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FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ANNE DYSART," " ARTHUR," 
 
 &c, &c. 
 
 La religion, la Boci^e", la nature, telles sont les trois luttea de rhomme." 
 
 Let Travailleurs de Mer. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1873. 
 
 The rigid of Translation u reserved. 
 
LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 BLENHEOJ STREET, OXFORD STREET. 
 
bZMeZL* 
 
 FATHER GODFREY, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ST. FRIDESWIDE. 
 
 ON a certain evening, early in the month 
 of June, two } T oung men were strolling 
 together in the walks known in Oxford as 
 Christchurch Meadows. 
 
 The evening was fine, but its beauty was 
 of a solemn cast. A stillness, almost like 
 the stillness which precedes a storm, filled 
 the air. In the west, a wide tract of dusky 
 red cloud set the sky ablaze, like some vast 
 conflagration. The tree-tops glowed as with 
 the light of torches, and each tower and 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 battlement was either crested with fire, or 
 stood out in purple gloom from the crimson 
 background. 
 
 Neither of the two young men was 
 speaking. Perhaps it might have been the 
 aspect of the scene, perhaps it might have 
 been the fact that this was their last quiet 
 walk together before the close of their 
 University career, which made them both so 
 thoughtful. At last, the one who looked 
 the elder of the two said, 
 
 "What a beautiful night !" 
 
 " Splendid ! How dark it is under the 
 trees ! I declare it makes me feel as if I 
 durst only speak in a whisper. I am glad I 
 have seen the old place looking like this." 
 
 " It is very fine," said the other ; but he 
 spoke absently. 
 
 " It does not look real at all. It is like 
 some dream of the Middle Ages, before 
 everything got so commonplace. Godfrey, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 6 
 
 I feel as if it would not in the least surprise 
 me to meet old Wolsey himself — scarlet hat 
 and all — this very minute. I declare it 
 would seem quite natural. What a magnifi- 
 cent fellow he was ! One feels so sorry for 
 him. Mediaeval times, with all their colour 
 and mystery, went out with him in a flash of 
 splendour ; and in came acts of Parliament, 
 Thirty-nine Articles, and all the daylight and 
 prose of modern life ! " 
 
 His companion listened attentively enough 
 to this rhapsody, but only said, by way of 
 rejoinder : 
 
 " I hope you may have as fine an evening 
 for the boats to-morrow." 
 
 " I should not like an evening like this. 
 It would not be at all the sort of thing. I 
 want something more sparkling and breezy. 
 One doesn't want to dance to a Psalm tune." 
 
 Wynford's was an honest English face, 
 fresh, and full yet of the glow and candour of 
 
 b 2 
 
4 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 boyhood ; quick to reflect the impressions of 
 passing objects ; and like a boy's, too, in a 
 certain absence of thought, which yet seem- 
 ed by no means an absence of the power of 
 thinking. 
 
 In Godfrey's countenance there was more 
 of the determined character of manhood. 
 He looked much older than his companion, 
 but in reality there was only a few months 
 difference in their ages. Complexion might 
 have had something to do with it. Wyn- 
 ford's was of that ideal Anglo-Saxon type 
 celebrated ever since the days when the 
 blue-eyed children of the isles were pro- 
 nounced, in their captivity, to be not 
 Angles, but Angels ; though what autho- 
 rity we possess for ascribing invariably blue 
 eyes to these supernal messengers, it might 
 be difficult to discover. Godfrey, on the con- 
 trary, was dark-eyed and dark-haired, not 
 especially swarthy or pale, but without 
 bloom or variety of colouring. Both were 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 5 
 
 well-looking ; the one face had the charm 
 of variety, the other the piquancy of an un- 
 solved secret. 
 
 They were now on the path by the river, 
 and were talking of the approaching com- 
 memoration. All at once Wynford ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " What a pretty girl !" 
 
 " Where? I did not notice." 
 
 " Not notice ! The very prettiest girl I 
 ever saw in my life. The one on the left 
 hand of the three persons who have just 
 passed." 
 
 " Did anybody pass us ? I was hardly 
 aware of it." 
 
 " How very provoking you should not 
 have seen her ! " 
 
 "Provoking! Not at all. Very few 
 women are really beautiful, and those who 
 are, are never as pretty as the faces one sees 
 in pictures." 
 
 " But this face was, I assure you — indeed 
 
6 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 it was of one of the faces in the pictures of 
 these old-master fellows it reminded me — 
 such eyes, and the hair bright, as if the sun 
 shone on it." 
 
 " Perhaps it did — or that red cloud, at 
 least." 
 
 " Let us go round again, and try to meet 
 her. I must convince you that I know geese 
 from swans !" 
 
 " Let us go then, if you are not afraid of 
 dispelling a pleasant illusion. We shall not 
 have the advantage of the red light on the 
 hair, for it is going fast." 
 
 Eager and piqued, Wynford hurried his 
 friend round the walks ; but no lady at all 
 answering to the description he had given 
 was to be seen anywhere. At last he said, 
 as if clutching at a forlorn hope, 
 
 " Perhaps she may be at the Procession 
 of Boats to-morrow evening." 
 
 There was a mischievous look in Godfrey's 
 
FATHEK GODFKEY. 7 
 
 eves, vet far from an unkind one, as he 
 answered, condolingly, 
 
 " No doubt she will, if she is not a phan- 
 tom or an apparition, perhaps, of St. Frides- 
 wide herself!" 
 
 " Nonsense ! I tell you it was a real girl 
 of flesh and blood!" 
 
 " But you said she looked like a saint or 
 a Madonna !" 
 
 " Only her face. She was dressed like 
 other girls," Wynford said, somewhat crossly. 
 
 Godfrey now laughed outright. 
 
 "Then you may depend upon it you will 
 see her to-morrow night; and what is equally 
 gratifying, she will see you — the stroke of 
 the victorious boat, the hero of the scene !" 
 
 " Sneer as you like, Godfrey. I am glad 
 I have not pored over musty books till I 
 am blind to everything but Greek characters 
 and mathematical diagrams." 
 
 " I am not sneering, my good fellow ; but 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 you see, however it may suit you, it would 
 not do for me to behold an angel in the 
 possessor of every pretty face that comes 
 
 across me." 
 
 " Upon my word, I don't see it. Of 
 course you are booked for a fellowship. 
 And then comes the Rectory, unless you 
 go out in the pedagogic line — that is the 
 fashion for clever fellows now, I suppose ? 
 — then the Bishopric. You must have a 
 handsome, dignified woman to do the 
 honours of the palace. I hope, my Lord — " 
 But Wynford stopped suddenly, struck by 
 the expression of annoyance, almost amount- 
 ing to pain, in his friend's face. " Come, 
 don't be down-hearted, old fellow. After 
 such a splendid double-first, how could you 
 fail ? — of the fellowship, I mean." 
 
 Godfrey smiled, but hardly naturally, and 
 turned the conversation from himself upon 
 Wynford. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. V 
 
 " It is a shame you did not take a first 
 too. You got your second with so little 
 trouble that if you had only read a little 
 more " 
 
 " If I had, I should never have been the 
 stroke of the boat. Had it not been for 
 you, I should not have gone in for honours 
 at all. I am astonished now, when I think 
 how hard I read ; but a man does not like 
 to make a fool of himself." 
 
 " Then why did not you try for the prize 
 poem ? You write very respectable verses. 
 I don't know whether your ideas are ori- 
 ginal, but they are poetical. I believe you 
 would have got it." 
 
 " Perhaps I should ; but, you see, I was 
 born with the silver spoon in my mouth, 
 and the consequence is, when you are in 
 lawn sleeves, testifying against all sorts of 
 heresies and isms, on the right hand and 
 on the left, I shall be cantering home with 
 
10 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 the fox's brush, or inspecting the hoeing of 
 ray turnips at Thorleigh." 
 
 11 Have you no ambition, Wynford ?" 
 
 " Not much, I am afraid. I feel very 
 jolly as I am. It is not a sin to be content- 
 ed, is it ?" 
 
 Instead of making any answer, Frederick 
 Godfrey fell into a brown study, and they 
 walked back to their college in silence. 
 
 " How cold and grey the sky has be- 
 come !" Godfrey remarked, as they sepa- 
 rated to go to their rooms. 
 
 Frederick John Godfrey and Leigh 
 Wynford had rooms in the same quad- 
 rangle — indeed, on the same staircase — and 
 this propinquity it was which had first given 
 rise to the friendship they had maintained 
 through nearly the whole term of their col- 
 lege life. Godfrey was the eldest son of 
 the late Dean of Marshborough, who had 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 11 
 
 died a year or two after his preferment to 
 that dignity, leaving a widow and a large 
 family in narrow circumstances. Frederick 
 had already distinguished himself at school, 
 and to enable him to follow out the career 
 so well begun, his mother was obliged to 
 draw upon her small capital, with the un- 
 derstanding that his success was to be made 
 the means of educating the younger mem- 
 bers of the family. 
 
 On the morning which brought Frederick's 
 letter, announcing briefly the honours he 
 had attained, there was not a happier or a 
 prouder mother in all England than the 
 widow of the Dean of Marshborough. 
 Looking on the blooming group of boys 
 and girls assembled on the tiny lawn behind 
 her cottage, her proud dark eye glistened 
 as she said — 
 
 " If your father had only lived to see this 
 day r 
 
12 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 It was not the nature of the Godfrey 
 family to be demonstrative ; but perhaps 
 their satisfaction was not the less intense on 
 that account. 
 
 In the meantime, the news of the less 
 signal success of Wynford had been receiv- 
 ed, if not with deeper joy, yet with louder 
 manifestations ; and whereas Mrs. Godfrey 
 might have been mortified if her son had 
 taken only a second-class, Mrs. Wynford 
 was elated, carrying at once to the Parson- 
 age, and to every farmhouse and cottage in 
 the village, tidings of the distinction gained 
 by the " young Squire." 
 
 The rooms in which the two classmen 
 resided were situated in a small, quiet quad- 
 rangle, the rounded battlements and mul- 
 lioned oriel windows of which bespoke it to 
 have been new when the first James ruled 
 in England. Now it was dark with time 
 and smoke, like the trim grass plat in the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 13 
 
 centre, and the ivy which muffled the gate- 
 way. 
 
 " As dull a little quad as any in Oxford," 
 Godfrey considered it ; to which proposition 
 Wynford indignantly and grandiloquently 
 replied that " it was not dull — that the 
 gloom was merely the shadow of the olden 
 time projecting itself into the common-place 
 life of the present." 
 
 But though Godfrey had called it dull, it 
 was not because he quarrelled with the dul- 
 ness. He had chosen rooms looking into the 
 quadrangle for the very reason that there 
 would be nothing to disturb his studies. For 
 the same reason, perhaps, his rooms were 
 furnished with extreme plainness. The most 
 striking objects his sitting-room contained 
 were a handsome but long-used writing- 
 table, on w T hich stood, open, a large portable 
 writing-desk, lined with faded green baize, 
 surrounded with tomes of the most learned 
 
14 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 aspect ; and an old-fashioned leather arm- 
 chair. A large photograph of Marshborough 
 Cathedral, in an Oxford frame, hung over 
 the mantelpiece, which was further orna- 
 mented by sundry other specimens of the 
 same art — most probably family likenesses. 
 
 Nothing could have afforded a more 
 striking contrast to this student-like plain- 
 ness than Wynford's rooms up two pairs of 
 stairs. He had two sitting-rooms, with a 
 door between — the outer furnished like a 
 small library, with a thick, dark carpet, oak 
 bookcase and writing-table, with candle- 
 sticks on the mantelpiece of illuminated 
 brass. The inner apartment had much more 
 the aspect of a lady's boudoir than the 
 sanctum of a student. The pretty carpet, 
 the walls adorned with chromo-lithographs 
 of the Arundel Society, the inviting sofa, 
 and the loo-table, ornamented with splendid- 
 ly-bound books and pretty knick-knacks, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 15 
 
 testified to the taste as well as to the some- 
 what luxurious habits of the inmate. As 
 he came in now, he threw himself lazily on 
 the sofa, apparently in a thoughtful mood. 
 But noticing ere long that the moon was 
 rising, he drew an easy-chair into the win- 
 dow, to watch it, like a romantic youth as 
 he was — in this age of science and comic 
 papers somewhat of a phenomenon — or, per- 
 haps he was an instance of a reversion to a 
 former type. 
 
 Wynford's window did not look into the 
 quadrangle, but into the college gardens, 
 which were among the finest in Oxford. 
 Here, as the shadows of the weeping birches 
 swept the lawns in the whitening moonlight, 
 and the night breeze whispered among the 
 leaves hints of beauty unutterable, the 
 thoughts of the young man not unnaturally 
 wandered away to the face which had 
 reminded him of those visions of saintlv 
 
16 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 loveliness which look out from the canvas 
 of the great masters of Christian art. He 
 seemed fast falling into a mental rhapsody, 
 which might have betrayed him even into 
 the perpetration of a poem on the supposed 
 vision of St. Frideswide, or other contribu- 
 tion to the all-devouring sepulchre of the 
 dust-bin, had the remembrance fortunately 
 not been associated in his mind with the 
 scepticism and "chaff" of his friend. The 
 wholesome indignation thus aroused turned 
 his thoughts in another direction, and the 
 poem on St. Frideswide is yet, like the 
 productions of the "mute, inglorious Mil- 
 tons," in the limbo of the great unwritten. 
 
 Godfrey sat down likewise when he re- 
 turned to his rooms ; but not in the window ; 
 for though Wynford would have had half 
 an hour's entire satisfaction in the mere con- 
 templation of the "ebon and ivory" into 
 which moonlight and shadow had divided 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 17 
 
 the quadrangle, either Godfrey was not so 
 much alive to the commoner touches of 
 beauty, or his deeper passions were too 
 strongly stirred to admit of the abandon 
 necessary to that enjoyment. 
 
 He seated himself in the leather arm- 
 chair, in an attitude of extreme weariness. 
 After a time, he started up and began to 
 pace about the room in apparent agitation. 
 When at last he seated himself again, it was 
 to bury his face in his hands, and a fine ear 
 might have been able to distinguish a 
 groan. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
18 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 QT. FRIDESWIDE, as Godfrey persisted 
 ^ in calling the unknown beauty, was not 
 to be seen at the Procession of Boats, much 
 to the disappointment of Wynford, to whom 
 it had now become a point of honour to 
 make Godfrey confess that he had not ex- 
 aggerated her charms. 
 
 The two friends accompanied one another 
 to the theatre, to see the honorary degrees 
 conferred. It was a Grand Commemora- 
 tion, and there were many attractions in the 
 shape of eminent men, distinguished foreign- 
 ers, Royal personages, and other lions of the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 19 
 
 loudest roar. The building was even more 
 than usually crowded. 
 
 The black mass of M.A.'s in the area, with 
 their iron-grey locks and middle-aged faces, 
 the somewhat pompous semi-circle of doctors 
 in crimson and black, the " gay bevy" of ladies, 
 as the newspapers delight to describe an 
 assemblage of women, in tiers of seats rising 
 immediately behind them, and, above all, 
 the sea of young faces in the galleries, form 
 a sort of classified picture of the upper 
 classes of society, which in its way is unique. 
 But is all this not annually described by 
 the " own correspondents," of every paper, 
 of every hue in religion and politics ? 
 
 Every now and then, as the somewhat 
 demonstrative England of the future, which 
 had not yet, however, reached the climax of 
 the "red tie," gave way to some more than 
 usually explosive criticism, the faces of the 
 " Dons" below were upturned towards it, 
 
 c 2 
 
20 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 some in reproof, some in a half-melancholy, 
 half-amused sympathy. For those time-worn 
 faces were the very faces that once filled 
 these same galleries ; and the countenances 
 to which seriousness seemed now an impossi- 
 bility, would look as grave and as furrowed 
 to a not distant generation. 
 
 u Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis." 
 
 The Crewian oration was made, the 
 " Newdegate" was read, both in that mum- 
 bling, utterly incomprehensible tone with, 
 which English schoolboys and University 
 men think it necessary to avoid the indelible 
 disgrace of " spouting." 
 
 "That ought to have been yours, Wyn- 
 ford," Godfrey whispered. 
 
 But Wynford, instead of answering, ex- 
 claimed, with sudden animation : 
 
 " She is here ! — just opposite, second row 
 from the front, next but one to the pillar. 
 Now?" 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 21 
 
 The " now'' with which he concluded was 
 both interrogative and triumphant. Godfrey 
 turned an amused countenance in the direc- 
 tion indicated, and then said : 
 
 " Well, you are right — she is beautiful J" 
 
 " I Jmew you would say so, though you 
 are as hard as a flint, and as cold as steel." 
 
 " I hope you are not as happy in your 
 description of me as of St. Frideswide, whom 
 I suppose I must not call St. Frideswide any 
 longer, now that she has returned to the 
 world of flesh and blood. But really you 
 hit her off to a T." 
 
 And with critical eye he began to ex- 
 amine her, as if she were a picture. She 
 looked about eighteen or nineteen, and her 
 beauty might fairly enough have furnished 
 an excuse for a young man's rhapsody, if 
 young men, that is to say, were in the habit 
 of indulging in rhapsodies. But the affecta- 
 tion of the present day lies all in a contrary 
 
22 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 direction. Wynford, however, was not 
 affected. His home education, and the 
 admiration which had waited on him from 
 infancy, had saved him from that vice at 
 least. 
 
 " Exactly the face of a mediaeval angel," 
 said Godfrey. "I wonder, if one were to 
 know her, how far from angelic she would 
 turn out ? I wonder if she pushes about her 
 little brothers and sisters, and rates her 
 maid when she does not succeed in pro- 
 ducing that turn of her cocoon-coloured 
 hair which has such a becoming and un- 
 studied effect?" 
 
 " I tell you, man, that girl does nothing 
 for effect ; she does not look like it. And 
 to call her hair cocoon-coloured !" 
 
 "It is cocoon-coloured." 
 
 " It is like threads of sunshine, or as if a 
 glory rested on it !" 
 
 Godfrey laughed. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 23 
 
 "More poetical, perhaps, but not more 
 correct." 
 
 Wynford made no answer, but turned 
 away in indignation ; and, a popular public 
 character then coming forward to receive 
 his honorary degree, both he and Godfrey 
 were soon joining lustily in the deafening 
 cheer which is a speciality of English youth 
 when it condescends to be enthusiastic. St. 
 Frideswide was not mentioned between them 
 again ; but it did not appear that even God- 
 frey had forgotten her. When they met in 
 the evening, he proposed that they should 
 look for her. 
 
 " What ! though she rates her maid, and 
 pushes about her little brothers and sisters !" 
 
 " That does not make her the less beauti- 
 ful. I admire beautiful pictures and statues, 
 and, cceteris paribus, flesh and blood are 
 more beautiful than either. Whether she 
 rates her maid or not, she is equally lovely . " 
 
24 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " Not to me. I could not care even for 
 a picture if I could not fancy "its beauty the 
 outcome of the life within." 
 
 " Then with you 'tis ' Handsome does that 
 handsome is.' " 
 
 " No, it is not. I don't admire lifeless, 
 soulless features ; but I believe 
 
 1 Tis the mind that makes the body rich, 
 As honour peereth through the meanest habit.' " 
 
 " That might be all very well in the days 
 of Queen Elizabeth ; but honour does not 
 peer through mean habits now-a-days. Does 
 not Carlyle tell us we are all mere clothes- 
 blocks ? I am not so apt at quotations as 
 you are ; but the actual experience of life, 
 and even of history, is on my side." 
 
 "You believe in the beautiful fiends, 
 then, of Miss Braddon's novels, for in- 
 stance ?" 
 
 " I don't believe inhuman fiends as a rule 
 at all. More of us are like brutes than 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 25 
 
 fiends — half brutes, half divinities ; and it is 
 very difficult to say where the divinity ends 
 and the brute begins." 
 
 " You won't persuade me that you have 
 much of the brute about you, old fellow. 
 I only wish you would not affect that kind 
 of impassive manner, as if you were the 
 hero of a novel of the ' Guy Livingstone ' 
 school — the next thing to a brute, by-the- 
 bye." 
 
 " I don't affect it." 
 
 " But I say you do ; if I were you I would 
 be more original." 
 
 Wynford had not the good fortune to see 
 " St. Frideswide," as they continued to call 
 her, again, but Godfrey was luckier ; she 
 was seated opposite to him during the ser- 
 vice at New College Chapel, while Wynford 
 was looking for her at a public breakfast. 
 But this was her last appearance. 
 
 The " Grand Commemoration " was over. 
 
26 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Men were off for the " Long Vacation " — 
 some to read, some to travel, some to loaf 
 about upon croquet lawns and among game- 
 preserves, and some " for good," as it is 
 called. Among these was Leigh Wynford ; 
 and whether or not it was for good for him, 
 these pages will in due course show. He 
 had passed through the vestibule with 
 credit, and now stood on the threshold of 
 life — that threshold which, to some, looks 
 like the grim entrance to a penitentiary, 
 necessity and toil beyond, to him looked 
 like a gateway leading to a " lordly pleasure- 
 house." 
 
 Godfrey, who was to remain behind his 
 friend, walked with him to the railway- 
 station. Wynford talked all the way — God- 
 frey was silent. 
 
 They were only just in time ; for the bell 
 rang as they entered the station. They 
 grasped one another by the hand. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 27 
 
 "I tell you what, Godfrey," said Wyn- 
 ford, speaking fast and excited ; " you have 
 made a man of me. I should have got into 
 that fast set, if it had not been for you — I 
 should have broken their hearts at home. 
 And now they are so ridiculously proud of 
 me ! It is all you, Godfrey. You are the 
 best friend and the finest fellow in the 
 world !" 
 
 Instead of the semi-sarcastic reply which 
 Wynford probably expected, he was almost 
 startled to see Godfrey gulp, as if with some 
 unusual effort to express himself. But he 
 only wrung Wynford's hand, and said, 
 " God bless you, old fellow !" The younger 
 man fancied that his friend's dark eye 
 glistened as he spoke with something over 
 and above its mere natural keenness — a cir- 
 cumstance that so astonished and touched 
 him that the somewhat blurred outline of 
 the city of colleges — a mere suggestive con- 
 
28 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 fusion of spires, turrets, and battlements — 
 was sketched on the horizon like castles in 
 cloud-land, before the responsive mist had 
 vanished from his own. 
 
29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SON AND HEIR. 
 
 T EIGH WYNFOKD was the only son of 
 
 -" a country gentleman of good family, 
 fortune, and position. It was not till many 
 years after the marriage of his parents, 
 when they had, with bitter disappointment, 
 abandoned all hope of offspring, that the 
 " son and heir " at last made his appearance. 
 Who shall describe the rejoicings at Thor- 
 leigh Court, and on the Thorleigh estate ; 
 the barons of beef, the barrels of ale, the 
 blazing of bonfires, the ringing of bells, the 
 dancing and the speechifying, the mirth 
 and the music, and the loud huzzas, and, 
 
30 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 above all, the countenance of the Squire 
 himself, which looked as if it could never 
 more be the seat of grief or care ! 
 
 It was a scene of universal joy, for the 
 Squire was much liked — in many cases, 
 loved by his dependents; and they really 
 shared in his happiness, and were glad, for 
 their own sakes, to look forward to the day 
 when a shoot from the good old stock 
 should reign over them as landlord and 
 master. From which the acute reader can- 
 not fail to perceive that Thorleigh was a 
 very benighted place, where Universal Suf- 
 frage and the Ballot Bill were altogether 
 unfamiliar and abhorrent ideas. In fact, 
 those who professed such ideas, together 
 with other immoral persons, would probably 
 have received a strong hint to locate them- 
 selves elsewhere. 
 
 The Squire was somewhat of an autocrat. 
 He was, however, a benevolent and con- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 31 
 
 scientious autocrat. There was not, in all 
 England, a more liberal landlord, or one 
 whose land was in a more flourishing condi- 
 tion. The cottages of the labourers were 
 roomy and comfortable, as well as pictur- 
 esque. In health they were provided with 
 work ; in sickness they were cared for and 
 comforted. From the great house itself 
 went down food and medicine and advice, 
 generally accompanied by Mrs. Wynford 
 herself, the delight of whose existence it was 
 to befriend and patronise and advise every 
 soul in the parish which owned her hus- 
 band's sway. Supply and demand, non- 
 interference, every-one-for-himself notions 
 had no place at Thorleigh Court, where 
 political economy, even in these days, had 
 made but small advances, and where the 
 very idea of an agricultural strike would 
 have caused little less astonishment than a 
 sudden eruption of fire and lava from the 
 
32 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 placid green summit of the Bloomshire 
 Beacon, just visible on the northern horizon. 
 That he was bound to provide for the 
 physical, moral, and religious well-being of 
 his retainers, was the primary article in the 
 Squire's creed ; the secondary and comple- 
 mentary one being that of that well-being 
 he was the best judge. Notions un- 
 enlightened and obstructive to such a 
 degree that I am almost afraid to mention 
 them ; yet the Squire had as strong a sense 
 of his duties as of his rights, and perhaps 
 it might not be possible to say so much for 
 all who profess a more enlightened or more 
 fashionable political creed. 
 
 No human joy, as we all know, can be 
 pure, more especially parental joy — and the 
 parental joy of those who possess an only 
 " son and heir " is perhaps the most trying 
 form of this kind of happiness. What mo- 
 ments of intense anxiety when u baby cried " 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 33 
 
 or looked pale, from some cause altogether 
 occult, and unfathomable by the whole con- 
 clave of parents, nurses, and doctors ! Or 
 that dreadful day when he was supposed to 
 have broken his arm, or irreparably injured 
 the elbow-joint, his screams were so terrific 
 and his refusal to be touched so vehement ! 
 And then the relief experienced when the 
 doctor pronounced that the whole uproar 
 was the result of a slight blow upon the 
 " funny-bone," only the learned gentleman 
 called it by a much finer name ! 
 
 Nor did these sensational occasions de- 
 crease. As he grew a bigger boy, and re- 
 pudiated with scorn the idea of being at- 
 tended by a train of nurses, it was quite aw- 
 ful to think of the perils presented by walls, 
 and trees, and streams ; for the boy had an 
 enterprising and courageous disposition ; 
 at least if that can be called courage which 
 for the most part is a mere ignorance of, 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 or unbelief in, danger. The state of chronic 
 anxiety which formed the normal condition of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wynford's life was only varied 
 by more acute attacks of the same com- 
 plaint : for instance, what agonies did they 
 not experience when the gardener descried 
 him from afar navigatng an ornamental sheet 
 of water in a tub, with a spade for a scull, and 
 already midway across the perilous passage 
 in his unmanageable and unseaworthy ves- 
 sel ! And on another occasion, some year or 
 two subsequent, having fallen into this same 
 pond, with what might have been no worse 
 damage than spoiling his clothes, he laid him- 
 self out on the bank to dry in a lump, un- 
 der the hot July sun, where he was found by 
 his father himself, in a cloud of steam and 
 shivering violently, with every appearance 
 of incipient fever ! One may well imagine 
 the night that succeeded atThorleigh Court. 
 Yet out of that and all other dangers he 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 35 
 
 issued without permanent injury. And as 
 he grew towards man's estate, and more 
 able, as they supposed, to take care of him- 
 self physically, his parents began to breathe. 
 " Now," they said, " we shall enjoy our child, 
 and rest." Poor parents ! 
 
 But the Wynfords being people with a 
 strong sense of duty, it must not be supposed 
 that the duty of bestowing a suitable educa- 
 tion on this precious only son was in any 
 way by them shirked or ignored. Mr. 
 Wynford was a man who thought seriously 
 about education, and who had a very decid- 
 ed creed upon the subject. That people 
 should be educated for the place they were 
 to fill, was his opinion. If a child was to be a 
 Squire, he should be educated to be a good 
 Squire ; if a hewer of wood and a drawer of 
 water, then to be a good hewer of wood and 
 drawer of water. The birth and position of 
 the child marked out the education he 
 
 d2 
 
36 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 ought to receive. His talents and disposi- 
 tions — the Creator's plan for the future struc- 
 ture — did not count for much in this scheme ; 
 which one can perceive was eminently cal- 
 culated to produce village Hampdens and 
 mute, inglorious Miltons ; and not at all to 
 foster that universal discontent which makes 
 every man feel that, being as good as an- 
 other, he has a right to struggle for every- 
 thing- — a result which, though it may lead 
 through natural selection to the improvement 
 of the race, is hardly conducive to the great- 
 est happiness of the greatest number — that 
 is to say, if happiness means enjoyment of 
 our lot. 
 
 But to return to Leigh Wynford, and the 
 Latin and Greek, and History and Statesman- 
 ship, which were of course necessary for the 
 education of a certain landlord and possible 
 legislator. 
 
