
 you. A pretty girl ; more than that — one 
 of the most beautiful girls in England, and 
 the most taking. You make use of her from 
 morning till night. Your own daughter, if 
 you had one, would not be half such a slave. 
 She tires herself to death doing your flowers 
 and things, and works like a horse enter- 
 taining people at your stupid parties. And 
 after all that, because I happen to appreciate 
 her, you speak to me as if I had committed 
 a crime. " A dreadful, dreadful thing !"
 
 VINCENT 137 
 
 '' How could I " — how could I do anything 
 else, I wonder ? Upon my word, I don't 
 understand you. The way you take it is 
 extraordinary.' 
 
 Great are the inconsistencies of human 
 nature. This same man, twenty-four hours 
 before, would have said it was impossible he 
 should marry his cousin ; would have hardly 
 confessed, then, that he was very much in 
 love with her. Strange inconsistency, and 
 strange effect of a little opposition ! 
 
 During these disagreeable remarks of 
 Vincent's, Mrs. Percival stood at the window 
 and collected her wits. She realized that 
 the person to be blamed was not Vincent, 
 but Celia, who must have deceived him for 
 her own amusement in some unaccountable 
 way. It must have been merely for amuse- 
 ment ; she could not think of jilting Paul. 
 Vincent, poor thing, might be carried away
 
 J 38 RED TOWERS 
 
 by his feelings. A girl like Celia, never ; 
 at least, Mrs. Percival could hardly believe it. 
 
 ' Does Celia know V she said, without 
 looking round. 
 
 ' I told her yesterday,' Vincent answered. 
 ' She would not listen. I suppose she thought 
 it wouldn't do : girls don't understand. But 
 she will find I am not to be put off like that. 
 As to saying anything more to her now, I am 
 not sure. I shall write to her. In the mean- 
 while, you have got to see that nobody else 
 carries her off. Her having no money is a 
 protection, of course : men in these days 
 don't run after poor girls, however pretty 
 they may be.' 
 
 Vincent's way of talking was characteristic 
 of him, and did not surprise his mother much, 
 though perhaps it struck her more painfully 
 than ever before. However, she was at pre- 
 sent possessed by one thought ; this affair
 
 VINCENT 139 
 
 must be cleared up ; whether Ceha wished 
 it or not, Vincent must know all, and under- 
 stand plainly that there was no hope for him. 
 No wonder Celia had seemed a little dis- 
 traite that morning ; no wonder she had sent 
 Paul away for the day. 
 
 Mrs. Percival turned away from the 
 window, came back to her chair, and sat 
 down. Her face was full of trouble ; she 
 played with her fan, and did not look at 
 Vincent, who watched her with a curious, 
 sardonic expression. 
 
 * I am to understand, then, Vincent,' she 
 said, ' that Celia has refused you V 
 
 ' Something of the kind,' he said. ' It 
 was impossible ; she couldn't ; and so forth. 
 You have brought her up to be as prudent 
 as yourself.' 
 
 ' You need not say that. Besides, Celia has 
 only lived with me for a few months, as you
 
 I40 RED TOWERS 
 
 know. She gave you no reason — no real 
 reason, I mean V 
 
 ' No. I believe she said what she thought 
 she ought to say. You would object ; it 
 would be ruin to me, and the rest of it. All 
 that is my affair, as I shall make her under- 
 stand. She will say ^' yes " in the end.' 
 
 ' I think not, Vincent.' 
 
 * Why ?' he said angrily. 
 
 * She ought to have told you herself ; it is 
 no use telling half the truth. She was right 
 so far, you know. Your father and I must 
 have objected strongly to such an absurd 
 marriage for you. It would not have been 
 for Celia's happiness either ; and I am bound 
 to think of that.' 
 
 * You had better leave that to us, mother. 
 What do you mean, though V 
 
 ' Celia is the kind of girl who ought to 
 marry a rich man. You may believe me,
 
 VINCENT 141 
 
 Vincent, when she refused you, she meant 
 
 it; 
 
 ' And where is the rich man to come 
 from V he said, frowning. ' Upon my word, 
 you talk in plainer English than most people. 
 Celia a girl to refuse a man because he 
 is poor ! Why you should attribute such 
 motives to your niece I cannot conceive,' 
 said this suddenly unworldly hero. ' She 
 refused me because she thought it was her 
 duty. You can't understand her ; she is a 
 far finer girl than you think. Let me tell 
 you she likes me too much to refuse me for 
 any other reason.' 
 
 ^ I tell you, Vincent,' said his mother, 
 looking at him now", and speaking quite 
 solemnly, ^ Celia refused you because she 
 means to marry a rich man. And she 
 ought to have told you the whole truth 
 about it.'
 
 142 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Nonsense ! How could she tell me such 
 a thing as that ? You are losing your senses. 
 Besides, it's a lie !' 
 
 Mrs. Percival flushed a little, but answered 
 him very quietly : 
 
 ' I have no doubt you made it difficult for 
 her. Now prepare yourself, for I must tell 
 you what you will think bad news. Celia is 
 engaged. Now you know the truth about it.' 
 
 ' To a rich man V asked Vincent, with 
 sneering coolness, though his eyes flashed 
 and a curious white look came into his face. 
 
 ' Yes, to a rich man. No one knows of 
 the engagement except your father and my- 
 self Unless you insist, perhaps I need not 
 tell you who it is. He does not belong to 
 this neighbourhood.' 
 
 ' Youno- Romaine, for instance V said Vin- 
 cent ; and he yawned. 
 
 ' Why do you think so ? Yes, it is Paul
 
 VINCENT 143 
 
 Romaine. And I think Celia is a fortunate 
 
 girl.' 
 
 * How loner has this been of-oinof on V 
 
 * Since he left Oxford in June. He was 
 here for a few days then ; you were away.' 
 
 * And what excellent object was gained by 
 not telling me V 
 
 ' I don't know, Vincent, really,' his mother 
 said, after a moment's hesitation. ' Celia 
 wished most particularly that no one should 
 know. We wanted to have a quiet, comfort- 
 able summer. He being so young, there was 
 no hurry, and he was going abroad for some 
 weeks — he has only just come back, you 
 know. Your father and I agreed with Celia : 
 we were glad to say nothing. I meant to 
 tell you about it in my first letter this week. 
 Of course, when we leave Woolsborough and 
 go to Holm, it won't matter ; everybody 
 must know soon. And if I could have fore-
 
 144 RED TOWERS 
 
 seen such a complication as this — well, I have 
 had my fears — but your father and I both 
 thought that you and Celia were too sensible 
 for any nonsense, and we knew you did not 
 particularly like Paul ; and we thought it 
 
 would be pleasanter ' 
 
 Vincent threw himself back on the sofa, 
 and burst into a loud fit of laughter. His 
 mother, it must be confessed, felt more in- 
 clined to cry. In the course of her easy, 
 luxurious life, she had hardly ever met with 
 anything so disagreeable. 
 
 * Miss Celia — well, she is a clever girl !' 
 Vincent exclaimed at last. 
 
 * If she has encouraged you — if she has 
 flirted with you, she has behaved shamefully,' 
 said Mrs. Percival. * My dear, believe me, 
 I am most dreadfully sorry that this has 
 happened.' 
 
 ' So am I. You have made me look like
 
 VINCENT 
 
 145 
 
 an uncommon fool. But you need not blame 
 Celia ; she snubbed me as much as she could, 
 and made me very angry.' 
 
 He was quiet enough now : he even 
 seemed, for some mysterious reason, to be 
 in a better temper than before he heard the 
 news which made his case hopeless. Mrs. 
 Percival saw that the awful scene of ravings 
 and reproaches, which she had feared, was 
 not to take place after all ; she felt comforted 
 accordingly. 
 
 ' I do hope you will forgive us, Vincent 
 dear,' she said. * You know what a trouble 
 this is to me ; and I feel that we have all 
 treated you so badly. One tries to act for 
 the best, and then this sort of thing happens. 
 I think Celia must be very sorry, too. I am 
 sure she is — she likes you so much, and you 
 have been so happy together all this time. 
 Can't you understand a little, dear, that we 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 RED TOWERS 
 
 didn't wish to interfere with such a nice 
 cheerful summer ? But now I do hope you 
 will go away and forget all about it. I 
 assure you Celia was not quite the right 
 sort of girl for you — to marry, I mean — 
 never could have been. She is very dear 
 and nice, and all that ; but there is not very 
 much in her. If either of you had had 
 enough money — even then I should have 
 been sorry — I couldn't have approved. First 
 cousins, too — such a pity !' 
 
 As Mrs. Percival gently chattered thus, 
 she was looking her sweetest ; the trouble 
 had gone out of her eyes, and they were 
 smiling and shining as usual ; her pretty 
 hands caressed her fan. One of the little 
 doofs came scratchino- at the door before she 
 had quite done ; she got up and let him in, 
 talking all the time. She had had a bad 
 quarter of an hour, certainly ; but, like a
 
 VINCENT 147 
 
 certain King of old, she seemed to think that 
 its bitterness was j^ast. 
 
 ' And you are going to marry CeUa to 
 that boy ! CeHa !' Vincent muttered half 
 to himself, without taking any notice of her 
 explanations. ' That is what you call a rich 
 man ! And you think those two suited to 
 each other, do you V 
 
 * He is a rich man, and a very dear 
 fellow,' said Mrs. Percival rather faintly. 
 
 ' A muff and a milksop, with his head 
 wrapped up in books and organs. However, 
 if you are pleased — and Celia ' 
 
 He got up and marched out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Percival drew a long breath, fanned 
 herself, and stroked her little dog. 
 
 ' Oh, my Toto !' she said. ' Why are not 
 men as nice as little doo^s ?' 
 
 o 
 
 There was only one answer possible, which 
 Toto gave with many wags of fun and 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 RED TOWERS 
 
 affection — because little dogs are made so 
 much nicer than men. 
 
 When Captain Percival left his mother, 
 he Avent heavily downstairs and out into the 
 garden, feeling himself a terribly injured 
 man. This concealment of a fact that touched 
 him so nearly might be apologized for ; it 
 could hardly be forgiven. They had all 
 behaved to him abominabl}^. If he had 
 been a gossiping girl, they could not have 
 treated him with more insulting distrust. 
 Early in the summer, when this was arranged, 
 he would not have cared a straw who Celia 
 married : now it was a different thino\ 
 Celia herself must have known perfectly well 
 that he was falling in love with her ; her 
 behaviour had been heartless, especially 
 yesterday, when she laughed at him, and drew 
 hiin on — yes, she certainly drew him on, 
 only to laugh at him. He would not confess
 
 VINCENT 149 
 
 it to his mother, but Ceha's behaviour had 
 made him very sore. He had been ready 
 to give up everything for her. She, with 
 her affairs comfortably arranged, must indeed 
 have laughed at him for a fool. She unselfish ! 
 no, truly. ' Anyhow I couldn't do this,' she 
 said ; no, for a very good reason — ' I am 
 going to do something I like better.' And 
 that maddening smile in her eyes all the 
 time. 
 
 Vincent paced up and down the garden, 
 thinking at first that he would go to London 
 that night, and see none of them again. 
 People who had treated him so odiously were 
 not worth a regret. His father, too ; but 
 he did not waste many thoughts on him, not 
 having much esteem for his father. His 
 mother and Celia were the people he wanted 
 to punish. After all, starting off at once 
 would be uncomfortable to himself, and would
 
 ISO RED TOWERS 
 
 do them no harm ; they might even be glad 
 to get rid of him. Wandering along, his 
 angry face bent towards the ground, he had 
 reached one of the lower walks of the garden, 
 a grass walk, backed by a tall hedge of 
 laurustinus, bordered with a bright confusion 
 of flowers, and looking straight over the old 
 wall to the river, the meadows, the soft 
 distant view of that country through which 
 Paul was now returning. And at the end 
 of this walk there was a summer-house, 
 fenced in by roses ; and in the shadow, as 
 he came near, Vincent caught sight of a 
 figure in a white dress, sitting. He had 
 been arranofinof with himself, a moment 
 before, that he would treat Celia with the 
 coldest contempt, and hardly even speak to 
 her, except to say good-bye. But this re- 
 solution had been made when Celia was 
 nowhere near ; and now another moment
 
 VINCENT 15 
 
 brought him to the summer-house. She got 
 up, looking pale in the trembling shadows, 
 and her eyes were anxious, though she 
 smiled. 
 
 ' Is the packing all done V she said. ' Does 
 Aunt Flo want me V 
 
 ' No, she doesn't want you,' said Vincent ; 
 ' but I do. Don't be frio^htened. I only 
 wish to offer you my — congratulations, I 
 suppose, on your brilliant prospects.' 
 
 Celia looked at him ; she w^as not smiling 
 now. His look and tone of bitter coldness 
 and anger roused some defiance to meet it. 
 She coloured, drew herself up, and waited 
 silently. 
 
 ^ I have only just been told what I should 
 have known all the summer,' Vincent went 
 on. ^ I consider that I have been abomin- 
 ably treated. I have been cheated and de- 
 ceived. My mother know^s what I think.
 
 152 RED TOWERS 
 
 and I shall not forgive her or my father. 
 As to you ' — and his voice suddenly changed 
 — ' CeHa ! Celia I' 
 
 It was a cry of real passion, and Celia 
 was frightened ; not so much perhaps at him, 
 as at the sudden and overpowering wave of 
 feeling in herself which answered it. What 
 was to happen, indeed, if she could not hold 
 her own now ! 
 
 Vincent came a step nearer, and took both 
 her hands, looking down into her eyes and 
 speaking in a low voice, terrible to her from 
 its very restraint. She bit her lips and 
 stood before him like a statue. 
 
 ' Has my mother told me the truth V he 
 said. ' Is it true that you are engaged to 
 young Romaine ? Why did not you teU me 
 yesterday, or weeks ago ? Why did you 
 make me love you, only to end like this ? 
 Answer me, Celia.'
 
 VINCENT 153 
 
 ' Because — if you were nice like other 
 people,' murmured Celia in desperation, 
 ' one wouldn't be afraid to tell you things. 
 As to making you — you know that is false. 
 I have done nothing of the kind. When 
 you said those things yesterday I w^as dread- 
 fully sorry ; but I did not bring it on myself, 
 you know I did not. Let me go, please. 
 Yes, I am eno^aor'ed. Let me ofo.' He 
 dropped her hands, but still stood in the 
 door of the summer-house, so that she could 
 not pass. 
 
 ' Why did not you tell me yesterday, in 
 the boat ?' he said. ' Why were you afraid ^ 
 What could I have done ?' 
 
 ' You might have upset the boat,' she 
 answered, with a faint smile. ' You said 
 you would, once.' 
 
 * A witch like you could not have been 
 drowned.'
 
 154 \I^ED TOWERS 
 
 ' A baby could — and you were not sure 
 which I was, yesterday.' 
 
 She was glad, for a moment, of this return 
 to the old terms of chaffing and nonsense, 
 that seemed natural between them. But, 
 after all, an angry distance would have been 
 better. The ano^er was fadinsf out of his 
 face, but it was not succeeded by indifference. 
 
 * Celia, you are an awful girl,' he said. 
 ' You break one's heart, and won't let one 
 be angry with you. What nonsense it is, 
 this engagement ! My mother made it up, 
 of course. You can't marry a fellow like 
 that — you. Break it ofif, Celia — dear — for 
 my sake — and come out to me as soon as I 
 can send for you — or marry me to-morrow 
 morning, if you will. I felt sure, don't you 
 see, that you would not say no, and I began 
 telling mother my plans just now, and she 
 crushed me with this horrible news. I dare
 
 VINCENT 155 
 
 say it drove me mad, at first, and I did not 
 know what I w^as saying. If I have spoken 
 to you Hke a brute, forgive me — CeUa !' 
 
 If Vincent could have known how^ Celia 
 was fighting against herself at that moment, 
 and how joyfully half of her would have 
 given itself to him, his victory would not 
 have been doubtful for two minutes longer. 
 But he did not know, and thought her cold- 
 ness greater than it really was ; and so he 
 went on talkingf with a doubt of his success, 
 which every moment became more unlikely. 
 If Celia had time to think, the prudent and 
 the practical were sure to gain the day. 
 And then, long before his hopeless pleading- 
 was finished, came Mrs. Percival's voice 
 calling over the garden — ' Celia, Celia !' — 
 and his cousin turned to him, her eyes 
 wonderful in their depth of smiling blue, and 
 said :
 
 156 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Some day you will know it is all for the 
 best. Look here : cousins have a right to 
 be very fond of each other, and I shall always 
 be very fond of you.' 
 
 Vincent laughed. 
 
 ' Cold comfort, my dear,' he said. ' Fond 
 or not, I have been horribly treated. Celia 
 — I think vou mioiit kiss me — once, to make 
 up for it all.' 
 
 ' Aunt Flo is coming,' Celia said ; but she 
 did not think it necessary to carry her 
 snubbing any further : poor Vincent was 
 quite tame now, and was going away to- 
 morrow. 
 
 They strolled up the garden together ; 
 and when Mrs. Percival met them, though 
 Vincent was melancholy, Celia was laughing. 
 Mrs. Percival looked at her niece with 
 admiration and wonder.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ILLUMINATIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Percival generally had a tea-party on 
 Sunday afternoon. People had a way of 
 driving in from the country to the far-famed 
 eveninof service at Woolsborouofh Cathedral, 
 and River Gate was a very agreeable refuge 
 on these occasions ; Canon Percival was 
 always hospitable and gracious, his wife was 
 always charming. Towards half-past six a 
 large party used to stream across the Close 
 from River Gate to the Cathedral, with a 
 certainty of finding good places ; for the head
 
 158 RED TOWERS 
 
 verger, the greatest man in Woolsborough, 
 was Mrs. Percival's slave. 
 
 On Vincent's last Sunday, only one party 
 of people came in to tea. They were enter- 
 tained by the Canon, Mrs. Percival, and 
 Celia, as pleasantly as usual ; but they were 
 not interesting people, and they went away 
 early, having brought some visitors of their 
 own with them, to whom they wished to 
 show the Cathedral. 
 
 ' They wanted you to go with them. Uncle 
 Tom,' said Celia, looking up with some mis- 
 chief in her eyes. 
 
