AlicliaeTX 
 
 LI B R.AFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 \
 
 KATHIE BRANDE; 
 
 A FIRESrDE HISTORY OF A QUIET LIFE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/kathiebrandefire01leeh
 
 KATHIE BRANDE; 
 
 c^iMsldis iistorg of h ^uid life. 
 
 Br HOLME LEE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP " THORNEY II.VLL, " GILBERT MASSEXGER, 
 " MAUDE TALBOT," &C. 
 
 N TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., Co, CORNHILL. 
 
 I806.
 
 {The rigid of Translation is reserved.)
 
 ?A 3 
 V. / 
 
 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 3 A FIRESIDE HISTOET OF A QUIET LIFE. 
 
 ^ . 
 
 n 
 
 "^^ " Say to all manner of happiness, ' I can do without thee.' 
 
 "With self-renunciation Life begins." — " Sartor Resartus." 
 
 (^ Carlyle. 
 
 - Fak up amidst the breezy north-western hills 
 
 there rises a little stream — noisy, brawling, 
 
 insignificant. Through the long summer day it 
 
 ^v eddies with sparkling music amongst cumbering 
 
 ^^ stones ; faint odorous wild-flowers cluster in mossy 
 
 nooks above its source, and broad green branches 
 
 stretch athwart it to make rippling shadows in its 
 
 "^ sunshine. Here, the only arch that spans it is 
 
 -the rainbow in the spray; the only breath that 
 
 curls its tiny waves is the wind that toys amongst 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 V.
 
 ^ KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the balmy heather and golden gorse. In winter 
 it comes down in a tearing flood, all foam and 
 fury ; in white haste it leaps from fall to fall, as 
 if it longed to escape from the holy solitudes to 
 the haunts of men. Now it swirls through a 
 broad mill-wheel, making a mere plaything of it 
 in its fresh and earnest strength ; anon it dashes 
 by a village, pours over worn stepping-stones, 
 darts under the black arch of a bridge, and so 
 away for many pleasant winding miles, until, 
 weary with its over haste, it creeps sluggishly 
 between the darkling houses into the old cathedral 
 city. 
 
 11. 
 
 There is a dim, almost forgotten, legend which 
 dates the rise of Eversley from the days when 
 there were kings in Israel: we, however, will 
 not grope so deeply into the glimmer of mytho- 
 logical and historical crypts, but will look on the 
 present surface of things, glancing back only at
 
 THE OLD CATHEDRAL CITY. 3 
 
 those chronicles of change and time which are 
 embalmed in still-existing monuments. 
 
 The city proper is enclosed by walls, around 
 which the fierce roar of battle and siege has 
 echoed again and again. On the great south 
 road, centui'ies ago, from ten miles away, came 
 sweeping the bloody torrent of the fight up to 
 the very gate of the town. Ghastly skeleton 
 heads grinned in the face of the Sabbath upon the 
 flying and pursuing hosts, till tumbled down from 
 their spiked eminence on the battlemented bar to 
 make way for their last year's victors. Over the 
 Mount from Marston, after their fatal defeat, came 
 the broken Royalists to shelter within the city. 
 Tradition tells of the hurry and confusion at the 
 gate as they pressed in on that glorious summer 
 evening: — hot, shamed, furious, beaten men, 
 whose arms God had withheld from conquering 
 in a weak, lost cause. 
 
 At this day, looking outward from the walls, 
 stretch the growing suburbs, meadows, pastures, 
 corn-fields, gentle slopes crested with wood, quiet 
 reaches in the river, and pleasant villages : only
 
 4 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 in a name here and there which the legendary 
 voice of the people has preserved, are any traces 
 left of chivalrous or warlike times. But the 
 mellow and romantic tints of old days cling fast 
 to the city within ; conspicuous from every point 
 rise the mist-grey cathedral towers; for seven 
 hundred years or more have they flung their 
 holy shadow down upon the clustered houses 
 below, whence generation after generation has 
 crumbled into ignoble dust, while the monument 
 of their sin or their repentance still lifts a sacred 
 grandeur up to heaven. What religious master- 
 mind conceived its glories, what architect planned, 
 what skilful workman wrought on foliated capital, 
 on stately column, on airy arch, tradition saith 
 not ; there the Minster stands, the pride, the grace, 
 the glory of the ancient city. Hands never cease 
 from it, or Time's remorseless decay either. With 
 imperceptible touch he wears the sharp edge of 
 solid buttress, dulls the point of arrowy pinnacle, 
 gnaws the mortar out between the stones, and 
 shakes the stained window in its granite frame. 
 Then swift comes the cunning mason, and repairs
 
 THE MINSTEK. 5 
 
 his brother's work, done centuries before, while 
 the arch-destroyer creeps away to another aisle, 
 and goes on with his silent labour in the shade. 
 
 Resting there, you may conjure back the 
 chronicled times when kings kept their Christmas 
 in Eversley, and came to worship with a train of 
 mitred bishops, stoled priests, and gaudy courtiers : 
 when faint aromatic incense odours, mingling 
 with chanted prayers, floated upwards to the dark 
 galleries whence cowled monks, in mortification 
 and bitterness of spirit, watched the worldly 
 pomps and vanities disporting themselves gaily 
 in God's house. You may imagine the grim 
 Puritan entering with a stamp of his iron heel 
 and a clang of his ready sword — railing in his 
 heart at what men as good as he have offered to 
 their Master and his. This puller-down of old 
 institutions, this scoffer against ancient supersti- 
 tions- — himself more bigoted and superstitious 
 than any that have gone before him — scowls 
 around at the beauty his dull soul cannot feel. 
 He would give to God of that which costs him 
 nothing; verily he would take the consecrated
 
 6 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 vessels from the altar, melt them down with a 
 Pharisaical incantation, stamp them with a die, 
 and put them as coin into his purse. 
 