 Anxious days and sleepless nights did his 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 37 
 
 parents pass in discussions as to the means of 
 furnishing him with all these advantages, 
 without any drawback whatever. After the 
 balancing of many pros and cons, the idea 
 of a great public school was discarded. 
 
 u Raynton tells me," said Mr. Wynford, 
 " that in these boarding-houses the bovs 
 light fires in their trunks to cook their sup- 
 pers. Leigh might be burnt to death, not to 
 speak of the moral impropriety " 
 
 " And that poor young Belton, that was 
 hit with a cricket-ball in the head, he has 
 never been well since. Only think if dar- 
 ling Leigh " 
 
 As he was not to go to a public school, and 
 as sending him anywhere as a private pupil 
 seemed to possess no advantages over edu- 
 cating him at home, the latter alternative 
 was decided upon ; and a competent tutor, 
 superintended by the Squire himself — he 
 being no contemptible scholar — was engaged 
 
38 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 for the momentous task. Leigh Wynford 
 did not take more unkindly to learning than 
 boys in general. Naturally he preferred 
 "Cast up by the Sea," "The Scalp Hun- 
 ters," and juvenile sensational literature in 
 general, to the Latin Accidence or the 
 Greek Analecta ; and more than either, he 
 delighted in active sports of all kinds. Not- 
 withstanding the danger that might be con- 
 nected with these, both his father and mother 
 knew too well what was becoming a man 
 and a country gentleman to attempt to dis- 
 courage him in such tastes and exercises. In- 
 deed, neither of them had any desire to spoil 
 him, in the usual sense of the word. The 
 Squire had very strict notions about training 
 up a child in the way he should go ; and that 
 he should have behaved rudely or spoken 
 haughtily to the servants or dependants, 
 "like a parvenu or a radical," would have 
 been quite a grief to his mother. No, their 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 39 
 
 aim was that their boy should attain to the 
 highest in mind, morals, and manners; and 
 both of them may be pardoned for fancying 
 that they early began to discern the good 
 effect of their eager cares, and to look for- 
 ward to the time when they should have no- 
 thing to do but to sit down and enjoy their 
 full fruition. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that, from the 
 first dawn of consciousness till he had reach- 
 ed the confines of manhood, Leigh Wyn- 
 ford had been accustomed to regard himself 
 as the centre of his world — the one being 
 towards whose instruction, or improvement, 
 or pleasure all things were valued accord- 
 ing as they contributed. Parents, servants, 
 arrangements of every kind, he beheld gave 
 way, not to his caprices, certainly, but to his 
 advantage, till goodness made easy became 
 the fixed habit of his mind. That he did not 
 grow up a monster of selfishness, may pro- 
 
40 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 bably be attributed to the fact that nature 
 had bestowed upon him an eager, objective 
 mind, which was ever projecting itself out- 
 wards, and to which joy was necessarily 
 social. He was very affectionate to his 
 parents and nurses, who, after the manner 
 of the better class of nurses, all doted on 
 the bright-faced, caressing little fellow ; while 
 grooms, gamekeepers, gardeners, cordially 
 believed in the sentiment of the portly old 
 butler, that there was not such another young 
 gentleman as Master Wynford — " no, not in 
 hall Hengland." 
 
 So Leigh grew up, unconsciously expect- 
 ing that all through life everything would 
 give way to him, if he only did what was 
 right and kind. It was so pleasant to be kind, 
 and gratitude and admiration were so plea- 
 sant in return ; and a life rose up before his 
 mind's eye, where there would be no oppo- 
 sition, and where he would reign a benefi- 
 
FATHER GODFREY*. 41 
 
 cent prince over all who came near him. I 
 do not say that he was not aware that this 
 would be an exceptional life ; but his was, 
 of course, to be an exceptional life — with 
 the young, a common hallucination, which, 
 on the whole, we must not regret. 
 
 At last the time came when it was no 
 longer possible to delay his going to Ox- 
 ford. For himself it was a pleasure — an 
 intense pleasure — all his pleasures were in- 
 tense. The life, he knew, would be "jolly." 
 He would not neglect study — no, it would 
 be jolly to be clever, and his father and 
 mother expected it, and he liked books 
 now. The son and the parents parted for 
 the first time in their lives — the latter with 
 heavy hearts, the former with a swelling 
 sensation, in his throat, which soon passed 
 away, as bright anticipations and pleasant 
 thoughts filled his mind. " He would 
 be the best of sons and the most sue- 
 
42 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 cessful of men, and he was a man now." 
 At first there seemed little prospect of an 
 intimacy between him and Godfrey. God- 
 frey, though only a few months older in 
 actual life, was at least ten years his senior 
 in character and purpose. He was already 
 respected as a clever man and a hard 
 reader by the few who knew him, but pre- 
 vious to this friendship with Wynford, he 
 had not been on terms of familiar intimacy 
 with anyone. 
 
 It was Wynford's second term. Being a 
 young man of family and fortune, and with 
 that flow of spirits and energy of action 
 which are so attractive, particularly to the 
 young, he soon found plenty of associates, 
 over whom he ruled pretty nearly as he 
 expected. And yet, while he seemed to be 
 the leader, he was virtually led. Boating, 
 swimming, athletic sports, not to mention 
 parties, " wines," and other social entertain- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 43 
 
 ments, occupied the greater part of his time. 
 Study was pretty nearly nowhere. He had 
 not meant this, and really did not like it ; 
 but the line of life in which he could be 
 first and foremost was too pleasant to be 
 exchanged for that where he fancied he 
 should be nobody and nothing, for Wyn- 
 ford had suddenly become humble about 
 his mental acquirements. So it came to 
 pass that about this time he got mixed 
 up in a scrape, his share in which, though 
 really of a venial nature, might have been 
 attended with unpleasant consequences. 
 The idea of the distress it would cause his 
 parents filled him with pain. Where was 
 he to turn ? What was he to do ? 
 
 In this emergency, partly from his repu- 
 tation, partly from the accident of his being 
 at hand, he appealed to Godfrey for advice 
 and assistance. Never, perhaps, had the 
 latter been more taken by surprise ; but 
 
44 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 there was something in the singleness of 
 mind and perfect confidence in his good- 
 will so unlike anything he would have done 
 himself, which won inexpressibly on the 
 reserved nature of the u reading man." It 
 so happened that he could help him, and 
 he did, effectually. In the fulness of his 
 gratitude, Wynford laid open his heart to 
 Godfrey, and the burden of his thankfulness 
 never ceased to be. 
 
 " It would have made them so miserable 
 at home." 
 
 " But you will make them miserable yet, 
 if you don't shake off these fellows." 
 
 " But how is a fellow to shake them off?" 
 
 " Read, and they will fall off. Did not 
 you come here on purpose ?" 
 
 " I suppose I did ; but I have not the 
 brains you have." 
 
 " Well, make the best of the brains you 
 have." 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 45 
 
 When Godfrey gave this advice, he hardly 
 expected it to be taken, or, at least, perse- 
 vered in. But at last, when he saw that it 
 was, a feeling of respect was added to the 
 somewhat unusual liking he had conceived 
 for the young man, and ere long they be- 
 came fast friends, being both at the age 
 when friendships are easily made. It is 
 more than probable that it was this new 
 companionship which led to the perseverance 
 above named. That same love of approba- 
 tion — the rock upon which Wynford had 
 just made shipwreck — served now as the 
 foundation of what seemed to be a fair and 
 promising structure. Not only himself, but 
 Godfrey also, in due time, came to the con- 
 clusion that, after all, his brains were by no 
 means to be despised. 
 
 " You have more than nine-tenths of the 
 men up. I might say nineteen-twentieths." 
 
 " But most of them are such blockheads ! 
 
46 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 It is that, rather than that I am clever." 
 
 " Are any of us clever, except by com- 
 parison ? At any rate, you are clever enough 
 to go in for honours." 
 
 Thus commanded, Wynford went in for 
 honours, with what success has already 
 been seen. At Thorleigh Court we know 
 it was considered shining, though I will 
 not affirm that the Squire, who had been 
 an Oxford man in his day, might not have 
 had some slight misgiving that, after all, it 
 was not so very wonderful. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Wynford, " after 
 this day or two at the Foxleys', we shall 
 have him at home, and all to ourselves." 
 
 "Yes. We must bring him forward in 
 the county. I trust he will take a place at 
 once." 
 
 " And we must keep a good deal more 
 company," said Mrs. Wynford, who, while 
 Leigh was young, had not cared much for 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 47 
 
 company ; but now she looked forward with 
 delight to introducing her handsome, clever 
 boy. The parents' paradise was about to 
 begin at last. 
 
48 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SLOW. 
 
 T EIGH WYNFORD was to pay a short 
 ■" visit to an old friend of his father's on 
 his way home. Though it had been long 
 talked of, it was his first visit to Willesmere 
 Court, and, except Colonel Foxley himself, 
 he had not as yet seen any of the family. 
 To speak the truth, he was not without some 
 fear that the expedition might altogether 
 prove " slow." But a few days would soon 
 pass. He had heard that the place was old 
 and interesting, and Wynford was fond of 
 such places. It was not in his nature to be 
 easily " bored." He had a healthy interest 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 49 
 
 in everybody and everything, and life was 
 yet fresh as an unopened tale. 
 
 Willesmere Court was some miles from 
 the railway station, and on leaving the train 
 he was accosted by a man-servant, with a 
 cockade in his hat — not exactly either a 
 coachman or a gardener, but a sort of am- 
 phibious animal between the stable-yard and 
 the asparagus-beds, yet well-mannered and 
 stately in his way. His' master, he said, had 
 sent the carriage to meet him. "It wor 
 five miles to the Court !" 
 
 Wynford could scarcely avoid smiling 
 when he beheld the " carriage." Such an 
 antiquated-looking conveyance it was, that 
 he felt at once as if he were transported 
 back to the times when ladies, instead ot 
 being the shape of a sugar-loaf, or a walk- 
 ing-stick with a top-heavy head, were fash- 
 ioned somewhat like a salmon extinguished 
 by a coal-scuttle. He rather enjoyed the 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 sensation, however. He liked anything that 
 had flavour or peculiarity. The carriage 
 was a sort of double gig, and was probably 
 new about the time of the marriage of the 
 Colonel's father. Faded and threadbare 
 was the lining, yet spotlessly clean and 
 well dusted ; and if the harness was clumsy 
 and old-fashioned, and the lackering almost 
 rubbed off, they too had an air of the most 
 scrupulous attention and careful preserva- 
 tion. Then the horse, though plump and 
 well-groomed, was old and asthmatic, and 
 Wynford soon found, as they started on 
 their five miles' journey, that his apprehen- 
 sions of "slowness," as far, at least, as that 
 was concerned, were certainly not un- 
 founded. But he did not mind — the after- 
 noon and the rich vale through which the 
 road lay were both lovely ; and the al- 
 ways-pathetic fact that he had that day 
 turned the page for ever on one chapter 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 51 
 
 of life, disposed him to thoughtfulness. 
 
 Oh ! how pleasant in the decline of the 
 long June day was the cool shade of the 
 oaks — how yellow the buttercups — how rich 
 the meadows, where the cows lay under the 
 trees, lazily chewing the cud, and switching 
 their tails in the fulness of content — a very 
 cow's paradise ! 
 
 The slow motion of the Colonel's ancient 
 horse was pleasant and sleepy ; and, half in 
 a dream, Wynford watched the shadows of 
 the Summer clouds on the hills, or listened 
 to the black-cap as he poured out the joy of 
 his paternal heart in a song of triumph over 
 his gaping nestlings — lovely creatures in his 
 eyes, no doubt, though, to the less partial 
 observer, looking wonderfully like four 
 mouths without any bodies. 
 
 Wynford's thoughts had that kind of sad- 
 ness which 
 
 " is not akin to pain," 
 
 E 2 
 
52 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 but which, on the contrary, those who have 
 never experienced any real pain, cultivate, 
 as a sort of luxury, the soupcon of bitter 
 almond flavouring the cake, and giving 
 character to its sweetness. During the 
 whole drive he did not once think of St. 
 Frideswide. Since Godfrey had acknow- 
 ledged the fact of her beauty, his enthusiasm 
 had greatly cooled. 
 
 The sun was low and dazzling, the sha- 
 dows were very long, and the trees still, 
 as in a picture, when, turning round a 
 'corner, he found himself in the midst of 
 a village — such a village as is seen no- 
 where out of England. A very common 
 kind of village in England, however, and 
 perhaps all the more beautiful that it is 
 common — just as a familiar violet or prim- 
 rose has a kind of beauty, which the rarest 
 exotic can never possess. Low brick houses, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 53 
 
 standing at all angles, some buried in honey- 
 suckle, some wreathed with vines ; a great 
 yew-tree in the centre of the village green ; 
 a wealth of leafage everywhere ; on a rising 
 ground a new church — such were its salient 
 features. In a sort of unspeakable content 
 the young Oxford man was enjoying the 
 scene, and inhaling the scent of the stocks 
 and pinks and mignonette which lavishly 
 blossomed in the cottage gardens, when, 
 "There be the court, sir," said the servant, 
 turning round and touching his hat, with 
 the air with which a Chinaman might have 
 introduced u a barbarian " to the palace of 
 the Emperor of Pigtails. " At the fur end 
 of the village, where those trees is ; and you 
 can just see the moat a-shining through them 
 in the sun." 
 
 As they drew nearer, Wynford could 
 hear a low rush as of falling waters, 
 
54 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 mingled with the tremulous whisper of 
 aspens. But I will not describe Willesmere 
 Court at the end of a chapter. 
 
55 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RES ANGUSTA DOMI. 
 
 rjlHE Foxleys were the very oldest family 
 -*- in Bloomshire. Pedigrees are rarely 
 interesting except to those to whom they 
 belong, or I might have told how they were 
 a noble family before the coming of the 
 Conqueror; nay, before the advent of Hengist 
 and Horsa, having in their veins, it was 
 said, the blood of an ancient British knight 
 whose daughter was espoused to a Saxon 
 gentleman. At all events, they had managed 
 in those legendary days to hold their own, 
 better than they did in more modern times ; 
 but that might have been, perhaps, because 
 
5Q FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 the race was then in the vigour and vitality 
 of its prime. Races, like kingdoms, like 
 smaller things too — like varieties in the 
 life of the lower animals, like forms in the 
 vegetable world, or may I not say like 
 everything mundane ; and does not even the 
 development theory bear me out — have their 
 decline and fall, as well as their rise and 
 progress? The apples which basked on the 
 terrace-walls of our ancestors are unknown 
 to us even by name ; and the Peels and the 
 Gladstones have replaced the De Bohuns 
 and De Clares of an earlier day. Through 
 the new blood the old country continues to 
 flourish. 
 
 The Foxleys were a relic of past days — 
 like the hollow yew on the village green — 
 not good for the rough uses of manufacture, 
 or the prosaic purposes of being converted 
 into bank-bills in any shape ; still good — good 
 for the imagination perhaps, or perhaps good 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 57 
 
 as a sort of hint that free trade, railways, 
 machinery, universal competition, and every 
 one for himself, though good for us, as guilds, 
 and feudal lords, and monks, and abbeys, 
 and knights-errant, and painfully-wrought 
 illuminated manuscripts might have been 
 good for our forefathers — may possibly not, 
 after all, be the ultimatum of humanity. 
 The Foxleys had lived for generations and 
 generations at Willesmere Court. An old 
 Saxon Grange, it was said, had once occupied 
 the site of the present court, ancient now 
 in its turn. Quaint, and walled, and moated, 
 it had been fortified in Norman times, as 
 the narrow round arched gateway, where 
 the valerian now unfurled its crimson 
 banner among the flowery spears of the 
 wild snapdragon, bore convincing testimony. 
 Yellow stone-crop hid many a ravage in the 
 ruined battlements, and wallflowers sprang 
 from the crevices, burdening the air with 
 
58 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 their rich, old-fashioned sweetness. The 
 dwelling-house, which formed the kernel of 
 this shell, was of later date still. Yet the 
 muscular development of the ivy boles 
 twining round the tall chimneys, the richly- 
 blent tints with which Time, that labori- 
 ous pre-Raphaelite artist, had painted, in in- 
 finitesimal lichen and moss, the huge, sub- 
 stantial slates, told as plainly as the gables 
 and the chimneys themselves, that centuries 
 must have elapsed since it was new. 
 
 The house was not large, but it was large 
 enough for the Foxleys, whose fortunes were 
 very small — so small that they threatened 
 to fine off by degrees into nothing at all. 
 
 The few acres which yet remained to the 
 family were heavily mortgaged, not by any 
 special fault, and certainly by no extrava- 
 gance, of the present possessor, who had in- 
 herited from his fathers a legacy of debt, 
 which went on slowly increasing as (we may 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 59 
 
 infer from the proverb) the moss gathers 
 round the stone which never rolls ; though, 
 I believe, an altogether better species of moss 
 is there meant. Colonel Foxley's half-pay 
 was nearly all they had to subsist upon, and 
 terribly little it was to " maintain the dignity 
 of a county family." Still even this was 
 achieved in a sort of way, though by what 
 toils and contrivances and self-denials, by 
 what perpetual mortifications and daily 
 martyrdoms, Mrs. Foxley alone knew. 
 Mrs. Foxley had married young, attracted 
 by the Colonel's fine person and gallant 
 manners, having at the time achieved what 
 was considered a triumph over many rivals. 
 In her youth she had been a handsome, 
 bright girl, full of life, and fertile in resour- 
 ces for amusement, and had consequently 
 been a welcome visitor at country houses, 
 and an indispensable guest on all festive 
 occasions. 
 
60 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Foxley was a matronly, care- 
 encompassed, though hardly care-worn wo- 
 man, for she had not been mastered by 
 her cares, but had borne a somewhat de- 
 pressing destiny bravely, regarding it in the 
 light of that kind of sense which we call 
 "common," and which, though common 
 enough no doubt as a medium through 
 which to regard the affairs of our neighbours, 
 is perhaps much less common in the con- 
 templation of our own. 
 
 "Many people are much worse off," 
 thought Mrs. Foxley. " If I were only not 
 quite so poor, and dear Geoffrey had not 
 such old-fashioned notions, and Elfrida had 
 more spirit and was a little handier, I don't 
 see that I should have much to complain of, 
 as the world goes." 
 
 Such was the lady who, with her husband 
 and daughter, was seated in the drawing- 
 room at Willesmere Court, on the morning 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 61 
 
 of Leigh Wynford's expected arrival, talk- 
 ing over the arrangements to be made for 
 the reception of their young guest. 
 
 The drawing-room at Willesmere Court 
 was in keeping with the exterior. A long, 
 low-ceiled room, carved and paneled, and 
 which no Foxley of the eighteenth century 
 — that age of architectural vandalism — had 
 fortunately been rich enough to take down, 
 or even to paint over. The dark polished 
 floor was here and there covered by squares 
 of carpeting, antique in pattern, and faded 
 in colour — the present generation being 
 unlikely to advance in any great degree its 
 slow progress towards decay, as it was a 
 command of Mrs. Foxley that none of the 
 household should ever walk upon them, but 
 carefully keep to the slippery paths which 
 lay between these sacred oases of forbidden 
 luxury. A very old dark centre-table, 
 with moveable legs, cross-barred and brack- 
 
62 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 eted ; chairs that looked as if they would 
 require an athlete to lift them ; one or two 
 ancient tables and cabinets, set out with old 
 china of the most admirable ugliness ; curi- 
 ously-wrought faded fans ; and other relics 
 of ancient date — all told the same pathetic 
 tale of family decay and family struggle. 
 It was pleasant to sit at the wide open win- 
 dow in the shady end of that room, and 
 inhale the sweet breath of the country, 
 borne in from hay and honeysuckle and 
 clover ; and equally pleasant to listen to the 
 continuous melody made by the fall of 
 waters or the hum of insects, with the 
 occasional whetting of a scythe, as a sort of 
 surprise movement in the symphony. But 
 of all the three persons seated at that win- 
 dow, Miss Foxley alone looked as if it were 
 possible she might be enjoying the feast 
 which Nature had provided for at least three 
 of the senses. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 63 
 
 She was sitting in the deep window-recess, 
 almost hidden by the old curtain of faded 
 blue silk, embroidered by hands which had 
 wrought their last stitch centuries gone by. 
 The pattern consisted of certain ornitho- 
 logical specimens in green and yellow, un- 
 known to modern naturalists, and without a 
 parallel among hitherto discovered fossil 
 remains. 
 
 Miss Foxley, too, was embroidering, like 
 her ancestress — something very gorgeous 
 indeed, something in crimson and gold and 
 green. She was not working very diligently ; 
 she was frequently looking off her work — at 
 the roses, perhaps, on the little terrace in 
 front, or over the moat at the far-stretching 
 meadows, on which the dews and the 
 shadows of morning were still reposing. 
 
 Her mother was seated further in the 
 room, working industriously at some com- 
 mon under-garment. Her needle seemed 
 
64 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 to fly, and she rarely looked up as she 
 spoke, though, to judge by her face, the 
 discussion was weighty ; in fact, the re- 
 sponsible members of the household had 
 resolved themselves into a committee of ways 
 and means. 
 
 " He won't stay above two or three days, 
 I suppose," she was saying, and her down- 
 cast face assumed a look of calculation. 
 She was arranging in her mind the break- 
 fasts and dinners, so as at once to be abund- 
 ant, tasteful, and economical ; and possibly 
 Mr. Lowe may not have a more puzzling 
 task upon which to exercise his ingenuity. 
 
 " He may stay a week, perhaps, my 
 dear. I am sure I shall be glad if he 
 does." 
 
 " So should I be glad, if it were not for 
 the expense," she answered cheerfully ; for, 
 though Mrs. Foxley frequently referred to 
 their poverty, it was not grumblingly. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 65 
 
 " One additional cannot make much dif- 
 ference, surely." 
 
 "It is not what he eats, it is what we 
 must have." 
 
 "Let him eat as we eat, and give him a 
 welcome." 
 
 " That would never do, dear. His father 
 has ever so many thousands a year, and no 
 doubt he is accustomed " 
 
 11 You forget, my dear, the lad is the son 
 of a gentleman, and not of a successful shop- 
 keeper, who has to inquire what everything 
 costs before he knows whether he likes it or 
 not." 
 
 The Colonel said no more. He had a 
 great regard for his wife, and knew well 
 that she and her management had stood 
 between him and ruin — perhaps the county 
 jail. It was a little weakness on her part 
 to imagine that modern fashions were in 
 any respect desirable, and particularly for a 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Foxley. But she was a good wife, and lie 
 was bound to bear with her weaknesses. 
 He would, indeed, have liked well, if it had 
 been possible, to have maintained intact the 
 old English hospitality of the palmier da\ 7 s 
 of the family, when no lazy vagabond left 
 the house without food and drink ; when 
 there were daily doles for such as preferred 
 alms to work ; and when the great oak table 
 in the dining-hall groaned under fat haunches 
 and savoury pasties, and sparkled with the 
 unadulterated wines of honester days. As 
 for everything modern and make-believe, 
 his soul abhorred it. 
 
 " What !" he said, in answer to a timid 
 suggestion that the table would look very 
 pretty filled up with fruit and flowers, with 
 only a dish at each end. " Have all that 
 foreign, lying nonsense at Willesmere Court 
 — never while I am master ! — a la Russe, 
 do they call it? And I should like to 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 67 
 
 know why an Englishman should imitate 
 these northern barbarians, rather than fol- 
 low the honest fashions of his own fore- 
 fathers ? Everybody does it ! — if every- 
 body are fools, why should I ?" 
 
 Mrs. Foxley durst urge the matter no 
 further ; she merely said, rather dolefully — 
 
 " I suppose, too, we must have wax 
 candles ?" 
 
 " I leave that to you, my dear. The 
 others do want very frequent snuffing, and 
 the odour is not always quite pleasant." 
 
 "That would never do. You don't like 
 these beautiful mineral oil-lamps they have 
 at the Rectory ? They are quite safe when 
 well made — have no smell." 
 
 " Like them ! — no, indeed. Should I 
 like to have you and Elfrida blown up, or 
 burnt to death ? They are worthy of the 
 reckless times which invented them — times 
 which reckon life and limb, and honesty 
 
 f2 
 
68 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 and truth, as nothing in comparison with 
 hurry, and luxury, and self-indulgence. If 
 you cannot afford to have wax-lights, be 
 content with what you can afford." 
 
 Even Colonel Foxley did not like to 
 pronounce again the dreadful word u tal- 
 low," for, struggle as he might against the 
 feeling, he did feel there was something 
 derogatory to the dignity of the Foxleys in 
 having the drawing-room lighted up with 
 " mutton-fats," with their long black wicks 
 and cauliflower tops, and general effect of 
 dismalness. His wife perceived the quaver 
 in his tone. 
 
 " You know, dear, they make candles 
 now that you cannot tell from wax, at about 
 half the price." 
 
 But Colonel Foxley was himself again. 
 
 "What! those things that made such a 
 shameless fuss about themselves in the 
 newspapers, and turned out to be candles, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 69 
 
 like the old fable of the mountain in labour ! 
 Honest goods used to recommend them- 
 selves ; now puffery has superseded merit. 
 We will have no lies in Willesmere Court, 
 Rose, dear ; we have not come so low as 
 that yet," he said sadly. 
 
 Mrs. Foxley heaved a sigh, partly of irri- 
 tation. Her worries were great, and it 
 seemed hard they should be unnecessarily 
 increased. But the Colonel was in the 
 main the kindest of husbands, and some of 
 her annoyance had been worked off in that 
 impatient sigh. 
 
 " We must have wax, then ; and fortu- 
 nately, as the days are long, one set will 
 burn all the time he is here. Let me see, 
 how many shall we want ? Elfrida !" 
 
 The young lady at the magnificent em- 
 broidery looked up with a start. 
 
 a Mamma !" 
 
 " How many shall we want ?" 
 
70 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " How many — what? I did not hear, 
 mamma." 
 
 " You were not listening, that is to say," 
 said poor Mrs. Foxley, ready to cry with 
 vexation, and speaking a little sharply. 
 " You never seem to care to help me, 
 Elfrida." 
 
 Elfrida made no answer, but bent her 
 head over her work, as if to conceal the 
 tears which rose in her great dreamy eyes, 
 blue as sapphires. After a short pause, 
 during which all three kept on looking 
 rather disconcertedly away from each other, 
 Elfrida rose and left the room. 
 
 " Are you not a little hard on her, my 
 dear ?" asked the Colonel, gently. 
 
 " I don't want to be hard upon her, I am 
 sure, poor girl ! but if she would only be a 
 little interested in things, it would be better 
 for herself." And poor Mrs. Foxley, though 
 she did not say it, felt it was a little hard 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 71 
 
 for herself. Did not she do everything? 
 Were it not for her, would it not be ship- 
 wreck universal ? She had so often cheered 
 herself on, when Elfrida' was a child, by 
 thinking, " Ah ! when I have a grown-up 
 daughter !" 
 
 The Colonel returned no answer. He 
 was very fond and very proud of Elfrida. 
 She was his first-born and only surviving 
 child, and universally acknowledged to be 
 the prettiest girl in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " She never seems happy," continued Mrs. 
 Foxley, " except when she is with these 
 Summerwoods. I don't think their com- 
 pany does her any good." 
 
 " It seemed to do her a great deal of 
 good at one time." 
 
 "Well, just then. But I hate all this 
 nonsense of embroidering altar-cloths, and 
 fald-stools, and all these heaps and heaps 
 of needlework to do at home. And as to 
 
72 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 its being more pious, stuff and nonsense !" 
 
 "Have a little patience with her, Rose, 
 dear, and it will all come right. She is a 
 tender-hearted child, and she has had a 
 great shock. I am thankful to see her so 
 much better." 
 
 " So am I. God knows how thankful I 
 am! Do you know, Geoffrey, I sometimes 
 wonder if there is anything between her and 
 the Rector P 
 
 " Summerwood ? Why, he is almost old 
 enough to be her father. I never thought 
 of such a thing." 
 
 And then the Colonel thought, in his own 
 mind, how women — even Mrs. Foxley — 
 were always thinking on such subjects. But 
 he liked " women to be women P 
 
 "Still he is not old — not above forty — 
 and she sees nobody else, and he is a good- 
 looking man, though not the man I could 
 fancy. But Elfrida is like me in nothing !" 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 73 
 
 " I don't believe she ever thought of him 
 in that way. Her veneration for him, I 
 grant you, is absurd, but it is only as her 
 spiritual guide. Not an uncommon thing in 
 your sex, Rose, you must allow !" 
 
 " Well, among idle women, and for High 
 Church people and Romanists, I suppose 
 it is not uncommon," said Mrs. Foxley, who 
 was Low Church, when she had time to be 
 anything. 
 
 The Colonel made no answer to this. He 
 was not quite so confident of the limitations 
 his wife had made as she w T as herself. 
 
 " I have sometimes fancied, at least," she 
 said, " that he admired her ; but I hope she 
 will never think of him." 
 
 "Never, my dear. He is no match for 
 her. His father was a dissenting minister, 
 and they say his grandfather kept a huck- 
 ster's shop in Marshborough. Elfrida Fox- 
 ley would never think of a man with such 
 antecedents." 
 
74 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 But Mrs. Foxley, though she felt them to 
 be a drawback, did not see the antecedents 
 — or, indeed, mere antecedents of any kind — 
 in quite the strong light her husband did. 
 She made no immediate answer, but stitched 
 on diligently. At last she asked, 
 
 " What kind of young man is this young 
 Wynford?" 
 
 " Rose," said her husband, impressively, 
 " remember, there must be nothing of the 
 kind you have been alluding to between our 
 guest and our daughter." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Mrs. Foxley, in 
 amazement. "I am sure, Geoffrey, you 
 ought to know me too well to suppose for 
 a moment I should act the part of a 
 manoeuvring mamma ; but if the thing came 
 naturally " 
 
 "Our Elfrida," said the Colonel, "is in 
 blood and beauty fit to be the match of a 
 prince. But, for all that, Wynford may 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 75 
 
 have other views for his son. They are 
 rich, and we are poor, and Elfrida shall 
 marry no man who does not receive her 
 alliance with a hearty welcome. I am 
 proud for my daughter." 
 
 Mrs. Foxley was proud for her daughter 
 too, but not quite so proud as her husband. 
 She said emphatically, 
 
 " I am sure the best thing that could 
 happen to Elfrida would be to fall in love 
 — yes, even if she were to be disappointed. 
 It would at least be something real to be 
 melancholy about." 
 
 " I know what a good woman, and what 
 a good mother you are, Rose, dear," said 
 the Colonel ; " but don't be hard upon poor 
 Elfrida." 
 
76 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS HAS FADED. 
 
 T~l TE left Leigh Wynford just coming in 
 * " sight of Willesmere Court. The 
 long shadows of the aspens on the moat, 
 the atmosphere of enchanted stillness which 
 lay around the old-world place, were charm- 
 ing to the romantic young graduate. 
 
 " If I had known this place half a year 
 ago," he thought, " I should have tried for 
 the prize-poem." 
 