 ' They must excuse me, Celia,' said the 
 Canon. ' I cannot act showman for ever, 
 you see ; and these good people — you will 
 agree with me that they are a little dull, and 
 that half an hour of them is enough. Some 
 of these excellent country clergy don't quite 
 realize that the Canon of a cathedral, and
 
 ILLUMINATIONS 159 
 
 the rector of a large town j^arish, like me, 
 has a good deal to occupy his time, without 
 the self-imposed duty of giving lectures to 
 ladies on architecture. Of course, if people 
 are really intelligent, really artistic, it is a 
 different thing ; they are w^orth a little 
 sacrifice.' 
 
 Or really rich, really great, really worth 
 cultivating in any way, an ill-natured person 
 mio-ht have added : but there was not (jne 
 present, fortunately. 
 
 ^ No more tea, thank you, my dear,' said 
 the Canon. ' I hope you are going to make 
 a disturbance about this tea ; there is cer- 
 tainly something wrong in the flavour. Celia, 
 you are looking brilliant. And where is 
 poor Vincent ? I must have a talk with 
 my son before I lose him.' 
 
 * I think he escaped into the library,' said 
 Mrs. Percival.
 
 i6o RED TOWERS 
 
 ' There I shall find him, probably,' said 
 the Canon, and he walked away. Not find- 
 ing Vincent in the library, he did not search 
 any further, but sat down in his favourite 
 chair and fell peacefully asleep. 
 
 The aunt and niece, left together in the 
 drawing-room, were silent for a minute or 
 two. Each of them hardly knew whether 
 she ought to be angry with the other ; both 
 of them, being very sweet-tempered, were 
 unwilling to find this necessary. Those good 
 people from the country had arrived almost 
 directly after Mrs. Percival met the two 
 young people in the garden, so that there 
 had been no time yet for any explanation. 
 
 ' Paul ouofht to be in soon,' said Mrs. 
 Percival, having given her little dogs their 
 bits of sugar and saucers of cream. ^ How 
 about Paul, Celia ? Do you know that I 
 have been very much startled to-day ?'
 
 ILLUMINATIONS i6i 
 
 ' I hope you have heard nothing about me 
 to vex you, Aunt Flo/ said Ceha meekly ; 
 her tone now was very different from what 
 it had been in the morning. 
 
 ^ Most likely you know already what I 
 have heard.' Mrs. Percival went on talking, 
 moving slowly about the room all the time, 
 while Celia sat still with her hands folded, 
 looking curiously grave and sweet : ^ Of 
 course Vincent went out to you, after he had 
 been talking to me. Yes, I know all about 
 it, Celia ; and I am only very, very sorry 
 that Vincent was not told from the first. 
 He said he ought to have been told, and he 
 was quite right. If he had known from the 
 beginning, this would not have come into 
 his head at all — peo23le don't set their 
 hearts on impossibilities. I am very 
 sorry for the whole affair, and only glad 
 that — that it is impossible, in fact — for 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 1 62 RED TOWERS 
 
 your uncle and I could never have con- 
 sented.' 
 
 ^ No ; I told him so ; of course I am not 
 good enough,' murmured Celia with a slight 
 smile. 
 
 ' You told him this and that,' said Mrs. 
 Percival ; ' but, unfortunately, you did not 
 tell him the whole truth at once, which cost 
 me a trying scene this afternoon. As to 
 your not being good enough, my dear, there 
 is no occasion to say foolish things. You 
 know perfectly well what I mean. But why 
 did not you tell Vincent of your engagement, 
 yesterday ?' 
 
 ' I could not. I told him what ought to 
 have been quite enough.' 
 
 ' Was he reasonable this afternoon ? Not 
 too angry, I mean ?' 
 
 • * Not too angry,' Celia answered. ^ We 
 are very good friends now.'
 
 ILL UMINA TIONS 163 
 
 ' He has been rather spoilt/ sighed his 
 mother. ' You have spoilt him a little this 
 summer, Celia, like the rest of us.' 
 
 * One couldn't help it.' 
 
 ' Xo, one couldn't help it. With all his 
 naughty ways and his tem^^er, there is some- 
 thing so splendid about Vincent. Still I am 
 afraid, Celia — don't you think you might 
 have been more careful ?' 
 
 ' I don't know, Aunt Flo. As you say, 
 one does not trouble much about thinofs that 
 
 o 
 
 are impossible. How could I ever guess 
 that Vincent would take it into his head to 
 care for a beofSfar-ofirl like me ? I neithei- 
 expected nor wished it. I could not have 
 been stiff with him ; and you would not have 
 wished that. We have had a very jolly 
 summer,' she said, with something like a 
 sigh, ' and I don't think it is quite my fault 
 if it has ended in a thunderstorm.' 
 
 11 — 2
 
 1 64 RED TOWERS 
 
 Mrs. Percival glanced at her niece across 
 the room. The Canon, as usual, had chosen 
 a wrong moment for paying Celia a compli- 
 ment on her brilliant looks. Celia was tired, 
 worn, and pale ; she had not recovered from 
 her bad night ; and the second scene with 
 Vincent had been a good deal more exciting 
 than the first. Mrs. Percival w^as capable 
 enouofh of blindness when she did not wish 
 to see ; but no one, knowing Celia inti- 
 mately, could look at her now without see- 
 ing that she had gone through some straining 
 experience. 
 
 ' I am sorry, Celia,' Mrs. Percival began 
 in a low voice. 
 
 ^ Not for me, I suppose,' said the girl 
 lightly. ' Here is Paul' 
 
 At the same moment Paul came into the 
 room. Mrs. Percival was startled, for she 
 had not heard his step. Celia went forward
 
 ILL UMINA TIONS 1 65 
 
 to meet him with her sweetest smile ; poured 
 out tea for him, asked him about his walk, 
 made him altogether perfectly welcome. 
 
 Paul's face was radiant in this sunshine, 
 of which he had not yet enjoyed much. This 
 was a very different thing from arriving all 
 alone, twenty-four hours before, with no Celia 
 to receive him. Mrs. Percival's amiabilities 
 had been no compensation, and her charming 
 drawino^-room had been a desert. Xow it 
 was Eden once more ; and Paul drank his 
 tea in grateful peace. It did not occur to 
 him to find fault with the flavour. 
 
 Mrs. Percival walked out on the terrace 
 for a few minutes, leaving Celia and Paul 
 together. She was half conscious of being 
 a little angry with Celia, whose last words 
 to her, ' Xot for me, I suppose,' had in 
 them, somehow, something of the nature of 
 a slap.
 
 1 66 RED TOWERS 
 
 All very fine : but had not Celia herself 
 confessed, long ago, that she was not in love 
 with Paul ? Of course she was not ; any- 
 one could see that. Paul would see it him- 
 self, if he was not ignorant and blind. 
 Supposing that their worldly advantages 
 were equal, who could compare the two men, 
 Vincent and Paul ? One was a dear, nice, 
 clever boy ; the other, when he chose, was 
 a singularly attractive man. Of course, he 
 could not have married Celia ; and if he had 
 been rich, he would never have thought of 
 it. But Mrs. Percival felt in her heart that 
 Celia was very much to be pitied, and refused 
 to believe that Vincent's offer had roused no 
 reofret in her at all. 
 
 It was the old story of sour grapes ; but 
 Celia was indeed foolish if she thought any 
 •amount of clever acting would deceive her. 
 Mrs. Percival had not the smallest wish to
 
 ILL UMINA TIONS 1 6 7 
 
 alter the course of things ; and perhaps she 
 knew in her heart that she was a goose ; 
 but that Ceha should bring forward a touch 
 of pride, and pretend to be a little con- 
 temptuous, instead of flattered, at her con- 
 quest of Vincent — this was ^ most tolerable, 
 and not to be endured.' Neither could the 
 sincerity of such feehngs be for one moment 
 believed in. Mrs. Percival carried with her, 
 from that time, a secret conviction of Ceha's 
 deep disappointment ; and for this reason 
 she was not very much surprised at anything 
 that happened afterwards. In truth, one 
 must suppose she never really forgave Celia 
 for attracting her son, or for pretending not 
 to value the impossible prize that was offered 
 to her. 
 
 In the drawing-room, Paul was giving 
 Celia a history of his walk, the ancient 
 church, the modern sermon, his French
 
 i68 RED TOWERS 
 
 friend so strangely met, and the interesting 
 talk they had had together. It was im- 
 possible to find fault with the way that Celia 
 listened, and her remarks were just what 
 they ought to be. It was not till long 
 afterwards that Paul realised how little he 
 or his doings had ever been to her. She 
 smiled with interest and amusement as she 
 looked at the Frenchman's card, which he 
 pulled out of his pocket. 
 
 ' But how magnificent !' she said. ' Really, 
 it was quite a romantic adventure. I hear 
 the Lefroys often have all sorts of foreigners 
 staying with them. Most people think 
 them dreadful. I am not sure that I don't, 
 Paul, if you will forgive me ; you know I 
 am a thorough Englishwoman.' 
 
 ' You wouldn't think my man dreadful,' 
 said Paul. ' I wish you could see him. 
 But there is something else I want to tell
 
 ILLUMINATIONS 169 
 
 you. As I came home just now, I saw an 
 illumination.' 
 
 ' Really ?' said Celia. ' Yes ; how de- 
 lightful !' 
 
 At that moment she was listening to 
 something beyond Paul, and she looked up 
 quickly at the window. She had heard a 
 step that snatched her thoughts away — 
 Vincent's step ; he had joined his mother on 
 the terrace, and they were now strolling up 
 and down together. It seemed as if Vincent 
 had forgiven his mother her sins against him, 
 considering the parting that was so very near. 
 
 * It was a regular illumination,' Paul went 
 on ; her goodness made him so happy that 
 he did not notice the sudden distraction. ' I 
 wished you were there. I was coming down 
 the hill towards the bridge, you know — 
 trees in front, and then the river, and then 
 all Woolsborough on the other bank, stretched
 
 170 RED TOWERS 
 
 along and sloping up in that pretty way it 
 does, with the Cathedral in the middle of it. 
 Everything perfectly clear, and all the houses 
 the deepest red. The sun was right behind 
 me, shining across, don't you see ! And the 
 west windows of the Cathedral and all the 
 houses along the river were lit up with a 
 perfect glory of light ; they shone gold, 
 dazzling, especially the Cathedral. I'll tell 
 you,' said Paul, a little oddly and wistfully, 
 for he was not fond of making his fancies 
 the property of others — ' it was just as if 
 angels were holding a festival inside the 
 Cathedral. It couldn't have been lit up so 
 gloriously for anything else.' 
 
 Then Paul came suddenly down to earth, 
 was seized with a sort of shame and shyness, 
 not caused, certainly, by Celia's gentle listen- 
 ing, made a dash at the cake, and begged 
 her pardon for being so hungry.
 
 ILLUMINATIONS 171 
 
 ^ And are you very tired V she said, ' or 
 will you come to the Cathedral with me to- 
 night ? Don't be led away by Dr. Chanter ; 
 I want you to take care of me.' 
 
 * Then that was what the illumination 
 meant,' said Paul. 
 
 Celia laughed. She got up, and as she 
 walked away from the tea-table, lingered a 
 moment and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 He was starting up, but Celia's fingers were 
 very strong, and seemed to keep him where 
 he was. The people on the terrace had 
 wandered away out of sight for the present. 
 
 ' Be still,' said Celia. ' I wanted to tell 
 you — Vincent knows. My aunt thought 
 she had better tell him.' 
 
 ' I'm awfully glad to hear it,' said Paul. 
 ' I hate a secret. Thank you ; that is good 
 news. And — I'm afraid he thinks you are 
 throwing yourself away — doesn't he, dear ?'
 
 172 RED TOWERS 
 
 * I don't exactly know what he said to 
 her,' answered Ceha, with a dreamy smile. 
 ' He congratulated me. But he is rather 
 cross at not having been told before.' 
 
 ' I don't w^onder at that, you know,' said 
 Paul ; and he got up in spite of the gentle 
 restraint, took her hand from his shoulder 
 and kissed it, and laid it back there again as 
 he stood before her. ' Sometimes I can't 
 believe it,' he said. ' It is too wonderful to 
 be true, and I shall never deserve it, if I 
 live as long as Methuselah.' 
 
 ' Yes, you will,' she said, ' if you are as 
 good as you were to-day.' 
 
 ^ How w^as I good to-day ?' 
 
 ' In going away for all those hours, because 
 I asked you.' 
 
 Paul laughed. 
 
 * Little you know what I would do for 
 vou !' he said.
 
 ILL UMINA TIONS 1 7 3 
 
 * Even wear dead flowers, which is senti- 
 mental, and a thing I hate,' said Ceha ; and 
 she pulled the shrivelled carnation from his 
 button- hole and thi^ew it aside. 
 
 All this time she would hardly meet his 
 eyes, and anyone less dazzled than he was, 
 knowino' her as he did, would have been 
 aware of a restless, absent uneasiness of 
 manner, increasino- everv moment, as she 
 stood there with her young lover, and heard 
 a distant sound on the terrace — familiar 
 footsteps slowly approaching, a murmur of 
 voices in the gathering mists of sunset. 
 
 Almost immediately she left Paul and 
 walked quietly to the other end of the room, 
 to the farthest window, reaching it just as 
 her aunt and cousin came u]) to it from the 
 outside. Mrs. Percival was very pale ; her 
 eyes looked odd, as if she had been crying. 
 Vincent was now perfectly calm and quiet ;
 
 174 RED TOWERS 
 
 it seemed as if he had resigned himself to 
 the inevitable. He hardly looked at Celia, 
 but walked down the room towards the door, 
 passing close to Paul by the way. 
 
 * I hear you are in great luck,' he said to 
 Paul, stopping for a moment. 
 
 ' Thanks ; yes,' said Paul. 
 
 * I congratulate you,' said Vincent. 
 
 Paul thanked him again, and he went 
 straight out of the room. 
 
 Paul thought once more that Vincent was 
 the most disaofreeable man he had ever met. 
 
 But he forgot all drawbacks and annoy- 
 ances that night in the Cathedral. The dim 
 soft liofht, the dreamv arches, the mvsterious 
 world of shadows, those high spaces into 
 which organ and voices seemed to float awa}", 
 losing themselves, the high and holy gentle- 
 ness of all the service, which seemed to make 
 no demand on souls and ears, except peace
 
 ILLUMINATIONS 175 
 
 to receive what carae so peacefully ; the 
 great congregation — for all respectable Wools 
 borough flocked to its Cathedral in the even- 
 ing. There came a time when Paul ceased 
 to find much reality or devotion in these 
 services ; but at jDresent he was young and 
 ha23py, and able to live on dreams. He and 
 Celia were alone together, to all intents and 
 purposes ; and somehow it seemed to Paul 
 that she no longer objected to be seen alone 
 with him. It was a comfort that Vincent 
 knew : soon everybody would know ; and 
 then it would not be long before life changed 
 into something almost too beautiful to think 
 about. Behaviour in church was not exactly 
 Celia's strong point ; but that evening Paul 
 thought he had never seen anything so lovely 
 and heavenly as the abstraction of her face. 
 She sat looking a little upward all through 
 the sermon ; not at the preacher, but away
 
 76 RED TOWERS 
 
 through the great shining screen into the 
 half-ho'hted solemnity of the choir. She 
 might have been looking straight into Para- 
 dise, with that sweet, pure, thoughtful, un- 
 conscious exaltation of gaze and expression. 
 It was something new to Paul ; he had never 
 seen her look like that before. 
 
 ' How beautiful she is !' he thought over 
 and over again. 
 
 His thoughts of her went on mingling 
 with the sermon, to which he could not help 
 listening. The preacher was a young man, 
 who had lately been made Vicar of a large 
 town parish in the diocese, and was already 
 known all over England for his life and his 
 words, which matched each other to an 
 unusual degree. His eloquence had a special 
 effect on young men, who crowded to hear 
 him everywhere ; in his own town they 
 would leave their shops and offices in the
 
 ILL UMINA TIONS 1 7 7 
 
 middle of the day, and come to his church 
 to hear a short address. That night at 
 Woolsborough he was preaching about 
 martyrdom ; and as he talked on, almost 
 everyone in the Cathedral became aware 
 that in his or her own nature there was 
 something, a power of some kind, which 
 under certain circumstances might rule 
 supreme. Then there would be a discovery 
 that love meant sacrifice ; and to those who 
 knew what love was, martyrdom would follow 
 naturally. 
 
 The listeners listened, Paul among them : 
 all, no doubt, had their different thoughts. 
 He thought what a poor thing his own love 
 was, as far as he knew it ; and yet he 
 thought he could die for Celia. But the 
 preacher carried him on to higher worlds ; 
 and for a few moments he even forgot Celia. 
 
 They lingered afterwards, to listen to Dr. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 RED TOWERS 
 
 Chanter's playing, and when they came out 
 of the great porch into the starhght, the 
 streams of people had nearly passed away. 
 
 ' Celia,' Paul said, as they crossed the 
 Close, * it was an illumination, and at least 
 there was one angel there. You looked like 
 one.' 
 
 ' Don't,' she said quickly. ' I hate you 
 to talk like that. An angel ! In a year 
 you will think me a fiend.'
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOLM. 
 
 One morning, ten days later, Celia Darrell 
 was standing at her window in Holm Lodge, 
 looking out westward. Half the view was 
 still veiled by the mists of the autumn morn- 
 ing ; but the sun was slowly winning his 
 way, laying long gold rays across the fields, 
 touching the groups of great beeches, and 
 the oaks that were just taking a tint of 
 brown on their greenness, adding colour to 
 the varying autumn colours, and making a 
 world of lovely light and shadow, except on 
 the southward slope of the hill, where the 
 
 12 2
 
 i8o RED TOWERS 
 
 * sable, silent, solemn forest ' lay a dark mass, 
 and seemed impenetrable even by sunshine. 
 Among the trees, a mile or two away, the 
 light had just touched the white spire of 
 Holm Church ; beyond it more woods and 
 rich green slopes, and then the mist that hid 
 the distant hills. 
 