 Over the pavement what millions of now 
 shadowless footsteps have passed ! What hosts 
 of defunct garments have trailed across the 
 reflected radiance cast down out of heaven 
 through the gemmed windows ! The dim aisles 
 are all haunted with the Past, Unseen crowds of 
 spirits file in and out at the doors ; the voices of 
 choristers dead and gone mingle with to-day's 
 anthem high up in the echoing roof; the long, 
 thundrous roll of forgotten music swells and dies 
 along the choir ; ghostly sermons are preached by 
 ghostly divines to ghostly auditors ; strange, 
 uncertain shapes glide to and fro in the dusk ; 
 from pillar to pillar, from tomb to tomb, from 
 gallery to gallery, all noiseless and trackless as 
 the night — priest and penitent, prince and pauper, 
 the saint canonized spite of his misdeeds, and the 
 sinner absolved of his sin ; a midnight gathering 
 of an innumerable phantom host, the spiritual 
 essences of the generations who have lived and
 
 THE MINSTER. 7 
 
 died in the city. The quaint corbel-heads that 
 finish the drip-stones above the doorways and 
 arches, seem to grin in the half-gloom, to turn 
 their stony eyeballs, to move their lips, and to 
 shake their twisted locks as if stirred with 
 galvanic life. What odd faces they must have 
 been that suggested these crumbling masks ! Yet 
 even now, amongst the figures that people the 
 streets, you may encounter antique mummified 
 visages, which, if struck into stone, might peer 
 appropriately from a niche or garnish a corbel. 
 
 These things are not revealed to the bodily eye 
 of every observer. Unimaginative thousands 
 view the Cathedral only fi'om an architectural 
 point of view ; they set their watches by the 
 clock over the great south door ; they are aware 
 that two daily services are gone through by a 
 staff of eminently respectable clergy, supported by 
 a posse of Kttle boys with high spirits, shiny faces, 
 and crimped frills, guarded by a few men with 
 silver pokers. You might talk to them for an 
 hour without exciting a spark of enthusiasm : 
 they are used to it ; they have seen it all their
 
 8 , KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 lives ; it is a storehouse for centuries of damp ; 
 the bells are fine — yes, the bells are beautiful, and 
 that is all they will allow. 
 
 We will not explore these haunted precincts 
 with them, but rather go abroad into the rough, 
 practical streets. In this neighbourhood the 
 houses are mostly ancient ; narrow lanes, with 
 projecting upper-stories, branch off from the 
 Minster-yard into Friargate ; low, arched gate- 
 ways, with rooms above them, lead out of these 
 lanes into courts built round with timber houses, 
 the huge cross-beams of which, struck over with 
 coarse plaster and rudely coloured, are still sound 
 and strong enough to stand as many centuries 
 longer as they have already stood. Through 
 their ruinous, yawning doorways you may descry 
 dilapidated oaken staircases, deeply fretted with 
 the tooth of time, wanting here a part of the 
 hand-rail, and there half a score of clumsy balus- 
 trades ; lancet-windows, set in whitewashed walls, 
 show fragmentary scraps of armorial bearings 
 amongst their foul and broken panes ; and in the 
 wretched chambers where exist many poor families
 
 THE MINSTER COUETS. » 
 
 — -joumeyman tailors, shoemakers, bird-fanciers, 
 and the like — relics of former splendours still 
 cling to the walls in the shape of carved panels, 
 elaborate mantel -pieces, and defaced gilding. 
 Groups of playing children herd together on the 
 open stairways where court gallants and gay 
 ladies once went up and down, rustling in silk 
 and velvet ; whilst knots of picturesque tramps 
 take up their rest under the arches: though it is to 
 be feared that the power of charity has departed 
 thence for ever. There is generally a little 
 colony of singing-birds in these courts : you may 
 see the cages hanging on hooks beside the 
 windows, and even on the wall below the sill, 
 where the prisoner and the sunshine can have a 
 talk together ; and flowers, too — not dank and 
 mildewed, but as full of scent and bloom as if 
 they lived on country air — flourish profusely in 
 these homes : desolate homes, I was going to say, 
 but I think the birds and flowers are signs of 
 better things, and that where they grow so 
 beautifully rich human aSections must grow too. 
 Picturesque to the very desire of the artist's eye 
 
 B 5
 
 10 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 are these courts and streets. When the sun is 
 going down beyond Westgate it strikes the high- 
 peaked gables with a red hue : it warms the 
 cold yellow and black of the walls; flickers on 
 the lattice-paned windows, and touches every pro- 
 minence into broad effect. These are scenes for 
 moonlight too: the shadows lurk so thick and 
 mysterious in the doorways, with the chill, white 
 shimmer creeping to the steps, yet not daring 
 to break the secrets of the gloom, that you almost 
 look to see some fearsome shape glide out and pass 
 you like a blast of freezing wind. 
 
 There is a fascination about these hoary relics 
 of a past age that does not belong to the busier 
 streets; for though, here and there, a gabled house 
 is left, jammed in between modern fabrics as 
 if improvement had forgotten it, the character 
 of the place is lost. The inns have held their 
 ground, and preserved their distinctive features 
 best. There is an ancient hostelrie in the corn 
 market, by the sign of the Cross Keys, which 
 hangs three stories, one beyond the other, over the 
 pavement; its roof rises into high peaks, with
 
 THE OLD INXS. 11 
 
 clusters of spiral chimneys at each angle, and 
 wide leaded windows in each room. Its front is of 
 beams painted black and white, and round the 
 yard is a covered wooden gallery, upon which 
 the chamber doors open. There is a very old 
 elm in this yard, which tradition says was planted 
 in Queen Mary's time by a mad pervert, who, 
 having renounced his faith to save his body, was 
 afterwards so troubled in his conscience that his 
 wits forsook him; which was by many esteemed 
 a meet judgment for his sin. They still show the 
 place where he chose to live, believing himself 
 in hiding there and safe from pursuit: it is a 
 black, sunless den, which looks as if the maniac's 
 remorse hung about it yet. There are other 
 inns of this type also : the George, in High Street, 
 the Red Lion, in Friargate, and the Fleece, in the 
 Barbican ; all of which are houses of good repute, 
 and redolent with reminiscences of generations 
 of travellers. 
 