 At the door he found the Colonel, wait- 
 ing to receive him — as royalty receives 
 royalty. A tall, handsome man, who wel- 
 comed his guest with so stately a courtesy 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 77 
 
 that Wynford could hardly forbear a smile! 
 " Just like an old story-book," he said to 
 himself, as he returned his entertainer's 
 salutation with all the ceremony possible to 
 his nineteenth-century youth — his frank blue 
 eyes shining with amusement as he thought 
 how the fellows would have laughed if they 
 could only have beheld the scene, so com- 
 pletely a la Grandison in its details. But 
 it was time to dress for dinner, and with all 
 due inquiries, stilted and verbose perhaps, 
 yet truly sincere, after his father and mother, 
 his own health and his own journey, the 
 Colonel conducted him in person to his 
 room. 
 
 It was a pleasant apartment, and though 
 possessing few modern luxuries, their ab- 
 sence — at least, to our romantic second- 
 class man — seemed more than compensated 
 for by the real antiquity, unmarred by any 
 anachronism which pervaded the whole en- 
 
78 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 tourage. But he knew he had no time just 
 then to lose either in exploring or in senti- 
 mentalizing, as the Colonel had told him it 
 was nearly dinner-time, and hinted that 
 punctuality was a sine qua non in the house ; 
 so he set himself seriously to the pleasing 
 labour of the toilet. It was a handsome 
 and happy face, as well as a faultless shirt- 
 front, and a coat of the newest cut, reflected 
 by the ancient oval mirror which stood on the 
 old oak slab in the window, through which 
 peeped the clematis and the honeysuckle. 
 At last he was ready, and found his way to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 It seemed unoccupied, and he was admir- 
 ing the effect of the low sun as it touched 
 the carving of the paneled walls with a 
 ruby glow, when a slight rustle behind the 
 quaintly-embroidered window-curtains at the 
 far end of the room showed him he was not 
 alone. The next moment a young lady came 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 79 
 
 forward with a bow, a faint smile, and a 
 "Mr. Wynford, I believe?" 
 
 Wynford's breath was nearly taken from 
 him, and, though a young, latter-half-of-the- 
 nineteenth-century Oxford man, he almost 
 stammered in answer, and certainly blushed. 
 It was no common an^el in blue ribbons 
 with whom he found himself thus suddenly 
 confronted, but the vision of Christchurch 
 Meadows and the Sheldonian Theatre — St. 
 Frideswide herself, in actual flesh and 
 blood, who stood before him — even held 
 out her hand and said (by no means a very 
 remarkable speech), 
 
 " My father and mother will be down 
 immediately." 
 
 While Wynford was recovering himself, 
 the young lady continued in a sweet-toned 
 voice (the voice of a St. Cecilia, her un- 
 reasonably excited listener inwardly com- 
 pared it to !) — 
 
80 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " I hope you are not tired with your 
 journey?" 
 
 u Not at all, thank you. It was charm- 
 ing !" 
 
 Miss Foxley made no immediate rejoin- 
 der; but Wynford was himself again, and 
 continued the conversation with almost his 
 natural ease of manner. 
 
 " I trust, Miss Foxley, you enjoyed the 
 Commemoration ?" 
 
 He could see that she looked surprised ; 
 but she answered quietly, in a sort of 
 matter-of-fact way, one would have said 
 (Wynford called it dignified), had it not 
 been for the musical quality of her voice : 
 
 " I enjoyed being at Oxford very much — 
 it is such an interesting place ; but I am not 
 sure about the Commemoration. I fancy I 
 should have enjoyed it more at a quieter 
 time. But how did you know I was there? 
 — did papa tell you ?" 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 81 
 
 " No. I met you one night in Christ- 
 church Meadows, and saw you again at the 
 theatre. I did not guess who you were, or 
 imagine for a moment I should so soon have 
 the pleasure of knowing you." 
 
 Had Wynford been a conceited young 
 man, as conceited as his advantages entitled 
 him to be, instead of a very simple-minded 
 and unpractised youth, he might have been 
 a little piqued at the composure, and even 
 indifference, with which she answered, 
 
 " What an odd coincidence ! I wonder 
 you remembered me again. I don't think I 
 noticed you at all ; but then there were so 
 many young men." 
 
 "Were you at the Procession of Boats? 
 I happened to be the stroke of the head boat 
 this year," said Wynford, modestly, and yet 
 no doubt with some pardonable vanity. 
 
 " Were you ?" said Miss Foxley, with the 
 tone of one who was certainly in a state not 
 
 VOL. I. g 
 
82 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 only of lamentable ignorance, but of abso- 
 lute indifference with regard to the dis- 
 tinction implied. " I was not there. I 
 went with our Rector and his sister to 
 Oxford. I had so long wished to go. We 
 expect them here to dinner ; I wonder they 
 have not come." 
 
 As she spoke, her eyes glanced down the 
 long room, beginning to grow dusk now at 
 the further end ; and the unreasonable 
 Wynford became the subject of a new and 
 odd and not wholly amiable sensation. 
 Who was this Rector, and why did she look 
 as if his visit interested her so much ? 
 
 His eyes followed hers to the door, 
 which opened and admitted, not the Rector, 
 but Colonel and Mrs. Foxley. Mrs. Foxley 
 had scarcely bidden Wynford welcome, 
 when Mr. and Miss Summerwood were 
 announced. Wynford looked at the Rector 
 with a sharp pang of curiosity, but could 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 83 
 
 only see in the increasing twilight that he 
 was a man of tall stature and imposing 
 presence — a result of his observations by no 
 means so satisfactory as it ought to have 
 been. It was consolatory, however, to dis- 
 cover, by the light of the wax candles on 
 the dinner-table, that he was certainly forty 
 years of age, at least. That he was still a 
 handsome man, Wynford tried to deny, to 
 himself, with an inward misgiving that 
 Elfrida Foxley might think otherwise. 
 
 Most persons, indeed, would have thought 
 otherwise ; though, doubtless, "Wynford 
 would not have found himself alone in 
 disliking his face. It was a supercilious 
 face — a narrow-minded, but not a weak 
 face. There was force of will in his firmly- 
 set, well-cut lips, controlling, as it were, a 
 certain coarse sensuality of expression which 
 marred their physical beauty. His eye was 
 keen, perhaps passionate, but there was 
 
 G 2 
 
84 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 nothing in the whole countenance to indicate 
 breadth of intellect or tenderness of heart ; 
 it was the face of an ideal " priest," as the 
 character is conceived by those who most 
 dislike it. 
 
 Wynford hated him — hated his tone of 
 superiority and his condescending manner, 
 and chafed at the deference with which 
 Miss Foxley treated him. Miss Summer- 
 wood, a tall, old-maidish, ill-dressed person, 
 appeared to regard her brother as some- 
 thing between a Pope and an angel; and 
 whenever he opened his lips, stopped speak- 
 ing herself, as if to gather up his words. 
 
 It was very intolerable. But Wynford 
 found some mitigation of the evil in the fact 
 that he was seated next Miss Foxley, in 
 whose conversation, except when obtruded 
 on his notice, he could almost forget the 
 obnoxious Rector. Not, perhaps, that the 
 conversation was witty or wise or learned. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 85 
 
 There might even have been found people 
 in the world who would have thought it 
 silly. But there are times when one wants 
 a pillow for the mind. To live for ever in a 
 mental gymnasium would scarcely suit the 
 very doughtiest of mental athletes. 
 
 The dinner was not a la Russe, but Eng- 
 lish, with the intensest Anglicanism of the 
 olden time. The scarlet strawberries and the 
 ripe red cherries, and the ruby wine, were 
 reflected again by the dark table, bright as 
 a mirror with the polish of centuries. 
 
 Wynford had never seen dessert in this 
 fashion before, but he admired it, as in keep- 
 ing with the old place, thereby making Mrs. 
 Foxley happy. She thought him genuinely 
 the most charming, natural young man she 
 had ever seen. The Colonel, too, was 
 pleased, and his satisfaction made him 
 eloquent. 
 
 " I hate," he said, " all new-fangled non- 
 
86 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 sense. Why cannot we be content with old 
 England as it was in the merry days of our 
 forefathers, when it was not every man for 
 himself, and the devil take the hindmost ? I 
 should like to know if railways, and halfpenny 
 posts, and electric telegraphs, and the extension 
 of the franchise, has made anybody honester 
 or happier or more content. And as to this 
 eternal worry of posts and letters, and the 
 lying puffs it brings in its train, what were 
 the plagues of Egypt in comparison? Swarms 
 of lies are surely worse than swarms of 
 locusts." 
 
 " My dear !" said Mrs. Foxley ; and in a 
 calmer tone he began again. 
 
 " I have forbidden the postman to call 
 here more than once a day." 
 
 Nobody made any answer. Mr. Summer- 
 wood's look of forbearance was, however, 
 sufficiently expressive, and Wynford could 
 not quite see the necessary connection be- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 87 
 
 tween the virtues and inconveniences of the 
 past. He did not, however, trouble much 
 about such matters. He asked Elfrida, with 
 laughing eyes but a grave voice, if she was 
 quite reconciled to these arrangements. 
 
 " I don't think much about them," she 
 said ; " sometimes it seems inconvenient." 
 
 Certainly this was very amiable, though 
 it might have sounded very matter-of-fact 
 from any one else. But Elfrida looked so 
 like a mediaeval saint, 
 
 " Scarce of earth, nor all divine," 
 
 that one would almost as soon have thought 
 of crediting St. Agnes herself with a percep- 
 tion of the ludicrous. Wynford followed the 
 ladies quickly to the drawing-room, but as his 
 hand was on the lock of the door, he was an- 
 noyed to find Mr. Summerwood immediately 
 behind him. 
 
 Miss Foxley and Miss Summerwood were 
 seated close together by a light at a table, 
 
88 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 apparently both engaged on the same work 
 — a large and very magnificent piece of em- 
 broidery on velvet. Wynford was summon- 
 ing all his astuteness to his aid in concocting 
 a plan, which should be at once polite and 
 effective, to supplant the elder lady, when Mr. 
 Summerwood, in the coolest manner, asked 
 his sister to make room for him, and thus 
 secured the coveted position. All the time 
 he was examining the ladies' work, with 
 what appeared to Wynford an unmanly 
 connoisseurship, the unreasonable youth was 
 mentally chafing with ill-supressed indig- 
 nation, and answering the Colonel's kind 
 commonplaces in a random manner. 
 
 His impatience was rising to the boiling 
 point, when Miss Foxley addressed him. 
 
 " You will see our church to-morrow, Mr. 
 Wynford. It is thought a very fine one, 
 and has just been restored, thanks to Mr. 
 Summerwood. This is the altar-cloth, which 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 89 
 
 Miss Summerwood and I are working." 
 
 " It seems a very handsome one. My 
 mother was doing one the last time I was at 
 home, but it was not nearly so handsome as 
 this." 
 
 " A pious work P said Mr. Summerwood, 
 with authoritative approbation of Mrs. Wyn- 
 ford, which somehow or other enraged her 
 son. 
 
 " A very good amusement for ladies," he 
 said, in not quite the pleasantest of tones. 
 " But there are, I should suppose, better 
 ways of doing God service." 
 
 Mrs. Foxley looked up approvingly as Wyn- 
 ford spoke. The Rector answered, in a tone 
 intended to be of mild rebuke, rather at 
 variance with a certain sinister sparkle, of his 
 eye, 
 
 " Of course there are ; but our spiritual 
 Mother, while insisting on the greater, en- 
 courages the minor works of charity." 
 
90 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Wynford returned no answer, but he and 
 the Rector were henceforth aware that they 
 stood in a hostile attitude to one another. 
 The Rector had meant to condescend to and 
 to patronize the young Oxford man, who 
 had returned evil for good — at least, so Mr. 
 Summerwood thought, as he assured himself 
 that he forgave and pitied the insolent boy ! 
 
 It was quite a relief to Leigh when the 
 Summerwoods took their departure ; but he 
 was destined to another trial, when Mr. 
 Summerwood returned to the room to say 
 what appeared to be a few confidential words 
 to Miss Foxley. 
 
 " Coxy, designing fellow!" Wynford was 
 saying in his heart, when his complacency 
 was in some measure restored by Elfrida in- 
 viting him to come out on the terrace to look 
 at the moonlight. 
 
 " You were saying your college gardens 
 looked so pretty by moonlight." 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 91 
 
 He followed her down the steps which 
 led from the window upon the terrace, with 
 a sensation as if he were walking into heaven. 
 If it was not heaven, it was at least a very 
 lovely earth which met his eyes. Like a 
 silver flood the moonlight lay about the 
 meadows, like an atmosphere of diamonds 
 it quivered through the aspens. It was so 
 cool after the hot day ! The chimneys and 
 the gables rose so clear and dark, the wall- 
 flower was so fragrant, and the song of the 
 nightingale so passionate and sweet! He 
 confessed at once to her repeated challenge 
 that it was far prettier than the college 
 gardens. But probably he was not thinking 
 much either about them or about the old 
 moated house. He had only a general sense 
 of beauty and sweetness as the fit accompani- 
 ment of a presence that was all sweetness 
 and beauty. But such ecstatic moments are 
 never more than moments, and he seemed 
 
92 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 to fall down all of a sudden on the dreariest 
 flats of the common-place, when she said, 
 
 " You should see the church by moon- 
 light!" 
 
 Instead of making any suitable rejoinder, 
 he asked, with apparent abruptness of idea, 
 
 u Is Mr. Summerwood a married man ?" 
 
 "Oh! dear, no!" said Elfrida. "Mr. 
 Summerwood is too holy a man to marry!" 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," said Mrs. Foxley, 
 who at this moment joined them. But Wyn- 
 ford's heart leapt up at Elfrida's words. 
 Suppose they were nonsense, what did it 
 signify? 
 
93 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH. 
 
 GODFREY was still in Oxford. He had 
 lately been elected fellow of his col- 
 lege, and now, a week or two after his tri- 
 umph, he was sitting alone in his rooms. 
 But Godfrey did not look triumphant. 
 
 As he lay back in the old leather arm- 
 chair which had once done service in the 
 library of the Deanery, the terribly bright 
 rays of the afternoon sun, falling aslant his 
 face, he looked fagged and anxious, almost 
 old and careworn. One or two letters lay 
 open on the large portable writing-desk be- 
 fore him ; there was a great litter of books 
 
94 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 and papers on the table, and a general 
 dusty aspect over everything — owing, per- 
 haps, to the merciless brightness of the light, 
 which, unmitigated by blind or curtain, 
 streamed into every corner. 
 
 Godfrey rose and walked to the window. 
 It looked, as I have said, on the quadrangle, 
 now cut diagonally by the sunshine and 
 shadow, into two triangles, Turneresque in 
 their mass and contrast. But Godfrey hardly 
 noticed it ; he only felt that it was very hot, 
 and threw open the window, which made it, 
 if possible, hotter, for the air welled in as if 
 from a furnace ; then he drew down the 
 blind and returned to his seat, great beads 
 of moisture standing on his pale face. Yet 
 it could hardly have been the heat alone 
 that made Godfrey look so weary and un- 
 nerved ; he had studied passionately through 
 even hotter weather than this, and hardly 
 perceived it. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 95 
 
 He took up one of the letters, and read it 
 over once more. It was from Leigh Wyn- 
 ford, dated a couple of days after his arrival 
 at Willesmere Court, and was written in the 
 somewhat hyperbolical style natural to that 
 enthusiastic youth. He wrote eloquently, if a 
 little wordily, of the originality and romance 
 of the place ; and he had discovered St. 
 
 Frideswide, and St. Frideswide was 
 
 But he would not describe her — Godfrey 
 did not deserve it. Perhaps they might 
 meet some day, and then ! There was a 
 brief postscript to this letter, which ran as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Laugh if you like — I don't care !" 
 But Godfrey was not laughing ; on the 
 contrary, he was reading the letter with an 
 intensity of interest so very boyish an epistle 
 scarcely seemed to merit. He had read it 
 several times before, and he now laid it 
 down with a sigh. 
 
96 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " I wish I were Wynford !" he said, 
 almost in articulate words. Then he opened 
 a book which lay among the litter and dust 
 of the table (it was " Faust "), and read, 
 
 " Ein Kerl der speculirt 
 1st wie ein Thier auf diirrer Heide 
 Von einem bbsen Geist im Kreis hernmgefiihrt, 
 TJnd rings umher liegt schbne, griine Weide." 
 
 "Why cannot I take it all for granted, 
 like the rest, and graze in the fat green 
 meadows of Protestantism ? Why cannot I 
 have a pleasant rectory, where some wife 
 sweet as St. Frideswide, may walk with me 
 on the shady lawn, in the cool of the Sum- 
 mer day ; or sit opposite me in the cozy 
 library, by the firelight of a Winter evening, 
 Why is it laid on me to break my mother's 
 heart, and even Nelly " 
 
 Then Godfrey took up another letter, 
 which lay open on the desk, and read : 
 
 "My deakest Son, 
 
 " I need not tell you how happy 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 97 
 
 the news of your election has made me. 
 Our difficulties seem all over now ; and, 
 what is far better, under God's providence, 
 we owe it to you. May our Heavenly 
 Father grant that the two dear boys may 
 follow the example of their elder brother ! 
 I am a happy woman, even in my widow- 
 hood, to have such a son. You know, 
 Frederick, I never say more than I feel, 
 and I could not say so much as I write. 
 To-day I cannot write on ordinary subjects, 
 and shall therefore conclude with Nelly's 
 love and congratulations. That God may 
 continue to bless and prosper you, is the 
 constant prayer of your fond mother, 
 
 " Charlotte Godfrey." 
 
 A sort of despair came over Frederick 
 Godfrey's face as he laid down this letter ; 
 and he groaned audibly. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey was an Evangelical Low 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Churchwoman of the strictest school, and in 
 this faith she had brought up her family. The 
 Dean had professed the same creed, but in 
 a milder and larger form, as his had been a 
 milder and larger intelligence. But it must 
 not be supposed that Mrs. Godfrey was either 
 a silly or a weak woman ; on the contrary, 
 she was possessed of many accomplishments, 
 and great force of character. In her narrow 
 circle her influence was powerful. In truth, 
 intensity of conviction is almost always 
 power, whereas subtlety of intellect is apt 
 to be weakness — at least, in action. In 
 their childhood, her family would as soon 
 have thought of questioning their own ex- 
 istence as their mother's wisdom. Her 
 dogmas were enunciated, and received as 
 infallible utterances — as infallible as if they 
 had been guaranteed by the decree of an 
 (Ecumenical Council. It is long before 
 doctrines so received can by any mind be 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 99 
 
 questioned. By most minds the) 7 never 
 are. 
 
 But Frederick Godfrey's was not an in- 
 tellect to rest for ever satisfied with the 
 conclusions of another person. It was 
 searching, logical, fond of system, impatient 
 of doubt, and strongly conscientious. The 
 Calvinism in which he had been educated 
 he found to be as much contradicted as 
 supported by the authority on which it was 
 alone supposed to rest. Then he saw how, 
 with equal, or superior claims, other sys- 
 tems could equally prove, or seem to prove, 
 themselves to be right from the same 
 authority. This was trying, but for the 
 time exciting, and Godfrey searched on, 
 believing he should come to the true solu- 
 tion ; for all this time it never once struck 
 him that Religion, like Scripture, might 
 perhaps not be a system at all ; or, if it is, 
 that it might require a larger view than 
 
 h 2 
 
100 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 ours to establish in every point its con- 
 sistency. Ritualism had no attraction for 
 the severe taste of Frederick Godfrey ; 
 but Anglicanism, apart from its frippery, 
 and because it offered certainty, had. 
 But he soon saw that it occupied but the 
 place of the fabled tortoise on which the 
 world rests. If this was the kind of 
 authority which he must accept, the Anglican 
 Church was not the Church which really 
 possessed it. It was Rome, or nothing. 
 
 Into this corner Godfrey was now, after a 
 period of doubt, finally driven On the one 
 hand lay honour, which, little as he seemed 
 to covet it, he dearly loved, fortune, friends, 
 family affection — all that men, even good 
 men, love ; on the other hand, only con- 
 science. 
 
 As yet Godfrey had communicated his 
 struggles only to one person. To Wynford 
 he had never spoken on the subject. He 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 101 
 
 would only have listened in uncomprehend- 
 ing amazement. His own family would 
 have believed it was a temptation of the 
 devil — even Nelly ; for though it had 
 always been considered seemly that the 
 women of the Godfrey family should be as 
 much interested as the men in all that con- 
 cerns the higher faculties of our nature, 
 they were apt to be, if not more prejudiced, 
 at least more excitable. The one person 
 then of whom Godfrey could think as a 
 counsellor, had been one of the professors, 
 and his lectures had served as a finger-post 
 to the goal at which the pupil had all but 
 arrived. This man had lately declared his 
 conversion to the " old faith." 
 
 His present residence was only a few 
 hours' journey from Oxford. To him God- 
 frey repaired, not once, but over and over 
 again, with what result it is not difficult to 
 guess. Most kind, most sympathising had 
 
102 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 been that ex-professor, and Godfrey the 
 reserved had opened his heart to him as he 
 had never opened it before to any of 
 woman born. 
 
 There was but one step to take. That 
 was, at last, but not till after his election to 
 the fellowship, somewhat sadly agreed upon. 
 On the day it was finally decided, Frederick 
 Godfrey, like one in an unreal world, 
 walked out of the professor's house into the 
 blue, warm air. The whole earth was 
 wrapped in the glory of Summer. Roses 
 blossomed, birds sang, and, far out of sight, 
 over the green cornfields, the lark shouted 
 his excelsior. But there was no excelsior in 
 Godfrey's heart. The jubilant spirit of the 
 martyr had not been granted to him. The 
 external beauty oppressed him, like some- 
 thing strange. 
 
 He felt as if he should like to be lying in 
 his own dull little room in the College 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 103 
 
 Green, at Marshborough, the light darkened, 
 and his mother and Nelly reading him to 
 rest for ever with those old Puritan hymns 
 which had been so tiresome to learn on the 
 Sundays of his childhood, but the recollection 
 of which now was sweet as the songs of 
 Fatherland to a home-sick stranger. Oh ! 
 if life might only thus ebb away while all 
 that made it dear was yet his own ! But 
 this was only the shrinking of the flesh and 
 the quivering of the nerves ; like that of the 
 patient who has made up his mind to the 
 surgeon's knife, when he hears the surgeon's 
 step at the door. 
 
 Godfrey's determination was not shaken — 
 no, not even while he was reading his 
 letters, and knew that such letters he should 
 never receive again. 
 
 With that despairing face, he remained 
 for some minutes leaning back in the old 
 leather chair. Suddenly he rose, swept 
 
104 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 away all the papers, and, without looking at 
 them again, placed them tidily in his desk, 
 shutting and locking it ; then he took his 
 hat, and walked out. He had turned his 
 back on the past ! 
 
105 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 a midsummer-day's dream. 
 
 THE time which Godfrey had passed in 
 struggle and pain had been to Leigh 
 Wynford like a cake all compacted of 
 sweets, so cunningly mixed that it neither 
 palled nor cloyed. Even the weather, 
 though hot in cities and on dusty roads, was 
 perfect at Willesmere Court. It was deli- 
 cious to lounge away the hot noon under the 
 lime-tree, reading Tennyson, or listening to 
 the hum of the bees and the drip of the 
 water; and it was rapture of a nature 
 more acute to wander far over the meadows 
 in the rosy hush of the sunset, or to stroll 
 
106 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 in the Pleasaunce by the old rookery, as the 
 blue of the sky deepened into violet, and 
 the stars grew larger and brighter, and a 
 voice sweeter even than the nightingale's 
 thrilled with passionate music the reason- 
 bereft heart of the young graduate. In 
 those days of unreality, the scent of the 
 night-blowing primrose seemed sweeter than 
 any known perfume, and the blossoms of 
 the white periwinkle, shining out from the 
 dusk of the leaves, looked like the stars of 
 a lower firmament ! 
 
 There is to be no Time in heaven, we 
 are told ; and there are seasons — rare ones, 
 certainly — of absorbing sensation even in 
 this world of fragmentary interests and sub- 
 divided sequences, which seem to raise us 
 up to this Unity of Being. 
 
 Wynford could hardly have told whether 
 those days at Willesmere Court were an 
 jeternity or but a moment. He was conscious 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 107 
 
 only of a fulness of life which reckoned 
 neither hours nor minutes. At the end of 
 the two or three days which he had been 
 originally expected to stay, he did not 
 throw out even a hint of bringing his visit 
 to a conclusion. The Colonel became un- 
 easy. What would his old friend Wynford 
 say ? 
 
 " It muse be done, Rose, my dear." 
 " What must be done ?" she said, with 
 just the least shade of irritation. 
 
 She was sitting in her little morning-room, 
 where she often did her household needle- 
 work. It was very hot now, for the room got 
 all the morning sun. She was stitching labo- 
 riously a fine linen collar, and thinking how, 
 if she could only have had a sewing-machine 
 like Miss Summerwood's, it would have 
 been done in the twinkling of an eye, and 
 she, too, might have been sitting under the 
 lime-tree, and listening to the drip of the 
 
108 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 water and the hum of the bees. But she 
 knew that her husband would be only a 
 few shades less astonished at a proposal to 
 purchase a sewing-machine than by a sug- 
 gestion that a guillotine might be a desir- 
 able article of household furniture. 
 
 " I must write to Wynford." 
 
 11 About what ?" 
 
 " Don't you see, my dear ? — don't you 
 see ?" 
 
 " But won't it seem rather ridiculous in 
 us to think that, because a young man talks 
 and makes himself agreeable to our girl, he 
 must be falling in love with her ?" 
 
 " I don't care what it seems, Rose ; and a 
 young man ought not to talk and make 
 himself agreeable in that way to a girl, un- 
 less he is falling in love with her. It used 
 not to be the way for a gentleman in my 
 time, at least." 
 
 In her heart Mrs. Foxley approved of 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 109 
 
 this sentiment, though she did feel such 
 sharp-sightedness rather uncalled-for. 
 
 " I am only glad," she said, " to see El- 
 frida a little like other girls. She has not 
 been to the Rectory since Wynford came." 
 
 u Nonsense about the Rectory !" said the 
 Colonel ; " but this is different." 
 
 " You won't write for a few days, Geoffrey 
 dear ? Really it seems so absurdly vain to 
 fancy in so short a time " 
 
 "I am going to write to-day." 
 
 When the Colonel spoke in that tone, he 
 meant it, and Mrs. Foxley knew further 
 opposition was useless. 
 
 She sat stitching the fine linen collar 
 with hot hands and stiff needle, and 
 worried brain, in silence. But by degrees 
 she became much interested in getting to 
 the end of the collar by luncheon-time. 
 Then she reflected that " the matter 
 was taken out of her hands," as she ex- 
 
110 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 pressed it ; and as she owed no small part 
 of the contentment and cheerfulness of her 
 life to this dash of fatalism, it must be 
 counted in her for wisdom and faith. That 
 very day the threatened letter was written 
 and dispatched. 
 
 After friendly greetings as elaborate — 
 and, according to modern notions, stilted — 
 
 7 ^ .7 
 
 as they were sincere, the old officer con- 
 tinued : " I need not say we are glad to have 
 your son here, and he seems happy with us. 
 He is, in truth, a youth of whom any father 
 might be proud. I, you know, have no son, 
 but am the last of my race, and it is my 
 earnest prayer that I may be permitted to 
 preserve intact the honour we have main- 
 tained, while our lands and our wealth have 
 passed away ! But though I have no son, 
 I feel, in case it may have slipped your 
 memory, that I ought to remind you I have 
 a daughter, who, many people seem to 
 
FATHER GODFREY. Ill 
 
 think, has inherited the beauty as well as the 
 name of her ancestress, Elfrida, who pre- 
 sided at the.tournay held in the plain of 
 Marshborough, in the reign of Edward the 
 First. But however that may be, the girl 
 is certainly comely, and we fancy your son 
 seems to think so. No mischief can be 
 done yet, and most likely I am over-hasty 
 in thinking that any is likely to happen. 
 But I will have no broken hearts, and my 
 daughter, as you know, is portionless. If, 
 therefore, you think the youth in danger, 
 you had best recall him, and so oblige 
 " Your faithful old friend, 
 
 " Geoffrey Foxley." 
 
 " It is very disagreeable," said Mrs. Fox- 
 ley. " Suppose he should recall him ! It 
 would be rather mortifying ! " 
 
 " To feel that one has acted the part of 
 an honourable gentleman can never be 
 mortifying," her husband said. 
 
112 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Nevertheless he felt his poverty more 
 bitter at that moment than he had ever felt 
 it before. His Elfrida, who in blood and 
 beauty, as he had himself said, was a fit 
 match for a prince ! 
 
 It was with a beating heart that Mrs. 
 Foxley watched her husband take the letters 
 from the bag on the important morning that 
 was to bring the answer. They were all at 
 the breakfast table, and he dealt them round 
 composedly. Mrs. Foxley was so nervous 
 that Wynford must have noticed it, had he 
 not been putting eggs, and honey, and all 
 sorts of things on Elfrida s plate, with a 
 pre-oecupied devotion, and an utter regard- 
 lessness of appearances, which prevented his 
 having ears or eyes for anything else. 
 
 " Two for you, Wynford," said the Colo- 
 nel ; but Wynford did not hear. 
 
 "Two letters, Mr. Wynford," said El- 
 frida, with a smile and a blush which 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 113 
 
 were very becoming, as she laid them by 
 him. Then he saw them. 
 
 " One from my mother ! Ah ! I thought 
 she would write to-day. My tailor's bill I 
 think the other is. They will keep till after 
 breakfast !" 
 
 " I have a letter from your father," said 
 the Colonel. 
 
 "They don't expect me to-morrow, do 
 they ?" said Wynford, now tearing open his 
 mother's letter. 
 