 Celia stood and looked out at this view 
 with a faint, lazy smile. Most of the land 
 she could see belonged to Paul Romaine, and 
 would very soon belong to her ; he wanted 
 the marriage to come off as soon as possible, 
 and she, as she smilinoflv told her aunt, saw 
 no reason for any delay. The tiresome busi- 
 ness about Vincent had sfiven her a certain 
 dislike to Woolsborough, and also to any 
 continued dependence on her aunt, who, in 
 her opinion, had not been entirely nice about 
 •that. The prospect of a good fortune and 
 perfect liberty was very agreeable ; and Paul,
 
 HOLM 
 
 the necessary drawback to these things, was 
 not nearly so bad as such an appendage might 
 have been. Ceha considered the case of a 
 friend of hers who had married, for the same 
 reasons, a vulgar cotton-spinner of fifty. Of 
 course she ruled him, but she was ashamed 
 (jf him ; his ignorances were terrible. Now 
 Paul might be odd ; he might pass as a muff, 
 even, among Celia's sort of men ; but he was 
 young, good-looking, and a gentleman. This 
 was a nicer sort of thing to rule than the 
 other. Celia was quite satisfied. She was 
 also proud of her own good sense, and by 
 this time had laughed herself out of any 
 lingering trouble about Vincent, though she 
 often caught herself thinking of him. One 
 cannot have everything in this world, she 
 thought very justly ; some advantages must 
 be given up for the sake of others. A little 
 more of Vincent would have been dangerous,
 
 1 82 RED TOWERS 
 
 it was true : she was beofinnino- to understand 
 what love might be — a thing to upset all 
 calculations. But he was gone ; that pain- 
 ful little excitement had passed away, and, 
 just as he had prophesied, she had laughed 
 and played tennis all the week with other 
 people. 
 
 Now she had come with her uncle and 
 aunt to Holm ; and Paul was at Red Towers. 
 He had travelled with them, and they had 
 all arrived late last night. It was amusing 
 to come back to the same country she had 
 visited last autumn, and to look at it with 
 such different eyes. Then, she had been 
 rather tired and bored with everything, 
 though she did not show it much ; now, she 
 was quite prepared to be pleased. She 
 remembered Colonel Ward rather vaguely, 
 as an old bore ; he was Paul's best friend, 
 and must be cultivated ; especially as her
 
 HOLM 183 
 
 aunt said he was rich, and might leave Paul 
 his money. Paul's house, too, was now a 
 matter of critical interest. 
 
 Celia presently went downstairs, in a 
 cheerful, practical state of mind, and found 
 her uncle, the Canon, enjoying his villeg- 
 giatura on the stone steps in front of the 
 little house, wearing a straw hat and reading 
 a novel. Below lay the tennis ground in 
 dewy shadow ; below that, the brilliant and 
 varied colour of a hedge of dahlias ; then a 
 sort of little glen, all grass and oak trees ; 
 and then the great wood. Altogether it was 
 a peaceful and pleasant retreat. Celia wished 
 her uncle good-morning, and stood beside him 
 on the steps ; he looked up from his book 
 benevolently. 
 
 * Well, Celia !' he said, ' are you thinking, 
 " I am monarch of all I survey "? We 
 quite acknowledge it, your aunt and I —
 
 1 84 RED TOWERS 
 
 only don't turn us out of our house. Holm 
 will have new charms when you are settled 
 here.' 
 
 ' Then I hope you mean to be here more 
 than once a year,' said Celia, smiling. ' I 
 have no taste for solitude. I shall want you 
 dreadfully.' 
 
 ' Don't let Paul hear that,' said the Canon. 
 ' He wants nobody but you.' 
 
 ' Paul is very young,' said Celia. 
 
 ^ Just the same age, are you not ?' 
 
 ' That means nothing.' 
 
 ' By-the-bye, is he coming to breakfast ?' 
 
 ' No. Colonel Ward wanted him. He is 
 coming here afterwards.' 
 
 ' Rather ill-advised of the worthy Colonel. 
 Very funny, Paul's affection for that old 
 fellow,' said Canon Percival thoughtfully. ' I 
 was quite uneasy, at one time : I thought 
 he would turn Paul into as great an oddit}^
 
 HOLM 185 
 
 as himself. I assure you, Celia, if Colonel 
 Ward had had his way, Paul would have 
 spent his whole time at Red Towers, loiter- 
 ing about with him and his dogs. Wouldn't 
 even have sfone to colleo^e. Most absurd, 
 and very wrong ; quite contrary to his father's 
 wishes. Well, you know, the Colonel doesn't 
 like me, simply because I set my face against 
 all this nonsense of keeping the boy shut up, 
 away from other young men. It was my 
 duty, as Paul's guardian. Of course, I had 
 no more power than Colonel Ward ; but I 
 had your aunt on my side. That was a great 
 thing.' 
 
 * Aunt Flo can do anything with the old 
 Colonel, can't she ?' 
 
 ' So she thinks. I don't know ; I hope 
 so — for if he can give us any trouble, you 
 may be sure that he will. I suspect he does 
 not approve of Paul's marriage. I wrote
 
 i86 RED TOWERS 
 
 him a long letter about it the other day. I 
 thought it was the proper thing to do. He 
 has not vouchsafed me an answer.' 
 
 ' But Paul is his own master now/ sug- 
 gested Celia. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, very true. But the Colonel can 
 make himself troublesome. He has been 
 mixed up so much, do you see, with the 
 management of the property.' 
 
 * Oh, I don't think he will do much harm. 
 Now breakfast is ready. Here are Aunt Flo 
 and Toto cominsf to call us.' 
 
 Paul had been ha\'ino- his breakfast with 
 Colonel Ward in the dark low dining-room 
 at the Cottage, where the dogs sat all round 
 and waited for their turn. The Colonel's 
 household arrangements were of the simplest 
 kind ; they were not unlike those of Dr. 
 Riccabocca, only, if possible, simpler still, the 
 only servant who lived in the house with
 
 HOLM 187 
 
 him being a straight and correct young 
 man named Bartholomew, commonly called 
 Barty, who had been a soldier, and might 
 have been a Frenchman, from his genius as 
 cook, valet, housemaid, and gardener. Not 
 that these talents w^ere in requisition every 
 day. An old woman who lived on the common 
 — ugly, clever, and respectable — was nomin- 
 ally Colonel Ward's housekeeper, and spent 
 most of her time at the Cottage. 
 
 Nothing could be plainer than the little 
 old-fashioned rooms, with their well-worn 
 furniture, where the six dogs lay in a row on 
 the hearth in winter, and in their favourite 
 corners in summer. They were all one 
 family ; the Colonel's breed of Clumber 
 spaniels was well known in that part of the 
 world. 
 
 The uninitiated were wont to see nothing 
 at first but a heap of white, curly, satiny
 
 i88 RED TOWERS 
 
 backs and legs, more or less varied with 
 golden brown, half a dozen white faces, more 
 or less mild, affectionate, melancholy, with 
 drooping ears, long and fringed, and eyes, 
 light golden brown, so touching in their 
 wistful gaze that they might have melted 
 the stoniest heart. This collective impres- 
 sion was all nonsense, and nothing enraged 
 Colonel Ward so much as to hear it put into 
 words. 
 
 They were very happy dogs, and their 
 characters were just as varied as those of a 
 family of children. Besides, they were by 
 no means equal in beauty, or in the appear- 
 ance of good breeding, though all equally 
 well-bred. Dick and Di, the father and 
 mother of the flock, were the perfection of 
 Clumber beauty, carrying the ' shilling mark ' 
 on their heads which stamps the breed. 
 Two of the puppies — Jack and Jess — also
 
 HOLM 189 
 
 bore this distinction ; but Punch and Judy 
 AN'ere unfortunately and unaccountably with- 
 out it. 
 
 The Colonel was ashamed of them, and 
 so was Barty ; but Mrs. Perks, the house- 
 keeper, gave it as her opinion that they were 
 much happier without it. Certain it is that 
 the}^ were the most cheerful of the party, and 
 full of careless impertinence, leaving dignity 
 to their father and mother, and melancholy 
 to their more distinguished brother and 
 sister, who, especially Jess, were of all 
 young dogs the saddest. ' Noblesse oblige,' 
 these dogs seemed keenly to feel ; they never 
 did anything wrong, and their greatness 
 weighed upon them. But the flower of the 
 family was no doubt Di ; she had in conse- 
 quence the best of everything, and none of 
 her companions dreamed of being jealous, or 
 of disputing her pre-eminence. The other
 
 I90 RED TOWERS 
 
 dogs were sometimes left at home, or shut 
 up out of the way. Di was her master's 
 dearest friend ; she slept in his room, and 
 he was never seen without her. The thick 
 white satin of her coat, with its stiff curl, 
 was perfection ; her marks were the right 
 shade of hrown ; her eyes with their golden- 
 tinted depths were full of soul and tender- 
 ness. Dick was very handsome too, but he 
 was a heavy, uninteresting dog compared 
 with Di. He knew this, no doubt ; he 
 admired her loyally, like a gentleman, and 
 did not resent their master's favouritism, but 
 contented himself with violently snubbing 
 the pretentious Punch, and generally setting 
 a dignified example to the jDuppies. 
 
 Paul and the Colonel and this family had 
 breakfast very comfortably together, Paul's 
 little Scamp having been left at home ; the 
 Clumbers were ready to play with him out-
 
 HOLM 191 
 
 of-doors, but did not care for his company 
 in their own dining-room, where each had its 
 own place, Di perched on a footstool at her 
 master's right hand. Di had a charmingly 
 high-bred way of pretending not to be hungry, 
 and playing with her food : the puppies never 
 could imitate this, and Dick only tried to 
 seem indifferent, betra^dng his anxiety in his 
 eyes. Punch and Judy sometimes had to be 
 turned out of the room ; then Di tossed her 
 head scornfully, and played more than ever. 
 
 Colonel Ward was not very cheerful that 
 morning ; he was silent and dull. Without 
 the delightful behaviour of the dogs, and 
 the serene intensity of happiness which 
 shone in the face of Paul, the meal would 
 have been a dismal one. 
 
 The Colonel's mind, in fact, was divided 
 against itself He wanted to rejoice with 
 his friends — he was a solitary man, and had
 
 192 RED TOWERS 
 
 few other friends — but he could not yet be 
 reconciled to Paul's marrying Miss Darrell. 
 Besides, there was the danger of inconsistency, 
 for he remembered all that he had said to 
 Paul on the subject, and supposed Paul must 
 remember it too, perhaps resent it ; in this 
 he was mistaken. Altogether, he was not 
 comfortable in his mind, and rather avoided 
 the subject till breakfast was nearly over. 
 He had quite meant to have a very serious 
 and interesting talk with Paul, and had 
 asked him to breakfast with this in view ; 
 but Paul gave signs of being too frivolously 
 happy for any sort of business conversation. 
 
 The poor Colonel felt out of tune with 
 his surroundings. At last he began : 
 
 ^ I suppose your engagement is no longer 
 a secret ?' 
 
 . ^ You are right,' the young man answered. 
 * Everybody may know now.'
 
 HOLM 193 
 
 * Percival thought it necessary to write 
 me a grand letter about it the other day,' 
 said the Colonel. As he spoke, he threw 
 Di a scrap of toast, and smiled at her frolics 
 in receiving it. 
 
 Small yelps of impatience came from 
 Punch and Judy, and the other puppies 
 beat the floor with their tails. Dick alone 
 lay motionless, looking at his master, with 
 feelings too deep for expression. 
 
 After a pause the Colonel went on : 
 
 ' I didn't answer his letter.' 
 
 * Why not ?' said Paul. 
 
 ' What was I to say ? He told me nothing 
 that I did not know before. His own grati- 
 fication and Mrs. Percival's — was there any 
 need for describing that ? He wanted me 
 to write a history about mine — rather too 
 much to expect, as any other man would 
 have felt. However, it is Percival all over 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 RED TOWERS 
 
 — ignoring any view but his own. Can't 
 turn into a humbug, Paul, even to please 
 you, or Mrs. Percival either.' 
 
 ^ We don't want you to do that,' said 
 Paul. ^ I dare say Canon Percival's letter 
 did not want an answer. He never said 
 anything to me about it. It doesn't matter ; 
 you will be civil to them now.' 
 
 ^ I suppose I must. Not ask them here ? 
 — I can't do that. Neither Mrs. Percival 
 nor Miss Darrell would care to come to tea 
 in a kennel, for instance,' said the Colonel, 
 looking sharply round at his dog-family. 
 
 ' You had better ask them, and hear what 
 they say,' said Paul. ^ They are very fond 
 of dogs.' 
 
 He felt quietly convinced that the dear 
 old Colonel was dying to make himself as 
 ao'reeable as possible to the ladies, who 
 certainly were quite ready to be friendl}^
 
 HOLM 195 
 
 with him. His holding aloof was the one 
 thing that troubled Paul at this time, and 
 he was sure that the prejudice would only 
 l)e conquered by further acquaintance with 
 Celia. He thought that the whole thing 
 was to be traced to the Colonel's dislike of 
 Canon Percival, a very old story. He 
 could not dislike Celia herself; that idea 
 was so ridiculous as to be impossible : and 
 lier want of fortune could never be a real 
 objection to so unworldly a mind as the 
 Colonel's. 
 
 Mrs. Percival was his old love, the object 
 of his deepest admiration ; he therefore 
 certainly had no right to be surprised if her 
 niece proved as attractive as herself 
 
 * What are you goirg to do this morning V 
 asked Colonel Ward, still rather grumpily. 
 
 * I am going to fetch Mrs. Percival and 
 Miss Darrell, and we are going all over the 
 
 13—2
 
 196 RED TOWERS 
 
 house, and so on, to see what alterations will 
 be wanted.' 
 ' Alterations !' 
 
 * Now, Colonel, if you were going to 
 be married, you would want alterations 
 here.' 
 
 * And my landlord would object, I dare say. 
 Well, Paul, a guardian is a more important 
 person than a landlord. One has only his 
 own property to think about ; the other has 
 somebody else's. And that's a serious affair, 
 when the somebody is a foolish young fellow 
 in love.' 
 
 * Come along, then, and give us your 
 advice,' said Paul. ' Come with me now, 
 or meet us at the house.' 
 
 ' No, my lad ; I'll do neither one thing 
 nor the other. You are of age ; you must 
 manage your own affairs.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, you must come,' said Paul.
 
 HOLM 197 
 
 ' You know the house better than anybody. 
 I shall tell them you are coming.' 
 
 ^ No, I'm not coming,' the Colonel said. 
 
 He went out with Paul to the gate, and 
 watched him as he rushed off along the 
 sandy road towards Holm Lodge. The sun 
 was shining on its red chimneys, from which 
 faint blue wreaths of smoke were stealing ; 
 up here on the high ground the air was clear 
 and fresh, though a morning mist still 
 lingered in the valleys ; the hills lay blue 
 and purple against the paler sky. Down on 
 the left lay the beautiful varied woods that 
 surrounded Red Towers, changing gradually 
 into the pinewoods below Holm Lodge ; to 
 the right, the common, with its yellow dress 
 of faded bracken, was bounded by larger and 
 older pinewoods still. All the air was full 
 of their scent, and there was perfect stillness 
 everywhere. If the wild estate of Red
 
 198 RED TOWERS 
 
 Towers had especially prepared itself to re- 
 ceive its new mistress, it could not have 
 done so to more advantagfe. 
 
 Colonel Ward stood and watched the 
 slight figure of the young squire, striding 
 off in happy haste to meet his love, the 
 only living thing to be seen in the bright 
 lonely landscape. Till the young man had 
 disappeared round the turn of the road, 
 his old friend stood looking. Then he said 
 aloud, ' It's all nonsense. The girl can't be 
 good enough for him ;' and smote hard two 
 or three times with his stick on the stones 
 at the gate. This was the dogs' signal ; 
 they came rushing out of the house in a 
 body, and their master started off at once 
 for a walk with them, up the hill, under the 
 wild banks, where one or two great rugged 
 firs overhung the road, past the deeply- 
 shaded gate of Red Towers, up the road
 
 HOLM 199 
 
 beyond, which ran brown and damp through 
 the very middle of the dark tall wood, on 
 its way to higher hills and wilder commons, 
 and great shining views stretching away to 
 the sea.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 NEW CONQUESTS. 
 
 Celia Darrell and her aunt Mrs. Percival 
 were people to whom is appHed that ill-used 
 word ' artistic' They understood the happy 
 union of art and fashion in furniture, and 
 could talk the jargon of all this, though their 
 views were not, for various reasons, carried 
 out very logically at River Gate. Paul 
 Romaine's quaint old house was a delight- 
 fully suggestive field for them. He had 
 been quite right in his idea of doing up the 
 house ; not one room could be left as it was ; 
 but fortunately he was sincere and eager in
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 201 
 
 his wish to spend any amount of money on 
 it, to make it really pretty for CeHa. She 
 and her aunt spent two hours that morn- 
 ing very pleasantly in wandering through 
 the rooms — the shady, quiet, brown old 
 rooms — planning new furniture and new 
 decorations, with Paul in attendance, obe- 
 dient to Celia's every look, and smile, and 
 word. He had not much opinion of his own 
 on these subjects, and was quite sure that 
 from Celia's taste there could be no appeal. 
 With anyone else he would have had some- 
 thing to say on the fitness of things, and 
 would instinctively have scoffed at the notion 
 of furnishing his old country house in tlie 
 modern ' high art ' style of a suburban villa. 
 For Paul's taste was naturally excellent, and 
 he inherited from his mother, who had lived 
 at Red Towers, a kind of cultivation very 
 superior to that of the women who were now
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 pulling her arrangements to pieces. But the 
 quiet daylight of Paul's natural mind was at 
 present lost in the dazzling radiance of Celia. 
 She must have her own way ; he must follow 
 her, as she followed the fashion. Only, like 
 another young hero we have read of, ' he 
 would have real marble in place of stucco, 
 and, if he might, perhaps solid gold for gild- 
 ing :' that is, the modern equivalent of these 
 things ; ebony, for instance, instead of 
 ebonized wood, though Mrs. Percival sweetly 
 told him that he would ruin himself She 
 and Celia wandered from room to room, 
 imagining, suggesting, trying effects, while a 
 soft sun streamed in at the tall old windows, 
 and all the pictures listened sadly. Sabin, 
 also, who came smiling in to move some 
 furniture, went back to his wife with doubt- 
 ful shakes of the head. Paul, devoted as he 
 was, found it a relief, when Mrs. Percival
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 203 
 
 had made notes enough to content her as a 
 beginning, and when he began to see a 
 chance of taking Ceha away into the garden 
 and the woods, her aunt showing signs of 
 being considerately tired. In the garden the 
 noble old cedars could hardly be expected to 
 give up their place to any trees of more 
 perfect form, or more satisfying colour, or 
 anyhow of a higher order in creation. Here 
 there was no terra-cotta, except ancient red 
 bricks with the extra baking and decorating 
 of time ; no peacock blue, except what 
 flashed and shimmered in the peacock's tail 
 as he strayed across a sunny distance of lawn. 
 Mrs. Percival sat down in the study, and 
 sent for Mrs. Sabin to talk to her, with an 
 idea of further independent excursions by- 
 and-by. From the study window she could 
 see the two young people going slowly away 
 from the house in the shade of the cedars.
 