 The churches within the walls are many in 
 number. Standing near the south gate, and 
 looking inwards over the city, you see the low.
 
 12 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 square towers, the airy, graceful lanterns, and 
 the slender spires rising above the closely-built 
 houses, all grey with age, and quietly suggestive 
 of buried piety. These edifices stand chiefly at 
 street corners, many of them with graveyards 
 attached, where the mounds, covered with rank 
 grass, rise high above the level of the flags. 
 There is no feeling of rest connected with these 
 last homes, lying as they do in the midst of life- 
 traflic ; yet I can imagine some, wishful to think 
 that they have not quite done with the stir and 
 the turmoil, the loves and hopes of existence, 
 preferring to moulder where old acquaintance may 
 give their tombstone a thought and a glance in 
 passing by, rather than in a still country nook, 
 where the sun, and winds, and rains of heaven 
 can alone light upon them for evermore. 
 
 The river takes a direct course through the 
 midst of the city. Looking up the stream, the 
 houses have the air of a foreign town ; above the 
 bridge many are built close to the water's edge, 
 and are of the same quaint architecture as those 
 in the vicinity of the Minster; below it are
 
 THE RITER. 13 
 
 staithes, on whicli abut numerous low alleys; 
 there are always vessels loading and unloading, 
 and small craft going up and down; for, some 
 fifty miles away, this moor-bom river becomes 
 a great estuary, where whole fleets ride, and by 
 which sits one of the principal eastern trading 
 ports. If you were to walk along the staithe on 
 the left bank you would presently come to an 
 open space and a beautiful planted walk, a short 
 turn from which brings you up into Castle-street. 
 Before you rises a massy, fi-owning edifice, the 
 county prison ; the debtors' side is only defended 
 by lofty iron palisades enclosing a garden; this 
 part is opposite to the open field, and here 
 thousands of excited rabble, fi-om far and near, 
 collect periodically to witness solemn, judicial 
 tragedies, enacted on a platform below a narrow 
 black door in the wall. The lesson is very old 
 in Eversley, and not profitable; indeed, some 
 intellects there are so obtuse, that they persist 
 in remaining stone-blind to the moral of it, and 
 in wishing that it might not be forced upon them 
 any longer.
 
 14 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 A little higher up this street are the Castle 
 Mills and the Castle Bridge, which last spans 
 a foul, sluggish stream, called the Ness ; this 
 dyke winds below the outer wall of the prison, 
 and passing under an old bridge in the Barbican, 
 forms a pestiferous swamp, which is always going 
 to be drained, but never gets begun. At one side 
 of the Barbican bridge is the Fleece Inn; going 
 down this street towards the bar, it is mean 
 and dirty, infested by beggars and other such 
 gentry; but in the opposite direction are good 
 shops, up to where it joins the market-place. 
 In a line with the Barbican — a devious line 
 certainly — are Wheelgate, Finkle Street, and 
 Westgate, which brings us back to the Minster 
 neighbourhood, and the heart of the ancient city. 
 
 If I have described the Cathedral Town with a 
 too tedious minuteness, my love for it must be 
 pleaded in excuse. Moreover it forms the back- 
 ground of this Family History.
 
 PERCIE COURT. 15 
 
 III. 
 
 In one of the courts before described — Percie 
 Court it was called — I was born on Christmas 
 Eve. The clanging joy-bells of the old ]SIinster 
 close by drowned the feeble wail with which I 
 announced my existence, and gave me a boisterous 
 welcome into life. Nobody could have been more 
 gladly received than I at that festive season, for I 
 had no predecessors in my parents' house, though 
 they had been five years married. I have been 
 told since that I was a puling fretful bit of a child 
 at first, and no doubt this was true ; for all the 
 recollections I have of my early youth are cloudy 
 with sufioring and tears. 
 
 My father was a minor canon and curate of St. 
 Mark's, the old church outside of Friargate. His 
 income was very moderate, and as I proved to be 
 the forerunner of a numerous progeny his life 
 became a struggle : for, in those dear times, with 
 six little bodies to clothe and six little mouths to
 
 16 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 fill, it was often very difficult to make both ends 
 meet decently. A season of sickness which 
 removed two of my brothers was a heavy pull 
 on our resources ; indeed, we never seemed to 
 recover from it afterwards. Up to fifteen my life 
 knew neither change nor excitement, and but few 
 pleasures, except to hear my mother say, " Kathie, 
 you are a comfort to me." 
 
 My father was a reserved, studious, silent man ; 
 he took but little notice of us as children, and we 
 stood in great awe of him. I can yet remember 
 the sound of my mother's warning " Hush ! " when 
 his foot was heard on the stairs, which made us 
 all as mute as mice. Yet he was not unkind ; his 
 voice was never raised in anger; and it is a 
 mystery to me still why we crept into corners and 
 away out of his presence as we did. He taught 
 me my lessons daily and was very patient, but I 
 was always glad when the task was done — ^perhaps 
 because he felt it irksome, and showed that he felt 
 it. He was a tall man, with a slight stoop in his 
 shoulders and a negligent slouching gait, with a 
 nervous restlessness of movement that had become
 
 MY FATHER. 17 
 
 habitual to him. In one of the parlour-windows 
 he had a writing-table where he sat at night with 
 his books and manuscripts ; then if we spoke at 
 all it was in the smallest whisper, and when we 
 moved it was on cautious tip-toe, with my mother's 
 anxious eye following us. We imagined him to 
 be writing some learned and ponderous history, 
 and regarded his labour with deep reverence. He 
 was busy with it at every moment of leisure, on the 
 Sabbath as well as on the week-days, and always 
 ' until far on into the night. It was the oMoloch to 
 which he immolated time, health, natural affections, 
 everything. It had eaten up his heart, youth, 
 spirits, and conscience. He was happy : at least 
 I suppose he was, for his work was life and love 
 to him, and he did not appear to have a thought 
 beyond it; his professional duties he performed 
 exactly and mechanically, his social duties not at 
 aU, or scarcely at all. I have watched him, some- 
 times by the hour together, pondering in my 
 secret mind what this all-absorbing work might 
 be, and yearning to lift were it but a comer of the 
 veil behind which he lived his true life. His
 
 18 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 large pallid brow, streaked with shadowy grey- 
 hair, was the brow of a sage, but the eyes below 
 it were lustrous, womanish, and of a wonderful 
 beauty. I craved to know and love him better 
 than I did, and wrought many a secret plan for 
 winning a way into his heart ; but the habitual 
 awe in which we had been brought up prevailed, 
 and that blissful time never came. 
 