 Mrs. Foxley's heart leapt into her mouth, 
 or at least she so described it afterwards. 
 
 ".No, they say nothing about your return. 
 They seem pleased you should remain, as 
 long as you are happy." 
 
 Mrs. Foxley drew a long breath. She 
 could just hear Wynford whisper to her 
 daughter, 
 
 " Then that would be for ever !" 
 
 Poor Mrs. Foxley ! she felt quite young 
 
 VOL. I. i 
 
114 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 again, and could have danced and sung in 
 the joy of her heart. 
 
 After breakfast, she eagerly joined her 
 husband, who gave her the elder Wynford's 
 letter to read. 
 
 "Thank you, ray dear old friend," he 
 wrote, " for your letter. It has surprised us, 
 for we had forgotten how time flies. But 
 we feel that under your roof our son can be 
 in no danger ; and to your care and that of 
 Providence we commit him. We have 
 barely time to answer letters here by return 
 of post, so I must be brief. My wife is writ- 
 ing to Leigh. With our best regards to Mrs. 
 and Miss Foxley. ever your old and sincere 
 
 friend, 
 
 " Henry Frederick Wynford." 
 
 So that the current of Leigh Wynford's 
 love promised to run smooth. No obstacles, 
 at least, were to be interposed by " flinty- 
 hearted fathers," or other earth-worms of 
 that prosaic class who believe that a man 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 115 
 
 must eat to live. It is true that Wynford, 
 pere and mere, had, in a vague way, 
 other views for their son. Had not their 
 Leigh a right to expect rank and wealth as 
 well as beauty ? There was a certain Lady 
 Annie, at present only fourteen, but — 
 
 It was very natural in Leigh. It was a 
 pity he had gone to Willesmere Court. But it 
 was their fault. Neither the squire nor his 
 wife was addicted to being lacyhrmose over 
 spilt milk, and Leigh's wishes were — Leigh's 
 wishes. Only it was very hard they were 
 not, after all, as they had so fondly hoped, to 
 have him all to themselves. 
 
 " I could not recall him," said Mr. Wyn- 
 ford. " Foxley is the very soul of honour. 
 I could not deal him such a blow." 
 
 And the mother wrote to her 6on, but 
 without, by her husband's advice, in any way 
 particularly mentioning Miss Foxley. 
 
 Leigh Wynford was allowed to make love 
 
 i 2 
 
116 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 to his heart's content. Almost from the 
 first he had rushed into it quite consciously. 
 
 M Eager to run the race his fathers ran." 
 
 Any doubt he might have as to his ulti- 
 mate success was only just enough to lend a 
 zest to the pursuit. Certain little vacilla- 
 tions in Elfrida's feelings gave to her 
 manner all that stimulating coyness which 
 is rare in perfectly frank natures, but was 
 genuine in her. 
 
 It was very pleasant indeed to have a lover 
 — she had never quite realized how pleasant 
 it was to be admired for everything she said 
 and did and looked, to be worshipped like 
 a goddess, to have every word she dropped 
 from her lips gathered up as if it were the 
 pearls and diamonds of the persecuted 
 younger sister in the fairy-tale. And then 
 to be so rich ! — to have carriages and horses 
 and money at her command, to be a great 
 lady like the ancestresses she had so often 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 117 
 
 heard of ! And Leigh himself — he was good, 
 looking, and as he had taken honours, must 
 be clever, though she should certainly not 
 otherwise have found out that he was clever. 
 For instance, though she had never heard 
 that Mr. Summerwood had taken honours, 
 she knew he was clever. But she should be 
 afraid of a husband so superior as Mr. Sum- 
 merwood ; and Elfrida blushed to herself at 
 having ever for a moment connected the 
 thought of such a man with anything so mun- 
 dane as matrimony. 
 
 The visions she had indulged in for the 
 last twelve months, of a life among the 
 pious Anglican sisters at Nunfield, secure of 
 heaven, and full of peace on earth, vanished 
 away in favour of a more highly-coloured 
 and sensational existence. Married people 
 were not debarred from heaven, surely. 
 She would have liked to ask Mr. Summer- 
 wood, but her feminine soul shrank from 
 
118 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 this profanation of its mysteries. She wished 
 Wynford were not quite so ardent. Why 
 did he hurry on so fast? She should like 
 time to think if she could reconcile luxury 
 on earth with happiness in heaven. 
 
 Wynford had now been a fortnight at 
 Willesmere Court. He had been in the 
 habit, as on that first day, of coming down 
 a little early for dinner, having discovered 
 that Elfrida generally worked at the altar- 
 cloth in the drawing-room for half an hour 
 at that time. But, on the day in question, 
 she was not at her accustomed labours. 
 Somewhat disconcerted, he strolled out on 
 the terrace — she was not there. What 
 could this mean? Had he affronted her? 
 Disappointed, and, withal, a little cross, he 
 went to the Pleasaunce in search of her. 
 But he could not find her in the Plea- 
 saunce. 
 
 He was in that mental condition to which 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 119 
 
 lovers, and other semi-insane persons, are 
 prone, and which consists in attributing pro- 
 found meanings to accidental trifles. " What 
 if she should really intend it for a slight ?" 
 The idea was frightful ! How could he live 
 without Elfrida? How could he go in to 
 dinner? How could he even pretend to 
 eat till his mind was at rest ? Where was 
 she? Where had she hidden herself ? 
 
 But she had not hidden herself at all — she 
 had only been a little longer dressing than 
 usual — too simple a solution of the mystery 
 for a lover to have thought of — and had run 
 down to the moat for a spray of wild roses 
 for her hair. 
 
 All at once he met her at the corner 
 of the rookery. She stopped when she 
 saw him. A certain nervous smile bright- 
 ened her dreamy eyes, and brought a flush, 
 delicate as that of the wild roses, on her 
 cheeks. The sun played through the 
 
120 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 branches on her hair, and the shadows of 
 the leaves seemed to dance round her, as 
 in some of Millais' best pictures. The 
 blood rushed like a torrent, hot and fierce, 
 through Leigh's veins. Repression was no 
 longer possible. 
 
 " Elfrida !" he cried, " I cannot bear it ! 
 I show you my heart plainly. Show me 
 yours, or I shall go mad !" 
 
 He took both her hands, and looked 
 straight into her eyes, blue and dark, like 
 hyacinths, in the shadow of the May woods. 
 
 " You hurt me," she said, trembling, and 
 turning away. 
 
 " Hurt you ! — I would rather kill my- 
 self!" He loosened his grasp, and coming 
 yet closer to her, whispered an agitated 
 entreaty. 
 
 She was by no means prepared to sa}^ 
 " No," and in such a state of feeling it is not 
 surprising that Wynford's impetuosity car- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 121 
 
 ried all before it. Any little weak-minded 
 "but" was borne away and overwhelmed 
 at once, as a mountain Hood bears away and 
 overwhelms the stick with which a child 
 has thought to stay its course. Before she 
 had had time to think, she was carried off 
 under the trees, and had discovered that, if 
 Wynford could be rough, he could also be 
 tender, As for dinner, it was utterly for- 
 gotten. The shadows had considerably 
 lengthened, and the level sun was looking 
 up into their faces, when the striking of the 
 church-clock recalled Elfrida to recol- 
 lection. 
 
 "We have been here a whole hour! 
 They must be waiting dinner. Oh ! what 
 will papa say ?" 
 
 "Let us go and beg forgiveness," said 
 Leigh. 
 
 "Now — this moment?" 
 
 " Yes, this very moment. Why not ?" 
 
122 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 She yielded again to his impetuosity, with 
 the same nervous look in her eyes and ex- 
 cited glow on her cheek. 
 
 11 Don't be frightened, darling. Let me 
 support you. I will do everything." 
 
 And his heart swelled with the pride of 
 conscious manhood — the new, sweet re- 
 sponsibility that he had to guard and to 
 think for a dearer and tenderer self. 
 
 The old Colonel and his wife had been 
 waiting in the drawing-room for more than 
 half an hour, greatly to the amazement of 
 the servants, who had never known their 
 master to wait so much as ten minutes on 
 any previous occasion with even a pretence 
 at patience. 
 
 "Young people will be young people," 
 he said to his wife. " They certainly ought 
 not to keep us waiting dinner ; but there is 
 no rule without an exception." 
 
 These two remarks could scarcely be said 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 123 
 
 to be original, but not the profoundest 
 depth of wisdom, or the boldest flight of 
 imagination, could have yielded a result 
 more satisfactory to his auditor. 
 
 " Here they come at last !" she cried, and 
 tried to look unconcerned. 
 
 " You must forgive us for once," said 
 Leigh, boldly yet with a blush. He stopped 
 and looked from the one to the other. 
 " We are engaged. You are not angry?" 
 
 " Angry !" cried Mrs. Foxley ; and in 
 their mutual happiness she and Leigh fairly 
 flung themselves into one another's arms, 
 and kissed for joy. 
 
 The Colonel, as became him, tried hard 
 to be dignified, and to make a speech be- 
 fitting the arrangement of an alliance be- 
 tween the families of Wynford and Foxley ; 
 but his voice got husky and his eyes grew 
 dim. He could only say, " God bless you 
 
 both r 
 
124 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 When Elfrida withdrew to her own room 
 that night, she remained for a long time 
 sitting in an attitude thoughtful if not de- 
 jected. At last she rose hastily, and taking 
 a little leather case from the drawer, un- 
 locked it, and placing a crucifix before her 
 on her dressing-table, knelt down with a 
 book in her hand. But Elfrida's thoughts 
 would not go along with the words of the 
 book. Perhaps if she had prayed about 
 what occupied her thoughts, about Leigh 
 Wynford and her new future, it might have 
 been different. But these were mere world- 
 ly things. God would be displeased to be 
 addressed on such subjects. The poor child 
 fell into a state of terror at what she had 
 done. Responsibility of any kind was a 
 burden she could not bear ; she ought to 
 have let the Church (that is, Mr. Summer- 
 wood and the Lady Superior at Nunfield) 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 125 
 
 decide for her. Oh ! suppose she had 
 parted with that title to indemnity from 
 endless torture of which lately she had be- 
 lieved herself to be so secure ! 
 
 Leigh Wynford, in the meantime, had no 
 drawback to his joy. He lay awake think- 
 ing how charming Elfrida was, how delicious 
 life would be with her. No man had ever 
 been so kind to his wife as he would be to 
 his. If possible, he would anticipate every 
 wish, and guard her from every sorrow ; 
 and she would love him and trust him as 
 another and stronger self. In short, Eden 
 should be renewed in the Bloomshire val- 
 ley where Thorleigh Court lay. In his joy 
 he felt as if he could have embraced the 
 world. 
 
126 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ELFRIDA. 
 
 T1LFRIDA FOXLEY had "a history," 
 -" — in spite of her personal attractions, 
 not a love-history, however, as yet. Gifted 
 with a wonderful, appealing beauty, Destiny, 
 moderate for the most part in her favours, 
 had withheld any uncommon share of other 
 gifts. She had no speciality of any kind but 
 her good looks ; but are not these, in a 
 woman, says Lord Macaulay, according to 
 the old Greek song, " what the horns are to 
 the buffalo, what the paw is to the tiger, 
 what the sting is to the bee ?" 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 127 
 
 But if she liar] no brilliant qualities, she 
 had certain deficiencies which did as well. 
 Soft ignorance is so like innocence, and 
 dove-like helplessness not only rouses man's 
 chivalry, but flatters his vanity. He fancies 
 such a woman will be so easily led. Elfrida 
 was easily led, at least by certain leaders — 
 a model as a wife altogether in the eyes of the 
 class of men whose idea of a wife's mind is 
 that it should be a blank sheet of paper, on 
 which a husband may print off a copy of his 
 own. The pity is, however, that it is not 
 always a copy of his mind that is so printed ; 
 it may just chance that it is a copy of some- 
 body else's mind — the Roman Catholic 
 priest's, perhaps, or perhaps that of the lead- 
 ing member of the Plymouth Brethren. A 
 very wise principle of selection can perhaps 
 hardly be expected from the blank-sheet 
 class of mind. In fact, we are brought back 
 
128 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 to the old truism, that everything has its 
 disadvantages — even blank sheet female 
 minds. 
 
 Up to eighteen years of age, Elfrida 
 Foxley was a gentle, quiet, commonplace 
 girl, who, as was natural, liked idleness 
 better than work. Not absolute yawning 
 idleness ; but she preferred loitering in the 
 garden, and about the fields, in the fine 
 weather, playing a few bars on the piano, 
 reading a few verses of sentimental poetry, 
 and skipping a novel, the more namby-pamby 
 the better, to any more energetic occupation. 
 The admiration her uncommon beauty re- 
 ceived was fast giving her a taste for com- 
 pany. It was wonderfully pleasant to be 
 made of so much importance, and without 
 any trouble, too. She had even thoughts of 
 a brilliant marriage, for she was not inac- 
 cessible to the smaller and commoner kinds 
 of ambition, when an accident happened 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 12 ( J 
 
 which changed the whole current of her 
 feelings. 
 
 An old school-fellow, the daughter of a 
 clergyman, was spending a week or two at 
 Willesmere Court. This Emily was some- 
 thing of the same class of girl as her friend 
 Elfrida, but more high-spirited, though not 
 nearly so pretty. The talk of such girls was 
 naturally of balls, dresses, and partners, 
 harmless chatter enough, no doubt, if some- 
 what inane. 
 
 One afternoon, in the midst of an ear- 
 nest discussion of this kind, they were over- 
 taken by a thunderstorm (it was in the month 
 of July) in the open country, a mile or two 
 from home. It was in vain that they hasten- 
 ed on. The heavy black cloud which came 
 up so fast against the wind, began all at 
 once to discharge its contents, as if, indeed, 
 the windows of heaven were opened. It 
 was not rain. It was a drowning flood, 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 coming down from the clouds in solid water; 
 at least so it seemed to the two terrified 
 and ignorant girls. They ran to seek shelter 
 under a tall elm-tree, the only protection to 
 be seen on the wide common. There the 
 violence of the storm increased. The flashes 
 of lightning were unintermitting, and the 
 peals of thunder like the incessant roar of a 
 cannonade. 
 
 How long they remained there was never 
 quite known, but later in the afternoon they 
 were both found lying insensible at the foot 
 of the tree, one branch of which had been 
 scathed by the lightning. Emily was dead, 
 but Elfrida was only stunned, whether by 
 the shock of the lightning, or the mental 
 horror, was never entirely ascertained. A 
 long illness supervened, and this was suc- 
 ceeded by a depression of mind and body 
 which seemed as if it would last her life. 
 Her whole existence appeared to be para- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 131 
 
 lvzed by terror. Her nerves were shattered 
 to pieces. God appeared to her in the light 
 of an unrelenting judge, and nature full of 
 the instruments of his righteous vengeance. 
 Emily, she never doubted, had been struck 
 down because of her u worldliness," and it 
 was in vain that her mother pointed out to 
 her that it was expressly said that those on 
 whom the Tower of Siloam fell were not 
 greater sinners, &a, &c. 
 
 The wrath of God, the imminence of un- 
 known and appalling vengeance, the pro- 
 spect of undying flames, was before her for 
 ever. She chanced, in a sort of lull of the 
 pain in which she existed, to meet at a 
 neighbour's house with a copy of Dante's 
 " Inferno," illustrated by Gustave Dore. All 
 the hideous forms of physical anguish there 
 so powerfully realized by the weird and 
 graphic genius of the artist, worked upon 
 her mind with the intensity of a coming cer- 
 
 k 2 
 
132 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 tainty. It was to her as if she beheld photo- 
 graphs of the scenery of the country for 
 which her passage had been booked. 
 
 Elfrida passed a terrible night after that 
 visit. Her parents were almost in despair. 
 Change of air and scene was tried in vain. 
 Many doctors were consulted, and they did 
 not differ. They alleged that her condition 
 resulted from a u complete disorganization of 
 the nervous system !" But this agreement, 
 exceptional as it was, could scarcely be said 
 to be satisfactory, in the face of the failure of 
 all their nostrums. 
 
 Being, as it were, at his wit's end, the 
 Colonel proposed calling in the advice of 
 Mr. Summer wood. The proposal was 
 hailed by Elfrida as a heretic in the grasp of 
 the Familiars of the Inquisition might have 
 hailed a rescue when about to be introduced 
 to the rack. 
 
 " If you wished so much to see him, my 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 133 
 
 dear," said her mother, " why did you not 
 say so?" 
 
 Elfrida made no answer, but the truth 
 was she knew her parents disliked him, and 
 she had dreaded their displeasure, with no 
 one to back her. She had sometimes 
 thought of seeking him by stealth. She had 
 no moral courage ; existence with her was 
 one fear. 
 
 Colonel and Mrs. Foxley had different 
 reasons for their dislike to, or, it might be 
 more properly called, prejudice against, Mr. 
 Summerwood. Mrs. Foxley disliked him 
 because he was a High Churchman and a 
 Ritualist. She was herself an u Evangeli- 
 cal " in her " views " — not of the severe and 
 dreary type, but still decidedly an Evangeli- 
 cal. The Colonel was a Churchman. He 
 despised and disliked equally Roman Catho- 
 lics and Dissenters, and, next to them, he 
 disliked Tractarians, and Evangelicals, and 
 
134 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Ritualists, and Broad Churchmen, and 
 " all that modern stuff. 1 ' Give him the 
 " good old Church of his forefathers." He 
 had had a feeling against the new Rector 
 from the first, from the fact of his father 
 having been a dissenting minister ; and when 
 he found that the son wore a coloured stole, 
 burnt incense, and lighted candles by day- 
 light, he said to his wife, 
 
 " Only the principle of re-action, Rose, my 
 dear. Just as republics always end in mili- 
 tary despotisms." 
 
 But his chief offence had been what he 
 (the Rector) called " restoring the Church." 
 
 " Restoring !" said the Colonel. " Would 
 it be restoring the old yew-tree to cut it 
 down and plant in its place a weeping-ash, 
 such as one sees on the lawn of a Cockney 
 villa ?" 
 
 The Colonel approved of the tall oak 
 pews, and the gorgeous beadle, and the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 135 
 
 great black and white " Commandments." 
 Mr. Summerwood could not persuade him 
 that these were comparative innovations, and 
 having always been used to them, he could 
 not see for himself that they were hideous 
 and inconvenient. Then a coolness ensued. 
 Neither gentleman was fond of contradiction. 
 
 But the Foxleys virtually acknowledged 
 to each other, in their present strait, that 
 relief from any quarter would be welcome, 
 so the Rector was sent for. 
 
 He arrived instantly, his whole mien be- 
 speaking universal forgiveness in a way 
 which was, and was intended to be, truly 
 magnanimous, but was really as abundantly 
 expressive of the recollection of offence as 
 the loudest upbraiding. He had a long in- 
 terview with Elfrida, and from that day she 
 was better. In a week she was working 
 Church needlework, teaching a class of 
 little children to sing in the Sunday-school, 
 
136 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 and talking with interest of the devices for 
 the decoration of the Church at Christmas. 
 In the Spring there was a slight re-action ; 
 and, by Mr. Summerwood's advice, she was 
 sent for a little change for a few weeks to 
 the care of u a very dear friend of his," the 
 Lady Superior of a sisterhood at Smokeham, 
 in Blackshire. The name of a sisterhood 
 was, to the ear of Mrs. Foxley, terribly sug- 
 gestive of Romanism, and Ritualism, and 
 every sort of objectionable Ism ; but, as 
 Elfrida seemed ready to fall as ill as ever at 
 the prospect of not being permitted to go, 
 she smothered her scruples, and, according 
 to the dissenting preacher in the village, 
 "sent her lamb among the wolves." 
 
 But there was no denying that she came 
 back much improved. Daily prayers she 
 would go to ; altar-cloths she would work ; 
 she would bow incessantly during the ser- 
 vice, and call things by names her mother 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 137 
 
 thought superstitious, and her father " new." 
 But she was far more cheerful. 
 
 "These follies would die away," the 
 Colonel said ; " it was only girlish non- 
 sense." 
 
 Elfrida had been his pet from her birth ; 
 what would have been a sin in another was 
 a very venial error in her. He had been 
 almost heart-broken to see her so ill, and 
 his anxiety had never been relieved, as his 
 wife's had occasionally, by a wholesome fit 
 of indignation. Like Mrs. Chick of Dombey 
 celebrity, Mrs. Foxley sometimes thought 
 her daughter might have "made an effort." 
 
 But the " follies," if they were follies, did 
 not even abate — at least not till Wynford 
 came. But now she had actually missed 
 going to morning prayers for two consecutive 
 days ! Another person had noticed the 
 omission as well as her parents, but with 
 very different sensations. 
 
138 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Mr. Summerwood felt it was time to be 
 going after his stray lamb. 
 
 If it is not over-pleasant to any of us to 
 have our influence superseded by that of 
 another, it was even more odious to Mr. 
 Summerwood than to most men. He had 
 believed his power over Elfrida to be un- 
 bounded, and revolt in any sense, either as 
 a fact or a precedent, was not to be toler- 
 ated. Holy, too, as poor Elfrida thought 
 him, he was human enough to feel in every 
 nerve the power of her beauty, and even to 
 recognise the possibility of a moment of mad- 
 ness, when it might seem that "All for love, 
 and the world well lost," was not so wholly 
 beyond the. range of his impulses as he had 
 hitherto believed it. 
 
 That gracious shape, those soft and heavenly 
 features, those beseeching eyes — their living 
 sapphire intensifying and trembling with the 
 tremblingintensity of her feelings — had some- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 139 
 
 times overpowered, if not his soul, at least his 
 senses. But Mr. Suinmerwood could notmarry 
 a penniless girl. He wanted to build churches, 
 to found services, to multiply curates, to 
 establish guilds and sisterhoods, to be a 
 great man in his own sect, and by and by in the 
 world at large. In short, it was clear, at 
 least to himself, that the path of piety and 
 self-denial lay in the direction of matrimony, 
 only if combined with money. 
 
 Of course he might marry Elfrida Foxley 
 if lie pleased. Did she not respond, like 
 the sensitive plant, to his lightest touch ? 
 He was a handsome man, too, and there 
 were women who would have given half 
 their lives for him. That he knew ; but he 
 did not know the nature of Elfrida Foxley. 
 It was far too pure and simple to be com- 
 prehended by Mr. Suinmerwood. He was 
 essentially coarse in his ideas, both of love 
 and pleasure, and it is precisely such tern- 
 
140 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 peraments that are apt to confound virtue 
 with asceticism. 
 
 Partly to save himself from temptation, 
 he had arranged that first visit of Elfrida to 
 Nunfield. By the time she had returned, 
 he had in a great measure conquered the 
 passion which stood, he believed, in the way 
 of higher aims. 
 
 But it is one thing to renounce, and an 
 altogether different thing to submit to be 
 renounced. Mr. Summerwood and Leigh 
 Wynford had from the first conceived a 
 mutual dislike — the dislike of natures essen- 
 tially antagonistic. Leigh's defiant manner, 
 not unjustly, perhaps, was an offence to Mr. 
 Summerwood ; while Mr. Summerwood's 
 airs of superiority were like spirit to fire 
 upon the indignation of the younger man. 
 It may be imagined, therefore, with what 
 feelings of dismay the Rector heard from 
 his sister that popular report credited the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 141 
 
 obnoxious youth with being the accepted 
 lover of Elfrida Foxley — Elfrida, whom he 
 had believed to be his own wholly. His first 
 impulse was to disbelieve it ; but she had 
 not been to church for two days ! In a 
 moment Mr. Summerwood was aware that 
 he had not finally rejected her for himself. 
 He remembered, with a sensation that was 
 stinging, what a splendid match Wynford 
 would be. He felt certain Elfrida's parents 
 would favour him warmly. Probably they 
 had invited him to Willesmere Court on 
 purpose. What a fool he had been not to 
 have seen it all from the first! But it- 
 might not be too late yet — it should not be 
 too late ! 
 
 This man had a dauntless confidence in 
 the power of his own will — a matchless 
 capacity for persuading himself of the recti- 
 tude of his own wishes ; so, without a mo- 
 ment's delay, he took his hat and toiled up 
 
142 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 to Willesmere Court, in the blazing sun- 
 shine of a Summer morning, shortly before 
 noon. 
 
 He was received by Mrs. Foxley more 
 cordially than he had ever been before. 
 Her happiness filled her with universal 
 good-will. She acknowledged now candid- 
 ly the services of Mr. Summerwood, and 
 was pleased to show that she did. He was 
 conscious at once of the increased friendli- 
 ness of her manner, and of a something 
 altogether triumphant about her, and about 
 everything. 
 
 Oddly enough, he felt his warmer recep- 
 tion depressing. That, coupled with the 
 heat, perhaps, disconcerted him. But he 
 inquired for Miss Foxley with all due dig- 
 nity. He " was afraid she might have been 
 indisposed, as he had missed her from the 
 church for two days." 
 
 " Elfrida was quite well," her mother 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 143 
 
 said. " She had been much encased, and — '' 
 There she stopped, and there seemed little 
 more to be said. 
 
 He was not to see Elfrida, then ! He 
 was fast falling into that uncomfortable 
 and slightly ridiculous condition apt to 
 be described as a bad humour. But 
 though few men were more capable of 
 being in a rage, few men were more capa- 
 ble of controlling its outward demonstra- 
 tion. He walked to the window, conscious 
 that it was a mental phase too undignified 
 for him even to be suspected of. 
 
 It was the same window, shaded by the 
 ancient curtains worked in unknown birds, in 
 which, on the morning of Wynford's arrival, 
 Elfrida had sat embroidering the altar-cloth. 
 But Mr. Summerwood did not care for the 
 scent of the honeysuckle, or for the fairy 
 music of the aspens. His quick ear detect- 
 ed the sound of voices — of one voice which 
 
144 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 at this moment made his heart throb, not 
 altogether with one passion. Although al- 
 most hidden to ordinary eyes, he discovered 
 sharply enough, at the far corner of the 
 moat, under a clump of aspens, the broken 
 outline of a female figure. At her feet lay 
 another figure, which he also recognised or 
 divined. He could see, or fancy, that he 
 was looking earnestly up in her face. 
 
 The attitude and the whole scene were 
 abundantly significant. A sudden spasm, a 
 sudden almost superhuman effort, and the 
 Rector, turning round, bade Mrs. Foxley 
 " good morning." 
 
 " He would not detain her," he said, " as 
 the Colonel was not at home ; and he was 
 glad to hear Miss Foxley was well." 
 
 She saw he had seen them, and smiled. 
 He felt as if he should have liked to 
 kill her ! It seemed as if she triumphed 
 in his torture. Yes, it was torture, and 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 14-5 
 
 torture all the more torturing that but for 
 himself (so he thought) it might have been 
 rapture instead. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
146 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE COTTAGE IN THE CLOSE. 
 
 npHE news of Frederick Godfrey's " per- 
 ■*- version," as the Marshborough world 
 called it, had come upon the Godfrey family 
 like an earthquake. It was as if the founda- 
 tions of their lives had suddenly been 
 moved. His fears had not at all exagger- 
 ated the light in which they were likely to 
 regard it. 
 
 "Antichrist," the " Synagogue of Satan," 
 and such like, were the mildest names ever 
 bestowed by Mrs. Godfrey on the Church 
 of Rome ; and even these terms were feeble, 
 as a transcript of the horror with which she 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 147 
 
 regarded the faith to which her son had 
 become a convert. It was almost incon- 
 ceivable that a child of hers should have 
 been permitted thus to fall ! And of this 
 child she had been so proud and felt so 
 secure ! Often had she seen him in her 
 mind's eye a pillar of the faith, acknow- 
 ledged and honoured of all men. And 
 now ! Now he would be pointed at by Mrs. 
 Godfrey's world with the finger of scorn. 
 Mrs. Godfrey was one with whom it was an 
 article of faith to believe that friendship 
 with the world was enmity with God ; but 
 then her world was not " the world." 
 Rather was it the " elect," " God's people." 
 To such it had never struck her it was 
 otherwise than highly praiseworthy to " be 
 conformed to," or highly wicked to differ 
 from. 
 
 Puor mother! — she thought she grieved 
 solely over the loss of her son's soul, and 
 
 l2 
 
148 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 because he had become an " enemy of the 
 Gospel ;" but let us not be too hard upon 
 her if, unknown to herself, a bitter worldly 
 disappointment mingled with her grief. It is 
 not so easily any of us behold the basket 
 of crystal upon which, like the hero of the 
 Eastern fable, we have built our hopes of 
 prosperity, shattered to fragments. Then 
 why had it happened to her? Had she 
 not done all that became a mother ? Had 
 she not trained him up in the way he 
 should go, toiled for him, prayed for him, 
 and this sorrow had come on her, as on any 
 careless parent ? It was almost as if God 
 had not kept faith with her. 
 
 Her daughter Helen, who slept in a 
 little room adjoining hers, heard her 
 toss and moan through the long, light 
 hours of the Summer night, and oc- 
 casionally even rise and wander about her 
 room. Sometimes she fancied she could 
 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 149 
 
 bear a faint, smothered cry, and once she 
 distinguished the articulate words, " What 
 have I done ? — oh ! how have I sinned ?" 
 And her heart went out in fervent pity 
 towards the strong-minded mother to whom 
 she durst yet not offer her sympathy. How 
 could Frederick be so cruel, as well as so 
 wicked ? 
 
 When she had time to think of any- 
 thing but her mother, it was this thought 
 that chiefly grieved Helen Godfrey. 
 