 204 RED TOWERS 
 
 They were a very nice-looking couple, cer- 
 tainly : no doubt it would be all right, thought 
 Mrs. Percival. 
 
 Celia was just the girl to appreciate at 
 their fullest value all the good things of this 
 life ; she loved everything that was pretty ; 
 there was no doubt that her house would be 
 charming, and that she would keep it so ; 
 only — would she ever be dull ? And then, 
 what would she do, and what would Paul 
 do ? For their characters had not the har- 
 mony of their looks ; Mrs. Percival knew 
 this well, and it made her secretly uneasy 
 now and then. 
 
 The Vincent affair remained on her mind 
 unpleasantly, too ; it had seemed to bring 
 out a certain heartlessness in Celia, or, at 
 least, a pretence at heartlessness, for Mrs. 
 Percival was very sure that she was more 
 troubled than she chose to show. But, to
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 205 
 
 all appearance, nothing could have been 
 more perfect than her content with Paul 
 and the future, ever since Vincent went 
 away. 
 
 It was a lovely old garden. Near the 
 house it had a certain stiffness of long walks 
 with stone steps, clipped yews, and a fish- 
 pond. All about the lawn, which sloped 
 down to this, were long flower-beds, which 
 the bad taste of the old gardener, the igno- 
 rance of Colonel Ward, and the carelessness 
 of the Squire, had caused to be arranged in 
 dazzling bands of red, yellow, and blue. 
 
 In the early summer there were plenty of 
 old-fashioned roses, but they were nearly all 
 gone now. Below^ the pond and the yew- 
 hedges, a gate led straight into the deep 
 mazes of the wood. 
 
 Paul was full of happy excitement as he 
 took Celia all about the garden, and showed
 
 2o6 RED TOWERS 
 
 her what he thought the prettiest corners. 
 It was the first time that they had been here 
 alone toofether : of course she had seen it all 
 last autumn, but that, to Paul, was a former 
 state of existence, and a very poor, and cold, 
 and dull one. To be sure, he was in love 
 with her then ; so far that he was never 
 happy or at rest for a moment, unless Miss 
 Darrell in her black dress, pale, sometimes 
 a little thoughtful, but generally smiling and 
 degagee, was somewhere within sight. But 
 then he had hardly dared to dream of her 
 ever really belonging to him ; or, rather — 
 for Paul's instincts were generous, even when 
 he was in love — of his belonging to her : 
 himself, and all that he had in the world, 
 given to her service for ever. 
 
 Since then he had learnt a great many 
 thinofs ; at least he thousfht so : like other 
 such trustful natures, havino- no idea of the
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 207 
 
 depth of his own ignorance, or of all that Celia 
 was yet to teach him. At present she had 
 taught him nothing, being herself practical, 
 liard, and happy, not even knowing, as she 
 had truthfully told her aunt, what love was, 
 till Vincent, the other da}^, brought her the 
 first beginning of that terrible knowledge. 
 
 Celia laughed at Paul, very sweetly, for 
 liis evident delight in getting away into the 
 garden. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' you have got away from 
 Aunt Flo, and paint and paper and all that, 
 but you haven't got away from me. I am 
 just as tiresome as she is. You think the 
 garden perfect, poor dear, as well as the 
 house, and I shall be quite horrid if I tell 
 you that those geraniums and calceolarias are 
 utterly ghastly/ 
 
 ' Are they ? Yes, I suppose they are,' 
 said Paul a little absently.
 
 2o8 RED TOWERS 
 
 ^ Yes, loathsome/ said Celia, looking up 
 with her most charming smile. ' Not quite 
 so loathsome as a stuffy room crammed with 
 books, like your dear study, where we left- 
 poor Aunt Flo just now. I saw her eyes 
 wandering over the bookcase, Paul, with 
 feelings like my own. That would make 
 such a jolly little morning-room, done with 
 terra-cotta and black, and with shelves 
 running all round for china.' 
 
 ' And some draperies, and Japanese screens, 
 and yellow drain-pipes with bulrushes stick- 
 ing out of them,' said Paul, smiling faintly, 
 as he stood by the gate and gazed down into 
 the glowing depth of the wood. 
 
 Celia looked at him, smiling her sweetest, 
 her eyes intensely blue. 
 
 ' You are getting on very nicely,' she said. 
 * I shall be quite proud of you in time.' 
 
 He looked round at her with an expression
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 209 
 
 that was rather new to him, and made her 
 feel a httle grave in spite of herself 
 
 ' Do you really want the study V he said. 
 ' Then you shall have it, and do what you 
 like with it. You ought to know already 
 that the whole thing is yours to do what you 
 like with.' 
 
 She answered him with a sudden earnest- 
 ness almost equal to his own. 
 
 ' Don't make me worse than I am, Paul. 
 You ought to see when I mean things and 
 when I don't. Don't you know that I can 
 be perfectly happy in the dear old house as 
 it is, without anything being done to it at 
 all ? I can indeed, and I will, if it makes 
 you the least unhappy. As to the 
 study, I wouldn't have it touched for 
 worlds.' 
 
 It was a very quiet, shady corner down 
 there by the gate into the wood ; and Celia 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO RED TOWERS 
 
 let Paul thank her in his own way. Presently 
 she said to him softly : 
 
 * Do you know that you are spoiling me ? 
 and that I am not half good enough for you 
 in any way. No ; listen. I was not brought 
 up as nicely as some girls, and I've got 
 nothing ; and you ought to marry a different 
 sort of girl, you know. And you are doing 
 all this for me just as if I was a grand young 
 woman and a very good match. And really 
 — you ought not to give in to me in the way 
 you do — it is more terribly spoiling than I 
 can tell you. I thought so in the house just 
 now. It is so sweet of you ; but it isn't at 
 all a good thing. Paul, I sometimes feel so 
 sure that you won't be happy with me.' 
 
 ^ What makes you talk like this ? What 
 utter nonsense !' murmured Paul in his 
 happiness. 
 
 ' I don't know,' she said. * You are so
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 211 
 
 good — it makes one feel that you ought to 
 know the truth, I suppose. You ought to 
 know that you are making a mistake — won't 
 you beheve it V 
 
 ^ No/ he said quietly. ^ I happen to know 
 better.' 
 
 When Celia thought of the little scene 
 afterwards she was startled at herself It 
 seemed to show that the strongest nature 
 might lose its balance and be affected by 
 foolish outside things — even by such a ver}^ 
 foolish thing as the generous, devoted love 
 of a boy. For though Paul was much taller 
 than herself, and in truth much cleverer 
 and much wiser, she could never think of 
 him as anything but a boy. But the simple 
 nobleness of his love for her seemed to raise 
 up something in her nature that had not 
 been there before — some generosity to meet 
 his, some painful consciousness of all that he 
 
 14 — 2
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 was giving for such a poor return. At that 
 moment, in a way, she certainly Hked Paul 
 better than she had ever liked him before ; 
 and yet his touch became unbearable — a sort 
 of fear, born of her own falseness, made her 
 eyes droop before his, and in this first stroll 
 with him round the garden at Red Towers, 
 she was very near obeying some angel's 
 voice — such as can sometimes speak even 
 to Celia — and breaking off her engagement 
 altogether. 
 
 ' Not into the wood now, please,' she said, 
 as Paul was opening the gate. ' I thought 
 you were going to show me the stables.' 
 
 * Well, you know, the stables are a serious 
 subject,' he said rather shyly. ' They are 
 very much worse than the house, I must tell 
 you, and I'm not sure that they won't want 
 rebuilding altogether. There's nothing there 
 but the pony, and Ford keeps it all as tidy
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 213 
 
 as he can ; but Colonel Ward thinks there's 
 something wnrong in the construction, which 
 I don't understand. If you would let him 
 show you, and explain it all — but of course 
 you would understand, because you know 
 about horses, and I don't, you see.' 
 
 ' Why didn't Colonel Ward teach you ?' 
 ' I don't know. I suppose I was too stupid 
 to learn. It doesn't matter,' said Paul. ' You 
 will have to manage all that, if you don't 
 mind.' 
 
 * That will be beyond me,' said Celia, 
 though her eyes shone at the prospect. ' I 
 can ride and drive, certainly ; but I can't 
 quite take the situation of coachman, sir. I 
 believe I could choose a horse — at any rate, 
 for such a trusting master as you ; but I'm 
 afraid of your Colonel, do you know. He 
 isn't as nice as you. He doesn't like 
 me.'
 
 214 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' The dear old boy hardly knows you,' said 
 Paul. ' If you choose him to like you, of 
 course he will/ 
 
 ' Have I such a strong will as that, do you 
 think V 
 
 ' I don't know. I think you can do any- 
 thing you like. Perhaps it is not will 
 exactly.' 
 
 ' I have been told I could do it by elec- 
 tricity,' said Celia ; she had quite recovered 
 herself now, and they were walking round 
 into the stable-yard. She smiled as she 
 spoke, and remembered who it was who had 
 talked to her about her magnetic powers. 
 He knew something about them, perhaps — 
 but not poor Paul. 
 
 ' Well, I will try to do something very 
 hard,' she said, still smiling. ' I will try to 
 make Colonel Ward like me better than he 
 likes you.'
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 215 
 
 ' All right. You'll succeed, no doubt ; and 
 I shall be awfully glad if you do.' 
 
 ' If I take away your only friend, Paul V 
 
 * You won't do that,' he said. 
 
 ' How do you know ? Somebody once told 
 me I was a witch, and witches are always 
 doing mischief of that kind. Suppose I 
 was really a nasty, malicious witch, and 
 tried to make you and the Colonel hate each 
 other.' 
 
 ' I don't think you could do that,' said 
 Paul rather thoughtfully. 
 
 ' So there is a limit to my power, is 
 there V 
 
 * You couldn't do what you couldn't.' 
 
 ' What lanofuaofe for a man who has 
 taken a degree like yours ! I understand 
 you though — thank you, Paul. You don't 
 believe I have it in me to do anything really 
 vicious.'
 
 2i6 RED TOWERS 
 
 He laughed. ' Make the Colonel like you 
 as much as you please,' he said, pushing open 
 the old yard door. 
 
 Whatever faults there may have been in 
 the stable-yard at Red Towers, it was charm- 
 ing to look at ; it was almost the prettiest 
 part of the old precincts of the place. The 
 old buildings, with their red, time-worn 
 gables, and beetling eaves, and turrets, 
 round which pigeons were flying, looked 
 down with a grand air on the broad grass- 
 grown court below. 
 
 Two or three great overhanging chestnut 
 trees, their stems hidden behind walls, their 
 large leaves touched with yellow, laid deep 
 shadow across half the yard, where an old 
 retriever lay asleep by his kennel. It all 
 looked unused, lonely, yet not neglected ; 
 ivy and Virginia creeper had their way 
 there, as everywhere else about the place,
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 217 
 
 wreathing the long old stable-roof in lovely 
 confusion. Doors stood open into silent dark- 
 ness, except in another small stable, where 
 the one fat pony of the establishment lived 
 at his ease. 
 
 A smart little dog-cart was pulled out of 
 the coach-house, where three or four old- 
 fashioned carriages reposed in shadow, and a 
 clinking sound came from the saddle -room, 
 where Ford was cleaning harness. 
 
 Moss on the roofs, grass between the 
 stones, chickens wandering in and out of 
 those open useless doors — altogether it was 
 evidently a yard belonging to a master who 
 found none of his happiness in horses. 
 
 Ford looked out of his door with as much 
 interest and excitement as his steady old 
 mind was capable of, and no little anxiety 
 too. The news of the Squire's engagement 
 had only just reached his servants, and they
 
 2i8 RED TOWERS 
 
 were of course very glad, not having had 
 time to fear the loss of their situations. 
 Old servants do not at once realize that an 
 old place can get on without them. At the 
 same time, Miss Darrell brought with her a 
 character rather alarming to people in Ford's 
 line. Everyone knew who and what her 
 father had been ; with all his faults, about 
 the best judge of a horse to be found in 
 England. He was an authority on all. racing 
 matters ; his stud-farm was famous ; his stud- 
 groom a hero of his kind ; he had won many 
 races, and his stable arranofements were the 
 admiration of all those who understood these 
 things. He himself was a daring rider, and 
 had been a very popular man, with some- 
 thing, for some people, of his daughter s 
 charm. Poor Tom Darrell ! he was dead ; 
 and before he died he had gone to the dogs 
 very completely. His old friends did not
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 219 
 
 talk about him much ; but his name was 
 hkely to Hnger long in the mouths of grooms 
 and jockeys, for he was a master in their 
 craft. Colonel Ward used to allow Ford to 
 talk about him, and to quote him as an 
 authority, for Ford had visited his stables in 
 days gone by ; but the Colonel always ended 
 by making him a text for moral reflections, 
 not much needed by Ford, the steadiest of 
 the steady, but taken with respect from a 
 man who, in his quiet way, knew as much 
 about horses as Captain Darrell himself. 
 
 Of course. Ford despised Mr. Romaine 
 nearly as much as he loved him, and was 
 often heard to complain of being utterly 
 thrown away in his service. Sir Paul had 
 been a splendid master, and it was only for 
 his sake, and to keep up the credit of Red 
 Towers as far as possible, that Ford had 
 persuaded himself to stay on. The Colonel,
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 to be sure, was some comfort ; but the poor 
 dear vourq^ o^entleman was enouofh to break 
 one's heart. When Ford first heard that 
 his master was going to marry Captain 
 DaiTell's daughter, he looked very grave, 
 and asked Colonel Ward's man if the young 
 lady knew that the Squire couldn't so much 
 as saddle a horse, much less ride one, much 
 less tell a thoroughbred when he saw liim ; 
 that he would not drive the old pony if he 
 could help it, and if he did, was sure to run 
 into the gate-post. At first. Ford could not 
 at all swallow the incongruity of such a 
 marriage ; but presently, by converse with 
 the more brilliant Bartv, he beo-an to see 
 that it might be a blessing, and a way for 
 Red Towers to regain its character, and for 
 himself to rise in the estimation of all who 
 knew him. The more he thought of it, the 
 more lie was inchned to respect his new
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 221 
 
 mistress, and he looked out with painful 
 anxiety, when the Squire brought her into 
 the yard that morning, to see what impres- 
 sion those empty stalls would make on a 
 mind so full of knowledge. 
 
 Then Mr. Romaine called him out of the 
 saddle-room. 
 
 * Look here. Ford ; I want you to show 
 Miss Darrell the stables. I dare say she 
 will ask some questions, and you can answer 
 them better than I can.' 
 
 * Yes, sir,' said Ford. He glanced at 
 Miss Darrell with deep approval ; her ap- 
 pearance was what he called neat, and im- 
 pressed him very favourably. 
 
 * Stood there smiling,' he told Barty 
 afterwards, ' and as if she'd stand no non- 
 sense. Just the look I've seen on the 
 Captain's face, when things in general was 
 going right, and new plans was coming into
 
 RED TOWERS 
 
 his head. Just those same beautiful blue 
 eyes, too. That young lady will have her 
 own way, mind you, and with other things 
 as well as horses, mark my words ! Master 
 Paul,' said Ford with a tinge of sadness, 
 ' he ain't no match for her, bless you ! But 
 I expect he's sharp enough to know it.' 
 
 ^ Beg your pardon, sir,' said Ford, touching 
 his cap a second or third time to Celia, 
 ^ there ain't much to see in empty stables. 
 I do my best, as the Colonel knows ; but 
 there ain't any pride or satisfaction in it.' 
 
 ^ The stables won't be empty long,' said 
 his master. ' Show Miss Darrell where the 
 horses are to be. We shall see whether she 
 agrees with the Colonel that the whole 
 thing must be pulled down.' 
 
 * I don't see the necessity myself, miss,' 
 said Ford. ^ The Colonel's very particular ; 
 but Sir Paul was satisfied, and our horses
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 223 
 
 was some of the best in the county, just as 
 they will be again. But you'll know^ best, 
 miss, if you'll please to look round.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Ford,' said Celia, very 
 graciously. ^ I am sure you know^ all about 
 it. What a pretty little cart you have got 
 there !' 
 
 ^ Latest improvement in the shaft, miss ; 
 but it ain't new to you, I expect.' 
 
 Paul stood by smiling with amusement, 
 while Ford, quite carried out of his usual 
 solemnity, conducted Celia round his premises, 
 asking her opinion at every step. She 
 checked him a little, laughing and turning 
 away, when he began to wonder how many 
 horses he had better look out for ; what new 
 carriages would be wanted ; what helpers 
 had better be engaged. 
 
 * Quite right. Ford ; you shall know all 
 about it in a day or two,' said Paul. ^ I
 
 2 24 RED TOWERS 
 
 shall talk it over with the Colonel. Only, 
 whatever you do, don't fetch me out to look 
 at horses.' 
 
 ' No, sir,' said Ford, grinning from ear to 
 ear. ' But perhaps Miss Darrell will be 
 pleased to give her opinion.' 
 
 ' I hope she will. One day last year we 
 thought we wanted a horse,' said Paul to 
 Celia, ' and a man brought one here to be 
 looked at. The Colonel happened to be away, 
 and Ford sent for me. I don't think he will 
 ever do it again. I suppose I had some 
 idea of not being a disgrace to him, so I 
 began making remarks on this animal. And 
 the result was not satisfactory ; was it. 
 Ford ?' 
 
 ' No, sir. Yes, miss,' said Ford, turning 
 confidentially to his new friend. ' I was 
 uncommon glad when my master said he 
 didn't like the beast, and walked off. The
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 225 
 
 fellow that brought him here knew what I 
 thought of him. I didn't fancy him either ; 
 but my reasons was different.' 
 