 One night — the snow lay deep all round the 
 Minster, and Christmas storms were abroad — 
 there came a messenger out of Friargate to fetch 
 my father to administer spiritual consolation to a 
 man at the point of death. He left his work 
 reluctantly. I can see him yet hovering about 
 the table, fingering the manuscript, and hastily 
 dashing down some happy thought lest it should 
 escape him ere his return. My mother had to 
 remind him that the necessity was immediate, he 
 delayed so long. After an absence of more than 
 two hours he returned, wet and tired ; but he sat 
 down to his papers at once and began to write : in 
 a few minutes, however, he rose and approached 
 the fire.
 
 MY FATHER. 19 
 
 " Mary" (my mother's name was Mary), " I 
 shall never work any more," he said in a strange 
 voice. 
 
 She was frightened and asked what he meant, 
 but he would give her no explanation: perhaps 
 he could not. 
 
 His words were prophetic. He had been 
 breathing a fever-poisoned atmosphere, and the 
 taint of the disease was already burning in his 
 veins. He relinquished hope from the first. In 
 his wanderings he talked much of his great work, 
 but of his wife and children never. He liked to 
 have a pen in his hand, with which he drew 
 mystical figures in the air ; then his countenance 
 was full of peace. 
 
 A short time before his death, sense returned, 
 and with sense an expression of pain and mental 
 care. " It is a mere splendid fragment," he said, 
 faintly ; " a torso without head or limbs. I 
 thought to have hewn out a grand statue that 
 should endure, but my fingers will never guide 
 stroke more." 
 
 We understood him to speak of his great work.
 
 20 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " No one can profit bj my life's labour : burn 
 it, Mary ; burn it." 
 
 He turned his face wearily to the wall, while 
 my mother wept and held his hand. 
 
 Soon after, he took leave of us all ; and while 
 he was kissing little Jean, there came over his 
 face a flashing as of light, followed quickly by the 
 pale shadow of angels' wings. And we stole out 
 of his awful dead presence with trembling and 
 tears. 
 
 He lies buried in St. Mark's churchyard, 
 close under the low wall which parts it from the 
 street. Passing by it, the stranger may see the 
 tall rank grass waving in the wind where it grows 
 upon his grave. 
 
 ly. 
 
 Sorrow, which is never to seek, had come upon 
 us heavily. With my father we lost, of course, 
 our main support ; indeed, but for an annuity of 
 fifty pounds which my mother possessed, we
 
 OUR FAMILY. 21 
 
 should have been destitute. I imbibed a warm 
 admiration for her independence and firmness of 
 character at this juncture. She was resolved to 
 maintain us bj the labour of her own hands 
 rather than to scatter us abroad amongst our 
 well-to-do kinsfolks, to eat the bitter bread of 
 charity. Her plans were speedily formed, and 
 put into execution without delay. We remained 
 in Percie Court, because the rent was low ; but 
 our two servants were discharged, and we got in 
 their place a girl fi'om the Grey School, named 
 Ann Farrer, of whose youthful eccentricities and 
 incapacity I retain a lively remembrance to this 
 day. 
 
 My brother Stephen was on the foundation of 
 the endowed grammar-school, so that his education 
 was in a manner provided for. He was a very 
 handsome boy, dark-complexioned, with rich, 
 curling hair, bright eyes, and a tall, straight 
 figure ; but in character he was indolent, fickle, 
 and without perseverance. He was my mother's 
 favourite : she had set her heart on his entering 
 the Church, because his father and grandfather
 
 22 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 had been clergymen ; but the boy himself had no 
 vocation for it : so, whilst she pinched, toiled, 
 economized, and saved, to lay by sufficient to 
 defray his college expenses, he studied or idled 
 as suited his inclination of the moment. Many 
 a long evening hour which ought to have been 
 consecrated to Latin theme and Greek exercise 
 was spent by him with the ringers up in the bell- 
 tower of the Minster ; but my mother always 
 consoled herself in the idea that his great abilities 
 would enable him to make up all arrears of study 
 when he should awake to the necessity of it. 
 
 Of my two sisters, Isabel was too delicate and 
 Jean too young to stand in need of anything but 
 home care and home tuition for some time to 
 come ; and while my mother by various kinds of 
 needlework eked out for us a slender subsistence, 
 I initiated Isabel in the mysteries of pot-hooks 
 and hemming, coaxed little Jean through the 
 alphabet, helped Stephen with his lessons and 
 numerous impositions, made or mended the family 
 linen, superintended the proceedings of Ann in 
 the kitchen, and remonstrated with her gravely
 
 MY SISTERS. 23 
 
 when her vagaries overpassed the bounds of 
 reason. 
 
 Isabel had more of my father in her face than 
 any of us, but hers was a peculiar and wilful 
 temper. There were moments when nobody 
 could control her ; fits of passionate, brooding 
 suUenness, when one misht have imagined her 
 possessed with an evil spirit. At other seasons 
 she ovei-flowed with uncontrollable spirits, which, 
 however, usually took a mischievous turn before 
 they effervesced into stillness. Ann used to say 
 to her then, " Oh, but you are the very mother 
 of mischief, Isabel ! " and the epithet was not 
 inappropriate. Jean was the patient, little loving 
 slave to her caprices, always eager to ward off 
 from her annoyance and offence, just as my 
 mother had been with my father. Isabel had in 
 everything her own way ; my mother feared to 
 struggle with her peculiar character, lest it should 
 be heated to revolt or hardened into obstinacy. I 
 waited on her and submitted to her mechanically, 
 because it seemed to be my place in the household 
 to serve, work, and obey. She had, however, in
 
 24 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 the core of her heart smouldering fires of love, 
 which broke forth now and then like volcano- 
 flame. She would have worn one to death with 
 sacrifice and exaction, and then slain herself for 
 very sorrow and remorse. 
 