 She and her brother Frederick had been 
 close friends all their lives. If Fred- 
 erick had ever had a confidante, it was 
 his sister Helen. He was older than she 
 was, and up to this time it had been 
 part of her creed that Fred was always 
 cleverest, bravest, and best. In the days of 
 her childhood her little heart would swell 
 and tremble as she heard how a big dunce 
 had given him a savage kick because he had 
 
150 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 got above him in class, and afterwards way- 
 laid him on his return from school; and proud 
 tears filled her eyes when, on her suggest- 
 ing that " Mamma should complain to the 
 master," he gave utterance to some school- 
 boy magnanimity on the subject of " sneaks," 
 which found a ready echo in a soul which 
 at all times had a strong proclivity towards 
 the heroic. On his aoin^ to college, Helen 
 was conscious of no diminution in her bro- 
 ther's confidence. His daily avocations, his 
 successes, his friendship with Leigh Wynford, 
 were all communicated to her. It was, 
 therefore, an additional blow to find that all 
 this time his inmost feelings had been hid- 
 den from her. She had been brought up 
 to believe that Roman Catholics and Jesuits 
 always acted in a double-dealing manner. 
 What if Frederick were a Jesuit — if he had 
 been a Jesuit all this time ! • She shuddered 
 at the idea of the vague, terrible evil whose 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 151 
 
 presence might for years have been over- 
 shadowing her. 
 
 In this frame of mind she wrote to him 
 a letter, the bitterness of its reproachful 
 grief only equalled by the warmth of its 
 relenting tenderness. This letter did not 
 shake Frederick's convictions, but it nearly 
 broke his heart. He wrote to his mother 
 again, pouring out to her, as he had never 
 done when he was her idol, the strong love 
 of his heart, the reverence, the gratitude he 
 felt for her, and for those principles of rec- 
 titude with which she had inspired him, and 
 which alone had enabled him to sacrifice 
 everything that was dear to him for con- 
 science sake. He begged her, " on his 
 knees," he said, to forgive him the pain he 
 had given her, and to pray that the anguish 
 he suffered might be made endurable. 
 
 Poor Frederick ! This letter had been 
 written too soon. Mrs. Godfrey's heart was 
 
152 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 too much engrossed with her own suffering 
 to realise his. Then that unfortunate sen- 
 tence about the principles with which she 
 had inspired him ! It was like an inten- 
 tional affront ; it seemed to open yet wider 
 the still gaping wound of her pride. To 
 her morbid feelings the whole letter was an 
 insult, was mere Jesuitical words, at vari- 
 ance with the facts of his conduct. Hitherto 
 she had not written to her son. Now she 
 wrote a few words, brief and stern. 
 
 " Her son," she said, " was her son no 
 longer. He was a Romish Priest, and as 
 such, she did not feel that professions or 
 asseverations on his part were to be credited. 
 Was it not part of his faith to do evil that 
 good might come ?" 
 
 A terrible response to that outpouring of 
 tenderness so exceptional to his reticent 
 nature ! God alone knew the torture of 
 suspense he had endured while expecting 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 153 
 
 that letter — God alone knew the desolation 
 it inflicted. 
 
 Frederick Godfrey inherited his mother's 
 pride. He had made his final appeal, and 
 believed himself cast off. Between him and 
 her now rolled the raging flood of strongly- 
 felt theological difference. On its shores 
 they stood with souls crying aloud for, eyes 
 strained to catch a glimpse of, each other. 
 But the yearning voices were unheard in the 
 roar of the torrent, and the eager eyes 
 peered only into the blinding mist of its 
 spray. 
 
 Helen, too, had heard from her brother ; 
 but her letter was in a strain very different 
 from that which he had addressed to his 
 mother. Its tone was not penitent, but for- 
 giving — the tone of one who magnanimously 
 pardons an injury, of which he is yet pro- 
 foundly conscious. It wounded her to the 
 quick. She could not have believed it of 
 
154 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Fred ! What ! had he no compunction for 
 his mother's suffering — no remorse for his 
 brother's injured prospects? His nature 
 was indeed changed ! She, too, felt that he 
 was no longer her brother, but a Roman 
 Catholic priest. Yes, it was all true that 
 she had been taught to believe of that wicked 
 church ! It was wrong of her ever to have 
 doubted it for a moment, even in favour of 
 Fred, and her warm heart trembled with 
 mingled indignation and grief. She had not 
 seen her brother's letter to her mother, or 
 her feelings might probably have been modi- 
 fied. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey had shown it to no one. 
 Her children knew she had received it, but 
 they could only guess at its contents by her 
 stony countenance, and the fact that, at her 
 meals, her food was most frequently left 
 untasted on her plate. Poor Helen was 
 nearly beside herself with anxiety. Had it 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 155 
 
 not been for her motherly friend, Lady Page, 
 who occupied a large house near them in 
 the Cathedral Close, she should hardly have 
 known how to bear it. 
 
 But, after a few days had passed, Mrs. 
 Godfrey began to rouse herself. She had 
 strung her soul to bear the inevitable. The 
 right hand which had offended her, no mat- 
 ter with what amount of lifelong anguish, 
 was plucked off and cast from her ! Once 
 more she came down to breakfast at the 
 usual hour, and resumed her old employ- 
 ments with a sort of emphasis which seemed 
 to say that even the pain she had suffered 
 was to be remembered no more. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey inhabited a small house — a 
 cottage it might be called — in the Cathedral 
 Close of Marshborough. Now everybody 
 knows the Cathedral Close is the " West- 
 end " of a Cathedral city. Gentility as 
 well as gravity presides over the quaint, 
 
156 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 blackened, old-fashioned houses, and per- 
 vades the very atmosphere of the smooth- 
 shaven, rather sooty lawns. 
 
 On the untimely death of the late dean it 
 was almost feared that his widow might not 
 be able to afford a residence in the quarter 
 alone supposed to be befitting to ecclesiasti- 
 cal aristocracy. But her friends had be- 
 stirred themselves, and Lady Page had at 
 last discovered a cottage which, with a little 
 outlay, might easily be converted into a 
 pretty and genteel, if not very commodious 
 residence. Lady Page, being the widow of 
 a Lord Mayor of London, was naturally 
 rich. She bought the cottage, happening, 
 at the time, she said, to be in want of an 
 investment, and had it fitted up with every 
 convenience which could by any possibility 
 be crammed into it. It was so very lucky 
 for her, she said, to be able to find such a 
 tenant as " dear Mrs. Godfrey !" The cot- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 157 
 
 tage was a funny-looking little place, squeezed 
 in between the Cathedral and the office of 
 the Registrar of the Diocese, and separated 
 from the Cathedral garden by an almost infini- 
 tesimally narrow strip of lawn, bounded by 
 a railing surmounting a low parapet wall. 
 It seemed to present a sort of corner to the 
 front, rounded off into a shallow oriel win- 
 dow, as if the Cathedral and the Register 
 Office had compressed it between them till 
 it bulged out. A carefully-trained jessamine, 
 dingy with smoke from the prebendal chim- 
 neys by which it was surrounded, made 
 the tiny spot look yet more sombre and 
 stifling. 
 
 Behind, it was more cheerful. The cot- 
 tage widened and spread out somehow. A 
 splendid westeria covered the whole wall, and 
 in the early Summer, when the south wind 
 blew, wafted, through the open windows, 
 rich, sweet odours from the masses of deli- 
 
158 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 cate blossom which literally smothered one 
 another in flowery profusion. Now the 
 flowers were gone, but the leaves still drap- 
 ed the old walls with a scarcely less luxuri- 
 ant beauty. The little lawn, which was 
 large enough for croquet, was bound by a 
 narrow ribbon of bright flowers. In the 
 morning, Helen loved to watch the massive 
 shadow of the cathedral tower, which sloped 
 over the eastern wall, like the index of a 
 gigantic dial. Hereit was, in the shady corner 
 by the rustic table and seats, where they 
 often drank tea in the hot days, that the 
 Godfrey family assembled to discuss ways 
 and means. It was well, perhaps, for Mrs. 
 Godfrey that she was forced to think about 
 the affairs of this world. The defection of 
 Frederick had thrown them into consider- 
 able pecuniary embarrassment. But no 
 allusion whatever did she make to the cause 
 of their financial difficulties. She merely 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 159 
 
 stated them. She lamented them most, she 
 said, on account of the boys. She had de- 
 sired to send them to a public school, that 
 they might have the educational advantages 
 due to the sons of a dean of Marshborough. 
 But God had willed it otherwise. If she 
 were to do so, there would not be enough for 
 herself and her daughter to keep alive upon. 
 She begged her dear sons to believe, and 
 she knew she spoke the sentiments of Helen, 
 that the barest necessaries would have con- 
 tented them. She feared " her boys " (here 
 her proud lip trembled a little), " must be 
 content to go to the college school." 
 
 " And very jolly too, mother, it will be," 
 cried George, a boy of twelve. " Then we 
 shall stay at home, and Nell will help us 
 with our lessons, and Wilkes will let me up 
 to the bells every day. Hooray ! I wish 
 he'd let us ring a bob-major for staying at 
 home." 
 
160 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 But William, the elder boy, fourteen, 
 looked grave. He was indeed struggling 
 bravely to keep back tears which he imagin- 
 ed would be childish, tears caused by a dis- 
 appointment which was not altogether 
 childish. He had heard much of the doings 
 of his brother Frederick, and burned to 
 emulate them. 
 
 Helen now came forward. She had been 
 sitting a little behind the tree. Helen God- 
 frey was twenty years old, but slight and 
 girlish in her figure for her age. She was 
 by many persons considered pretty, and 
 perhaps she had never looked prettier than 
 she did now. Her face was characterised 
 by a certain brightness of purpose ; her clear 
 though not fair cheeks flushed, and her 
 brown eye lighted with a sort of embarrassed 
 eagerness. The draught under the tree had 
 becomingly stirred the rich clusters of her 
 abundant hair, which, but for a certain 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 161 
 
 warmth of tone, might almost have been 
 called black. 
 
 If Helen Godfrey was not beautiful, there 
 were moments when she was more winning 
 than many who are. 
 
 " No, mother," she said, " I hope it may 
 not be necessary to keep the boys at home. 
 I have a plan. Lady Page thinks it quite 
 feasible. I should not have proposed it 
 unless." 
 
 She spoke with resolution, yet with a 
 certain nervousness. Her mother looked 
 at her attentively, and Helen proceeded to 
 explain. She had had herself an expensive 
 education. She was a linguist and a musi- 
 cian, and, according to the wont of the God- 
 freys, w T as both clever and industrious, and 
 had made the most of her opportunities, 
 though this, of course, she did not say. 
 With her connections and interest, she could 
 get a hundred a year as a governess ; that 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 would be a great help to the house-keeping 
 at the cottage. William could go to school 
 immediately. He must put his shoulder to 
 the wheel and get a scholarship, and then 
 George too could go. 
 
 Helen saw William's face brighten in spite 
 of himself as she proceeded. But he said : 
 
 " You a governess, Nelly ! You working 
 for us !" 
 
 "Why not, Will, if I am able? I have 
 your leave, mother, have I not ?" said 
 Helen ; but she hardly looked as if she were 
 asking leave. 
 
 Something seemed to rise in Mrs. God- 
 frey's throat, and she felt that, if she tried 
 to speak, it might overflow at her eyes. 
 This would, doubtless, have done her good ; 
 but no one ever had seen Mrs. Godfrey 
 weep, not even her children. But William 
 spoke. 
 
 " You are a brick, Nelly, if there ever 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 163 
 
 was one! I will work for you, one day — see 
 if I don't! That's all." 
 
 There was a slight, passionate quaver in 
 the boy's voice, and, as the evening sun- 
 beams sloped by the ivied chimney of the 
 Register Office right upon his face, Helen 
 could see that his eyes glistened. 
 
 " Do not make a promise you may be 
 tempted to break, William," his mother said, 
 with an accent of sternness which they all 
 understood and pardoned. 
 
 Nobody spoke to suggest anything further. 
 The matter seemed settled, or, at least, post- 
 poned for future discussion. The Godfreys 
 were not much in the habit of making 
 speeches to one another.' In this respect I 
 cannot think they were singular. Not many 
 English families are, unless in fiction, and 
 more especially in religious fiction, where 
 brothers and sisters not only make long 
 
 m 2 
 
164 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 speeches, but occasionally preach extempore 
 sermons to one another. But I never met 
 with such a case in real life, and I cannot 
 altogether say I regret it. 
 
 That same evening, just after Helen had 
 gone to bed, a figure might have been seen 
 gliding into her room in the silver twilight 
 of the Summer night. " May God bless you, 
 my best child !" said her mother. This was 
 the nearest approach to a speech made by 
 anybody, but if it had been as long as one of 
 Edward Irving's "Graces before Meat" — one 
 of which, we are told, lasted two hours 
 while the supper was waiting — it could not 
 have made a deeper impression. 
 
 Helen sat up and threw her arms round 
 her mother, and they clasped one another in 
 a close embrace. No promises, no praise 
 could more thoroughly have expressed their 
 mutual affection and mutual comprehension. 
 Mendelssohn has called some of his most 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 165 
 
 speaking compositions, u Lieder ohne 
 Worte ;" but there are not only songs, there 
 are also speeches without words. 
 
166 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE LORD MAYOR'S WIDOW. 
 
 T ADY PAGE, widow of Sir Ebenezer 
 ■*-4 Page, Bart., Lord Mayor of London 
 during the visit of His Majesty the King of 
 
 to the City of London, and formerly 
 
 M.P. for Marshborough, inhabited the 
 largest mansion in the Cathedral Close, 
 hardly even excepting the Deanery. And 
 now what is there so absurd in being a 
 Lord Mayor ? Why does this civic dignity 
 appear, to the county mind, so amusing a 
 position ? After all, what can there be 
 really laughable in being the first magistrate 
 of the first city in the world ? — if my readers 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 167 
 
 will kindly pardon me for putting it thus 
 grandiloquently. Is it the gilt coach ? Is 
 it an occasional, or rather imaginary, 
 dubiousness in the direction of H's? Or 
 has it anything to do with civic feasts and 
 whitebait-dinners ? After all, it can hardly 
 be on account of the last-named dainty, for 
 " Her Majesty's Ministers " annually partake 
 of this aldermanic or ambrosianic food. 
 Now, Her Majesty's Ministers, though often 
 incapable, time-serving, dishonest (according 
 to the showing of the Opposition), are never 
 absurd, and always genteel. It cannot, 
 therefore, be whitebait. What then can it 
 be? 
 
 But as I am by no means prepared to 
 solve the mystery, I shall not trouble my 
 readers with further suggestions. I merely 
 throw out the above hints as possible clues 
 to any who may be inclined to unravel 
 philosophically a social riddle, not more 
 
168 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 unimportant than many others upon which 
 people have written pamphlets, and tilted 
 valiantly at wordy jousts. 
 
 But the fact remains. Mrs. Headlam, of 
 Knockhampton, and Mrs. Green Oldacres, 
 of Oldacres Court, at first found Lady Page 
 (whose husband, it had been whispered, was 
 originally a grocer) exceedingly absurd, but 
 either they had got used to her, or contact 
 with their unexceptionable selves had im- 
 proved her, for they now allowed that her 
 " little vulgarities" were "much rubbed 
 off." She was " really a useful, sensible, 
 plain sort of woman, who, if not quite-quite 
 — did nothing to offend." And Squire Head- 
 lam and Mr. Green Oldacres, the latter, 
 chairman of the Quarter Sessions, said she 
 gave the best dinners in their division of the 
 county. 
 
 " But that, you know, one had a right to 
 expect," said Mrs. Green Oldacres to Mrs. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 169 
 
 Headlam. " It was her metier as an alder- 
 man's wife." 
 
 But though inhabiting the largest man- 
 sion in the Close, and considered very rich 
 at Marshborough, Lady Page, on her hus- 
 band's death, had found herself by no means 
 possessed of the fabulous wealth we are 
 accustomed to associate with the idea of the 
 " Lord Mayor of great London," ever since 
 we, in our childhood, opened our eyes and 
 ears at the juvenile, historical, sensation 
 novel of " Whittington and his Cat." The 
 reason might have been that Sir William 
 Page had never had the same opening for 
 commerce with the Emperor of Morocco as 
 his celebrated municipal ancestor. His for- 
 tune had been made in the wholesale 
 grocery line, and malicious people whispered 
 that it had not even been always whole- 
 sale. 
 
 But though the wealth of Ladv Page did 
 
170 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 not probably equal that of the widow of 
 Sir Richard Whittington (always supposing 
 his " master's daughter " survived him in 
 that capacity), nor even in any near degree 
 those of the other aldermen's wives or 
 widows who formed her town circle, it was 
 large for Marshborough — in fact, much the 
 largest in the Close. But this was all as it 
 should be. Successful grocers' shop-boys 
 who have terminated their career as alder- 
 men, are naturally supposed to leave their 
 widows from a hundred thousand to half a 
 million. The world applauds them for so 
 doing. But let a bishop or a dean, whose 
 father was probably a clergyman, stinting 
 himself that his clever boy might go to 
 school and college, and who has himself 
 only spent his life in the instruction of 
 the ignorant or the help of the needy, 
 while his rival has been driving a brisk 
 trade in figs, only leave his widow anything 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 171 
 
 between twenty and a hundred thousand, 
 " What a shame !" cries the world, and all 
 the world's newspapers, in a tremor of virtu- 
 ous indignation. They can even quote 
 Scripture against the defunct bishop, which 
 perhaps they would hardly have ventured 
 to do had he been alive, seeing that with 
 that weapon he might possibly have beaten 
 them. It is clearly the bishop's duty not to 
 labour for the meat that perisheth. 
 
 It clearly is the alderman's ; for though 
 the Scriptures do not make an exception 
 in favour of aldermen, nor indeed address 
 the commandment especially to Bishops, it 
 is probably an omission. 
 
 Mrs. Godfrey, then reigning at the Dean- 
 ery, had been among the first of the female 
 magnates, county and ecclesiastical, to pro- 
 nounce in favour of Lady Page. The titled 
 grocer's widow had at first found the society 
 of Marshborough a trifle too aristocratic, but 
 
172 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 being a wise woman who had no faith in 
 Utopia, she discovered that it suited her 
 better than that of her London set, who 
 were too purse-proud. 
 
 Lady Page was quite capable of holding 
 her own with the ladies of the Bloorashire 
 Squires, and even with the wife of the Lord 
 Bishop himself. She could walk out of a 
 drawing-room before them without either 
 assumption or awkwardness, and quite as if 
 she had been born to it. And so by de- 
 grees everybody had given up being amused 
 at the Lord Mayor's widow, and Lady Page 
 became an institution in the Cathedral Close. 
 She was the confidential friend of all the 
 ecclesiastical ladies^of that locality, from the 
 Bishop's wife down to the wives of the minor 
 canons. 
 
 Tennyson tells us of the village maiden 
 who grew a noble lady, that — 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 173 
 
 11 A trouble weighed upon her, 
 And perplext her night and morn, 
 
 With the burthen of an honour 
 Unto which she was not born." 
 
 But Lady Page was not at all perplexed, 
 she had a certain reliance on her own good 
 feeling, and faith in the good feeling of soci- 
 ety collectivel}', which saved her from being 
 conscious of any burden whatever. Mingled 
 with this simplicity was a shrewdness of per- 
 ception which might have made her satirical, 
 had she not been benevolent. 
 
 Such was the friend to whom Helen God- 
 frey had applied for help. As I have said, 
 Lady Page was everybody's friend as well 
 as Helen Godfrey's. But there was nobody 
 whom she herself liked so much as Helen. 
 She had been full of sympathy for this last 
 misfortune which had befallen the family, and 
 though she had not presumed to express that 
 sympathy to Mrs. Godfrey, to Helen she had 
 
174 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 hinted it. Lady Page entertained much the 
 same views of Roman Catholics that the 
 Godfreys did. She had never really known 
 any. Their religion appeared to her infinite- 
 ly absurd. She could make some allowance 
 for those who had been born in it ; but for a 
 pervert ! he must either be a fool or a knave. 
 Frederick Godfrey, she knew, was not a 
 fool. 
 
 It was difficult, therefore, for her to offer 
 much comfort, except by helping them 
 out of the pecuniary difficulties in which the 
 event had placed them. Even this was by 
 no means easy. Mrs. Godfrey was not a 
 woman mean enough to accept pecuniary 
 obligations in one kind of spirit, or quite 
 noble enough to accept them in another. 
 
 Helen had told her mother that Lady 
 Page had approved of her being a gover- 
 ness. She had not however given a very 
 cordial approval. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 175 
 
 " Helen," she had said, " I have plenty 
 of money." 
 
 "I am glad of it, dear Lady Page. It is 
 wonderfully pleasant to have plenty of 
 money." 
 
 "And I have no children. Rich people 
 seldom have. I should like to have boys to 
 send to school." 
 
 " But you have not, you see ; my mother 
 has the boys, and you have the money. That 
 is how good things are divided. It would 
 not be fair for you to have everything." 
 
 " Oh, that is how you put it. I had a 
 notion that the boys and the money ought 
 to go together. But I bow to yours as 
 the higher view." 
 
 Then she added, hesitatingly — 
 
 " I wish, Helen, you would consider me 
 your aunt, or your god-mother, or both." 
 
 " Indeed, Lady Page, I love you a great 
 deal better than either my aunt or ray god- 
 
176 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 mother." Helen spoke with a grave sin- 
 cerity absolutely convincing. 
 
 Lady Page laid her coarse, kind, jewelled 
 hand on Helen's young and delicate one. 
 
 " My dear," she said, and her voice was 
 husky ; then, clearing her throat, she con- 
 tinued — " I said I had no boys to send to 
 school, and that I wanted to have them. 
 
 Helen, why won't you let me " She 
 
 stopped, for Helen shook her head ; but she 
 took up the hand which yet lay on hers, 
 and kissed it. At that moment the heart 
 of the Dean's daughter was nearly on a 
 level with that of the grocer's widow. 
 
 " My mother would not hear of it ; and 
 besides, I am proud, and want to do this 
 myself. The more disagreeable it is, I 
 shall like it in one sense the better, so it is 
 no use your representing it as disagreeable. 
 Now, will you help me, for I know you 
 can?" 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 177 
 
 Lady Page smiled ; she for a moment 
 forgot her chagrin at Helen's wanting a 
 situation in the excitement of getting one 
 for her. Lady Page was very clever in 
 finding situations or employes for her ac- 
 quaintance, or such of her acquaintance as 
 she approved of, according to their needs. 
 Being somewhat chary of her services, she 
 had a rare success in her mediation, and a 
 genuine enjoyment in the exercise of her 
 powers. 
 
 "Well, Helen," she said, " since you in- 
 sist upon it, I will try, if you obtain your 
 mothers leave. But you must promise me, 
 if you fail — I mean, if what you earn is 
 insufficient — that you will endeavour to 
 persuade your mother " 
 
 " I will," said Helen— " I really will." 
 But she did not at all anticipate that the 
 money would not be enough. She knew 
 on how little her mother could live. 
 
 VOL. i. N 
 
178 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Shortly after Helen was gone, Lady Page 
 sat down to her early dinner of salmon and 
 chicken, early codlings and Devonshire 
 cream, daintily served by her reverential 
 butler on snowy damask and delicate china. 
 Early dinners, under the name of luncheons, 
 were the rule in the Close. Kind Lady 
 Page thought of Helen and poor Mrs. God- 
 frey at their dinner, and wished heartily 
 that she could have sent them either the 
 chicken or the salmon. She thought of 
 how the eyes of Will and George would 
 have sparkled, at the sight of the latter 
 viand more especially. What a very much 
 greater pleasure it would have been to have 
 seen their satisfaction than to eat it herself ! 
 Why could not she send it ? What a foolish 
 world this was ! 
 
 She resolved within herself that nothing, 
 at least, should prevent her giving the boys 
 a handsome tip when they went to school. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 179 
 
 They should have plenty to buy glorious 
 breakfasts for the whole " half." Nobody 
 could object to that. Everybody tipped 
 schoolboys. It was quite pleasant to her to 
 think of how they would probably speak 
 of her behind her back, as " an awfully 
 jolly old lady." 
 
 In the meantime, she had to look for a 
 situation good enough for Helen Godfrey. 
 " Remember," Helen had said, " money is 
 the main point. I can rough it, never 
 fear." 
 
 But Lady Page did fear a little. Helen 
 had never roughed it in any sense but that 
 of having narrow means. Her good looks, 
 good position, and attractive manners had 
 made her a favourite in society. It might 
 be different when she was to appear as 
 poor, unknown, and dependent. She was 
 proud, too, not only defensively, but with 
 the pride of birth and station. Lady Page 
 
 N 2 
 
180 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 was quite aware of this — little foible, she 
 considered it, in her " dear Helen," but she 
 had found it the easier to forgive because 
 an exception had been made in her own 
 favour. Ere long she had heard of two 
 situations. But let her describe them her- 
 self:— 
 
 "Now think it well over, Helen, before 
 you make your final decision. The Higgin- 
 sons are not bad people, but they will 
 hardly suit you ; and Sm ok eh am is very 
 unlike Marshborough. I have another friend 
 in want of a governess, if you really are 
 resolved to be a governess. But I fear you 
 do not know " 
 
 " I am quite resolved to be a governess." 
 
 " My friend, Mrs. Law, Colonel Law's 
 wife, would, I know, be a mother to you. 
 But she only offers fifty pounds." 
 
 " That would never do. I cannot sacrifice 
 half the income for mere pleasantness. Why 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 181 
 
 should you think I cannot bear what other 
 people have borne ?" 
 
 " I shrink from your bearing it, Helen." 
 
 " How good you are, dear Lady Page ! 
 But only try me — see if I cannot." 
 
 " The Godfrey obstinacy !" thought Lady 
 Page to herself; but, notwithstanding, it 
 gave her confidence. 
 
 " You say the Higginsons are not bad 
 people?" 
 
 M But they are not gentry. He has got on 
 by degrees. He began life as our errand- 
 boy and shoe-black. I lost sight of him for 
 a time, and then he re-appeared as the 
 patentee of a superior kind of paper-bags, 
 the manufacturing of which he still carries 
 on. They say, too, he is a great pit- owner, 
 and has been fortunate, I suppose, because 
 he has been both wary and enterprising in 
 his speculations." 
 
 " Well !" said Helen ; and there must have 
 
182 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 been a larger meaning in her looks, for 
 Lady Page answered, 
 
 "Yes, I was a grocer's wife myself; but 
 the Higginsons are not like me, my dear. I 
 am just the same, now that I am my lady, 
 and visit the county families, and have the 
 Dean's daughter for my friend, as I was 
 when my William and- I lived above our 
 shop in Ludgate Hill. I was not so happy 
 at the Mansion House, I am sure, with all 
 its bustle and grandeur ; though once, when 
 I said so to Mrs. Green Oldacres, she re- 
 plied, ' If she had been a City lady, she 
 thought she should have liked it.' I saw 
 what she meant, Helen ; and though she is 
 a nobleman's grand-daughter, I thought her 
 a vulgar-minded woman. But we are great 
 friends, for all that. I am quite enough of 
 a parvenue to like visiting an Earl's grand- 
 daughter, and to enjoy being a Baron etess 
 in my own person. But I see it all, my 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 183 
 
 dear, well enough ; in other folks as well as 
 in myself. It is not because Mr. Higginson 
 was once a grocer's errand-boy that I want 
 you to pause before you decide, but because 
 he is not a gentleman now." 
 
 " But he is an honest and upright man." 
 " I certainly believe him to be so.' 1 
 " And you have said he is sensible." 
 " He is very far from being a fool." 
 "As for Smokeham being ugly, 1 don't 
 care what the place is at all." 
 
 " In short, you are resolved to go ?" 
 " Yes ; unless Mrs. Higginson is likely to 
 be rude or unkind to me." 
 
 " She will not be unkind. You will have 
 a richly-furnished sitting-room and bedroom, 
 and you will fare like Dives in the parable. 
 Mrs. Higginson will not mean to be rude 
 to you ; but, Helen, if I know you, you 
 would rather dine on bread and cheese, 
 and sleep in the simplest cell, if you 
 
184 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 could associate with people like yourself." 
 " Perhaps. Still, if I must do without 
 sympathy, the privation will, on the whole, 
 be more endurable in a luxurious sitting- 
 room than in a cave or a cellar. Perhaps I 
 am not so disdainful of the good things of 
 this life as you suppose." She laughed 
 as she spoke; then added gravely, "I 
 only hesitate on one account. Am I 
 worth a hundred a year ? I should not like 
 to take so high a salary without being able 
 to offer an equivalent." 
 
 But Lady Page laughed this notion to 
 scorn. 
 
 " My dear, if it were only for the example 
 of your style and manners to the Higginson 
 girls, you are worth double the money. I 
 have told them how well-born you are, what 
 good society you have moved in, and what 
 a condescension it is for you to be a gover- 
 ness at all. They are just the sort of people 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 185 
 
 to whom one must say that kind of thing. 
 I hate to do it. It makes me feel as if I 
 were one of themselves. But they would 
 never find out the kind of advantages you pos- 
 sess if they were not well trumpeted to them. 
 And, you see. they think me a great au- 
 thority. I actually breathe that upper air 
 to which they are only aspiring." 
 
 And so it was finally fixed that Miss 
 Helen Godfrey was to enter the family of 
 John Higginson, Esquire, of Belvidere Man- 
 sion, near Smokeham, as governess to his 
 two youngest daughters. She had a letter 
 purporting to be from Mrs. Higginson, to 
 inquire into her qualifications, knowledge of 
 languages, music, and so forth, the style and 
 manner of which were altogether that of a 
 thoroughly well-educated person. But the 
 tone, though polite, was slightly that of a 
 superior. This was not unnatural ; but 
 Helen winced a little. For a moment her 
 
186 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 heart misgave her. Could she bear it? 
 But when she thought how much happier 
 her mother had seemed since her resolution 
 had been made, how she had even caught 
 her eye fixed upon her proudly, as it used 
 to be upon Frederick, she was indignant 
 with herself for the momentary weakness. 
 She showed the letter to Lady Page. That 
 lady reddened slightly ; but she only said, 
 
 " That letter was never written by Mrs. 
 Higginson. Ethelind has written it. I sup- 
 pose Ethelind is a woman now. She was 
 only a little girl when I last saw her. She 
 is my god-daughter." 
 