 ' What were your reasons, Ford V asked 
 Celia. ' I dare say I should have agreed 
 with you.' 
 
 ' No manner of doubt you would, miss. 
 But I'll say no more, if you please, though 
 it's safe enough, as names hasn't been 
 mentioned,' said Ford, with the caution of 
 his craft. 
 
 While they stood talking there in the 
 shade of the chestnuts, Ford wondering more 
 and more how such a beautiful and clever 
 young lady came to fancy his master — a 
 master with such defects, and not even the 
 grace to be ashamed of them — a great 
 patter outside the large gates announced 
 a party of some kind. They flew open, 
 and Colonel Ward came in, his six doofs 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 RED TOWERS 
 
 rushing: before him, and tear ins: round the 
 yard. 
 
 All but Di : she trotted straight to Celia 
 Darrell, where she stood by Paul, looked 
 imploringly up in her face for a moment, 
 and then lay down at her feet. Dogs will 
 sometimes do these unaccountable and un- 
 reasonable things. Di, when she did them, 
 was irresistible ; and Celia, apparently, found 
 her so. She knelt suddenly down on the 
 ground for a moment, put her arm round the 
 dog's neck, and kissed the white curly head ; 
 then rising up instantly, with a faint flush 
 and her prettiest smile, she went forward to 
 shake hands with Di's master. Paul's first 
 look, as he stood bv and saw this little 
 demonstration, was one of horror. Mrs. 
 Percival was alwa^^s kissing her little dogs ; 
 ]:)ut Celia never kissed them, and Paul had 
 often rejoiced thankfully that she did not.
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 227 
 
 Dogs always obeyed her, and she treated 
 them with a sort of cool kindness. Di, as 
 far as Paul knew, was the first dog who had 
 ever laid claim to an outward sign of her 
 love, and received it ; but even Di was not 
 good enough to be kissed by Celia. Paul 
 was sensitive and fanciful about these things 
 — a muff, we must repeat — and he felt that 
 kiss like a degradation. But then he looked 
 at his old friend the Colonel, and he saw that 
 the stern grey face was full of smiles and 
 softness ; evidently — had Celia divined it ? 
 — the way to his heart was through the 
 liearts of his dogs. 
 
 ' Di will be a proud dog for ever, Miss 
 Darrell,' the Colonel was saying. 
 
 His hat was off; he bent his cropped 
 grey head very low over Celia's hand, 
 almost touching it with his moustache. A 
 courtly old Frenchman could not have paid 
 
 15 — 2
 
 2 28 RED TOWERS 
 
 homage more gracefully to the future mistress 
 of Red Towers. 
 
 ' They are such beautiful dogs/ murmured 
 Celia, half laughing ; ^ and that one is a 
 perfect darling.' 
 
 ' I am delighted that you admire them. 
 May I say — Paul is a fortunate fellow. I 
 meant to do myself the honour of calling on 
 
 Mrs. Percival and you this afternoon ' 
 
 ' She is here now ; she is in the house,' 
 said Celia. ' Shall we go to her ?' 
 
 ^ We have been making all sorts of plans,' 
 said Paul. ' I wish you had come a little 
 sooner, Colonel. We have been overhauling 
 the stables and coach-house.' 
 
 * Then you certainly did want me. Never 
 mind ; we must do it again. Come here, 
 dogs. Miss Darrell, will you accept one of 
 these dogs ? Dick and Di won't leave their 
 old master '
 
 NEW CONQUESTS 229 
 
 ' Are you so sure about Di, Colonel ?' said 
 Paul, rather mischievously. ' She seemed 
 inclined to give herself away, just now.' 
 
 * Di is perfectly lovely, and so nice to 
 stroke,' said Celia softly, laying her hand on 
 the dog's head. ' But they are all delight- 
 ful,' as she stood in the middle of the white, 
 curly crowd — everybody forgetting, as per- 
 haps she did herself, that she had laughed 
 last year at the Colonel's flock of woolly 
 lambs. ' But if you really mean it, Colonel 
 Ward, and if I may choose — come here, you 
 pretty shy thing ; what is your name ?' 
 
 * He is Jack,' said the Colonel, ' or what- 
 ever you like to call your dog. Well, yes, 
 he is a good dog ; he has the shilling mark, 
 you see ; he's all right. He's rather a 
 dismal, low-spirited fellow ; that's the worst 
 of him.' 
 
 ' He wants petting, that's all,' said Celia,
 
 230 RED TOWERS 
 
 who had now taken Jack's head between her 
 hands, and was looking into his mournful 
 eyes. ' He has a great deal of character ; 
 but it wants bringing out. You have too 
 many of them, Colonel Ward ; you can't 
 study each one separately, as I shall study 
 Jack.' 
 
 ' Jack is a lucky dog,' said the Colonel 
 decisively. 
 
 Ford held open the gate for all these 
 visitors to pass through. Colonel Ward 
 lingered a moment to call Punch and Judy, 
 who had run off to play with the old retriever. 
 Celia turned round and looked at Paul with 
 eyes full of laughter. She did not speak, 
 but her eyes said : ' What do you think 
 now ? Am I a witch ?'
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AUTUMN MISTS. 
 
 Celia's sucden and triumphant conquest of 
 Colonel Ward might really have seemed a 
 little unnatural to anyone less infatuated 
 than Paul. He had two very easy explana- 
 tions of it ; one supplied by love, the other 
 by friendship. Celia was, of course, irre- 
 sistible. Aid the Colonel was only too glad 
 to be conquered, to be justified in a real 
 hearty admi-ation for Paul's future wife. 
 His objectiois had only come from a mis- 
 taken sense )f duty ; he was delighted to 
 find what noisense they were. He made no
 
 232 RED TOWERS 
 
 explanation of his change of tactics — to Paul, 
 the Canon, or anybody ; but from hence- 
 forth, from the day that he presented Celia 
 with one of his favourite Clumbers, he was 
 her devoted slave. / 
 
 Paul himself, a young man without ex- 
 perience, could not reach the pitch 3f Colonel 
 Ward's thoughtful worship. Tie Colonel 
 suggested that a horse should be bought at 
 once for Celia. Paul, of cours3, was only 
 too happy, though this present o: his carried 
 her away from him for hours together, gene- 
 rally with two elderly cavaliers — the Colonel 
 and the Canon. Then the Colonel threw 
 himself, with all his good practical sense, 
 into the entire restoration and reformation 
 of the old house ; none of M^s. Percival's 
 views were too much for him ;!his old aflPec- 
 tion for her, his new affection for Celia, 
 carried him over mountains o] ancient pre-
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 233 
 
 judice and difficulty. Paul began to find 
 himself left behind in this race too. Then 
 Celia thought the place was a little too 
 shady, and one day Paul found the Colonel 
 busy marking some of his finest trees. Then 
 a faint shade of annoyance appeared on his 
 pale face. 
 
 ' What are you doing, Colonel V he 
 said gently. ' Those trees are not coming 
 down.' 
 
 ' I think you will find they are, my boy,' 
 said the Colonel. ' Miss Darrell objects to 
 a mass of shade just here, and she is quite 
 right.' 
 
 Paul said no more, and the Colonel went 
 on with his markinof. 
 
 September and October seemed to glide 
 very swiftly away. It was a beautiful 
 autumn, still and calm ; excellent weather 
 for the workmen in and out of Red Towers,
 
 2 34 RED TOWERS 
 
 who had soon turned the peaceful old place 
 into a desert of dust and scaffolding. Every- 
 body was very happy ; not even Sabin and 
 his wife had any doubts of their future, which 
 seemed to them a great deal more assured 
 than it really was. The Canon, having en- 
 ioved as much shootino' as he cared for and 
 
 ■J u O 
 
 some pleasant rides, went back reft'eshed, 
 after a month's holiday, to his parish at 
 Woolsborouofh. In his mind, his fellow- 
 guardian's unexpected good behaviour was 
 all owing to that masterly letter of his, un- 
 answered because unanswerable, but justified 
 by results. Mrs. Percival and Celia stayed 
 on for the present at Holm Lodge, where 
 they had everything to occupy and amuse 
 them. Paul, the happy lover, his marriage 
 being fixed for January, moved himself 
 and his small goods across the road to 
 Colonel Ward's cottage, where he spent his
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 235 
 
 nights, living in a dream, he did not always 
 quite know where. 
 
 And Celia was radiant. In that pure, 
 high air of the pine-woods, she grew stronger 
 and more beautiful every day. It had always 
 been her wise way to extract all possible en- 
 joyment out of life, even at its dullest, with- 
 out making herself dependent on anybody or 
 anything. She had never been bored, she 
 had always been cheerful and contented ; 
 and now she was more than contented, she 
 was very much pleased with herself and all 
 her surroundings. She enjoyed making the 
 Colonel talk nonsense, and follow her about 
 till her aunt was almost jealous ; she liked 
 the deference of the old servants, especially 
 Ford, the curious admiration that stared out 
 of the village faces, the murmurs among the 
 workmen as she walked about with Paul. 
 She liked her rides, her journeys up to town.
 
 236 RED TOWERS 
 
 her unlimited power of indulging every fancy ; 
 the merest hint of a wish was enough, either 
 to Paul or the Colonel, though Paul, very 
 wrongly, was sometimes a little the stupidest 
 of the two. 
 
 In her better moments she liked Paul, and 
 pitied him rather ; sometimes she caught 
 herself almost forgetting that, after all, he 
 was the centre of this new life of hers, for 
 here at Holm, as the weeks went on, he 
 was not a very exacting lover. He was 
 beginning, in truth, to have a certain fear of 
 teasing Celia, of giving her too much of 
 himself and his views. She always seemed 
 to be surrounded with plans and patterns, or 
 plunged in mysterious talks with her aunt, 
 or making arrangements with the Colonel, and 
 asking his advice. The days when she wanted 
 defendinof aofainst the Colonel had almost 
 been pleasanter, though Paul would never
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 237 
 
 have confessed it to himself. Now, in truth, 
 she seemed to have done what she lauo-hino-lv 
 suggested that first day — taken away Paul's 
 only friend : witness that little scene of mark- 
 ing the trees, Paul's own old trees, without 
 even the form of consulting hinj. Something 
 in Paul rebelled at that ; a voice spoke to 
 him, but he would not listen, because, after 
 all, the Colonel was doing it for Celia. And 
 generally, not quite always, she herself took 
 the trouble of driving away any little acci- 
 dental shadow that crossed Paul's mind. 
 
 But the most beautiful time in a human 
 life must have its drawbacks, and Paul would 
 have laughed angrily at anyone who told 
 him that these autumn weeks were not per- 
 fectly glorious. In all but a few lonely 
 minutes sometimes, he knew that they were. 
 He did love Celia better than himself ; he 
 was not selfish, or jealous, or ungenerous.
 
 23C 
 
 S RED TOWERS 
 
 If sometimes he knew that his absence would 
 please her better than his presence — why, it 
 was only that Sunday at Woolsborough over 
 again. He knew he was rather a helpless 
 fellow, ignorant about horses, curtains, and 
 dados ; and all these things must be arranged. 
 Celia must please herself thoroughly about 
 all these things ; and some day, some happy 
 day next year, when the confusion was over, 
 and workpeople and shops were done with, 
 and they were living together in their 
 beautiful house, she would let him read 
 poetry to her, or play to her on the organ 
 that he meant to have in the library ; and 
 then they would come out together on the 
 lawn, the moon shining through the cedars, 
 and stand where he was standing now ; and 
 she would really belong to him then, and he 
 would ask her if she was happy. Then a 
 great owl floated slowly from one cedar to
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 239 
 
 another, from darkness into moonlight, and 
 into darkness again, and hooted his melan- 
 choly good-night to the young Squire. 
 
 At the end of October, in spite of sunshine, 
 the short days were growing cold, and, to 
 civilized beings like Mrs. Percival and Celia, 
 the common and woods of Holm began to 
 seem a little dull and wintry. So, every- 
 thinof beinof in train at Red Towers, and 
 going forward to their satisfaction, they made 
 their plans for going away. 
 
 Celia's marriage was to be a gay one, and 
 the preparations for it wanted a great deal 
 of time and thouof-ht, and could not be carried 
 on at all at Hohii Lodge. They were there- 
 fore going to London, and then down to 
 Woolsborough for a few days, and then to 
 Paris for their chief shopping, which, in Mrs. 
 Percival's opinion, could be done nowhere 
 else.
 
 240 RED TOWERS 
 
 On their last day at Holm, they had 
 promised to come to tea with Colonel Ward 
 and Paul at the Cottage. It was a cold, 
 bright, quiet afternoon, with a suggestion of 
 frost in the air, and all the woods not ever- 
 green were massed in many shades of brown, 
 and red, and gold. Paul and the Colonel 
 had been loitering about that afternoon in 
 the ruins of Red Towers, and came back in 
 a hurry, covered with dust, to receive their 
 visitors. The Colonel was inclined also to 
 be cross with the workmen for idleness. 
 
 ' Done by Christmas ! Nonsense — no such 
 thing !' he came back muttering. 
 
 Paul also was not in good spirits. It was 
 all right, of course, that the house should be 
 pulled to pieces, but he could not, like other 
 people, enjoy the process while it went on. 
 After an hour or two spent in those dis- 
 mantled rooms, he generally felt an intenser
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 241 
 
 longing than usual for the presence of Celia, 
 for whose sake alone his quiet old house was 
 given up to the restorers. 
 
 It was a dreadful thought that she was 
 going away to-morrow ; these works without 
 her would lose their meaning, and become 
 nothing" but a devastation. He started off 
 that afternoon to meet her and Mrs. Per- 
 cival, with a kind of weight at his heart, 
 which appeared to him to be simply the 
 want of Celia. 
 
 The road along the common, going from 
 Red Towers towards Holm, and passing- 
 Holm Lodge close to the lower gate of the 
 common, dips suddenly below Colonel Ward's 
 cottage, and is bordered by rugged sandy 
 banks, with narrow footpaths worn by sheep 
 and children. Then the road rises again ; 
 but still the level of the common is higher, 
 though to the right of the road it shelves 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 24? RED TOWERS 
 
 slightly down from this inhabited side of it 
 towards the great fir-wood, which covers all 
 the hill-side and runs down into the farther 
 valley. The common — its green spaces eaten 
 close by the cows and sheep that graze there, 
 and covered thickly, for the rest of it, with 
 furze and bracken, and low-tangled briars, 
 and cushions of heather now dead and dry — 
 is a network of small paths, or tracks merely, 
 leading this wa}^ and that, from one broader 
 way to another, in and out of the wood. As 
 to the wood itself, younger trees stand here 
 and there, pushing their way out into the 
 common, veiling the entrances, many and 
 winding, to the inner halls and aisles of what 
 is worthy to be called a forest. 
 
 Paul, leaving the Colonel's cottage, did 
 not keep the level of the road, but mounted 
 the bank, and made his way with long light 
 steps on the rugged edge of it. So it hap-
 
 A UTUMN MISTS 243 
 
 pened that, looking over the common to 
 his right, he saw something white running 
 among the brovvn bracken, and wondered if 
 one of the Colonel's dogs — Punch, probably 
 — had taken to bad ways and gone out with- 
 out leave. 
 
 But then he saw a slight grey figure, with 
 a grey hat, appear suddenly from behind two 
 or three young fir-trees, and hurry on towards 
 the darkest, loneliest, steepest part of the 
 wood. It was Celia : he knew that soft 
 grey dress well. She was carrying some- 
 thing white in her hand, something that 
 looked like an o^^en letter, and it was 
 her faithful servant Jack, of course, who 
 was running before her in the under- 
 growth. 
 
 Paul stood still. She did not turn her 
 head or see him ; she went on, in and out 
 amonof the dark fir-stems, until the common 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 RED TOWERS 
 
 disappeared in the wood, and she, Paul still 
 looking after her, disappeared too. His first 
 impulse had been of course to overtake her ; 
 as a rule, she never went into the woods 
 alone ; those woods, as everyone knows, are 
 too near London to have a very good name, 
 though Colonel Ward for several years did 
 all he could to discourage tramps and bad 
 characters. But as some instinct had said 
 to Paul once before, that Saturday evening, 
 when he thought of taking a canoe and 
 going to meet Celia and her cousin — ' She 
 would rather I did not,' so it said now — 
 ' She does not want me,' and Paul, with a 
 jjuzzled mind, hurried on to the Lodge to 
 meet Mrs. Percival. 
 
 He found her sitting by the fire in her 
 pretty little drawing-room, absorbed in some 
 letters which had come by the second post, 
 and particularly a long one from Vincent.
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 245 
 
 She seemed quite comfortable, and not in- 
 clined to move. 
 
 ' But we thought you were coming to tea 
 with us,' said Paul. ' And Celia — I saw her 
 in the distance just now, going into the wood. 
 It was Celia — I couldn't be mistaken ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I dare say,' said Mrs. Percival. 
 ' Why didn't you run after her, or call her 
 back ? She went out for a walk some time 
 ago, before the post came. I wish she would 
 come back, for these are things that want 
 answering. Yes, of course we were coming 
 to tea with you and the Colonel. I didn't 
 know it was so late. Why did you let Celia 
 escape, dear boy ? She may have forgotten 
 all about it.' 
 
 ' She wouldn't forget,' said Paul. Then he 
 added, in excuse for himself : ' She looked 
 rather as if she wanted to escape, so I 
 thouQfht I would not follow her.'
 
 2 46 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense ! She has been very cold 
 all day. She was running about with the 
 dog to warm herself.' 
 
 Then Mrs. Percival threw aside her letters, 
 came to Paul, where he was standing dis- 
 consolate by the window, and laid her hand 
 kindly on his shoulder. 
 
 ' I know who is too sensitive for his own 
 happiness,' she said. ' You are doing all you 
 can, dear, to make Celia a most happy and 
 fortunate girl, and you are succeeding bril- 
 liantly. But Paul, you would be happier 
 yourself if you took things as she does, with- 
 out too much thoughtfulness. You must 
 not lay all your own rights and wishes 
 entirely at her feet, and worship her like an 
 idol, and blot yourself out of existence alto- 
 gether. It is a little morbid to be always 
 studying her, and fancying, " What will she 
 think ?" It is not good for you or for her.
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 247 
 
 Paul, you should learn to trust Celia in the 
 same way that she trusts you. Does she 
 ever think that you want to escape from her, 
 tor instance V 
 
 A smile came into Paul's dark face, which 
 had been sad enough just before. 
 