 Jean and I took after our mother both in person 
 and in disposition. 
 
 V. 
 
 I look back upon my ancient and gloomy 
 birthplace with a love which those whose lot has 
 fallen in brighter places will scarcely understand. 
 Percie Court lay quite under the shadow of the 
 Minster, and was always hushed, and always 
 darkling. The house had not then been divided 
 into separate tenements, and was esteemed a most 
 respectable dwelling, though the upper chambers 
 were disused because the floors were broken and 
 unsafe, and the huge rafters showed the bare 
 tiling of the steep roof between their massive 
 bulk. From the court we entered a stone hall.
 
 THE HOUSE IN PERCIE COURT. 25 
 
 quite naked and empty, smelling of damp and 
 church vaults, always full of draughts, and 
 colonized by spiders : thence a spring-door, covered 
 with discoloured red cloth, led into the habitable 
 part of the house. On a bright summer evening, 
 passing through the red door was like leaving a 
 charnel-house for a church aisle. There was a 
 window of curious rich stained glass sunk into 
 a recess of the staircase opposite, through which 
 the setting sun cast the glow of ruby, sapphire, 
 and topaz on the dusky oaken balustrades, the 
 panelled walls, and shallow, hollow steps : at all 
 other times they looked blank and cold as the 
 hall ; only at sundown were they quaintly 
 tapestried with more brilliant dyes than loom 
 of mortal fashioning can weave. 
 
 As a child I loved this window dearly : it was 
 my favourite retreat ; and crouched in its seclu- 
 sion I spent most of the few idle and happy hours 
 that fell to my lot Thither I carried my books 
 to read imdisturbed by the little ones, or, perhaps, 
 sometimes to escape my seam. A curious collec- 
 tion those books were on which my mental cravings 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 were fed : there was an old edition of Shakspeare's 
 Plays, with quaint engravings, which delighted me 
 amazingly. I shuddered at Shylock's tenacious 
 holding to the letter of his bond, but I had a 
 sort of pained sympathy with him too, as the 
 one strong resentful soul amongst an oppressed 
 and hated race. " Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath 
 not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, 
 affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt 
 with the same weapons, subject to the same 
 diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and 
 cooled by the same winter and summer as a 
 Christian is?" There was the burning passionate 
 thrill of deadly hate in it, which stirred me as 
 intense and eloquent feeling, good or evil, ever 
 does stir some hearts. Hamlet's philosophy 
 puzzled me, though the sound of it wakened up 
 my keenest thoughts: was he mad, or selfish, 
 or what ? The riddle is not solved to this day. 
 Then with the weird witches in ^^ Macbeth," and 
 the rising procession of phantoms, I shivered in 
 nerve-creeping horror; but the crowning joy of 
 all, even though it made me wake in the night.
 
 MY FAVOUKITE BOOKS. 27 
 
 chill with starting fears, was Clarence's dream. 
 That— 
 
 " O Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown! 
 What dreadful noise of water in my ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unralued jewels. 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 Some lay in dead men's skuUs ; and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 't were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
 That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by." 
 
 That was a vivid picture to me ; I could, when 
 I pressed my hand upon my eyes, see those white 
 relics and gems strewn amongst the weeds 
 beneath the sea ; " the envious flood " which 
 still kept prisoner the panting dreamer's soul; 
 the blue and livid corpses prone upon the slimy 
 sand. It haunted my sleep for months, as 
 afterwards did an awful story of a murder that 
 Ann related with all its minute details, and 
 probably a large amount of vulgar exaggeration.
 
 28 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 In quieter mood I found the '' Spectator " 
 pleasant company; I had a firm belief that all 
 the Amintas, Chloes, and Sylvias, were real 
 women, and entertained a presumptuous suspicion 
 that many of them were very silly ones, and must 
 have been trying to the short-faced gentleman's 
 patience. There was " Rasselas," also, which I 
 liked better then than I do now, and the " Vicar 
 of Wakefield (a real person because Wakefield 
 was down on the map), and that queer Chinese 
 who was a " Citizen of the World," and " Junius's 
 Letters " (it is a marvel to me what amusement I 
 contrived to discover in them), and a few other 
 old books ; but nothing, nothing new. I was often 
 in a profound state of mystification over these 
 desultory private readings, but I rarely sought 
 help in my difficulties lest my liberty should * be 
 curtailed ; I blundered on till the light came to 
 me, and if it never came I bided contentedly in 
 the dark. 
 
 "Kathie, you will read yourself blind," my 
 mother used sometimes to say ; but her authority 
 asserted itself no further, and I was left to my
 
 OUR PARLOUR. 29 
 
 own devices : at least, until my father's death. 
 Subsequent to that event my idle times were very 
 few, and very far between. This is why that 
 ancient painted window glows like a gem unique 
 in my memory : no after-readings have had half 
 the pith or charm that lurked in the stolen hours 
 spent in its gusty seclusion. 
 
 To the right of the red door opened the 
 kitchen ; to the left a mouldy-smelling flight of 
 brick steps led down into a mysterious region 
 into whose depths I never penetrated, but which 
 my imagination peopled with many terrors both 
 of a bodily and spiritual nature : such as the 
 restless tenants of a neighbouring churchyard; 
 bones lying white on the earthen floor; rats 
 crouching amongst them, with bright eyes, and 
 crawling things running up slimy walls. 
 