 That evening Lady Page wrote a very 
 energetic letter to her god-daughter, and in- 
 formed her that she intended to send her a 
 bracelet as a gift by her dear young friend 
 Miss Godfrey. 
 
 William's gratitude to his sister, in the 
 meantime, showed itself, not in tenderness, or 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 187 
 
 caresses, or even words themselves, but in 
 the most uncompromising partisanship. 
 
 " I will back our Nelly against anybody 
 for music ! Nelly not find her way from one 
 station to another ! If it was another girl, 
 perhaps — but let alone Nelly !" 
 
 Helen did not repent. True, every hour 
 made the step feel more and more like 
 martyrdom. But what of that? Martyrs 
 have walked to the stake singing songs of 
 triumph ! So did she, with an occasional 
 misgiving in her heart. 
 
 But there was another martyr in the God- 
 frey family, who sang no song of triumph. 
 No applause of admiring friends had con- 
 verted his passage to the arena into a trium- 
 phal march. He hardly even loved the 
 cause to which he had offered up the sacri- 
 fice of all his heart most prized, or his am- 
 bition most coveted. With the stern Puritan 
 sense of dutv in which he had been nurtured, 
 
188 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 and which had taken deep root in the con- 
 genial soil of his self-reliant character, he 
 bound himself to the conclusions of a logical 
 system as rigidly as if he had been Calvin 
 himself. He was angered as well as broken- 
 hearted by his mother's letter. He had so 
 laid bare his heart to her, and she had so 
 cruelly misunderstood him. The ex-profess- 
 or, who still continued his spiritual director, 
 had told him that if his family turned their 
 backs upon him he must take it as a sign 
 that heretical influence was injurious to his 
 soul, and that God required him to give 
 himself to Him alone. Frederick was not 
 by nature prone to accept the conclusions of 
 other people — was not, indeed, the kind of 
 stuff of which devotees are made — but this 
 advice harmonized at the moment with his 
 own feelings ; and his new religion imposed 
 upon him, as one of its first duties, self-distrust 
 and obedience. He did not write ; and his 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 189 
 
 mother and Helen both believed, though his 
 name was never mentioned between them, 
 that he had given them up. Was he not a 
 Catholic priest ? 
 
 Meantime, with a longing yet angry heart, 
 he hoped and hoped against hope that a 
 letter would come ; but the more he yearned 
 for it, the more he resolved he would not 
 seek it. Faith and resentment prescribed the 
 same course. Yet, oh, for a word from 
 home ! Any word rather than none ! 
 
190 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FLY IN THE POT OF OINTMENT. 
 
 rfIHE consent of Mr. and Mrs. Wynford 
 -■- had been given in due form to their 
 son's engagement. It was not without a sigh 
 of regret that Mrs. Wynford had made up her 
 mind to yield up the first place in her son's 
 heart. The good time when she should 
 have him all to herself receded from her 
 vision. 
 
 " Ah !" she said to her husband, " that 
 will never be now !" 
 
 " We must be thankful to have a son 
 we can be proud of," said the Squire, a little 
 gruffly, perhaps because he felt it too. But 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 191 
 
 Mrs. Wynford was a cheerful woman, and 
 inclined to look to the bright side. The 
 sigh had no sooner expended itself than she 
 put on her bonnet and walked acrossthe park 
 to the parsonage and the village, to tell the 
 news, just as she had done when the tidings of 
 the " honours " had arrived. Before the sun 
 had set that evening, there was scarcely a soul 
 in the parish that did not know that the young 
 Squire was going to marry into the most 
 ancient family in Bloomshire, and that the 
 bride was the prettiest girl in England. Mrs. 
 Wynford had a knack of putting things 
 pleasantly, and in consequence, probably, of 
 this knack, had almost persuaded herself, as 
 well as everybody else, that nothing in the 
 world could have delighted her more than 
 her son's marriage ; and that Elfrida Foxley 
 was the bride above all others she would 
 have chosen. 
 
 In the excitement into which she had talked 
 
192 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 herself, she drew mental pictures of the charm- 
 ing furniture and dresses she should buy for 
 her daughter-in-law. Had not Elfrida always 
 been so very poor ? She would overwhelm 
 her with kindness and affection. Mrs. Leigh 
 should think there was nobody in the world 
 like her husband's mother, and no place like 
 Thorleigh Court. She would herself take 
 her to all the cottages, and all round the 
 neighbourhood. She would even go to 
 town and introduce her at Court. She would 
 make Elfrida's existence a fairy-tale, and she 
 herself should still remain the centre of the 
 family life, if not the very nearest and 
 dearest to Leigh himself. 
 
 And so all went merry as a marriage bell. 
 I use the comparison as being orthodox and 
 recognised rather than because marriage 
 bells invariably seem to my own ears so full 
 of mirth. But the season of "love's young 
 dream " was drawing to a close, soon to be 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 193 
 
 succeeded, Leigh firmly believed, by a better 
 time — as much better as the rich purple 
 clusters of the ripened grapes are better than 
 the spikes of pale green blossom which deck 
 the tender festoons of the vine in the Spring 
 time. But though his happiness was as near 
 perfection as can be permitted to us in this 
 our mortal state, yet there was one flaw in 
 its completeness. Even here there was the 
 fly in the pot of ointment. 
 
 Elfrida not only again went to morning 
 prayers, which was bearable, as he accom- 
 panied her, but she had had one or two 
 private conversations with the Rector. 
 After these interviews it always seemed to 
 him that her manner was cold and ab- 
 stracted. 
 
 Wynford's dislike to Mr. Summerwood 
 had increased with his love for Elfrida. 
 Every time he met that gentleman the 
 breach widened between them, and he 
 
 vol. i. o 
 
194 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 hated, in a way that was hardly to be 
 accounted for, the influence he possessed 
 over the girl to whom he was engaged. He 
 chafed mentally at what he considered his 
 patronising manner towards her, and her 
 deference for him filled him with a rage 
 ready to burst out on the slightest additional 
 provocation. Not that he was jealous, in 
 the ordinary sense of a lover's jealousy. In 
 his eyes, as well as Elfrida's, Mr. Summer- 
 wood was almost an elderly man. It might 
 be that, accustomed from his infancy — at 
 least, when he was doing what was right — 
 to have everything he did applauded and 
 admired, the Rector's real or fancied attitude 
 of antagonism struck him as a personal 
 injury. 
 
 The evening before his departure had 
 arrived ; he and his betrothed were taking 
 their last walk together in the Pleasaunce. 
 It was late, after coffee, and they had gone 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 195 
 
 out, they said, to be cool. These were the 
 longest days of all the year. Though nearly 
 ten o'clock, the peaked outline of the Bloom- 
 shire hills yet rose into the light — pure as 
 spirit and warm as sense — which served at 
 once as a memento of the departed, and a 
 prophecy of the coming day. The night air 
 stirred the tree-tops like a love-whisper ; and 
 the dew fell softly on the flowers, yet faint 
 with the heat and passion of the day. They 
 had been walking in what, to Leigh at least, 
 was a delicious silence. 
 
 "Elfrida," he said, at last, out of the 
 depths of his utter contentment, "I am so 
 happy! Are you, my darling?" 
 
 He stopped as he spoke, and looked into 
 her face. He had asked the question ; but 
 it was merely for the pleasure of hearing, or 
 perhaps seeing, her answer. He was greedy 
 of his cake on this last night. 
 
 Some words she murmured in reply, pro- 
 
 o 2 
 
196 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 bably such as he had hoped to hear, and 
 there was a tender, tremulous light in her 
 great blue eyes as she stood opposite the 
 western sky. Half wild with love and joy, 
 he caught her to his heart, and poured into 
 her ears words of worshipping tenderness. 
 But that old, old story, though " piercing 
 sweet " to the ears to which it is addressed, 
 has a knack of sounding commonplace and 
 high-flown when related by a third person. 
 " I wonder," said Elfrida, at last, with a 
 long sigh — a I wonder if it is right to feel 
 happy ! What would Mr. Summerwood 
 
 think r 
 
 Leigh started back, at once disenchanted. 
 
 " What has Mr. Summerwood to do with 
 us?" Wrath and indignation were in his 
 voice. 
 
 Elfrida did not know how to answer. 
 Vague forebodings of difficulty and pain 
 weighed upon her timid spirit, and reflected 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 197 
 
 themselves in her countenance. It did not 
 seem to him like the same face. 
 
 "Elfrida I" he cried, passionately, " I hate 
 that man ! He comes between you and me. 
 He has no right, and I will not bear it ! 
 Promise me to have nothing more to do 
 with him — never to speak to him again, but 
 as a common acquaintance?" 
 
 She seemed to hesitate ; his vehemence 
 terrified her. 
 
 "If you love me, Elfrida," he said, pro- 
 foundly agitated. 
 
 At that moment she only feared him. 
 And when he repeated, more calmly, but 
 not less eagerly, " Promise me ; say 1 1 will 
 not, Leigh,' " she said, trembling, but audibly, 
 " I will not, Leigh." 
 
 Then it seemed as if he did not know how 
 to show sufficiently the excess of his grati- 
 tude, or the entireness of his trust. But, for 
 Elfrida, the magic was gone. That lovers' 
 
198 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 talk, which had been so " silver sweet," she 
 hardly even heard. Her poor little head 
 was distracted with anxieties, greater far 
 than she had strength to bear alone ; but 
 she dared not share them with her lover. 
 Of the real nature of his character, she had 
 not the faintest glimpse. He thought he 
 had laid open his whole heart to her ; but a 
 heart, like the universe, may be an open 
 secret. 
 
 There are those to whom it is for ever 
 impossible to read either the one or the 
 other. Could Elfrida then and there have 
 made her promised husband her confessor, 
 he might have been surprised and distressed, 
 but she would have bound him to her for 
 ever. Poor Leigh ! — as it was, he thought 
 he knew her through and through ! 
 
 In the morning, at the early breakfast, 
 Elfrida looked pale and harassed. The 
 young man fancied it was for his sake, and 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 199 
 
 his heart swelled with love and pride. He 
 left his breakfast almost untasted ; the 
 broiled chicken stuck in his throat ; and the 
 tea seemed to choke him. 
 
 " The carriage is at the door," said the 
 Colonel, taking out his watch ; " and though 
 there is nothing so unpunctual as trains, 
 even their unpunctuality cannot be depended 
 on." 
 
 Leigh started up. 
 
 Then it was a hurried but repeated embrace, 
 and from Mrs.Foxleyan affectionate farewell. 
 Leigh, even amidst the engrossing nature of 
 his own feelings, was conscious all the time 
 of her happy looks and cordial manners. It 
 was quite natural. She had reason to be happy. 
 But he was grateful to her. He loved her ; he 
 loved everybody. He could at that moment 
 even have forgiven Mr. Summerwood. But 
 the Colonel hurried him away to the carriage, 
 which was waiting at the other side of the 
 
200 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 moat. He was seated in that old-fashioned 
 vehicle, by the side of his host, who had the 
 reins in one hand and the whip in the 
 other, ready to start, when suddenly, under 
 the old Norman archway, Elfrida appeared 
 once more, like some maiden in an old 
 romance, to speed her parting lover. 
 
 How sweet she looked in her antique beauty 
 amidst the shadows and coolness of the 
 Summer morning ! — like a picture of some 
 mediaeval princess, she seemed, under those 
 grey old battlements, embroidered with 
 moss, and fringed with wall -flower. It was 
 all like some insubstantial vision to Leigh 
 Wynford — the fields steeped in dew, the 
 broken lights, the scent of the wall-flower, 
 the shiver of the aspens — a scene 
 
 M Where nothing is, but all things seem." 
 
 Even the cock crew like a cock in a dream. 
 And the most unreal thing of all was Elfrida 
 herself. He was springing from the car- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 201 
 
 riage, to assure himself that she was a girl 
 of flesh and blood, his very own Elfrida, 
 when the Colonel laid upon his arm a 
 detaining hand, gave the whip a decided 
 smack, and off trotted, though not too 
 quickly, the old asthmatic horse. Leigh 
 looked behind him, till a turn in the road 
 hid from his view the old moated house. 
 
 During all his after-life, he never heard 
 the tremulous music of aspens, or breathed 
 that rich fragrance of wall-flower, that that 
 scene did not rise up before him hardly 
 more like a dream than he had seen it then. 
 And if for a period he never beheld it with- 
 out pain and longing, there came at last a 
 time when its beauty was stingless — when it 
 ceased to be anything but a picture. 
 
202 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 UNDER THE PAGODA. 
 
 |~T was a journey of many hours from 
 -*- Marshborough to Blackshire, and Smoke- 
 ham lay on the more distant confines of the 
 county. Smokeham was even now a large, 
 though still a rapidly-increasing place. It 
 formed one of a group of smaller towns 
 and villages clustering round one of the 
 great centres of British industry — the mother 
 city, like the heart of the system, communicat- 
 ing her own life and energy to her outlying 
 members, by means of the iron arteries which 
 intersect the regions like a grim pattern in 
 lacework. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 203 
 
 It was along one of these, on a chill Oc- 
 tober morning, that the train containing 
 Helen the Martyr was, with mighty panting 
 and straining, urging its ponderous swiftness. 
 The grassy pastures and tall elm-trees of 
 Bloomshire had been long passed by. Sad as 
 the yellowing leaves which yet hung limp on 
 the trees, or lay on the fields in dank and rot- 
 ting heaps, looked under the monotony of 
 the bleak, sunless sky, she grieved to leave 
 them behind, as if they had been the faces 
 of friends. She had spent half an hour, and 
 eaten a sandwich at the great station at 
 Buttonborough, and now the scene was 
 changed. 
 
 A plain lay before her, as far as the eye 
 could reach, unbroken by tree or shrub. 
 Nothing met her sight save wastes strewn 
 with coal-dust, relieved by cinder-heaps, the 
 refuse of long lines of furnaces, which could 
 scarcely be said to diversify the prospect, as 
 
204 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 they made but a part of the general mo- 
 notony of grimness. The vegetation here 
 and there, cropping out among the cinders 
 and dust, was so scorched and sooty that she 
 scarcely recognized it as vegetation at all. 
 Like the presiding genius of the scene, here 
 and there, at the mouth of a coal-pit, rose 
 the weird form of a giant steam-engine, 
 stretching out, in the shape of windlass or 
 crane, a gaunt and blackened arm, as if to 
 bless or to curse that abomination of indus- 
 trial desolation which lay limitless around. 
 Over this region now stretched a tent of 
 sullen cloud, terminating all round the hori- 
 zon in the long purple fringes of the falling 
 rain. 
 
 The aspect of the world in which her new 
 home lay was not attractive. It was, in 
 truth, so depressing that Helen could have 
 cried, had it been becoming in a martyr to 
 cry. But of course it was not. So she 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 205 
 
 only sat gazing out of the window immov- 
 ably, with compressed lips and dimmed 
 sight, till a prolonged whistle ushered the 
 train into a tunnel, and she found herself, in 
 a few minutes, in a large and dismal station, 
 cumbered in every direction with bars of 
 iron great and small, and crowded with 
 trucks loaded with coal. A man-servant, in 
 gold and green livery, — quite a gorgeous 
 object in that grim hall of Vulcan — accosted 
 her with a civil inquiry if she was the young 
 lady who was going to Belvidere Mansion, 
 as the carriage was waiting. 
 
 It was a rather showy carriage, but hand- 
 some and well-made, with beautiful horses, 
 and everything new, and unexceptionably 
 fashionable — too new and fashionable, Helen 
 thought ; but then she was fastidious. 
 
 " How ostentatious," was her first thought, 
 " to send such a turn-out to meet me !" 
 But an instant's reflection made her a little 
 
206 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 ashamed of this notion. It might have been 
 kindness, after all. She hoped she was not 
 going to be touchy — the general failing of 
 her class — yes, her class. So, admonishing 
 herself into cheerfulness and good humour, 
 she sat up in the luxurious carriage of the 
 paper-bag manufacturer, and endeavoured 
 to divert her mind once more by contem- 
 plating the outside world. 
 
 She was now driving along a nearly 
 straight road, and it was raining hard. I 
 have said a road, because it could hardly be 
 called a street, though, if the reader has 
 formed any notion of such accompaniments 
 as shady woods or fragrant meadows, I 
 have misled him as much by the one word 
 as I should have done by the other. The 
 road was bordered on both sides by a suc- 
 cession of villas ; first in short terraces, 
 then semi-detached ; afterwards completely 
 separate ; and in many cases, as they became 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 207 
 
 more and more distant from the town, sur- 
 rounded by grounds more or less extensive. 
 But though various and fantastic in the 
 style or no-style of their architecture, they 
 had one aspect in common — that of new- 
 ness. The road itself was new, and evi- 
 dently made for the houses. The smart 
 gateways, and trim lodges, and ornamental 
 walls were new, and the weeping willows, 
 and birches, and red-berried mountain-ashes 
 which overhung the road, and shut out 
 from the eyes of the profane the mansions 
 beyond, were in the very infancy of ar- 
 boreal existence ; as had they been human, 
 even, there was hardly one which had yet 
 attained the puny majority of man. Occa- 
 sionally, when a break on the left hand of 
 the traveller in the long line of streaming 
 roofs and dripping shrubbery permitted her 
 to perceive that there was a world beyond, 
 she could see or guess that the features of 
 
208 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 the rain-swept plain differed but little from 
 those which, during her railway journey, 
 had struck her as so weird and dreary. 
 She was now longing to be at the end of 
 her fatiguing day, and every larger or more 
 important-looking house she approached 
 must, she fancied, be Belvidere Mansion. 
 But no ; on went the carriage, and yet on — 
 it seemed to her interminably. Yet she 
 had not gone more than four or five miles, 
 and the horses were of first-rate mettle. 
 
 At last, however, they stopped in front 
 of the finest and most pretentious entrance 
 she had yet seen — a great tall iron gate in 
 three compartments, with pillars between, 
 surmounted by ornaments resembling mina- 
 rets. The lodge, from which issued a 
 liveried porter, was also lavishly adorned 
 with minarets and domes, as if a fantasti- 
 cally-minded genie had sliced off the top of 
 some structure in Moscow or Constantinople, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 209 
 
 and dropped it in a freak upon the solid, 
 comfortable, undeniably English building it 
 served for a roof. 
 
 A carriage-sweep, meandering a good deal, 
 to make it look as long as possible, between 
 the terribly smooth-shaven lawns and trim 
 groups of juvenile trees, soon led up to the 
 broad gravelled terrace, adorned with urns 
 and statues in front of the house. Helen 
 could not avoid noticing that, even though 
 it was gusty October, and the leaf-stalks 
 were feebler than the frailest thread, there 
 was scarcely a leaf to be seen on the mira- 
 culously-smooth turf, or on the weedless 
 gravel path. The place at least had the 
 beauty of utter neatness. 
 
 The house was simply an enormous ex- 
 tension of the lodge — good, plain, utilitari- 
 an, and Anglican, beneath ; above, domed 
 and minaretted almost ad infinitum. One 
 feature, however, it possessed which was 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 wanting in the lodge, and which was evi- 
 dently a quite recent addition to the archi- 
 tecture. At one corner uprose a huge 
 gazebo, in the form of a pagoda — at least, 
 as the pagoda was represented in the 
 pleasant days before the war, in the Parisian 
 "International" of 1867, the only occasion 
 on which the writer of this humble history 
 ever beheld a pagoda, except on a tea-pot 
 or a punch-bowl. It was the only occasion, 
 too, on which the paper-bag manufacturer 
 had ever beheld a pagoda, and he at once 
 agreed with his wife that it would be "a 
 sweet thing " for the gazebo they had long 
 intended to build, to serve at once the 
 double purpose of a smoking-room and a 
 vantage ground whence to catch a glimpse 
 of the Bloomshire Hills. 
 
 The carriage had now stopped, and the 
 footman had sprung down and knocked with 
 that efficiency and decision which accom- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 211 
 
 plished footmen alone attain to in the art 
 of knocking. Helen's modest array of boxes 
 was being taken down, and she herself was 
 standing under the ogee gothic arch, sur- 
 mounted by something not unlike Prince of 
 Wales's feathers, which formed the inner 
 doorway of the porch, and, fastidious people 
 might have thought, was hardly in keep- 
 ing with the minaret stuck upon the 
 outside. She was angry with herself to 
 feel that her colour was rising, and her 
 heart beating a little faster than usual ; but 
 while she was at once admonishing herself 
 for this weakness, and seeing that her pack- 
 ages were all right, let us take a glimpse at 
 the interior she was about to enter. 
 
 In a large, lofty, luxurious drawing-room, 
 warmed and brightened by an immense blaz- 
 ing fire, sat the wife and elder daughter of the 
 paper-bag manufacturer. The walls of this 
 room were covered by a landscape paper — 
 
 p 2 
 
212 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 a sort of panorama of Oriental scenery — in 
 which pal in -trees, temples, river scenes, 
 ghauts, and swarthy, white-robed water-car- 
 riers, formed the more salient features. The 
 pile carpet was of the thickest, and softest, 
 and richest, though the Brobdingnagian rose- 
 wreaths forming the pattern were so thrown 
 into perspective as to suggest at every step 
 the not altogether comfortable sensation of 
 treading into a thorny hole. A magnificent 
 grand piano, inlaid tables, consoles, chiffo- 
 niers ; pier-glasses in massive frames, buhl 
 cabinets, and china vases ; each big enough 
 to have contained one of the forty thieves 
 doomed to destruction by the lynch law of 
 Morgiana the strong-minded, crowded the 
 room so as almost to impede the movement 
 of the inmates. Still, on the bleak October 
 day, as the leaves were whirled down on 
 the blast, and the rain fell thick, and the 
 fog crept up from Smokeham, that spacious 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 213 
 
 room, with its glow of firelight, and its 
 warmth of crimson draperies, looked most 
 comfortable and home-like. 
 
 Comfortable and homelike also looked 
 the two ladies, who, as I have said, occupied 
 the room. Mrs. Higginson was a middle- 
 aged woman, fat, fair, and — at least fifty. 
 She was indeed very fair and very fat, being 
 in the condition of Mr. Banting before he 
 gave up his bread and beer, if that once 
 famous gentleman has not already vanished 
 into the oblivion which sooner or later 
 awaits, I was going to say greater, but I 
 mean even more distinguished men, and so 
 spoilt the point of my comparison. Like 
 John Gilpin, 
 
 " On the top of her head was a wig, 
 And on the top of her wig was " 
 
 not a hat, but a cap, or, at least, the little 
 lump of be-ribboned white lace which the 
 present generation so denominates. Round 
 
214 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 her ample figure hung the ampler folds of a 
 rich dark silk dress, fashionably and not 
 untastefully made. She had been, indeed 
 still was, for her age and size, a handsome 
 woman ; and whatever may be the cause, 
 handsome women are seldom entirely de- 
 void of taste in dress. The only fault to be 
 found with Mrs. Higginson's now was that it 
 was rather too rich for the occasion. This 
 might perhaps have been one reason 
 why she did not look like a lady. But 
 rather, I am inclined to think it was from 
 that subtle effluence of the hidden spirit in 
 which we all subsist as in an atmosphere. 
 Very different was her daughter, a tall, slim, 
 undeniably u distinguished-looking " girl, 
 who was now reclining in a lounging chair, 
 with a book in her hand. 
 
 Ethelind Higginson had a striking coun- 
 tenance, a haughty head, quite black hair, 
 dressed with infinite care, flashing dark 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 215 
 
 eyes, and a look altogether of character, 
 cultivation, and confidence. She was much 
 more like a princess than a parvenue. Her 
 dress was in material the very simplest and 
 plainest, but in the very newest though not 
 extremest fashion, and of the very freshest and 
 neatest in every minutest detail. I have said 
 she had a book in her hand. Sometimes she 
 appeared to be reading it with great atten- 
 tion, sometimes she lay back in her chair as 
 if in thought, the book hanging listlessly 
 down. During one of these pauses she sud- 
 denly exclaimed : 
 
 " What a nuisance this governess will be ! 
 Why cannot Ada and Gerty be sent to 
 school as I was ?" 
 
 Mrs. Higginson looked up from the sofa 
 cushion she was working in gorgeous silks 
 and wools. 
 
 " Hada, my dear, his too delicate to go 
 from ome. Lady Page says this governess 
 
216 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 is quite the lady, and haccustomed to the 
 best society." 
 
 " I never can endure governesses. They 
 are so formal, not only in their manners, but 
 in their ways of thinking. Then their posi- 
 tion is so awkward — one never knows how 
 to treat them." 
 
 " Her ladyship says we must treat her like 
 a lady, though, hof course, at the same 
 time, one cannot be hexpected to forget her 
 position. Her ladyship, 'aving hoccupied 
 the ? igh position she does, is a hexcellent 
 judge." 
 
 " What does she mean by treating her 
 like a lady ? You would not order her to 
 ring the bell, or to run upstairs for your 
 pocket-handkerchief. You might order a 
 servant to do such things, or ask a young 
 lady visitor, but you would neither order 
 nor ask the governess. It is an anomalous 
 position." 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 217 
 
 Ethel often used words her mother could 
 not understand, but she rarely asked an ex- 
 planation, as her daughter always seemed 
 annoyed when she did. In a certain sense, 
 Ethel ruled the whole family. She now 
 continued : 
 
 " If she should turn out, which I don't 
 expect, a lady -like, clever, companionable 
 girl, I shall forget she is a governess ; and if, 
 as is much more likely, she should turn out 
 a mere machine for teaching accomplish- 
 ments, I shall never remember she is a lady. 
 As to treating her in both capacities, as you 
 propose — well, um ! — let us see. Yes, I 
 think I understand " 
 
 Ethelind raised her book as she spoke, as 
 if the matter were finally settled, and further 
 discussion quite useless. 
 
 So poor Mrs. Higginson was left to chew 
 alone the cud of an indigestible thought. It 
 had vaguely oppressed her already ; but the 
 
218 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 words of her daughter had given it shape 
 and substance. Oh ! what would she have 
 given if she too only understood ! Mrs. 
 Higginson wished to be kind to the gover- 
 ness, still it would never do not to seem to 
 know the difference in their positions. If 
 she could only find out what ladies who 
 were born ladies did ! The worst of it was, 
 Miss Godfrey would know, and note her 
 deficiencies. Why did not Ethel explain ? 
 But she knew it was no use asking an ex- 
 planation of her when she had that sort of 
 face. She began to realise " what a 
 nuisance — " as Ethel had styled it — it 
 would be to have a person always in the 
 house with whom she could never be at 
 ease. 
 
 Mrs. Higginson had been a much happier 
 woman in the first flush of her husband's 
 prosperity, when they had only attained 
 comfort, than she was now when increasing 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 219 
 
 wealth and political importance had given 
 them a doubtful position in a class far above 
 that in which education and early associa- 
 tions had fitted her to be happy. Unable 
 to take her stand upon her own good sense 
 and personal dignity, as her friend Lady 
 Page had done, she lived in a constant 
 dread of the breach of some of those con- 
 ventionalities with which, like a magic 
 circle, the polite world is hedged in. In 
 company, a sudden observation would make 
 her heart beat, and a smile would bring out 
 heavy drops of moisture on her broad, 
 handsome face. In the main, however, she 
 had an unfaltering faith in the power and 
 consequence of her wealth ; and now, as she 
 fell back upon this consolatory reflection, 
 her ruffled thoughts grew calm, and she was 
 restored to equanimity and self-respect. 
 
 In the growing dusk she leant back in 
 her chair, and looked around her. The 
 
220 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 firelight shed a ruddier hue on the rich 
 furniture, and lighted up with a becoming 
 glow the striking face of Ethelind, who now 
 occupied a low stool on the hearth-rug, and 
 was reading by the fire-light. 
 
 Yes, it was all her own, that wealth of 
 comfort, that queenly-looking girl, of whom, 
 though she stood a little in awe, she was 
 extravagantly proud ; and was she not more 
 than the equal of that poverty-stricken 
 mother, whatever her birth might have 
 been, whose daughter was even now on her 
 way to occupy a dependent position in her 
 family ? Mrs. Higginson was yet brooding 
 with complacency over the comparison, when 
 the opening of the outer door was followed 
 by a heavy footfall in the hall, and the 
 speedy entrance of the lord of the mansion 
 himself. A big, burly, coarse-looking man, 
 wrapped up in volumes of the finest and 
 best-fitting broadcloth ! 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 221 
 
 From his whole manner and bearing one 
 would have decided at once that his peace of 
 mind had never been invaded by any of the 
 difficulties or diffidences which so often beset 
 that of his wife. Tall, bright-eyed, red-faced, 
 self-possessed, Mr. Higginson not only looked 
 as if he had been a successful man, but as if 
 he was thoroughly aware of it, and valued 
 himself accordingly. He looked, indeed, 
 every inch a man, though by no means a 
 gentleman. He smiled now with satis- 
 faction as the splendours and comforts 
 of his home met his eye — a satisfaction 
 worthy of sympathy, for he had worked 
 hard and honestly. His wife's dress, too, 
 pleased him, for he liked to see her richly- 
 attired, and it was a liking in which she was 
 nothing loath to indulge him. From Ethel, 
 who inherited from himself a will of her 
 own, he did not always obtain so ready a 
 compliance. 
 
222 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " Wal, it looks comfortable here, don't it, 
 after a trudge in the mud, with nothing to 
 breathe but damp and smoke ?" 
 
 " Why did you not come in the carriage, 
 along with Miss Godfrey ?" 
 
 " Oh ! the new governess, my lady's para- 
 gon, you mean ! Miss Godfrey ! — that is her 
 name, is it ? I was ready to shut up a bit 
 earlier than usual, you see, this afternoon, 
 and I did not care either for sitting in the 
 counting-house, or for going in the carriage 
 to the station." 
 