 ' That is absurd and impossible,' he said. 
 * She couldn't think that.' 
 
 ' Then go,' said Mrs. Percival, patting his 
 shoulder. ' You saw which way she went ; 
 go and bring her back to the Cottage. Don't 
 wait to walk with me. I will take care of 
 the Colonel, and keep some tea for you 
 two silly children, if you are at all long. 
 But don't be long ; it is cold in the 
 woods.' 
 
 ' What a child he is !' Mrs. Percival 
 moralized rather sadly, as Paul rushed past 
 the window on his way to the woods. * Many 
 boys of seventeen are older. I hope Celia will
 
 248 RED TOWERS 
 
 make him happy. I hope she appreciates 
 him. I wish he was not a Httle too nice for 
 her. They will not always have me to keep 
 things straight.' 
 
 The air was very clear and full of yellow 
 light, and the shadows were growing long, 
 as Paul crossed the common and went into 
 the wood, now a great temple with golden 
 pillars, and a dark roof through which a 
 thousand stars were shining. 
 
 It was not till he was really in the wood 
 that he thought how difficult it would be to 
 find Celia. She might have taken any one 
 of twenty ways : the soft, deep paths, with 
 their carpet of pine-needles, crossed each 
 other constantly, leading away in all direc- 
 tions. Here and there was a clearing, where 
 trees had been cut down ; beyond these there 
 were cart-tracks. 
 
 Most of the wood was carpeted with oak
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 249 
 
 scrub and whortle-bushes, growing close to 
 the ground among the tall pine-stems, and 
 making it difficult to see through any extent 
 of the long colonnades of trees. 
 
 Paul whistled loudly as he followed one 
 of the paths, thinking that Jack might hear 
 and understand, if Celia did not ; but his 
 whistle brought no reply ; and perhaps for 
 half an hour he searched about in vain. 
 Then it struck him to take the shortest way 
 across the wood, down into the valley on the 
 north side, where there were a few cottages. 
 It was the prettiest bit of the wood. He 
 had taken Celia there one day and told her 
 it was like Switzerland ; the trees were very 
 large and tall, growing up on wild sandy 
 banks about the path, which went winding 
 down almost precipitously. 
 
 Far below lay the little valley, with a 
 stream dancing in the hollow, and blue wood-
 
 250 RED TOWERS 
 
 smoke stealing up from half-hidden chimneys. 
 Two or three goats and small active cows 
 found a living on these slopes and ledges ; 
 one of them carried a tinkling bell. This, 
 and the smell of the pines, and the musical 
 trickle of water, gave a real Alpine feeling 
 to that corner of Paul's wood ; one expected 
 to meet a dark-faced boy with a long stick 
 and a rose in his hat, singing as he came to 
 drive the cattle home. 
 
 Following the path that led to this, Paul 
 ])resently came in sight of Celia, sitting 
 above the path at the foot of one of the 
 largest trees, with the glory of the evening 
 light shining full upon her and upon Jack as 
 he lay close by. 
 
 She was sitting perfectly still, gazing down 
 into the valley, and she held an open letter 
 in her hand. 
 
 It seemed to Paul that she looked strangely
 
 A UTUMN MISTS 
 
 251 
 
 pale and sad ; but when he reached her, on 
 the contrary, she was flushed, and began to 
 laugh. The paths were so soft that she only 
 heard him coining when he was actually 
 climbing up to her perch above the pathway ; 
 the lifting of Jack's long ears, and wagging 
 of his tail, had passed quite unnoticed by 
 her. But Paul, coming to her side, saw no 
 letter, and thought for a moment that his 
 eyes must have deceived him. Then he 
 very naturally forgot this trifling circum- 
 stance. 
 
 Celia laughed, but she did not look pleased 
 or happy. 
 
 ' What is it, Paul ? What do you want V 
 she said, and her manner was certainly cold ; 
 his instinct had not quite deceived him 
 after all. 
 
 ' I want you to come to tea at the Cottage,' 
 he said. ' I have been looking for you for
 
 252 RED TOWERS 
 
 the last half-hour. You had not forgotten, 
 had you ?' 
 
 ' Oh, bother !' said Celia. 
 
 What would have been supremely ugly 
 from any other lips was almost pretty from 
 liers. 
 
 ^ Don't you want to come V he said. He 
 had thrown himself down beside her on a 
 cushion of ling, and was looking up Avith 
 eyes not unlike Jack's in their wistful- 
 ness. 
 
 ^ Don't look at me like that,' she said, ^ as 
 if I was going to beat you ;' and she laughed 
 again, and turned her head towards the 
 valley. 
 
 Paul was silent : his eyes fell, and studied 
 the ground till she spoke again. 
 
 ' The Colonel is a darling, of course, but 
 one miofht have a little too much of him. I 
 suppose he won't manage all our affairs
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 253 
 
 always, will he, aud want us to go to 
 tea in that stuffy little house every other 
 day ?' 
 
 Paul did not know what to say. He 
 could hardly believe that it was Celia speak- 
 ing, complaining of the Colonel's devotion 
 to her interests, now that she had secured it. 
 If anyone had a right to complain a little, 
 perhaps it was Paul ; and he did not even 
 admit such a thought into his mind. But 
 Celia, with all her sweetness — what could 
 be the meaning of it ? 
 
 * Has anything happened to vex you, 
 dear ?' baid Paul. He did not feel it neces- 
 sary to reassure her about the Colonel. 
 
 ' I am only in a bad temper,' she answered 
 quickly. ' Go back to Colonel Ward, and 
 tell him you couldn't find me.' 
 
 ' Xot so very untrue, either,' Paul re- 
 flected, for this was not the Celia he knew.
 
 254 RED TOWERS 
 
 He had often thouoiit about the maofic of 
 the woods ; all sorts of strange demons 
 might live among those dark tall trees, whose 
 rustle took one straight away into a German 
 fairy-tale. Some of this enchantment might 
 have seized on Celia. 
 
 ' Mrs. Percival is there by this time,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' All right ; then he won't want me.' 
 
 ' And am I to go ? I don't like leaving 
 you here alone. It will soon be dark, and 
 it's getting uncommonly cold. Don't you 
 think so ?' 
 
 ' Xo ; I'm very hot,' said Celia. ' I will 
 come presently. You can wait for me or 
 not, as you 2)lease.' 
 
 Paul made no answer, but waited 2Jatiently. 
 It was cold ; the sun was not far from set- 
 ting, and a chill air came breathing through 
 the wood. No one who was not in love
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 255 
 
 would have dreamed of sitting out under 
 trees on such an autumn evening. 
 
 ' Dear — have I done anything to make 
 you unhappy ?' Paul said presently. 
 
 ' No, and you never could,' said Celia — a 
 remark which might have two meanings, but 
 Paul took the best. ' Only I wish you 
 would not always be fancying things about 
 me. It teases me, do you know. I am 
 dreadfully independent, and I like to be left 
 alone. Somebody — who knew me rather 
 well — once said I was as cold as a fish, and 
 as hard as a stone ' 
 
 ' What lies !' 
 
 ' I don't know. There w^as truth in it, I 
 believe. So much the worse for any poor 
 dear thinofs who are ofeese enousfh to care 
 for me — so much the worse for you.' 
 
 He did not speak, but quietly took her 
 hand and drew it down to his lips — the
 
 256 RED TOWERS 
 
 right hand, which before he came had been 
 holding a letter. After a moment she took 
 it away from him. 
 
 ' I am not worth it, Paul,' she said ; and 
 there was some sweetness in her voice again 
 now. ' I told you before, I am not fit to be 
 spoilt. I don't even enjoy it as I ought. I 
 wish you would forget me sometimes, and 
 think of something else.' 
 
 ' That's too much to ask. I would do 
 anything for you but that,' said Paul, 
 ' especially when you are going away to- 
 morrow\' 
 
 Celia gave a little impatient sigh. 
 
 * I suppose you will be coming too ?' 
 
 ' I don't know\ I should like to go to 
 Paris when you are there, if you don't 
 mind.' 
 
 * Oh yes, you must go with us to Paris. 
 Perhaps you w411 come across that French
 
 AUTUMN MISTS 257 
 
 friend of yours again ; your friend with the 
 grand name.' 
 
 ' I wish I could,' said Paul. ' Look here, 
 some day — next year, if you like — couldn't 
 we ha\'e a tour in that west part of France 
 where his old place is ? He told me a lot 
 about that country, and I think it must be 
 very jolly. He is generally down there 
 early in the autumn ; we might go and call 
 upon him.' 
 
 * Yes ; I dare say it would be rather 
 amusing,' said Celia. 
 
 She could not send Paul away ; and so, 
 with an effort at her usual good sense, she 
 resigned herself, and glided out of her bad 
 temper into a better one. When she at last 
 walked back with him to the Cottage, she 
 was almost herself again ; only a slightly 
 nervous flush, a shadow across her eyes, and 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 RED TOWERS 
 
 a little absentness of manner, could have 
 suggested any trouble. 
 
 Mrs. Percival did not even know that 
 she had met the postman ; and no one could 
 guess that in her pocket she carried a 
 passionate love - letter from her cousin 
 Vincent.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL. 
 
 No doubt it was the humility and romance 
 of his own nature which made it impossible 
 for Paul to understand Celia. Honestly, in 
 many ways, he did not think himself good 
 enough for her ; and in spite of the things 
 she said to him sometimes — things which 
 filled him with a sort of ' rapturous pain ' — 
 he could hardly persuade himself that she did 
 not think so too. 
 
 Mrs. Percival's hint, that he might be a 
 little morbid and distrustful, was not exactly 
 needed, for any real distrust of Celia would 
 
 17—2
 
 26o RED TOWERS 
 
 have been unbearable. He believed that 
 she loved him, not being able to conceive of 
 any other reason why she should have ac- 
 cepted him ; his ideal Celia certainly could 
 not have been influenced by any of his pos- 
 sessions. Thouofh she sometimes talked and 
 generally behaved as if she cared for nothing 
 deeper than amusement, fashion, fun, ^ art ' 
 and money, Paul flattered himself that he 
 saw beyond all this, and that she was gene- 
 rous, good, noble, clever, high-minded, earnest. 
 Not exactly poetical or sentimental ; but all 
 the wiser and better and truer for that, 
 perhaps ; and he had enough of this non- 
 sense in his composition for both of them. 
 Possibly Celia was all the more entrancing 
 because she was matter-of-fact. 
 
 Now Celia, whose character, as we know, 
 . was of the most simple and earthly descrip- 
 tion, could not help being conscious of the
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 261 
 
 wonderful romance that was woven about 
 her. It could not be helped ; it was Paul's 
 way ; and sometimes it amused her very 
 much. Sometimes it touched her, and almost 
 awoke the fine feelings he imagined ; then 
 there had been instances of her really and 
 honestly trying to make him understand her 
 better. But those wrecks at Holm, and Paul's 
 constant companionship, had not done her 
 any good. She was interested in Red Towers ; 
 she was well amused, and very happy in her 
 own way ; but she was getting a little weary 
 of Paul and the heights on which he lived. 
 Not that he often tried to drag her up to 
 those heights, or tormented her with his 
 thoughts, hopes, and opinions in any way 
 whatever ; but she was by no means stupid, 
 and she could not help feeling that his point 
 of view on every subject was different from 
 hers.
 
 262 RED TOWERS 
 
 Paul, in fact, lived in a world from which 
 at least half mankind are shut out — some 
 people may say, fortunately for them. If he 
 had not fallen in love with Celia he would 
 hardly have found a word to say to her, and 
 if Red Towers had belonged to anybody 
 else, she would scarcely have been aware of 
 his existence. Colonel Ward had a dim 
 vision of these things before Celia fascinated 
 him ; but he had forgotten all about them 
 now. 
 
 Mrs. Percival had not been without her 
 misgivings ; but she was not logical ; and she 
 was capable of shutting her eyes to what she 
 did not wish to see. 
 
 Vincent, one is inclined to think, was the 
 most clear-sighted among these people, when 
 he said to his cousin : 
 
 * You can't marry a fellow like that — 
 you f
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 263 
 
 But then Vincent's motives were in- 
 terested. 
 
 His convictions were, however, strong 
 enough to make him write that letter to 
 Ceha, which had disturbed her very much 
 more than she meant or wished to be dis- 
 turbed. While Red Towers was being pre- 
 pared for her — while she and her aunt were 
 beginning to be quite absorbed in the con- 
 sideration of her clothes and all her arrange- 
 ments, shopping in London, shopping in 
 Paris, plans for the prettiest wedding that 
 had ever been seen in Woolsborough Ca- 
 thedral, the Bishop himself, perhaps, to per- 
 form the ceremony, and Dr. Chanter to play 
 magnificently on the organ — here came a 
 letter meant to upset everything, a letter 
 that might naturally have perished by spon- 
 taneous combustion on its way through the 
 post ; perhaps the best thing that could have
 
 264 RED TOWERS 
 
 happened to it. But it crossed sea and land 
 in safety, and was given into the hands of 
 Miss Ceha Darrell by the old postman on 
 his white pony, who lived on the common, 
 and was not behind anyone else in his ad- 
 miration of the Squire's young lady. 
 
 Celia was quite innocent in this matter. 
 She had really gone out for a walk with 
 Jack because she was cold, and rather cross 
 — she did not know why. She met the 
 postman quite accidentally as he rode up to 
 the gate with his letter-bag, and with her 
 usual good-nature she opened the gate for 
 him. Then he said : 
 
 ' I have got one letter for you, miss. 
 Would you be pleased to take it ?' 
 
 And then, seeing Vincent's writing and 
 the Indian stamp, her first impulse really 
 and truly was to take it in to her aunt. But 
 she opened it, and the first words were :
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 205 
 
 * My own dearest Celia, 
 
 * I have written to my mother, but 
 have not said a word of this to her. She 
 treated me too badly in the summer to de- 
 serve my confidence ; therefore, I leave it to 
 you to tell her what you please/ 
 
 Having read so far, and glanced farther, 
 Celia was conscious of a hot flush about her 
 head, and a cold shiver everywhere else. 
 This letter certainly was not for the public, 
 and she positively must have a little time 
 alone, to read it and think over it. 
 
 ' Tear it up and take no notice of it ; that 
 will be the best way and the least trouble- 
 some. It was very ^\Tong of him to write 
 it,' said something in Celia. ' I shall do no 
 such thing,' Celia answered herself. ' He 
 was badly treated, and it is a miserable 
 world.'
 
 266 RED TOWERS 
 
 So she escaped into the wood, and found 
 her way down into that distant corner, and 
 sitting there, she read her cousin s letter 
 through and through again. What had 
 Paul's letters ever been to this ? Unreason- 
 able, dishonourable, selfish, it yet made 
 Celia's eyes shine, and her heart beat fast, 
 for a minute or two, as if Vincent himself was 
 there, and she had again, for the first time, 
 the triumphant feeling of his love for her. 
 
 What did he want her to do ? First, 
 without a moment's delay, she must break 
 off her engagement, which in any case was 
 too impossibly absurd and unnatural to last 
 long ; or if she did not choose to do this, she 
 must put off her marriage a few months and 
 break it off later. It must be done some 
 time ; she must understand that her marriage 
 was out of the question. ' You shall marry 
 me,' Vincent wrote, ' though I fear we must
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 267 
 
 wait three years. I have been promised an 
 appointment in the spring, in an unsettled 
 part among the hill tribes, where I could not 
 take you. It will last three years ; after 
 that I shall get something better. If you 
 don't choose to break off this thing yourself, 
 give me time, and I will write to my father 
 and make such a row that they will have to 
 let you do as you like. And that will be as 
 I like, for you know you belong to me, and 
 to nobody else in the world.' 
 
 So he went on, with stronger language 
 than he had ever used to Celia face to face, 
 with all the arguments of a spoilt man, un- 
 able to realize or consider any claims but his 
 own, forgetting, too, the coldness in Celia 
 that he had complained of, which might have 
 made him doubt, at least, whether she would 
 care to give up all her bright worldly pros- 
 pects and wait three years for him.
 
 2 68 RED TOWERS 
 
 Most men would have hesitated before 
 they made such a proposal to a girl who had 
 never confessed to anything but a cousinly 
 fondness for them, and had never shown any 
 wish or intention to break off her engage- 
 ment. To write such a letter certainly 
 wanted all Vincent's self-confidence, which 
 was large. 
 
 ' Why can't I be left in peace V Celia 
 sighed over the letter, for it touched her 
 enough to make her cross and unhappy. ' I 
 do hate being bothered. I thouo-ht he had 
 forgotten all about it by this time : I am 
 
 sure I had, nearly. I only wish well, it's 
 
 no use wishing. Things can't be perfect in 
 this world, and I certainly have no right to 
 be discontented. I should have to break 
 Paul's heart, and I really shouldn't like to 
 do that ; and then what an awful idea, to 
 wait three years — and then go out to India,
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 269 
 
 which I don't at all care about — and he 
 might get an appointment in some horrid 
 place, dull or unhealthy ! Put off my mar- 
 riage ! No, dear thing, by no means, if that 
 is to give you a chance. I believe I would 
 rather put it on.' 
 
 With all these strictly virtuous reflections, 
 Celia ought to have been glad to see Paul 
 when he found her in the wood. But she 
 felt the irritability that follows on being 
 very good, and so was not altogether glad to 
 see him. 
 