 Our parlour opened from the first landing : it 
 had a western aspect, and though it was a large 
 low-ceiled room with wainscoted walls, black 
 with age, and antique furniture to match, it had 
 a homely pleasantness to all of us. There were 
 three long narrow windows, curtained with faded
 
 30 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 folds of crimson cloth, which had been rich and 
 sightly once upon a time, though that day was 
 past ; a circular mirror, cracked across and with 
 a tarnished gilt frame, whose reflections were an 
 antidote to personal vanity, was secured against 
 the wainscot between two of these windows. 
 The mantel-piece was lofty, and curiously carved 
 in foliage and angels' heads; it sustained as 
 ornaments several Chinese figures, grotesquely 
 ugly, and all more or less mutilated, which my 
 brother Stephen impiously styled our household 
 gods. In a recess by the fireplace stood my 
 father's empty chair, and near it the writing- 
 table he had always used ; at the upper end of 
 the room was his book-case, piled to the ceiling 
 with dusky lugubrious volumes, which presently 
 grew grey with dust and lack of use. 
 
 The centre window opened upon a brick-work 
 terrace, from which, by a flight of broken steps, 
 we could descend into a narrow strip of ground, 
 which we dignified with the name of garden; 
 though it had neither greenness nor beauty. A 
 few pined shrubs and scentless flowers held a
 
 MY OWN ROOM. 31 
 
 precarious existence in the sapless mould, but 
 the walls on either side were so lofty as quite 
 to exclude the genial sunshine, so that the little 
 struggling blossoms died unblown. My mother 
 had a custom of going out there on the Sunday 
 evenings in summer time ; she used to pace gently 
 backwards and forwards, meditating gravely, 
 and sometimes murmuring to herself verses of 
 our hymns. I do not think her temper was 
 silent or reserved by nature, but it had grown 
 so by habit ; she was scarcely less contemplative 
 and quiet than my father had been. 
 
 I had a little chamber to myself, with one 
 latticed window which looked full on the grand 
 old Minster. I could lie in my bed and watch 
 the sun stealing down from pinnacle to pinnacle 
 with silent steps, circling the bell-tower with 
 a halo, while the streets still lay in the grey 
 of the morning; or the moonlight making 
 black shadows in doorways and empty niches; 
 or the snow lying white on ledge, and buttress, 
 and roof. Solemn always, majestic always ; but 
 most about Christmas time, when the waits
 
 32 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 roamed about the streets on bitter nights, and 
 woke me out of my sleep with loud sung carols, 
 and I sat up to listen with dreamy eyes on the 
 Minster towers, through which the north - east 
 wind whistled a noisy chorus. 
 
 But it is enough of this: let me remember 
 that my home, full of voices as it may be to me, 
 is to others but a dumb picture. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It is a life-history, not a romance, that I have 
 undertaken to tell; therefore, if any look for 
 wild adventure or marvellous experience let them 
 close this book, for they will find in it only 
 disappointment. To those whose lines have fallen 
 to them in quiet lowly places, who endure rather 
 than struggle, who patiently take their daily 
 labour as it is laid out for them, inch by inch, and 
 piece by piece, my story may go home like an 
 echo of their own pale lives; possibly to encourage.
 
 THIS HISTORY. 33 
 
 to Strengthen, and to console : for other than these 
 it can have but small interest 
 
 I can make no appeal to the sympathies of 
 those who go clad in purple and fine linen, and 
 fare sumptuously every day; save in those two 
 things which the great human heart has in com- 
 mon — love and death. And even there we should 
 be at variance; for life is a more earnest matter 
 with the workers than the pleasure-seekers, and 
 both love and death meet ics with less pomp and 
 circumstance than tJiem. 
 
 But in the ingle nook I may be welcome; 
 for I have had my silent sacrifices, my pinching 
 economies, and times when existence seemed 
 held on a hard feudal tenure of perpetual service, 
 which made the grave look like a door of escape 
 from the house of bondage. A few glimpses 
 through this ever-opening portal have I had into 
 the valley beyond; but when I would fain have 
 pressed forward to gain those plains of rest, there 
 was always a hand to put me back, and a voice 
 that bade me bide my time. Hours of crying 
 when there was none to hear, heavy rains of 
 
 c 5
 
 34 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 affliction, and "clouds returning after the rain," 
 have not failed me ; yet have I had my wanderings 
 by still waters, and my rainbowed skies like 
 others: a life of true April sheen, mingled sun 
 and showers. 
 
 I am, let me premise, no heroine ; I never 
 did or conceived a deed trenching on the heroic. 
 My path has lain before me without choice; 
 nothing short of wings could have borne me out of 
 it : whether it has been rough or smooth, flower- 
 decked or overgrown with stinging-nettles, it is for 
 others to judge. I am come now to the grey 
 November of my year, and as it lies mapped out 
 before my dim eyes, there are spots with the sun 
 on them, and, near by, dense shadows under 
 rocks and trees, which make their glow the 
 tenderer ; and there is a sound of rippling water, 
 now faint, now ringing clear, now overpowered 
 by other voices, which I take to be the ever- 
 living fount of hope in the heart, growing broad, 
 full, and free in these latter days, as I and it 
 glide outwards together towards the eternal sea.
 
 MY MOTHER. 35 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sitting one night at my work, an idea flashed 
 into my mind. Stephen was gone to the bells, 
 and the little ones were in bed, so my mother 
 and I were alone. My fingers ached over the 
 long stiff seam with which they had been busy for 
 an hour; I stretched them, yawned, and gave 
 several unequivocal signs of being thoroughly 
 tired. My mother was knitting some fancy work 
 socks, and her needles kept up their monotonous 
 click, chck, though her eyes were raised. They 
 again reverted to her work, when they had taken 
 in what I am afraid they often saw at this period, 
 namely, an unhappy discontented face. 
 
 Suddenly I spoke. "Mother," said I, "where 
 did you live when you were a girl ? " 
 
 I have not yet described my mother : you shall 
 have her portrait as she looked then, sitting in 
 her high-backed chair, with an expression of 
 surprise in her large uplifted eyes at the oddity
 
 36 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 of -the question — a question none of her children 
 had ever asked before ; for, though kind and gentle, 
 she was always very reserved with us. 
 