 "Why did not you send a fly for Miss 
 Godfrey?" said Ethel, rising from her seat 
 on the low stool on the hearth, and speak- 
 ing with that look of superiority which, 
 though her father admired it in her, he 
 would hardly have brooked from anyone 
 else. 
 
 "A fly ! Well, to be sure, I daresay the 
 poor thing is not accustomed to anything 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 223 
 
 better. The carriage will be a treat to Miss 
 Godfrey, and the walk was a good consti- 
 tootional for me!" And Mr. Higginson 
 laughed loud, as he spoke loud. 
 
 " I daresay she 'as a ride in my Lady 
 Page's carriage sometimes," said Mrs. Hig- 
 ginson, with more sympathy in her husband's 
 kindness than was felt bv her daughter ; 
 " but her ladyship, I believe, honly keeps a 
 one-'orse brougham !" 
 
 But the sound of carriage- wheels suddenly 
 put a stop to the conversation. Mr. Higgin- 
 son cast a rapid glance round the room, as 
 if to assure himself that it was calculated to 
 impress the governess with a due sense of his 
 wealth and importance. 
 
 " Bless my life, Ethel !" he cried, " why 
 are you not dressed for dinner ? What is 
 the meaning of vour sitting there in that 
 mean woollen rag?" 
 
 " It is my new shawl-dress. It is hardly 
 dressing-time yet." 
 
224 FATHER GODFREY 
 
 "The governess will take you for a de- 
 cayed gentlewoman like herself." 
 
 " I don't care what she takes me for. The 
 more important question is what I take her 
 for," said Ethelind, throwing back her 
 haughty little head, while her father 
 chuckled over her good looks and her high 
 spirit. 
 
 Mrs. Higginson had taken no share in this 
 little colloquy between her husband and her 
 daughter. She was, in fact, completely en- 
 grossed in anticipating the advent of the 
 formidable governess. Imminent as it was, 
 she was even yet doubtful as to how she 
 should receive her, and got up, and sat down 
 again, in a state of wretched indecision. 
 
225 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MARTYRDOM. 
 
 HELEN GODFREY was now in the 
 hall. The brilliant lamp and the 
 blazing fire dazzled her eyes. Her heart 
 still beat. This going among strangers in 
 an inferior position was a pill not so easy to 
 swallow. Another tall footman now threw 
 open the drawing-room door, and announced, 
 " Miss Godfrey!" his mistress within fervently 
 hoping he was right in announcing a gover- 
 ness, but comforting herself with the reflec- 
 tion that " Beale would know !" 
 
 All Helen's little premeditated acts and 
 speeches were now clean swept from her 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 mind, but she threw herself, not without 
 confidence, on the suggestions of her native 
 dignity. The subdued light of the drawing- 
 room was a relief after the glare of the hall, 
 the more especially that she felt the eyes of 
 all the three occupants were upon her, scru- 
 tinizing her from head to foot. 
 
 Mr. Higginson was the first to salute the 
 new-comer, by extending his big, brawny 
 hand, and giving hers a hearty shake, a re- 
 ception which, in spite of its want of ele- 
 gance, and an over-hasty resolution to " de- 
 spise these people," was a comfort to her. 
 
 " You are welcome, miss, and not the 
 wuss, I hope, for your cold journey. Now 
 take a chair, and have summat at once — a 
 glass of wine, or a cup of tea." 
 
 " No, I thank you," Helen answered, re- 
 turning Ethel's freezing but fairly polite 
 bow with another of the same class. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 227 
 
 Mrs. Higginson, now forced into action, 
 if she would not abdicate her position as 
 mistress of the house, but still divided be- 
 tween the promptings of her kind nature 
 and misgivings about those ways of " distin- 
 guished society "' in which Lady Page had 
 said the governess was so thoroughly versed, 
 now began : 
 
 " I hope, my — I mean, Miss Godfrey, 
 you haven't felt cold. We 'ad our hafter- 
 noon teas about a hour ago. My maid will 
 show you to your room, and fetch you a 
 cup there. You mustn't say no. It will do 
 you good. I hope you left your family 
 well ?" 
 
 Helen, in truth, was glad of the offer of 
 tea, and as it was pressed, she only mur- 
 mured something about trouble. 
 
 " Trouble !" cried Mr. Higginson — " never 
 speak about trouble here, my dear. We 
 
 Q2 
 
228 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 have plenty of servants, I should think ; 
 and if not, we must get more. Ring the 
 bell, Ethel." 
 
 Ethel rang, and Mrs. Higginson was giv- 
 ing directions for her maid to be sent to 
 show Miss Godfrey to her room, when Ethel 
 interrupted her. 
 
 " I will go with Miss Godfrey. Send 
 Harris with the tea, and to unpack the 
 boxes." 
 
 Helen felt she would much rather have 
 had the maid as a conductor, but, of course, 
 there was nothing left for her but acquies- 
 cence. In silence they passed through the 
 spacious, brilliantly-lighted passages, and up 
 the thickly-carpeted stairs. 
 
 Helen's bedroom was a most inviting 
 apartment. It was lighted up by a blazing 
 fire, and seemed to contain every luxury 
 the most fastidious heart could desire. The 
 picture it represented sent a glow of satis- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 229 
 
 faction to her depressed spirits. Then 
 Ethel opened an inner door, disclosing a 
 sitting-room beyond, filled with the same 
 radiance of fire-glow and plenitude of com- 
 fort. Green silk draperies contrasted pret- 
 tily with furniture of polished walnut-wood. 
 Drawings in water-colours ornamented the 
 walls. There was a piano, a book-case 
 filled with books, a writing-table, a sofa, 
 and an easy-chair, all of the most luxurious 
 description. 
 
 "The children will have their lessons 
 here," said Miss Higdnson, " at such hours 
 
 i CO i 
 
 as my mother and you arrange. Unless to 
 go out to walk occasionally, you will not 
 have much more trouble with them, as they 
 have a couple of nurses — one an old, con- 
 fidential person, who has been with us all 
 our lives." 
 
 This was good news, but though it was 
 meant to be graciously delivered, Miss Hig- 
 
230 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 ginson's manner was certainly patronising — 
 almost condescending. 
 
 u There are books — tales and poetry, and 
 a few other popular works ; and if you 
 want books of a more profound class, you 
 will find some in the library down stairs." 
 
 As Ethelind spoke, her eye ran over the 
 new-comer with a look which seemed to 
 add — " But I don't suppose you will." 
 Helen, who was a good German scholar, 
 applied to it in her own mind the untrans- 
 latable German adjective, " naseweis," and 
 was indignant accordingly. And yet she was 
 mistaken. Ethelind meant to be charming. 
 But it rarely entered her head to imagine 
 that anybody could be as clever as herself, 
 and she fancied Helen must be delighted 
 with the attention she was paying her. 
 
 The maid had now arrived with the tea. 
 
 " Unpack Miss Godfrey's things," said 
 Ethelind. " The gong will sound when 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 231 
 
 dinner is on the table, and you will find us 
 in the drawing-room." So saying, Ethel 
 went to dress. 
 
 On going down stairs, she found her father 
 and mother discussing Miss Godfrey. 
 
 " A nice, good-tempered, sensible-looking 
 lass !" was Mr. Higginson's approving ver- 
 dict. 
 
 " She is none so distinguished hand haris- 
 tocratic-looking as my lady said," rejoined 
 Mrs. Higginson, in a tone partly of relief, 
 partly of disappointment. 
 
 " And none the worse for that," rejoined 
 her husband with loud approval. "A natural, 
 unaffected girl will be a deal pleasanter in 
 the house than any of your fine stuck-up 
 madams." 
 
 " She is a lady," said Ethelind decisively ; 
 u but not much in her, and something a 
 little ungracious about her, I fancy. But I 
 daresay it is shyness. No doubt everything 
 
232 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 here is very different from what she has been 
 accustomed to." 
 
 This was a pleasant view of the case to 
 Mrs. Higginson ; but that there should not 
 be " much in her," was not so agreeable. 
 
 " Dear me ! My lady said she was so 
 haccomplished — languages, music " 
 
 11 Oh ! as to languages and music, Lady 
 Page would not deceive you. She is all 
 right there, I make no doubt, and will teach 
 all the better because she is not over-clever. 
 A governess ought not to be eccentric, and 
 the attractions of genius seldom fail to pro- 
 duce oscillations from the ideal orbit." 
 
 Neither father nor mother could in the 
 least understand this illustration, but perhaps 
 they admired it all the more. 
 
 " Well done, Ethel !" said her father, " it 
 would not do to expect all girls to be as 
 clever as yourself, and two of you together 
 might not answer ;" and he laughed partly 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 233 
 
 at his own wit, and partly in admiration of 
 his daughter. 
 
 But at that very moment, and just as the 
 gong sounded, the governess herself came 
 into the room, and no more could be 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Higginson took her in to dinner him- 
 self. It was quite a splendid entertainment, 
 such as Helen was accustomed to see at the 
 parties of the Bloomshire squires, but which 
 they were not in the habit of indulging in in 
 daily life. Mr. Higginson pressed her 
 rather too ostentatiously to partake of the 
 delicate food and the rich wines ; telling her 
 she did not know how good they were, and 
 urging her to make herself at home. Mrs. 
 Higginson, too, who grew calm as she al- 
 lowed herself to contemplate the ingenuous 
 countenance and simple manners of her new 
 inmate, had subsided, by the time dinner 
 was over, into her natural homel} T self. In 
 
234 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 the drawing-room she called Helen "my 
 dear," made her rest in an easy chair with a 
 stool under her feet, and grew quite con- 
 fidential over the effects of fatigue, and her 
 own sensations during railway journeys. 
 She had seated herself by the governess, 
 while Ethelind had established herself apart 
 with a book, which she read diligently. 
 Miss Godfrey's pupils were then brought in, 
 to be introduced to their new governess be- 
 fore going to bed. 
 
 They were both of them plump and fair, 
 like their mother ; whereas, making every 
 possible allowance for the immense difference 
 in style, age, and sex, Ethelind had the tall 
 figure, dark eyes, and decided manner (the 
 manner which redeemed him from utter 
 vulgarity) of her father. The little girls 
 looked good-natured like their mother, 
 rather than distinguished like their sister. 
 They held up their faces at once on the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 235 
 
 introduction to kiss their new governess. 
 
 Mrs. Higginson herself conducted Helen 
 to her bed-room at night. 
 
 " Tell your mother, my dear," she said, 
 " that she may be quite heasy habout your 
 'ealth's being seen to, and hall that. Hi 
 am a mother myself. Hand now I wish 
 you good night. We shall hall be very 
 'appy together, I am sure." 
 
 Helen took the fat, be-jewelled hand, but 
 could not speak, for something seemed to 
 stick in her throat. Had she met Mr. and 
 Mrs. Higginson at any previous period of 
 her life, she would have thought them un- 
 endurably vulgar, and have despised them 
 utterly. Now their kindness, though coarse, 
 was comforting. 
 
 Miss Higginson was a lady — yes, she was 
 a lady ; but at this moment the fastidious 
 Helen far preferred the vulgarity of the 
 parents to the refinement of the daughter. 
 
236 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 In a vague whirl of thought, in which rail- 
 way-stations, industrial deserts, giant steam- 
 engines, vulgar faces, and one figure, proud, 
 and, as it always seemed, antagonistic, 
 appeared to move about, like a shifting 
 pattern on a groundwork of intense physical 
 comfort, she fell fast asleep. Thus, with her 
 head on a down pillow trimmed with lace, 
 terminated the first day of Helen's martyr- 
 dom. 
 
237 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A BROKEN PROMISE. 
 
 T FIND, in relating the consummation of 
 -*- Helen Godfrey's martyrdom, I have far 
 outstripped in time the progress of many 
 events connected with my narrative. 
 
 Elfrida Foxley was not happy on that 
 Summer morning when she stood under the 
 grey battlements and saw her lover drive 
 away. He had vanished round the leafy 
 corner, and she was still standing motionless, 
 with her eyes fixed on the spot where 
 he had disappeared, when she felt her 
 mother's arm encircle her with unusual ten- 
 derness. 
 
238 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " He will soon be back, dearest. Oh ! 
 Elfrida, you are the most fortunate girl in 
 the world I" 
 
 Mrs. Foxley's eyes swam with tears of 
 joy. But Elfrida was too much engrossed 
 with her own feelings to have any percep- 
 tion of her mother's ; so, with an absent kiss, 
 she slipped from her embrace and took 
 refuge in her own room. 
 
 Mrs. Foxley felt as if she could have cried 
 again, but not with joy. She felt as the birds 
 and the butterflies must feel when on a 
 glorious May day the east wind again begins 
 to blow. 
 
 It was nearly their early dinner-time 
 when her husband returned. He came 
 back in the highest spirits. Never since 
 those old days when he had been in love 
 with herself had she known him so happy 
 or so loquacious. He praised Leigh, exulted 
 in Elfrida, and seemed as if he could not 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 239 
 
 weary of enumerating the advantages of the 
 " alliance." 
 
 " It would restore Elfrida to the position 
 to which her birth entitled her, and which 
 she seemed born to grace. No more morti- 
 fications, and cold shoulders, and pinchings, 
 and strivings, and anxieties, for her at 
 least !" 
 
 Till that moment Mrs. Foxley had never 
 known how much her husband had felt such 
 things — hardly understood that he had felt 
 them at all. Now, in this moment of relief, 
 she began to appreciate the fortitude with 
 which he had borne them, and through 
 which he had worn so brave a face. But 
 the exuberance of his spirits fell upon hers 
 like an additional blast of the east wind. 
 She could not bear to bring a shadow over 
 the first flush of his joy. And it might be all 
 her own fancy. So she tried to smile and 
 to look happy too. 
 
240 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 At dinner Elfrida did not come down till 
 she was sent for. This her mother knew to 
 be a bad omen. There was, too, the old 
 look in her face which she had so much 
 dreaded to see. 
 
 " Elfrida must be desperately in love," 
 said her father to his wife when they were 
 again alone. " Leigh is going to write to 
 her to-night. It will be all right in the morn- 
 ing, when the letter comes. That young 
 fellow would give his life for our Elfrida. 
 It makes one feel quite young again to see 
 them, Rose." 
 
 From this speech " Rose " perceived that 
 a faint penumbra of the coming shadow had 
 extended itself to his mind. 
 
 The next morning Elfrida rose early and 
 went off to morning prayers. Mr. Summer- 
 wood could scarcely be said to see her come 
 in to church, in fact, he only caught a glimpse 
 of the feather of her hat, but he felt her ar- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 241 
 
 rival all over. He, however, was not going 
 to make any advance. At this crisis, proud 
 as he was, he would have grovelled in the 
 dust at her feet, could he have so obtained 
 her for himself. But he knew that was not 
 the way, so he did not even hurry to lay 
 aside his alb and cassock, but lingered rather 
 longer in the vestry than usual. As he 
 expected, she was loitering about in the 
 churchyard when he came out. He lifted his 
 hat, and wished her good morning politely, 
 seeming as if he would have passed on. As 
 he expected, she stopped him. 
 
 " Mr. Summerwood, I wish so much to 
 speak to you — to consult you — I mean, as 
 my spiritual director." 
 
 He looked at her, and noted how her face 
 wore that old expression of nervous terror 
 which he remembered in the early days of 
 his directorship, but which, under his tutel- 
 age, had given way to that look of innocent 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
242 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 abstraction, or saintly repose, which had so 
 much struck the two young men in the 
 Sheldonian Theatre. 
 
 " I am at your service, Miss Foxley," said 
 the Rector. As he spoke he saw that she 
 grew pale, and that her breath came quickly. 
 He exulted in a consciousness of power at 
 all times, but never had he exulted so much 
 as now. 
 
 Mr. Summerwood was not the man to let 
 the grass grow under his feet, or to hesitate 
 to strike while the iron was hot. He did 
 not, therefore, appoint a time for receiving 
 Elfrida's confession or her confidence. He 
 conducted her at once to the Rectory, and 
 into his study. It was not the regular way 
 of doing things, and nobody liked the 
 regular way better than Mr. Summerwood ; 
 but in that he dared to apply exceptional 
 methods to exceptional circumstances, he 
 showed one ingredient of greatness. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 243 
 
 He was hardly prepared for what she 
 had to say. It went far beyond his wildest 
 guesses. That Leigh Wynford, a mere up- 
 start boy, should have presumed to speak 
 of him in such terms, should have dared to 
 forbid Elfrida's intercourse with him. Good 
 Heavens ! But he controlled the outward 
 expression of vengeful wrath — righteous in- 
 dignation he called it — which was blazing 
 within him. 
 
 " And now," sobbed Elfrida, " I have 
 broken my promise in speaking to you at 
 all ; but, oh ! the burden on my conscience 
 was so fearful ! What a night I have had ! 
 What am I to do ? — what am I to do ?" 
 
 In her agony of fear and doubt, with her 
 excited countenance raised to his, and her 
 great blue eyes wild with terror, she looked, 
 it seemed to him, lovelier than he had ever 
 seen her. Never before in his life had he 
 
 r 2 
 
244 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 found it more difficult to continue master of 
 himself and his position. 
 
 " How am I," he said curtly, " to continue 
 the spiritual adviser of a woman whose fu- 
 ture husband has forbidden her to have any 
 intercourse with me ? It is a wife's duty to 
 obey her husband. Pardon me, MissToxley, 
 but I must resign my position as your spirit- 
 ual director." 
 
 In making this announcement, he had cal- 
 culated rightly. In a sort of despair, Elfrida 
 wept, prayed, entreated him not to desert 
 her. But he was obdurate. At last she 
 cried passionately, 
 
 "I shall never know another happy mo- 
 ment! Oh, that I had never seen him! It 
 was all so peaceful when he came. I might 
 have been so happy at Nunfield !" 
 
 "And your happiness now is bound up 
 in Mr. Wynford ?" 
 
 As he asked the question his heart seem- 
 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 245 
 
 ed to stand still ; but not a tone or a fea- 
 ture betrayed how breathlessly he hung 
 upon her answer. 
 
 " It seemed very nice to be loved," she 
 said, with the simplicity of a child. 
 
 " Nice to be loved ! — was that all ? — nice 
 to be loved !" He breathed more freely. She 
 was very babyish. But he loved her all 
 the better. He made no answer, and she 
 continued : 
 
 " And papa and mamma say it is the best 
 thing in the world for me." 
 
 " Oh, of course they think it the best 
 thing !" thought Mr. Summerwood to him- 
 self with scarcely warrantable indignation at 
 the worldliness of Colonel and Mrs. Foxley, 
 seeing that he was not incapable of worldli- 
 ness of the like nature himself. But then 
 with him the motive would have been " the 
 good of the Church ;" theirs was only the 
 good of their child. But all he said was : 
 
246 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 " The wishes of parents ought to weigh 
 with a child, provided they do not thwart 
 the will of God or his Church." 
 
 She started and looked at him like a 
 frightened bird. 
 
 " I was very happy at first — till I began 
 to think — oh, Mr. Summerwood !" she broke 
 out passionately, "it is cruel of you not to 
 tell me what to do." 
 
 Then he spoke with that calmness so po- 
 tent over a weak, timid, and irritable tem- 
 perament. 
 
 " I feel for you deeply, dear Miss Foxley, 
 but I can do nothing for the wife of a man 
 who has forbidden her to have anything to 
 do with me." 
 
 " But I am not really his wife — not yet. 
 He had no right — I know he had not — and 
 I will not submit to it !" 
 
 " He has some right, if you are really en- 
 gaged to him ; and when you are married it 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 247 
 
 will be your duty to obey him ; and the 
 more certainly your duty that you do not 
 marry him with your eyes shut, or with a 
 mistaken view of his character." Elfrida 
 started, as if in terror. 
 
 M I had not time to think. I have not 
 had a happy moment since. I ought to have 
 had time. I will tell him so. I will 
 rather give him up than be miserable for 
 ever. I will write to-day. Oh, Mr. Summer- 
 wood ! I do not consider myself engaged — 
 not now." 
 
 At last he spoke : 
 
 " It seems to me you have acted with 
 great precipitation. The advantages of the 
 match have tempted you, and you have wish- 
 ed to please your parents. But what shall 
 it profit you, Miss Foxley, if you gain the 
 whole world and lose your own soul ?" 
 
 " Oh, I will give him up ; I will give it all 
 up 1" she cried, pale and trembling. 
 
248 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 u No, that would only be repeating your 
 fault. See if you can reconcile your union 
 with Mr. Wynford to your obedience to the 
 Church, to the safety and peace of your 
 soul. Suppose, Miss Foxley, you pay another 
 visit to Nunfield. There, there will be no 
 one to throw an influence into the world's 
 scale ; and I shall not be there to excite 
 Mr. Wynford's suspicion of unfair means." 
 
 There was a sneer in his last words 
 which did not quite escape even Elfrida. It 
 gave her a vague notion that Wynford was 
 somehow or other a very reprehensible cha- 
 racter. 
 
 What Mr. Summerwood thought, God 
 thought. Like a message from Heaven she 
 hailed his proposal to go to Nunfield, and 
 overwhelmed him with thanks. 
 
 " She does not love him," said Mr. Sum- 
 merwood, as he watched her down the 
 gravel path which led to the gate of the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 249 
 
 Rectory. He congratulated himself on the 
 manner in which he had borne himself 
 through the trvim* interview. He felt that 
 his conduct had been all that became a man 
 and a gentleman, and a priest — a contrast to 
 that of Leierh. 
 
 I will not stop to relate the dismay of 
 Mrs. Foxley when her daughter informed 
 her that she wished to go to Nunfleld for a 
 short visit. " She had had a letter from 
 Miss Blagrove, the Lady Superior, enclosing 
 a pressing invitation." Ostensibly, Elfrida 
 was asking her parents 1 leave to go, but her 
 mother knew by a faint, to other ears, per- 
 haps, imperceptible quaver in her voice, that 
 she was ready to be ill if permission were 
 refused. But while she silently acquiesced 
 in the ready consent given by her father, 
 she could not refrain from saying : 
 
 " I should have fancied you would have 
 preferred the company of your parents to 
 
250 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 that of strangers during the last few weeks 
 of your unmarried life." 
 
 Tears sprang to Elfrida's eyes. " Mamma 
 never feels for me !" she thought. 
 
 " It is not unnatural, Rose, dear," said 
 the Colonel, " that Elfrida should wish to 
 bid good-bye to her friends. But don't stay 
 long, my pet." 
 
 Elfrida was touched by her father's indul- 
 gence. u Ah !" she thought, " if mamma 
 would only feel for me, I should like to tell 
 her all. But she would only laugh at me, 
 or snub me — I know she would." 
 
 Miss Blagrove's prompt invitation had of 
 course been the result of a letter written by 
 Mr. Summerwood, in which he had repre- 
 sented Elfrida's engagement as one which 
 had been entered into from worldly motives 
 only. And in saying this he had taught 
 himself to believe it. Mr. Summerwood 
 was never a conscious hypocrite, and re- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 251 
 
 spected, as well as believed in, himself. 
 Now Miss Blagrove had long been of 
 opinion that the most suitable destiny that 
 could befall Elfrida Foxley was to be well 
 married to some well-off, common-place, 
 pious man. She was hardly suited to a 
 higher destiny. Still there was a great 
 want of " sisters " at Nunfield. To supply 
 this want was at this moment an important 
 item in the existence of the Lady Superior. 
 Elfrida was very gentle and very lovely, 
 and might possibly find a place in the 
 nursing department, or in teaching the 
 smallest children in the orphanage, sup- 
 posing her affections were really not engaged, 
 and that her lover was as undesirable as 
 Mr. Summerwood represented him. 
 
 Miss Blagrove had more serious views of 
 the sanctity of a love-troth than Mr. Sum- 
 merwood. She shrank from being an instru- 
 ment in inflicting upon any human being 
 
252 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 the agony of disappointed affection. She 
 would be guided in the matter by the "lead- 
 ings of Providence," she said to herself; by 
 which she meant that she would be guided 
 entirely by her own judgment. 
 
 In the world of " the Church," Miss Bla- 
 grove was, as yet, a greater personage than 
 Mr. Summerwood. The Rector of Willes- 
 mere by no means intended that they should 
 always occupy these relative positions. As 
 a man, it was, of course, open to him to pass 
 her. Then he would patronise her. In the 
 meantime, to be known as the friend and 
 counsellor of Miss Blagrove — to be recog- 
 nised as having been instrumental in estab- 
 lishing that pious and well-known institution 
 of which she was the well-known head, and 
 which was formed without a flaw on the 
 true mediaeval model, was certainly a feather 
 in his cap. It was one of the various steps 
 by which he hoped to climb the Alp of pro- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 253 
 
 fessional success. Eagerly as his eyes were 
 fixed on the glittering, sunlit summit, he 
 never forgot for a minute the dangers which 
 lay between — the ice-slips, the crevasses 
 which might beset an unwary or mistaken 
 step, or even the mighty avalanche of some 
 popular disapprobation which might over- 
 whelm him when he least expected it. Yet 
 he was not a humbug. He meant to 
 succeed, but he meant to give real hard 
 work for his success. 
 
254 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MODERN-MEDIAEVAL. 
 
 "VTUNFIELD, or St. Prisca's Home, was 
 -^* situated just out of the town of 
 Smokeham, in Blackshire. It was not, how- 
 ever, on the same side of the town as that 
 large mansion with the cupolas and pinna- 
 cles, which owed its existence to successful 
 enterprise in the matter of paper-bags ; but 
 quite in the opposite and less aristocratic 
 quarter. Nunfield House had been built 
 by subscription, the Lady Superior herself 
 having bestowed on that, and on the endow- 
 ment, the chief part of her fortune, which 
 was considerable. It was a not very exten- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 255 
 
 sive gothicised structure, in the " decorated " 
 style. But, though architecturally good, it 
 was wholly wanting in that cheerful gravity 
 and venerable shadiness which seem appro- 
 priate to the abode of religious recluses. It 
 stood in the midst of a trim but tasteless 
 garden, surrounded with a new brick wall 
 coped with stone, and was planted with 
 lilies and narcissus, and other flowers 
 evidently selected on the principle of being 
 suitable for Church decoration. The tall 
 white lilies were now in blossom, looking as 
 fair and virgin-like as they could be expected 
 to do in that atmosphere of black smoke 
 and almost blacker dust. The beds were 
 separated by narrow gravel paths, bordered 
 with low-clipped box ; and a few saplings, 
 which did not seem to thrive, were planted 
 here and there. Altogether the aspect of 
 the place was new and raw, giving to the 
 black-draperied mediaeval figures, which were 
 
256 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 occasionally to be seen moving about in the 
 weary glare of the terrace walk, the look of 
 a mistake and an anachronism. 
 
 Such was the outward aspect of the 
 place to which Elfrida Foxley repaired for 
 holy meditation and ghostly advice. She 
 did not, like a high-born damsel in the days 
 of old, approach the convent-gates on a 
 milk-white palfrey, attended by squire or 
 serving-man ; or make her more humble 
 entrance as a lowly penitent on foot, with 
 peas (unboiled) in her shoes. Her arrival, 
 if attended with less romantic circumstances, 
 was more in keeping with her "mother age." 
 In fact, she rattled up from the railway- 
 station in a cab of that dustiest and dirtiest 
 species sacred to the " service special du 
 chemin de fer," with a greasy Jehu on the 
 box, and a trunk, covered with canvas neatly 
 bound with red, on the top. She was re- 
 ceived in the private sitting-room of the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 257 
 
 Lady Superior — a great distinction, the sisters 
 thought. 
 
 Elfrida threw herself into Miss Blagrove's 
 arms. She received her warmly, but with 
 few words or feminine demonstrations. As 
 Elfrida looked into her calm, handsome face, 
 and felt her clasp at once tender and firm, 
 virtue seemed to pass into her feebler na- 
 ture. 
 
 " It will be all right now !" she cried, as 
 if a heavy weight had been lifted from her 
 mind. And so there had — the weight of 
 personal responsibility. 
 
 Miss Blagrove herself then conducted El- 
 frida to the very top of the house, to the 
 little room she had occupied on her former 
 visits. It was neat but bare, being furnished 
 only with the simplest necessaries ; and ex- 
 cept that the washing utensils were not 
 pewter, and that there was a crucifix on the 
 wall, had little to distinguish it from a cell 
 
 vol. i. s 
 
258 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 in a penitentiary. It was lighted by a nar- 
 row slit of a window, high up in the wall, 
 from which, when Elfrida stood on tiptoe, 
 her eye might be regaled by the sight of 
 smoky chimneys, of all heights and dimen- 
 sions, above and below her. Down in the 
 depths of a sea of smoke and dust, she 
 could also see, when she stood on a chair, 
 the roofs of furnaces, and factories, and cot- 
 tages, and the black road wriggling in and 
 out like a monstrous snake, till it was lost in 
 the sooty desert which lay dim around in 
 the blazing light of a July sun. 
 
 She had originally chosen this room her- 
 self, in the first fervour of her religious joy, 
 as an act of self-denial, and because she 
 believed it would please Miss Blagrove ; and 
 had only felt the more confident in her act 
 of faith when her mother had answered, on 
 her explaining the motives which had deter- 
 mined her choice, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 259 
 
 " And so they think at Nunfield that God 
 is best pleased with those who refuse to 
 admire his handiwork I" It was very sad 
 that anybody should have an opinion differ- 
 ing from the opinion of Nunfield ! 
 
 Elfrida feared that Leigh Wynford, too, 
 was guilty of this wickedness. Had he not 
 forbidden her to consult Mr. Sumuierwood ? 
 She was burning to pour her difficulties into 
 the ear of the Lady Superior, and would 
 have liked to begin then and there ; but the 
 Lady Superior could not listen to her at that 
 moment. 
 