 In the meanwhile, a very interesting talk 
 with Colonel Ward made Mrs. Percival 
 almost unconscious of the long delay before 
 her two young people came in. As she sat 
 in the only comfortable chair in his drawing- 
 room, with Di on the hearth-rug gazing at 
 her devoutly, the other dogs having been 
 turned out for the occasion, a cheerful fire
 
 2^o RED TOWERS 
 
 crackling, and that same golden sunset light, 
 which illumined the wood, shining in at the 
 latticed window behind her, she began to 
 think that this was really rather a pretty old 
 room, and might be made something of. It 
 was long and low, stretching across one gable 
 of the cottage, with a window at each end ; 
 the dark walls had a few good pictures on 
 them, the floor was covered with a hideous 
 old drab carpet, and the furniture was hope- 
 lessly frightful, severe, but not artistically 
 so. But on the low mantelpiece, and on the 
 top of an oak cupboard against the wall, 
 there were some very rare and beautiful 
 pieces of Chinese and Indian china, an old 
 French clock, at which Mrs. Percival gazed 
 with envy, and some lovely ornaments in old 
 JFrench enamel — all quite thrown away on 
 the Colonel, she thought. A fine Louis 
 Quinze fan, which was lying on the mantel-
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 271 
 
 piece, the Colonel presented to his guest to 
 screen her from the fire. As she played 
 with its mother-o'-pearl sticks, and examined 
 its exquisite painting, she was still more 
 struck with the inconsistency of worldly 
 arrangements ; it seemed more than absurd, 
 actually wrong, that such a fan as this should 
 belong to Colonel Ward, and not to her. 
 Well, it might have been hers, many years 
 ago, if she had chosen to take its owner with 
 it. But in those remote days his uncle had 
 not left him that good fortune which, besides 
 his pretty things, was so utterly wasted on 
 the poor old dear. He was not a miser, 
 certainly ; but how ridiculous for a rich 
 man to live in the way he did ! 
 
 This train of thought, while the Colonel 
 was poking the fire and Barty was 
 bringing in the tea-tray, led Mrs. 
 Percival on to wonder, as she had often
 
 272 RED TOWERS 
 
 wondered before, who would be the Colonel's 
 heir. 
 
 ^ Please don't wait for them,' she said. 
 * Celia may have lost her way and gone 
 farther than she intended. The woods are 
 really very puzzling. Or, at any rate, we 
 must not wonder if they are a little long — 
 the last of these happy days together. Only 
 this morning Celia was saying to me how 
 very good you had been to her. Colonel Ward 
 —and indeed I feel it too. Oh yes, sugar, 
 please. I never can imagine why everybody 
 doesn't take it.' 
 
 ^ Nor can I,' said the Colonel. 
 
 He was not the least anxious about Paul 
 and Celia, and looked the picture of happi- 
 ness as he waited on his old love. Her 
 brown eyes were smiling and shining in their 
 sweetest way. She did not look as if she 
 missed the Canon, or wanted anything she
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 273 
 
 had not got. There was a sort of pretty 
 tenderness in her manner to her old lover, 
 who had remained unmarried all his life for 
 her sake. 
 
 ^ I hope the young peoj^le won't hurry 
 themselves for me,' he said. * At this 
 moment I'm a privileged person. As for 
 Miss Darrell, and the pretty things she says, 
 it is very kind of her ; but I have some- 
 times feared she must think me an interfer- 
 ing old bore.' 
 
 * Now don't be silly,' said Mrs. Percival 
 in her soft sweet voice, smiling at him over 
 her tea-cup. * One doesn't expect affecta- 
 tion from you. You know perfectly well 
 that we could not have got on at all without 
 your help. Our dear Paul is of no use, and 
 would have driven us a little wild with his 
 unpractical ideas, which were rather ex- 
 travagant too.' 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 2 74 RED TOWERS 
 
 * Well, you are very kind,' repeated the 
 Colonel. ' Paul is the best fellow in the world 
 — but it is true he is too poetical for every 
 day. Let us be thankful, for his sake, that 
 he will have such a wife as Miss DarrelL' 
 
 * Call her Celia,' said Mrs. Percival ; ' she 
 would like it, I'm sure, and so w^ould Paul. 
 My dear Colonel, you make me so happy ! 
 Do you know, I was afraid, at first, that you 
 did not very much approve of Celia V 
 
 ' Who told you so ?' asked the Colonel 
 quickly ; he could not think that Paul had 
 betrayed him. 
 
 * Nobody, nobody,' said Mrs. Percival ; ' it 
 was my own idea. But I understood it 
 •quite well. Of course you thought that 
 Paul ought to make a better marriage. So 
 he might — in some ways.' 
 
 ' The fellow's guardian, you see — I felt 
 responsible.'
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 275 
 
 And then Colonel Ward checked himself, 
 remembering that his charming friend was 
 the wife of the fellow's other guardian, 
 whose conduct he had so severely blamed. 
 He handed her the cake, poked the fire, and 
 then went on : 
 
 * I don t know why I should try to de- 
 ceive you, Mrs. Percival. I thought Paul 
 was too young and too boyish to know his 
 own mind, and, considering that a property 
 like this is hardly so profitable as you would 
 expect from its size, and needs a good deal 
 of management to make the best of it, I 
 thought that when Paul married, he had 
 better marry a sensible woman with money. 
 And I was barely acquainted with your niece, 
 so that ' 
 
 * It never struck you that she had even 
 one of these qualifications ? Well, I don't 
 wonder. I think you were quite right,' said 
 
 18—2
 
 276 RED TOWERS 
 
 Mrs. Percival. ' If Paul had belonged to 
 me, I should have thought just the same.' 
 Then she looked up and laughed. ' I never 
 can remember that Paul is not a relation of 
 yours.' 
 
 * That is very natural. I make the same 
 mistake myself/ said the Colonel. ' What 
 is a relation, after all ? I never had a 
 relation to care for — except my old uncle. 
 This boy's father was as near to me as a 
 brother — nearer than some brothers.' 
 
 * Of course he will leave him his money. 
 What a match for Celia ! She is a lucky 
 girl !' thought Mrs. Percival. She said, 
 after a minute, rather gravely : ' You have 
 certainly taken his father's place with Paul, 
 and I don't think he ought to marry with- 
 out your approval. Has he got it, really, 
 now ?' 
 
 * Now that I have made the happy dis-
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 
 
 covery that Mrs. Percival's niece is another 
 edition of her aunt,' said the Colonel in his 
 stiff way, ' I could not wish a better fate for 
 my own son if I had one.' 
 
 Mrs. Percival smiled, but a little doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 ' I don't think there is much likeness ; 
 but I do honestly think they are suited to 
 each other. Paul is very happy ; we need 
 have no fears about that. And as to Celia 
 — it is no use fretting over the past, is it ? 
 But I only wish my poor brother-in-law 
 had managed his affairs better, so that she 
 might at least have had a little of her own. 
 It is rather painful for a girl to bring abso- 
 lutely nothing to her husband. Celia would 
 feel it, I know, if she had not such perfect 
 confidence in Paul. Oh, I can't tell you 
 what a fortunate girl I think her !' 
 
 Colonel Ward looked very grave.
 
 278 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' She is fortunate/ he said. ' And so is 
 Paul,' he added, after a moment. 
 
 There was a sliofht chanofe in his manner, 
 and Mrs. Percival was quite aware of it. 
 She did not know, however, that it was 
 caused by the mention of her brother-in-law, 
 whose name reminded Colonel Ward of 
 doubts and anxieties he had almost forgotten. 
 She thought of something else, for which 
 she had long felt that they owed the Colonel 
 some sort of apology. 
 
 ' I hope you understood our motives,' she 
 began ; ' our reason for keeping Celia's en- 
 gagement quite to ourselves for those few 
 first weeks. I hope Paul explained to 
 you ' 
 
 ^ Yes, yes,' said the Colonel, a little ab- 
 sently, and this was very strange in him. 
 ^ It was your own affair ; you did quite 
 right.'
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 279 
 
 He was thinking of Captain Darrell and 
 his character, and then of the steadfastness 
 which was plain to him in Celia, and the 
 frank charm of her manner — though, to be 
 sure. Ford had said one day how much that 
 free way of Miss Darr ell's favoured the 
 Captain, and had been terribly snubbed for 
 his remark. These things happened every 
 day. It would be too hard to make a child 
 responsible for her father's faults : ^ on ne 
 choisit pas son pere,' as Charles the Tenth 
 said one day so nobly. Not that this oc- 
 curred to the excellent Colonel, who hated 
 the French, and never could remember a 
 quotation ; but he thought something very 
 like it, as once and for all he laid aside the 
 last misgiving with regard to Celia. It was 
 not for long that he had thought of her as 
 Tom Darrell's daughter. To him she must 
 be Mrs. Percival's niece, Paul Romaine's
 
 28o RED TOWERS 
 
 wife ; and these were two strong claims 
 to the utmost of his faith and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 ' What is he thinking about ?' Mrs. Perci- 
 Tal said to herself, for she saw that his mind 
 had strayed far away from her. 
 
 He was pulling his moustache, and staring 
 blankly at the fire. After two or three 
 minutes he got up, walked across the room, 
 and unlocked an oak cupboard on the top of 
 which some of his best china stood. From 
 this he took out two small old leather cases, 
 which he brought to Mrs. Percival, and laid 
 on the table close beside her. 
 
 ^ My wedding present for Celia,' he said. 
 ' I want you to do me a great kindness ; to 
 take them to Hunt and Roskell, to be done 
 up and put into new cases. I am not likely 
 to be in town myself at present. They can 
 ♦send them to you at Woolsborough, and you
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 281 
 
 will then add to your kindness by giving 
 them to Celia — with my love.' 
 
 Mrs. Percival looked up at him, smiling 
 with delight. 
 
 ' My dear Colonel/ she said, ' I wish Celia 
 could have heard you say that. But I am 
 not going to be quite so obliging. Oh no ; 
 Hunt and Roskell must return them to you, 
 and then you must give them to Celia your- 
 self, when you come to the wedding.' 
 
 ' I don't think I shall be there,' said the 
 Colonel quickly. ' No ; you must really do 
 me this favour.' 
 
 As he spoke he opened the cases, and 
 Mrs. Percival made an exclamation, though 
 perhaps she was not entirely surprised, for 
 she knew that Colonel Ward had some 
 diamonds. These that he had chosen for his 
 present to Celia were his very best ; a star 
 and a butterfly, both magnificent ; they
 
 282 RED TOWERS 
 
 would have been a splendid present for a 
 princess. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear Colonel, they are too 
 beautiful, too magnificent,' Mrs. Percival 
 murmured softly, and there were really tears 
 in her eyes. * Surely there must be some- 
 body — somebody belonging to you — who has 
 a claim to these lovely things. Celia will 
 not know how to thank you — she will have 
 no presents approaching these. Really, I 
 don't think I can let you do it.' 
 
 ' Lady Romaine's diamonds are better 
 than these,' said the Colonel, smiling. ^ She 
 will have them, of course ; and I don't think 
 a lady can have too many of such things. 
 What use are they to an old fellow like 
 me ?' 
 
 ' But you ought to leave them to some- 
 one in your own family.' 
 
 ^ There is no one. Since I found that I
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 283, 
 
 should never marry — since Paul was born, I 
 have meant them for his wife.' 
 
 He looked down at the table for a minute, 
 and so did Mrs. Percival, quite understand- 
 ing the gentle hint that these beautiful things 
 might have been her own. There they lay 
 flashing from their satin beds, which were 
 yellow with age ; but the stones in their ever- 
 lasting youth looked ready to begin a new life 
 once more. 
 
 ' Don't tell Miss Darrell, please,' said 
 the Colonel. ^ If you will kindly promise 
 me that, I will consult you about some 
 other plans of mine — in confidence, I 
 mean.' 
 
 * Anything you like to tell me is perfectly 
 safe,' said Mrs. Percival earnestly. 
 
 Colonel Ward took up the cases, and put 
 them back into his cupboard, saying, ' I will 
 send them to you.' Then, coming back to
 
 284 RED TOWERS 
 
 the table, he poured out another cup of tea 
 for Mrs. Percival. 
 
 ' Our young people are behaving very 
 badly/ she said. 
 
 ^ I hope they will let me have ten 
 minutes more with you,' the Colonel replied 
 gravely. 
 
 He then sat down and began to talk of 
 his own affairs. Perhaps the deep sym- 
 pathetic interest in Mrs. Percival's face was 
 ^t first more apparent than real, for at that 
 moment the exact amount of his income and 
 savings did not seem to matter to her much. 
 But when a man possessed of eighty or 
 ninety thousand pounds begins to talk of 
 making his will, his nearest friends must 
 feel some amount of interest. And very 
 soon Mrs. Percival was bending forward in 
 her chair, her hands clasped, her eyes shining, 
 her face pale with excitement, while her old
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 285 
 
 friend ended all that he was telling her with 
 these words : 
 
 ^ I intended, as I say, to make Paul my 
 heir, to leave him everything. But in the 
 last few weeks I have thougfht of a better 
 plan — at least, I like it better — and a few 
 words you said just now make me think that 
 you will like it. You have forgotten — may 
 I remind you ? — you said it was painful for a 
 o'irl to brinof nothinof to her husband. Well, 
 my dear ' — the Colonel's clear blue eyes 
 looked very odd as he forgot himself in this 
 manner — ' Paul's wife is Paul to me, and I 
 mean to gratify myself by leaving her — I 
 think about seventy thousand pounds ' 
 
 ' Oh no, no !' cried Mrs. Percival, flushing 
 scarlet. 
 
 ' Why not V said the Colonel quietly. 
 
 ' It is too much. Celia doesn't deserve 
 it. She has no claim on you.'
 
 2 86 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' It is not a question of claims. Neither 
 has Paul any claim ; but he is my dear old 
 friend's son, and Celia belongs to you.' 
 
 At that moment the click of the garden 
 gate announced Paul and Celia. 
 
 ^ Don't make any difficulty, please,' said 
 Colonel Ward, gravely and quickly. ^ Only 
 oblige me by keeping my plans to yourself. 
 The thing is not done yet, and I do not wish 
 her to know before her wedding-day.' 
 
 Mrs. Percival had started up from her 
 chair, and was standing by the chimney- 
 piece. At that moment she could find no 
 words, being torn by a conflict of feelings ; 
 her eyes were full of tears, and she held out 
 her hand to her old lover, who stooped and 
 kissed it He had seldom, perhaps, known 
 a much happier moment. 
 
 Mrs. Percival laughed at Paul and Celia 
 when they came in, and teased them for
 
 TEA WITH THE COLONEL 287 
 
 being so long ; the Colonel was grave and 
 polite as usual. One thought went on 
 tormenting Mrs. Percival, while she was the 
 life of the little party. 
 
 ' Seventy thousand pounds ! My j^oor 
 Vincent ! If Celia had that, and he could 
 marry her !' 
 
 And the instant answer, ^ It is only her 
 marrying Paul that gives her a chance of 
 it,' was, strangely enough, of no use what- 
 ever in driving that thought away. 
 
 As they were travelling up to town the 
 next day, Celia said to Mrs. Percival : 
 
 ' I had a letter from Vincent yesterday. 
 When you write, will you give my love to 
 him, and say I will answer it soon V 
 
 ' Yesterday !' said Mrs. Percival. 
 
 * Yes. I met the postman on the road. 
 I forgot to tell you.' 
 
 ' What did he say ?'
 
 288 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Vincent ? Oh, nothing particular. It 
 was a very kind letter/ 
 
 Celia looked out of the window, and her 
 aunt did not find it necessary to say any 
 more.
 
 CHAPTER XII, 
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE. 
 
 Through the fields of France, past vineyard 
 slopes bare and brown, past running streams, 
 old white water-mills, rows of poplars whose 
 few yellow leaves rustled softly against their 
 slender grey stems, from one little wayside 
 town, with its quaint old church, to another, 
 with its stately old chateau, a Frenchman 
 and his daughter were travelling down from 
 Tours into the west. 
 
 The two were a curious contrast, and na 
 one would have guessed at once that they 
 were father and child. He was tall, broad,, 
 
 VOL. r. 19
 
 290 RED TOWERS 
 
 and fair ; she, a girl of about fourteen, 
 very small and childish-looking for her age, 
 was extremely dark, with a fine, delicate 
 little profile, large black eyes of velvet soft- 
 ness, with long curling lashes, and a quantity 
 of jet-black hair, which made a natural frizz 
 all over her head, and fell in a thick curly 
 mane on her shoulders. She was dressed in 
 a thick dark blue frock, with a picturesque 
 sort of cloak caught up with ribbons, and a 
 round hat on the back of her head, under 
 which the bright little face changed its 
 expression twenty times in a minute. 
 
 She and her father were alone in the rail- 
 way-carriage, and were talking and laughing 
 as fast as they could — she was talking, that 
 is, and he was laughing at her jokes, and at 
 the stories she was telling him about her 
 . friends at the convent she had just left. It 
 was all very amusing, it seemed ; but every-
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 291 
 
 body was as amiable as possible, and as to the 
 reverend mothers, she loved them with all her 
 heart. 
 
 ' I do not quite know why grandmamma 
 means to send me to a new convent, pajDa,' 
 she said, with the first faint shadow on her 
 face. 
 
 He looked troubled, too, for a moment. 
 
 ^ That you may be near her, petite, you 
 understand. And near me, too, when I am 
 in Paris — after all, though, the fault is not 
 grandmamma's ; it's mine.' 
 
 * Ah, bad little papa ! you don't know 
 what it is to make all your friends over again, 
 and your enemies, too. And they are sure 
 to be horrid girls in Paris, who won't let me 
 tease them. Ah, I shall have to be so very 
 comme ilfcmf, it breaks my heart to think 
 of it.' 
 
 ' La, la ! don't let us hear about broken 
 
 19—2
 
 292 RED TOWERS 
 
 hearts, and all those traofedies. There are 
 worse thing's to make over aofain than friends, 
 or enemies either.' 
 
 ' Confessions, when one has committed the 
 same sins over and over again I' suggested 
 the child, lifting her eyebrows with a solemn 
 httle air. 
 
 * Ah, yes, terrible,' said her father, smiling 
 faintly. ' Well, Antoinette, your grand- 
 mamma and I have been obliofed to talk 
 things over seriously.' 
 
 ' That was a little terrible.' 
 
 * Yes, more than a little. And she wanted 
 you near her, which was quite right, and I 
 wanted you, just at this moment, to go 
 home with me for two days. So grand- 
 mamma wrote to the Reverend Mother and 
 arranged it, do you see ? And your holidays 
 this winter will be longer than usual, because 
 I shall take you back to Paris with me.
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 293 
 
 And listen : grandmamma thinks you will 
 catch cold, if you go with me to La Tour 
 Blanche when all the leaves are falling. 
 You must promise me to do nothing of the 
 sort, or I leave you at Saint-Bernard with 
 Madame de Cernay.' 
 
 * If you please, papa, don't do that !' 
 exclaimed Antoinette. 
 