 Imagine a figure rather below the middle size, 
 straight as a dart and thin, clad in a well-saved 
 dress of black stuff, an apron of white muslin, 
 and a folded neckerchief of the same spotless 
 material crossed on her bosom, and fastened at the 
 throat with a jet brooch. Imagine a face of 
 grave expression, small featured, and pale, with 
 eyes of a peculiarly clear and brilliant brown; 
 brows finely arched, but losing their darkness; 
 and grey hair carefully smoothed from a high 
 forehead under her widow's cap. She was forty- 
 six years old at this time, but, notwithstanding 
 her alertness of manner, she looked much older 
 from her exceeding gravity. 
 
 My question was unexpected, and my mother 
 and I gazed at each other for a moment or two in 
 silence ; then she smiled — her smile was as 
 pleasant as it was rare — and said, " In quite a 
 country place : in a little moorland village, where 
 the church was like a barn, overgrown with moss
 
 BY THE FIRESIDE AT HOME. 37 
 
 and ivy, and the parsonage was a white-washed 
 cottage. There were a few slated hovels in a 
 hollow below, and no other house within three 
 miles of ours." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! how lonely it must have been ! " 
 " Not so, Kathie ; I loved it dearly, and my 
 heart yearns to it yet. It seemed to me as if I 
 could scarcely breathe when your father brought 
 me down into this low country. I pined a long 
 while for the sharp air of the fells and the briny 
 scent of the heather. I feared almost that I should 
 die, cramped up in this place; but the home- 
 sickness wore off at last. Still I should like 
 to see those bleak Cumberland hills once more 
 before I die." 
 
 There were tears in my mother's eyes as she 
 spoke : my random questions had opened out 
 far-away vistas in her memory; so I gathered 
 up my work and stitched diligently on, letting 
 her meditate in peace. She was the first to break 
 the silence. " When I remember it all it makes 
 me feel foolish, Kathie," said she; '^but it was 
 so beautiful ! Upon the hills beyond the church
 
 38 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I have wandered many a summer day : all around 
 was deep solitude and infinite calm ; billowy steep 
 beyond steep, with lurking glimpses of the 
 mountain tarns nested amongst them. Far away 
 in the purple west stretched the sea. Oh, 
 Kathie ! words are not colours, or my love could 
 paint you a fair picture of those bonnie dales, 
 with the grey torn veils of cloud wreathing the 
 fells in twilight. I think any poverty would 
 have been more endurable than the pang of 
 leaving home." 
 
 " How was it mother ; tell me ? " 
 
 " I married some years before my father's 
 death, but I never left him, for he was an old 
 man, and in failing health even then. But the 
 solitude fretted your father, for he was not 
 moorland-bred, like me, and had no love for the 
 sights and sounds of nature ; and when death 
 released my remaining parent, we left Cumberland 
 at once. For six months we were at WhiteclifFe, 
 a beautiful sea-coast town, where I could have 
 been very happy and contented ; but my husband 
 was made Minor Canon of Eversley, and as it
 
 FAMILY CONNECTIONS. 39 
 
 was necessary that he should live here, he 
 exchanged his country living for the perpetual 
 curacy of St. Mark's; and having the command 
 of good libraries and such society as was most 
 congenial to him, he never showed any disposition 
 to move again." 
 
 " Have you any brothers or sisters living, 
 mother ? " 
 
 "No, Kathie, I was an only child; but you 
 have relatives on your father's side. There is 
 your Aunt Aurelia, Mrs. Marston, who is a 
 widow, and your grandmother Brande, who is still 
 living at Crofton, where your father was bom." 
 
 " Have you ever been there, mother ? " 
 
 " Never, child ; neither have I ever seen any 
 of your father's friends. There was some 
 difference between him and his mother, that was 
 never fully explained to me." 
 
 " Poor papa ! do you think he was in the 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " Oh no, Kathie ! He was kindness and good- 
 ness itself. Mrs. Brande was a proud, austere 
 woman, I have heard; quite unlike her son."
 
 40 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 The sharp click of the knitting-needles 
 went on, and I toiled at the interminable seam 
 until the Minster clock struck nine, when my 
 mother bade me go and see that Ann had 
 Stephen's supper ready, for as he had not been 
 in to tea he would be ravenously hungry. Glad 
 to be released on any service, I folded up my 
 work, and went down to the kitchen. Ann was 
 sitting with her feet on the fender, darning her 
 black worsted stockings by the light of an 
 unsnuffed candle, which just served to make 
 darkness visible in the great kitchen. She 
 sprang up as I opened the door, and ran towards 
 me, staring and half affrighted. I could not 
 help laughing at her odd, bewildered air. 
 
 "Indeed, Miss Kathie, but you gave me a 
 turn ! " cried she, breathless ; " this old house 
 is so lonesome: out and out worse than the 
 Grey School." 
 
 " And that was bad enough, Ann, I dare say. 
 It is lonesome ; I have thought so myself 
 often." 
 
 " Especially since the master died, Miss Kathie.
 
 YOUTHFUL DISCONTENTS. 41 
 
 If it was not for the cricket that lives down by 
 the boiler I would be regularly moped some 
 nights. I wonder how them creatures can bide 
 the heat ; will you tell me, Miss ? " 
 
 " I do not know myself, Ann ; but I have read 
 that there are things which live in the fire : they 
 are called salamanders." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss, and what may they be like ? 
 are they boggles, or spirits, or what ? " 
 
 " They are salamanders, Ann : that is all I 
 know. There are none in this country, I believe." 
 
 ^^ You are not meaning the picters in the fire, 
 miss, that one sees when one looks in amongst the 
 coals ? I see a many some nights. 'Deed, but 
 this is a haunted old house ; though your mother 
 does say there is nothing to be met in it worse 
 than ourselves." Ann sighed and waved her head 
 dolorously ; at fifteen a quiet life is insufferable. 
 