 Miss Blagrove was a woman who did 
 everything by rule. She had her hour for 
 charities, her hour for instructions, her hour 
 for receiving private confessions. Yet Miss 
 Blagrove was not naturally a cold woman. 
 She had in her youth — and she was not vet 
 old — had a full share of the passionate aspi- 
 rations natural to an eager and ambitious 
 
 s2 
 
2 GO FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 temperament. Gifted both with beauty and 
 fortune, and completely her own mistress, 
 she had, notwithstanding these advantages, 
 met with a disappointment in an attachment 
 she had formed. If the earth had opened 
 to swallow her, if the clouds had burst in 
 hailstones of fire on her head, she could not 
 have been more astonished, and would pro- 
 bably have been less dismayed. It was 
 anguish to her passionate heart — humiliation 
 to her proud spirit. 
 
 But Harriet Blagrove was young and 
 vigorous, both in body and mind. She 
 neither died nor went mad. But from that 
 time forth she gave up all ideas of love and 
 marriage. On her retentive nature an im- 
 pression once made was like an engraving 
 on brass. As she began to revive she felt 
 herself powerfully attracted by certain High 
 Church and Ritualistic views, more especially 
 as these were set forth by Messrs. Summer- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 261 
 
 wood and Bignell, two devoted curates in 
 the parish where she then lived. The system, 
 and the outward adornment of the creed, 
 they so zealously advocated commended 
 themselves at once to her methodical mind 
 and romantic taste. 
 
 Mr. Summerwood, not a little elated by 
 the opportunity thus presented, had origin- 
 ated the scheme of the Nunfield Sisterhood 
 as a proper " sphere " for the piety and 
 talents of his new convert. But such an 
 undertaking, Harriet Blagrove felt, was not 
 to be lightly entered upon. For years she 
 devoted her whole existence to qualifying 
 herself for it. She had studied and worked 
 at home and abroad ; she had visited the 
 poor, and the sick, and the sinful ; she had 
 nursed in hospitals ; she had taught in 
 schools ; she had trained her mind and her 
 body with an ardour which never flagged. 
 At last she was ready :, St. Prisca's Home 
 
262 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 was built, and before Mr. Summer wood, as 
 an acknowledgment for his services, had 
 accepted from a kindred-minded Bishop the 
 living of Willesmere, he had the satisfaction 
 of seeing his pet scheme fairly inaugurated. 
 In spite of much opposition, or perhaps be- 
 cause of it, it had been a success. 
 
 The ignorant had been taught, the naked 
 had been clothed, the wretched had been 
 comforted. In the stifling alleys and brawl- 
 ing back-slums of Smokeham, a humanizing 
 
 influence had made itself felt. 
 
 « 
 
 Miss Blagrove had now been for many 
 years Lady Superior of St. Prisca's Home. 
 But the Lady Superior was a very different 
 person from the heart-stricken girl who had 
 writhed under the agony of which she was 
 too strong to die. Neither was she the 
 same as the enthusiastic and obedient neo- 
 phyte of Messrs. Summerwood and Bignell. 
 She was now a self-possessed, commanding, 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 2G3 
 
 some said arrogant, woman. The power 
 which had been committed to her had been 
 good for many, but it might have been a 
 question whether it had been good for her- 
 self. Kind almost beyond kindness to those 
 who saw with her eyes, and were submis- 
 sive to her will, she was apt to regard dif- 
 ference of opinion as heresy, independent 
 action as contumacious perversity. 
 
 Hitherto Elfrida had only seen the softer 
 side of Miss Blagrove. Admiring and 
 obedient as the haughtiest heart could wish, 
 she had never yet frustrated the Lady 
 Superior by that vis inertias, that soft irra- 
 tionality, which is a piece de resistance almost 
 invincible. It is easier to cleave a steel 
 helmet than a down pillow. The only 
 example on record of the latter feat, as far 
 as I know, is that recorded by Scott, of the 
 famous Sultan Saladin and his curved and 
 dull blue scimitar. 
 
264 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 The evening, Miss Blagrove had appoint- 
 ed for her conference with Elfrida. Elfrida 
 would have chafed at the delay, had it been 
 her mother, or even her lover. To a de- 
 cree of Miss Blagrove she at once sub- 
 mitted. 
 
 Behold her, then, while the soft and 
 golden twilight of the Summer evening 
 gave a kind of poetry even to the chimneys 
 and the smoke, pouring out her soul to the 
 Lady Superior ! A rambling, not very 
 lucid narrative, by any means ! But Miss 
 Blagrove sat with her arm round the trem- 
 bling girl's waist, and Elfrida leant her 
 head on her shoulder. She felt protected, 
 safe. 
 
 " He has written to you ?" said Miss Bla- 
 grove. 
 
 "Yes. Here is his letter. I have not 
 answered it yet," and she handed it to her 
 friend. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 265 
 
 Miss Blagrove took the letter without 
 hesitation. She would not have approved 
 of everyone reading such a letter, even 
 when offered ; but she, of course, was an 
 exception. The scene of the confession was 
 Miss Blagrove's private room on the ground- 
 floor. It was getting dusk, so she walked 
 to the window, the more easily to read it. 
 
 She was more interested by the letter 
 than she had expected, from Mr. Summer- 
 wood's account of the writer. Every word 
 had the ring of true feeling. Every sentence 
 was full of the unconscious poetry of real 
 passion. So single-minded a letter is a rare 
 thing. Harriet Blagrove felt that it was a 
 convincing letter ; and she experienced a 
 momentary impulse of contempt towards 
 the woman who could receive it and think 
 only of herself and her own happiness. 
 
 " If anyone had so loved her !" 
 
 But it was better as it was. Powers such 
 
266 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 as she was gifted with would have been 
 wasted upon one, however appreciated. She 
 had long acknowledged this. Had she not 
 accepted her loftier destiny with rejoicing? If 
 it was less human — was it not more divine? 
 
 Harriet Blagrove had put her hand to 
 the plough, and she would not even look 
 back. But the Lady Superior did not feel 
 quite so softly towards Elfrida as she had 
 done before reading the letter. 
 
 11 1 think," she said, " the young man is 
 very fond of you." 
 
 " Yes," said Elfrida, almost equally with- 
 out vanity and without tenderness. " But 
 he was very hard on me too. He should 
 not have made me promise to give up Mr. 
 Summerwood ?" 
 
 " Did you promise this?" 
 
 " Mr. Summerwood said it was a promise 
 he had no right to exact," Elfrida answered, 
 sheltering herself behind what she conceived 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 267 
 
 to be the impregnable stronghold of Mr. 
 Summerwood's opinion. She had expected 
 Miss Blagrove to applaud her for break- 
 ing it. 
 
 u If he had no right to exact it, you had 
 still less to make it, unless you intended to 
 keep it. Why did you not refuse ?" 
 
 Elfrida burst into tears. Miss Blagrove 
 seemed much harsher than Mr. Summer- 
 wood. 
 
 " Oh ! I did not dare. He seemed so 
 angry ; and I was so frightened ! I had 
 such a miserable night; I can do nothing 
 right. Oh ! I am so unhappy ! I wish I 
 had never seen him ! Oh ! dear, reverend 
 mother, won't you advise me ? I thought 
 you would have helped me ! You are 
 always so good and wise." 
 
 Elfrida's flattery was as single-minded as 
 her selfishness. The simple girl had assailed 
 Miss Blagrove on her weakest side. The 
 
268 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Lady Superior, who had been standing ever 
 since she had returned from the window, in 
 rather a severe attitude, now sat down 
 again beside her penitent. 
 
 " Tell me," she said gently, " is he a good 
 young man ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I am afraid not. He does not care 
 at all about daily service, or Saints' Days, or 
 anything. He might lead me away. I am 
 afraid he is very worldly." 
 
 " Could you be happy with him, do you 
 think?" 
 
 " I thought I could when — at one time. 
 But I feel now I could not be happy, un- 
 certain about my soul. No grandeur of this 
 world could make up to me for that." 
 
 u Grandeur of this world !" repeated the 
 Lady Superior, with a sort of contemptuous 
 compassion. She was unaffectedly convinced 
 that she despised all worldly grandeur. Yet 
 no absolute monarch was ever fonder of 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 269 
 
 power — not the most ambitious minister 
 ever more dearly loved place and observ- 
 ance. Harriet Blagrove, like many a pious 
 notoriety, who has only loved the praise of 
 the saints, and fancied it was not the praise 
 of men, quite forgot that the Church was 
 her world ! 
 
 " Was that," she continued, " why you 
 thought of marrying Mr. Wynford ? " 
 
 u Oh, it was very wrong ! I know it was," 
 hastening to deprecate her friend's dis- 
 pleasure, the source of which she partly mis- 
 took ; " but it was not altogether for that 
 reason. It was nice to be loved, and he is 
 nice-looking. How could I know he was 
 not pious ?" 
 
 " Have you written to him since you re- 
 ceived that letter ?" 
 
 " I have never written to him at all." 
 
 " Then write to him at once ; tell him you 
 have broken your promise. Say whatever 
 
270 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 else your own heart suggests — only speak 
 the truth. Deceive him no longer." 
 
 "Oh! but what will my father say if I 
 give him up ? He will be so angry !" 
 
 " Does your father know about your 
 broken promise ?" 
 
 " Oh no — no. Papa thinks so much 
 about keeping a promise — far more than he 
 thinks about being pious. Mr. Summer- 
 wood says one is not bound to keep a pro- 
 mise to do wrong." 
 
 " But you are bound to tell your father 
 about having broken yours. What I advise 
 you now is, to write both to him and to Mr. 
 Wynford." 
 
 Miss Blagrove rose, decidedly to ehow that 
 the interview was terminated. 
 
 " Now go to your room and write," she 
 said. 
 
 When Elfrida was gone, Miss Blagrove 
 sat for about five minutes thinking. She 
 
 ! 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 271 
 
 neither quite understood nor quite approved 
 of the part Mr. Sumraerwood had taken in 
 the matter. Just as he seemed to have a 
 prejudice against Elfrida's lover, Miss Bla- 
 grove felt an attraction towards him. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" she said to herself, as she 
 thought of his letter, and of that which 
 Elfrida had gone to write. But she did not 
 question her own decision that it was the 
 right thing to do. 
 
 "Men never suffer like women," was the 
 thought with which she dismissed the sub- 
 ject from her mind. She had many more 
 important matters to think of. She had 
 given more than enough time to this. 
 
272 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CHOOSE NOW. 
 
 "FILFRIDA had written the letters, as she 
 -*-* had been commanded. They had not 
 been written without much pain and struggle. 
 But of the pain and struggle they had cost, 
 the idea of what either of the recipients 
 might suffer formed no part. Elfrida's feel- 
 ings were acute and strong, but the sweep 
 of her imagination was small, and extended 
 only to their anger with herself. She was re- 
 lieved when the letters were gone — she even 
 experienced something like the glow of 
 triumphant conscience. 
 
 But the next day fear re-asserted its 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 273 
 
 dominion ? What would her father say ? 
 What would Leigh say ? Who would stand 
 by her ? Oh ! how should she bear it ? She 
 had never been able to obtain another 
 private word with Miss Blagrove. This 
 friend, on whom she had counted as a tower 
 of strength, had not upheld her as she had 
 reckoned on her doing. It seemed very 
 hard. But she durst not complain. The 
 Lady Superior was not the mere fallible 
 mortal her father and mother were. 
 
 On the second day after the departure of 
 the letters, when answers in some shape 
 might be expected, she had worked herself 
 into a sort frenzy of apprehension. She had 
 eagerly, and against the rules, followed the 
 Lady Superior after breakfast, and beggedher 
 not to leave her alone ; but with a certain 
 degree of asperity the reverend mother had 
 told her she had important work to do, and 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 bidden her compose her mind by prayer and 
 meditation. 
 
 But Elfrida could neither pray nor medi- 
 tate. She could only feel wicked and an- 
 xious and ill-used. Oh, how dreadful it 
 was to be alone ! How could Miss Blagrove 
 be so cruel ? And she sobbed like a dis- 
 appointed child. Then, like a child tired of 
 crying, she sat and looked at the crucifix, 
 and the little bare pallet ; and her eyes wan- 
 dered to the tops of the dingy red chimneys, 
 which she could just see, where she sat, ris- 
 ing above the window-sill — the thick black 
 smoke blurring and darkening the blue 
 glitter of the sky. She looked at the smoke 
 a long time, for the soft curling motion was 
 more endurable in its changeful monotony 
 than the irritating stillness within the cell. 
 
 At last the door opened, and, to Elfrida's 
 infinite relief, Miss Blagrove appeared. 
 Elfrida threw her arms round her. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 275 
 
 " I am so glad you are come ! Oh, thank 
 you — a thousand times !" 
 
 "Elfrida, Mr. Wynfordis here, and wishes 
 to see you alone." 
 
 The colour forsook the poor child's very 
 lips, and the aspens by the moat did not 
 tremble more violently when the west wind 
 blew. Miss Blagrove thought she was going 
 to faint. She made her sit down on the low 
 bed, and put water to her lips. 
 
 " I cannot go alone. You must come with 
 me ! Won't you come with me, dearest 
 mother ?" 
 
 Miss Blagrove took her hand. The firm, 
 tender clasp was re-assuring. 
 
 " My dear, you had better see him alone, 
 I am sure. My poor child ! Be true to 
 God and to yourself, and you have nothing 
 to fear." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot feel so ! He was so angry 
 that night when he made me promise ; and 
 
 t2 
 
276 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 now he knows I have broken my word. 
 What did he say? What did he say to 
 you?" 
 
 " He said he had no communication for 
 anyone but yourself — that he wished to see 
 you at once and alone." 
 
 " But I cannot go alone. I dare not go 
 alone ! It will kill me— I know it will kill 
 me!" 
 
 She clung to Miss Blagrove as she spoke, 
 with nervous eagerness. Miss Blagrove 
 stopped to ask herself if Leigh Wynford 
 could really be so harsh and violent as Elfri- 
 da's agony of dread seemed to imply. He had 
 looked haughty, and there was an indignant 
 sparkle in his eye. But she had liked his 
 face, notwithstanding-— liked it perhaps none 
 the worse for these manifestations. 
 
 " I think you ought to comply with his 
 request, if you can. But at all events you 
 must see him. Every moment you delay 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 277 
 
 adds to the difficulty. Come, lean on me." 
 With persuasive firmness Miss Blagrove 
 led Elfrida down-stairs. She stopped as 
 they approached the door of the reception 
 room, but Elfrida clutched spasmodically at 
 her arm. She was evidently unable to 
 support herself. Very unwillingly, but under 
 a strong sense of necessity, Miss Blagrove 
 bore her into the room, withdrawing be- 
 hind her, as far as Elfrida's tight grasp would 
 permit of the backward movement. 
 
 Leigh Wynford was standing at the win- 
 dow, his eyes fixed on the white lilies in the 
 sunny glare of the convent garden. But, 
 though his eyes were fixed on the lilies, he 
 did not see them. His heart was hot within 
 him. A passion of impatience fired his brain. 
 He turned with a start at the opening of the 
 door. At first he saw nothing but Elfrida. 
 How wonderfully beautiful she looked ! — 
 her great blue eyes distended, her delicate 
 
278 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 cheek flushed with a shell-like pink, and her 
 hair rippling about her forehead and neck 
 in sunny wavelets ! His first impulse was to 
 clasp her to his heart. It was on his lips to 
 bid her tell all to him, and he would love 
 and comfort, and, if need were, forgive her. 
 If she would only trust him ! 
 
 He had made one eager stride towards 
 her, then he suddenly checked himself. He 
 perceived Miss Blagrove ; his arms fell, and 
 his face darkened. 
 
 "I expected to have seen Miss Foxley 
 alone." 
 
 Harriet Blagrove was far too proud a 
 woman to excuse herself. 
 
 " You can see her alone now," she said. 
 
 But Elfrida still clung to her, though she 
 visibly endeavoured to disengage herself. 
 
 The blood rushed red to Leigh Wynford's 
 face, then as suddenly left it, white and 
 scared. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 279 
 
 "Elfrida," he said, "what is it you 
 fear ?" 
 
 " Oh ! don't be so angry, Leigh ! I ought 
 never to have promised. Ought I, Miss 
 Blagrove ? — ought I, dear, reverend mo- 
 ther r 
 
 " Elfrida, I have no wish to hear this 
 lady's opinion. No human being has a right 
 to interfere between you and me." 
 
 He glared as he spoke almost savagely at 
 Miss Blagrove. But she was mistress of the 
 position, difficult as it was. She answered 
 gravely, and not without a certain sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 " I have, indeed, no right to interfere, 
 and no wish." 
 
 For the first time he looked full in her 
 face. It was impossible not to believe her. 
 Then he turned to Elfrida, stern with the 
 pain and passion of the moment. 
 
 As Elfrida met that perturbed counte- 
 
280 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 nance she grasped eagerly at her friend's 
 robe. 
 
 11 Don't leave ine ! — oh ! don't leave 
 me!" 
 
 Her whole face and figure were instinct 
 with terror. 
 
 Leigh made an effort to speak with calm- 
 ness. His eyes were hot and his voice 
 hoarse. 
 
 "Stop, Miss Blagrove ! One moment 
 grant me ; that will be enough." Then, 
 turning to Elfrida, " Choose now ! One or 
 other of us give up for ever ! Her or 
 me ?" 
 
 Miss Blagrove turned sharply and deter- 
 minedly away to the door. Leigh stood 
 with his arms sullenly folded. Elfrida stole 
 one frightened glance at his face, steeled to 
 repress feelings of the real nature of which 
 she had not even a glimpse. All he had 
 said or done seemed a confirmation of the 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 281 
 
 tyranny and impiety with which her fears 
 had been teaching her to credit him. She 
 sprang after Miss Blagrove. 
 
 " Take me with you !" she cried. " I 
 dare not stay ! I ought not to have pro- 
 mised P 
 
 She clung round the Lady Superior, as if 
 she were her last hold on salvation, which 
 indeed she believed her to be. 
 
 "Mr. Wynford!" said the latter, in a 
 deprecating tone. 
 
 " Madam, I have nothing more to say." 
 
 The words seemed to choke him. 
 
 The door closed upon them both. 
 
 Then Leigh turned again to the window, 
 and, grasping hard at the grating which ran 
 across the lower panes, he uttered a sharp, 
 low cry. 
 
282 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AT THE PAPER-BAG MANUFACTURER'S. 
 
 TJELEN GODFREY had now been for 
 ■—*- some time domesticated in the luxu- 
 rious abode of the paper-bag manufacturer. 
 On the whole she was happy, and had even 
 begun to consider Belvidere Mansion in 
 the light of a home. Ada and Gertrude 
 were amiable, idle, but not stupid little girls, 
 who were always coaxing for holidays, and 
 escaping from their teacher whenever they 
 possibly could, with a view either to run- 
 ning wild in the grounds, or to erecting 
 steam-engines constructed out of newspapers, 
 in the school-room, for the purpose of rais- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 283 
 
 ing coal out of imaginary coal-pits. Once, 
 indeed, they had made a coal-pit of chairs 
 piled upon each other, with a square hollow 
 formed by the backs in the centre. From 
 the top of this they had endeavoured, by 
 means of a piece of whipcord, to draw up 
 the coalscuttle full of coals ; but the rope 
 giving way, there had been one heterogeneous 
 smash of chairs, scuttle, coals, and children, 
 which had led to the prohibition of all such 
 unladylike amusements for the future. Poor 
 Mrs. Higginson was often in dismay at what 
 she considered the plebeian habits of the 
 children, and evidently feared they were an 
 outcome of hereditary qualities which would 
 infallibly brand them in the eyes of those 
 born in the purple of gentility. 
 
 " Gerty, my dear, going hout to the 
 garden without your gloves ? Ladies never 
 go out without their gloves — do they, Miss 
 Godfrey ?" 
 
284 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 Miss Godfrey muttered something incom- 
 prehensible. She sympathised with poor 
 Gerty, and felt that, at her age, she would 
 have felt it a hardship to play in gloves. 
 But everything at Belvidere Mansion, except 
 by Ethelind, who was a law to herself, was 
 done with the strictest propriety. People 
 were ladylike by maxim, and refined by 
 rule. 
 
 Helen had been used to strict order and 
 regularity, though on a different principle, 
 and was, on the whole, more amused than 
 annoyed. Her pupils were very fond of 
 her, and frequently learned their lessons to 
 please her, when any other motive might 
 have failed to produce this desirable result. 
 From the first Mr. Higginson had approved 
 of her, as " a good, sensible girl, with no 
 nonsense about her," and closer acquaintance 
 only served to confirm this opinion. With 
 Mrs. Higginson she had become even a 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 285 
 
 greater favourite. She was not half so much 
 afraid of her as of her own daughter. Miss 
 Godfrey, of course, was not nearly so clever 
 as Ethel, for Mrs. Higginson was prone to 
 measure talents by assumption ; but though 
 she was proud of her daughter's abilities, 
 they did not — like many of poor Mrs. Hig- 
 ginson's advantages — conduce by any means 
 to her personal comfort. But Helen, she 
 considered, was merely a person like herself, 
 only with the advantage of knowing all the 
 requirements of " society." Lady Page had 
 said so, and what a comfort it was to have 
 her always at hand as a referee in all matters 
 polite ! With Ethel Helen did not get on 
 so well as with the rest. At times this 
 young lady would be agreeable, talkative, 
 almost confidential, and she would begin to 
 fancy she must have been unjust to her, 
 when her manner would suddenly change, 
 and Helen felt that she was kept at a dis- 
 
286 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 tance, or was looked down on from some 
 imaginary height. Far from despising this 
 contempt like a heroine, or sweetly pardon- 
 ing it like a saint, it chafed and worried her. 
 Of course she told herself she despised it ; 
 but the oftener one tells oneself this sort of 
 thing, there is the more reason to doubt 
 one's perfect conviction of it. 
 
 There was one member of the Higgin- 
 son family whom Helen had not seen — 
 the Reverend Augustus Higginson,an Oxford 
 man and a clergyman. Of him, as was 
 natural, his mother talked a great deal to 
 the governess, after she had installed her in 
 the post of confidante. He was evidently 
 her favourite child, as Ethel was her father's. 
 When at home, he acted as curate to Mr. 
 Bignell, who kept four; but he received 
 merely a nominal salary, his mother hinted. 
 " Perhaps," Helen thought, " this might 
 have been the reason whv his duties seemed 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 287 
 
 to sit on him somewhat lightly." He had 
 spent the Autumn in making a tour of 
 Southern Italy, and was to winter at Rome. 
 
 When Helen returned to Belvidere Man- 
 sion, after the Christmas holidays, he was 
 still in the city of the Caesars, or of the 
 popes, whichever association the reader may 
 prefer. Helen, in her aristocratic, evan- 
 gelical circle, had been accustomed to hear 
 it alluded to by a reference to a name not 
 quite so polite as either of these. Augustus 
 Higginson was to remain in Rome till some 
 weeks after the Carnival, that he might 
 witness some of the Lenten ceremonies ; 
 indeed, it was not impossible, his mother 
 said, he might remain over Easter. 
 
 "He is very fond of Rome," she said, 
 confidentially, to Helen ; " and the people 
 there seem to think a deal of him. He is in 
 the very best society — constantly with Lady 
 Grereton. But, you know, my dear, Hau- 
 
288 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 gustus is hexcessively 'ansome. Hall the 
 young ladies 'ere run hafter him, you can't 
 think. Hi think he is very clever, too, 
 though Mr. 'Igginson will have it Hethel is 
 the cleverer." 
 
 Mrs. Higginson certainly meant to impress 
 Helen favourably with regard to her son ; 
 but in this attempt she utterly failed. Helen 
 pictured him to herself as a sort of mascu- 
 line edition of Ethel, only sillier. Then he 
 was Mr. Bignell's curate, and, as a rule, Mr. 
 Bignell's curates were an offence to her. 
 They were ritualistic, they were conceited, 
 they were empty-headed — at least, so she 
 imagined. The sillier among the Smokeham 
 girls worshipped them more or less openly, 
 adopted their ideas, and put on that air of 
 exclusiveness which many professedly ex- 
 cellent people seem to consider the proper 
 way of manifesting their devotion to that 
 religion which consists principally in a 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 289 
 
 feeling of oneness with all human creatures. 
 
 Helen was very angry with the curates on 
 account of all this, and did not stop to 
 inquire whether it might not have been 
 wiser to be angry with the young ladies. 
 These they treated with a mixture of patron- 
 age and contempt, which was perhaps not 
 quite undeserved, but which enraged her 
 as an insult to her sex, and an altogether 
 unpardonable piece of audacity on the part 
 of any curates whatever. Helen, as a 
 Dean's daughter, had naturally felt that any 
 notice she might take of curates, was rather 
 a condescension than otherwise. Helen 
 Godfrey, to be sure, when in her own 
 proper sphere, was by nature too sweet and 
 gracious ever to seem condescending. The 
 fact that she might have had a slight sense 
 of condescension had probably made her 
 seem only the more gracious and sweet. At 
 Marshborough, all the curates had been 
 
 vol. i. u 
 
290 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 tnore or less in love with Miss Godfrey. 
 To be favoured with her notice was an ob- 
 ject of ambition ; to be supposed to have 
 been privileged to participate in half an 
 hour's flirtation with her, was decidedly a 
 feather in the cap of the handsomest or 
 most eloquent curate in the place. 
 
 Here the tables were turned. As she 
 would not worship them, the curates seemed 
 to ignore her existence. She had not even 
 an opportunity of keeping them in their 
 place. But on the whole, it did not much 
 signify, as she very seldom saw them. But 
 to have another objectionable curate added 
 to the number, in the shape of her employer's 
 son, who, in addition to the conceit and 
 frivolity of Ritualism, might possibly have 
 an hereditary flavour of paper-bags, was any- 
 thing but an alluring prospect to the pride 
 of Helen Godfrey. She was pleased to find 
 he was not to live in the house. His dis- 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 291 
 
 trict was at the other side of the town, and 
 it altogether answered better for him to 
 have lodgings of his own. Helen resolved 
 to be as little in his company as possible. 
 
 It was the end of April when Mr. Augus- 
 tus Higginson returned. He dined and 
 spent the evening of his return at home, 
 but Helen did not see him. She never 
 dined at table, taking that meal with her 
 pupils at luncheon-time, and generally join- 
 ing the party after dinner in the drawing- 
 room. But the plea of not intruding on 
 the family group on this first evening of 
 their re-union, served to excuse her on this 
 occasion. 
 
 " We are going to have a few friends on 
 Thursday," Mrs. Higginson had answered, 
 gratefully ; " and then you will come down 
 and see Augustus." 
 
 Helen could not very well say to his 
 mother that she had no desire to see him at 
 
 u 2 
 
292 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 all, but assuredly such was her sentiment. 
 
 On all occasions when there was com- 
 pany, Helen would rather have remained 
 upstairs. She despised (very foolishly, it 
 must be confessed) the rich manufacturers 
 and pit-owners who composed the mass of 
 the Higginsons' visitors, probably because 
 she fancied they despised her. But she 
 learned from Mrs. Higginson in the morn- 
 ing that this, though not a numerous, was 
 to be a very select — what Mr. Higginson, 
 senior, called a " swell " party. 
 
 " We 'ave been waiting, you see, for 
 Haugustus's coming 'ome. There is to be 
 Sir Hanthony 'Ayward, member for the 
 borough ; Mr. and Mrs. Dean Greylock ; 
 Captain Graves, nephew of Lord Wigham — 
 nobody but the first people." 
 
 From this account of the party, Helen 
 fancied it might be less disagreeable than 
 usual. 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 293 
 
 Rather more hopefully than was her cus- 
 tom, she took up her position in that hand- 
 some apartment, the walls of which were 
 so gorgeously illustrated by " the palms and 
 temples of the East." 
 
 Among the whole " swell " company as- 
 sembled that day under the shadow of the 
 Pagoda dominating the household gods of 
 Belvidere Mansion, there was perhaps not a 
 haughtier spirit than that enclosed within 
 the unassuming figure, and speaking out of 
 the shy eyes of the young governess. She 
 had seated herself in one of the windows, 
 partly that she might enjoy the scent of the 
 blossoming shrubs on the lawn. 
 
 At last in came the ladies, Mrs. Higgin- 
 son gorgeous with silk and jewelry, and 
 looking hot and anxious ; Ethelind, self- 
 possessed and handsome, simply but richly 
 dressed, and in her liveliest and most gra- 
 cious mood. The other ladies mostly looked 
 
294 FATHER GODFREY. 
 
 inanimate and commonplace, and as if they 
 hardly felt themselves at home. But as 
 Ethel rang for coffee, and drew forward easy- 
 chairs, and produced photographs and en- 
 gravings, making everybody comfortable in 
 body and mind, with the ease and grace of 
 an accomplished hostess, matters began to 
 improve. The dulness, on the whole, was 
 not greater than the normal dulness of that 
 most unsensational interval in the company 
 life of women — the period in the drawing- 
 room before the gentlemen come in. 
 
 One or two of the ladies spoke to the 
 little girls. No one noticed Helen. She 
 worked at her lace-work more and more 
 industriously, till the light began to fail ; 
 then she gazed out on the lawn, and on the 
 Deodoras and Wellingtonias which adorned 
 it. The scent of westeria blossom trans- 
 ported her in spirit to the cottage in the 
 Cathedral Close. Over the black desert 
 
FATHER GODFREY. 295 
 
 which lay between, she could yet see the 
 tops of the Bloomshire hills, darkly out- 
 lined against the pale gold of the western 
 sky. From these summits one could easily 
 see, in the vale beyond, the tower of Marsh- 
 borough Cathedral. 
 
 A sudden attack of the most overpower- 
 ing home-sickness seized Helen body and 
 soul. Oh ! if she could only see a Marsh- 
 borough face ! Here she felt a sort of 
 pariah. It would have been a great relief 
 to run away to her own room and have a 
 good cry alone. But that was impossible. 
 With a strong effort she drove back the 
 rushing tears, and sat staring stonily out on 
 the growing darkness. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 
 
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