 ' Very well ; but> remember, if you go to 
 Paris with a cough, grandmamma will never 
 forgive me. The poor dear lady hates La 
 Tour Blanche already, and what would she 
 say then ? She would take my little Netta 
 away from me for ever.' 
 
 ' Oh no, papa ; you and I will be very 
 careful,' said the child, slipping her hand 
 into his arm. ' We both love old Tour 
 Blanche ; we won't let grandmamma hate it 
 any more. Do you know what I should like, 
 little papa, if I could have my own way V
 
 294 RED TOWERS 
 
 ' Something extravagant. A fine velvet 
 frock, for instance, instead of this old blue 
 thing.' 
 
 ' No — well, it is absolutely older than you 
 think, though I do wear out my frocks faster 
 than other people. But this is a beautiful 
 plan. I said it at recreation the other day, 
 when we all gave our ideas of happiness — to 
 live alone with you at La Tour Blanche. 
 The others laughed, but it was quite true. 
 I can't think of anything happier. We 
 should never be sad or dull, you and I ; we 
 understand each other so magnificently. We 
 should amuse ourselves all day long, and 
 never want to o^o to Paris. I don't care for 
 Paris, myself 
 
 Her father made no answer at once, but 
 leaned back in his seat, pulling his fair 
 moustache, and stared out of the opposite 
 window.
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 
 
 ■95 
 
 * What, nobody but you and I ? Not 
 grandmamma V he said. 
 
 ' No, she would always be calling me in to 
 take care of my comjDlexion. Besides, she 
 wouldn't come/ 
 
 ' And you would grow up a nice little 
 savage. And have you forgotten that the 
 place is half tumbling down, stained with 
 damp, half furnished, except with dust, and 
 rats, and ghosts V 
 
 ^ Ah, mon Dieu !' murmured Antoinette ; 
 and she crossed herself, for the train was 
 gliding past a cemetery on a hill, at the 
 entrance of a little town. ' I would rather 
 live in it like that, than not at all,' she said. 
 ^ But we must restore it, like M. de Cernay. 
 I have heard you say that Saint-Bernard 
 was a funny old place years ago.' 
 
 ' So it was, petite ; but M. de Cernay is 
 a rich man, do you see ? I am a poor man.
 
 296 RED TOWERS 
 
 But here we are : we must talk about these 
 things another time.' 
 
 After passing under the cemetery hill 
 they crept a few hundred yards farther, 
 between garden walls, till they reached the 
 small station of Saint-Bernard, and here 
 they got out. The fierce faces of the station 
 officials softened as they greeted Antoinette's 
 father ; he was evidently a popular man. 
 
 * Bonjour, M. le Marquis. Pommard is 
 outside there with the dogcart,' said one 
 •of them. 
 
 ' M. le Baron was here just now, asking 
 for monsieur,' cried another. ^ Somebody 
 told him the train had come in, and he went 
 away.' 
 
 ' He is not far off. Call him back, some- 
 body. Your baggage, monsieur : allow me.' 
 
 Even a few years ago, it was by no means 
 common for a French gentleman in his own
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 297 
 
 •country to meet with all these signs of popu- 
 larity. But this man was a hero among his 
 own people, partly from the extraordinary 
 sweet temper and good nature which saved 
 some men of his kind in the great Revolu- 
 tion. They were proud of him, and some- 
 how not envious, as he stood among them 
 like a great fair Englishman, taller than any 
 •of them ; and the English were popular in 
 France then. Outside the station a shabby 
 dogcart was waiting, drawn by a rough- 
 coated horse, which a young man in plain 
 clothes was holding. If a Marquis's coronet 
 had not been visible on cart and harness, 
 the conveyance, from its looks, might have 
 belonged to some farmer. 
 
 ^ We shall overtake M. de Cernay,' said 
 the Marquis, as he helped his daughter into 
 the front seat of the dogcart. But before 
 he had time to get in himself, a small, dark,
 
 298 RED TOWERS 
 
 ugly man came bustling back along the 
 road, hot with haste, under the grey- 
 November sky. 
 
 * My dear Montmirail ! My dear Achille l'^ 
 cried M. de Cernay, whose smile was most 
 agreeable. * You are not going straight off 
 to La Tour Blanche ? Mademoiselle, how 
 do you do ? Charmed to see you : it is a 
 privilege to see our neighbours again. But 
 you must dine and sleep at our house, my 
 dear Achille. My wife will never forgive 
 me if I go back without you and Mdlle, 
 Antoinette.' 
 
 ^ Thank you, my dear friend, but ' 
 
 * Xo excuses. We have a great deal to- 
 say ''to you. We have had letters that con- 
 cern you. What do you say now V M. de 
 Cernay stopped, smiling more than ever^ 
 for some strano^e ag^itation showed itself in 
 his friend's face.
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 299. 
 
 * Look here/ said the Marquis, laying his 
 hand on De Cernay's shoulder. ' Do me 
 this kindness. Make my excuses to 
 Madame de Cernay for this evening, and if 
 you have nothing better to do to-morrow 
 and will drive over to breakfast at La Tour 
 Blanche, I shall be enchanted to see you. 
 There we can talk things over, and you can 
 tell me about — these letters. If Madame 
 de Cernay will honour me and Antoinette 
 by coming with you, though I hardly dare 
 ask her to such an establishment ' 
 
 * She will, she will — charmed to renew 
 her friendship with Mdlle. Antoinette — 
 who, upon my word, is more beautiful than 
 ever,' he added confidentially, with a laugh- 
 ing glance at the child, who smiled at him 
 brightly. 
 
 * Dear little M. de Cernay T she said,^ 
 as she drove away with her father. ^ He
 
 300 RED TOWERS 
 
 is very good, but not very good-looking ; 
 what do you say V 
 
 ' I say there are not many good-looking 
 people in the world.' 
 
 * You need not complain ; you see one 
 whenever you look in the glass/ 
 
 * Little flatterer, you expect me to believe 
 you. And no doubt you believed M. de 
 Cernay when he said you were beautiful.' ^ 
 
 ' Ah no,' she said a little sadly ; ' I am 
 too black to be pretty ; all the girls say so. 
 That was only one of his kind speeches. 
 Don't you think, papa, that women ought to 
 be fair ?' 
 
 ' They say so. I don't know,' he an- 
 swered rather carelessly. Perhaps he was 
 thinking of something else. 
 
 ' Mamma was dark, to be sure,' she 
 whispered to herself ; and then M. de 
 Montmirail whipped the horse impatiently.
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 301 
 
 * You should have had him chpped, Pom- 
 mard.' 
 
 * M. le Marquis gave no orders/ answered 
 his man. 
 
 They drove through the low white out- 
 skirts of the little town, and then for some 
 distance along a high-road, yellow and even, 
 bordered by grass banks with stately grey 
 poplars, large and old, growing in them at 
 regular intervals. Between each five or six 
 of these poplars w^as a square and tidy heap 
 of stones for mending the road, arranged 
 there by the ' cantonniers,' who do their 
 work in this artistic fashion. The road ran 
 on perfectly straight up and down hill, as 
 far as one could see, but M. de Montmirail 
 did not drive very far along it. He turned 
 into a green grassy-sided lane, sheltered by 
 bushes and willow-trees, near a clear, quiet 
 stream, where a few small cows and goats
 
 302 RED TOWERS 
 
 were feeding, under the care of a group of 
 wild-looking children. Then he turned up 
 a hill, away from the stream, leaving on 
 the left a picturesque old mill, and some 
 thatched farm -buildings standing among 
 poplars. 
 
 The lane divided itself here, one branch 
 running on by the stream and the trees, the 
 other climbing to higher ground, and pre- 
 sently coming out on a bare upland, with 
 ^reat brown ploughed fields stretching away 
 on each side, bleak and lonely, and trees and 
 roofs only to be seen in the distance. 
 
 But as they drove on, approaching the 
 l3row of a steepish hill, the road made a 
 sudden turn down to the left, and a rich 
 and pretty valley lay before them. In 
 summer it must have been a mass of 
 greenery ; now some of the trees were bare, 
 but others were still clothed in brown and
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 303 
 
 gold and lingering green, and with the red 
 roofs of a village clustered and half hidden 
 amongst them, even under that grey No- 
 vember sky the valley had a beauty of its 
 own. Looking down from this point on the 
 road, one saw the white church-spire rising 
 below among the varied roofs, and the little 
 shady cemetery enclosed within its walls ; 
 and then came the picturesque confusion of 
 trees, rows of poplars marking the stream 
 as it ran through deep meadows and under 
 the road ; and then, on the opposite slo2)e, 
 the clustered trees broke above into bare 
 slopes of vineyard facing the sun, and the 
 top of the hill, higher than on this side of 
 the valley, was covered w^ith dark, gloomy- 
 looking fir-woods. 
 
 But the chief feature of that slope was 
 a large white building that rose among the 
 thickest of the trees, a great white tower
 
 304 RED TOWERS 
 
 or pavilion, its grey slated roof glimmerings 
 looking down on the village in the hollow 
 with an air of stately command and kind 
 protection, as if the great Revolution, for 
 instance, was a thing that had never really 
 come to pass, or at least was not worth 
 remembering. 
 
 ' Dear old Tour Blanche I' exclaimed little 
 Antoinette de Montmirail, as she came in 
 sight of that wild old house among the trees, 
 
 * I wish we were going to stay there always/ 
 
 * Do you ? Well, I partly agree with 
 you,' said her father. ^ I should like to 
 live there most of the year, but that is im- 
 possible unless the house can be restored ; 
 and pray where is the money to come 
 from V 
 
 ' Oh, I hate money,' said Antoinette. 
 
 * What happiness if it had never been in- 
 vented !'
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 305 
 
 ^ I don't know, after all,' said her father, 
 as they drove down into the village street, 
 ' that it would be wise to spend so much 
 money here. You see, we have so little land 
 here now. The wise thing would be to sell 
 it to some good man who has made a for- 
 tune by chocolate or caramels. What do you 
 say to that? Monsieur et Madame Chocolat, 
 et les petit s Chocolat. A grand day for the 
 old Tour Blanche. They would fill it with 
 splendid china, and Louis Quinze furniture, 
 and Gobelins tapestry, and live there magnifi- 
 cently. What do you say? Shall we do it? 
 Your grandmother would be enchanted.' 
 
 ^ And two people's hearts would be 
 broken.' 
 
 ' Whose, then ?' 
 
 ' Mine and M. de Cernay's.' 
 
 'Ah, yes, you are right. M. de Cernay 
 wants me to live here as much as you do^ 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 3o6 RED TOWERS 
 
 But he knows the difficulties better than 
 you. In fact, I will tell you a secret.' 
 The cheerful Achille bent down to his little 
 daughter, and looked quite solemnly into 
 her eyes. ^ There is only one way in which 
 I can live here, and restore the chateau,' he 
 said close to her ear. 
 
 ' Is there a way ?' she said, gazing up 
 with bright intelligence. 
 
 * Yes. Say no more now; here comes M. le 
 Cure. Perhaps I will tell you more to-morrow.' 
 
 It was necessary to stop and speak to 
 M. le Cure, who smiled welcome all over his 
 sturdy brown face. 
 
 * You had my letter ?' said the Marquis. 
 
 ' Certainly, monsieur ; I was expecting it. 
 At nine o'clock to-morrow, then.' 
 
 ' If you please. And you will stay to 
 breakfast with us, M. le Cure ?' 
 
 * With pleasure, monsieur.'
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 307 
 
 There were plenty more greetings as they 
 drove through the village : the inn-keeper, 
 standing at his door under his sign of Le 
 Corbeau Blanc ; the bricklayer, the black- 
 smith, working at their trades in the street. 
 The Marquis's hat was constantly off to 
 these and others, and to the women carry- 
 ing home loaves from the baker or returning 
 wearily from their washing on the river 
 brink ; all these looked up smilingly at the 
 little demoiselle and her father. 
 
 ' They all like you, papa,' she said, when 
 at last the bridge was crossed and they were 
 driving up the wild, untidy, overgrown old 
 avenue of the chateau. 
 
 ' They would have much more reason to 
 like M. Chocolat.' 
 
 * Oh no,' answered the girl quickly ; ' you 
 know very well that the peasants never like 
 the bourgeoisie.' 
 
 20 — 2
 
 3o8 RED TOWERS 
 
 * Where did you get all your knowledge 
 of the world V he said. 
 
 ' Not at the convent, you imagine ? Bah ! 
 one learns a good deal in life besides one's 
 lessons/ said Mdlle. Antoinette. 
 
 * No doubt ; but it generally takes a little 
 time, and you are already as wise as your 
 grandmother. What a noise the dogs 
 make !' 
 
 ^ Ah, dear old Ponto, and Fido, and 
 Rataplan ! What joy to run about with 
 them again !' she cried ; and she was ready 
 to spring out of the dogcart before it 
 stopped. 
 
 ' Patience, mademoiselle ! a person of 
 your knowledge ' her father remon- 
 strated. 
 
 Out of the dimness of the avenue they 
 came into a large court, covered with gravel, 
 and rather weedy. Down the two sides of
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 309 
 
 this court ran high white stone walls, their 
 ruinous state half hidden by the ivy that 
 clustered over them, and the great chestnut 
 and walnut trees that sheltered them. Each 
 wall ended in a round turret, white, with a 
 pointed grey roof, also half in ruins, and 
 overgrown with ivy. Across the upper side 
 of the square lay the house itself, mounted 
 on a high terrace, and evidently, by the 
 remains of old walls and foundations about 
 it, much smaller now than it had been in 
 former times. On the west side was the 
 great tower that commanded the valley — 
 white, square, and heavy, with windows here 
 and there. Below this, a long slated roof 
 with a ridge of twisted iron- work ran along 
 to another _^9avi7Zo?i to the east, smaller, and 
 more inhabited-looking. Then the line of 
 building was broken by an archway with a 
 tall iron gate, reached by a flight of steps,
 
 3IO RED TOWERS 
 
 and opening into some sort of garden or 
 2)laisance behind the chateau. These steps 
 led also to the door of the chapel, the 
 ancient stones and low vaulting of which 
 showed a greater age than that of the rest 
 of the building. Behind the chapel, to the 
 east, was the stable-yard, sheltered by great 
 trees ; and another high white archway led 
 into the yard belonging to a range of farm- 
 buildings ; vast barns, with wine-cellars 
 underneath them ; cow-houses, pigsties, a 
 duck-pond, more great walnut-trees stretch- 
 ing their boughs across a scene of more than 
 Irish untidiness, with the low door and 
 windows of the farmer s house opening on a 
 grass-grown, uneven causeway, raised a few 
 inches above it all. 
 
 To the little Demoiselle de Montmirail, 
 this chateau was her beautiful old home, and 
 she would hardly even confess that it wanted
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 311 
 
 restoring. All the windows were unshuttered 
 to-day, the doors stood open, and two old 
 friends were waiting on the steps of the 
 terrace. Antoinette jumped down at once 
 into the arms of her old nurse, Suzanne, 
 whose husband, the old valet cle chamhre, as- 
 disagreeable as he was clever and faithful, 
 came forward with a stiff bow and a vinegar 
 smile to receive his master. 
 
 ' Come then, my child,' said Suzanne, and 
 with many loving and admiring remarks she 
 took her little lady into the house, a small 
 black-and-tan terrier dancing joyfully round 
 them, while the dogs in the yard barked 
 their loudest. 
 
 Suzanne was a handsome, fat, comfortable 
 woman, with a smiling face and pleasant 
 dark eyes. Everyone under her charge 
 was in peace and in clover. She wore a 
 nice white cap with flying strings, a thick
 
 312 RED TOWERS 
 
 blue linsey skirt, and a loose black jacket. 
 She and Antoinette hurried together into 
 the bare stone hall of the chateau, from 
 which a broad, shallow staircase of stone led 
 to the upper rooms. 
 
 The house was narrow in proportion to 
 its length and height, like all the houses of 
 its time, and the upper story had originally 
 •consisted of large rooms opening one into 
 the other throuofhout the lenofth of the 
 corps de logis. The great tower was 
 divided from the rest of the house by the 
 staircase, and its rooms had not been used 
 for some years. They had been put in 
 order and furnished for the young Marquise, 
 Antoinette's mother, but she had died when 
 her child was not more than two years old, 
 and her husband, living there very little, 
 had never used the tower rooms since. In 
 his father's time, the great inconvenient
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 313. 
 
 rooms in the other part of the house had 
 been partitioned and made into smaller 
 ones, with a corridor running along behind 
 them. 
 
 The universal brick floors of earlier days 
 had also been changed for wooden ones ; 
 but all was now bare and shabby and 
 dilapidated ; and there certainly was no- 
 thing lovable or attractive in the stern 
 old place, with its white walls two or three 
 yards thick, to explain Antoinette's affection 
 for it. 
 
 ^ Mademoiselle's own room is ready for 
 her,' said Suzanne, as her young mistress 
 sprang upstairs before her. 
 
 And certainly there was something very 
 cheerful in mademoiselle's own room. Its 
 high window looked out to the terrace, 
 where all the dogs were now jumping 
 round M. le Marquis ; it was papered^
 
 314 RED TOWERS 
 
 ceiling and all, with bright pink stripes ; 
 the curtains and cover of the bed were 
 also pink. There were gay rugs on the 
 floor, the chimney-piece had a smart clock, 
 and was also adorned with a variety of glass 
 and (diina which Suzanne had collected at 
 different fetes and offered to mademoiselle ; 
 there were little pictures on the walls, more 
 bright than beautiful, and by the bed hung 
 a branch of box, now very dead, which had 
 no doubt been blessed in church on Palm 
 Sunday. There were a few old red velvet 
 chairs, a little old chest of drawers, and an 
 arrangement for eau sucree. 
 
 Suzanne had taken great pains to make 
 this room what she thought her young 
 lady's room ought to be. Behind the 
 brass dogs on the hearth a bright wood 
 fire was burning. 
 
 ' Oh, Suzanne, how pretty it all is !' said
 
 LA TOUR BLANCHE 
 
 315 
 
 the child, and standing in the middle of the 
 floor, she made two or three little jumps in 
 the air. ' If papa would only restore the 
 house, and let us live here always ! I think 
 I have put it into his head, you know.' 
 
 ' Ah, dame ! that is good news indeed, 
 mademoiselle,' said Suzanne. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING A SONS. PRINTERS. GUILDFORa 
 
 G., C. d: Co.
 
 Iy-