 Having delivered my order and seen it exe- 
 cuted, I was returning slowly to the parlour, 
 shading the flickering flame of the candle with my 
 hand, when the loud clash of the outer door, and a 
 rush of cold air which almost extinguished the
 
 42 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 light, warned me of Stephen's tardy return. He 
 came through the red door whistling cheerily ; 
 and when he espied me standing at the top of the 
 stairs, he cried out in his usual mode of addressing 
 me, " Kathie, is that you — Kathie the moody — 
 Kathie the mournful ? " 
 
 At the sound of her darling's voice, my mother 
 issued from the parlour. 
 
 " Stephen, my boy," she said, looking down 
 over the banisters, " leave your coat in the 
 kitchen, and pull off your boots. Kathie will 
 get your slippers. Are you wet ? " 
 
 " Wet, my revered mother ! " echoed Stephen, 
 laughing : " how can anybody be wet with 
 walking twenty yards on a starlight night in as 
 hard a frost as February is in the habit of treating 
 us to." 
 
 This was quite true ; but our dear mother was 
 always so anxious. 
 
 We entered the parlour together, and soon 
 Stephen appeared, carrying a candle to light Ann 
 up-stairs with his supper-tray ; he was teasing her 
 all the time, and contrived finally to puff out the
 
 STEPHEN. 43 
 
 light as she took it from him to leave the room. 
 We heard her groping her way down-stairs, and 
 we heard also a clattering fall and smothered 
 shriek as she got to the bottom. Stephen laughed 
 mischievously, and shook his curly head ; while 
 my mother looked a very mild reproof, and bade 
 him eat his supper, which he instantly applied 
 himself to doing with a most vigorous and healthy 
 appetite. Having finished, he pulled up his chair 
 to the centre of the hearth, and proceeded to tell 
 us of his doings up in the bell-tower. We always 
 listened with interest; for, as Ann shrewdly 
 observed one day when his mother was out of 
 hearing, " There was nothing Master Stephen 
 liked so well as being made a god on ; " and as 
 we were not often — or I may say, ever — disposed 
 to thwart him, he was made a god of accordingly. 
 After he had related all, he yawned audibly, 
 stretched his lengthy limbs, and asked if Kathie 
 were there ; I made answer that I was still in the 
 presence. 
 
 " Oh, then, Kathie, you can't be half so tired 
 as I am with those horrid bells ! " cried he : " you
 
 44 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 don't know how they make a fellow's arms ache ! 
 I wish you would help me with that imposition 
 that Withers gave me this morning. Do, that 's 
 a dear Kathie." 
 
 I had now approached the fireplace, so he put 
 his arm round me coaxingly, and gave me a kiss ; 
 of course, I immediately consented to write out 
 the imposition, which called out a smile on my 
 mother's face : she was always glad to see Stephen 
 relieved of any burden. Her smile somehow 
 irritated me, though for the moment I checked 
 the expression of my jealous feeling. 
 
 " Then I '11 go to bed, for I am famously tired," 
 said my brother, pleasantly. '' You know where 
 the books are, Kathie ;" and having first sprinkled 
 me with icy water from the pitcher, and trodden 
 on Cherry the cat's tail, he took his departure 
 singing. 
 
 When he was gone, my mother brought out her 
 knitting again, though I am sure her eyes were 
 tired, for the sake of keeping me company during 
 the hour the imposition would take to write. I 
 forget now how many lines of Latin verse it was.
 
 THE IMPOSITION. 45 
 
 but I remember thinking it as weary a task as the 
 seam : both head, back, and fingers ached when it 
 was done. 
 
 " Well, Kathie, have you finished at last?" my 
 mother asked, as I rose to put away the books. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 I spoke sullenly, at which my mother looked 
 surprised and grieved, but gently bade me warm 
 my feet before going to bed. 
 
 " They are not cold," was my short reply. 
 
 " Come, Kathie, I want to talk to you a little 
 while," she persisted, at the same time eyeing me 
 wistfully. 
 
 I obeyed, but with a gesture of weariness and 
 impatience. 
 
 " Child, you look sick and ill : tell me what 
 ails you. Is it that this hard-working life is 
 wearing you out ? " my mother asked, with a 
 plaintive tone in her voice such as we were not 
 used to hear. 
 
 I loved and reverenced her dearly, but her 
 unconscious encouragement of Stephen's selfish- 
 ness that night had roused the dormant spark
 
 46 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 of jealousy in my heart, and all my native sullen- 
 ness rose up moody and resentful. After waiting 
 a few minutes for an answer, which I was in 
 too ill a humour to give, she added, " You are 
 tired, Kathie ; , go to bed now ; to-morrow we 
 will talk." I took my candle without a word, 
 and went. 
 
 My mother's ordinary manner was cold and 
 quiet : she was not demonstrative in her affection 
 as some women are, except to Stephen, who 
 seemed little grateful for her love; and this 
 had kept me further aloof than a daughter shoidd 
 be from her mother's heart and confidence. It 
 was her nightly custom to come and see us in our 
 beds before going to her own, and I knew she 
 would not fail me for what had passed. As I 
 went through her room, I stayed a moment to look 
 at my little sisters ; they were both fast asleep : 
 Isabel with her sweet face lightly flushed, her 
 red lips parted, and her golden brown hair 
 escaping from her netted cap ; Jean's soft pale 
 features smiling in her sleep, and her round 
 restless little arms tossed outside the coverlet:
 
 CHILDISH JEALOUSIES. 47 
 
 they seemed so far, so very far removed from 
 me, their elder sister ! Gazing at them the tears 
 gathered thick in my eyes, and, for a moment, 
 I wondered if I could ever have been like them. 
 Then I remembered that I never was ; that I had 
 been delicate and suffering, plain and solitary, 
 and my heart felt these things as wrongs. 
 
 I moved away to my closet, and shut myself in. 
 I never was a child who cried passionately, but 
 I can remember times when I sat with folded 
 hands on my knees, and out of the blind resentftd 
 soreness of my spirit rose a swelling flood of tears 
 which fell like drops of a thunder shower. So 
 sat I now, cold and shivering, on the edge of my 
 bed, looking drearily at the stars in heaven 
 and the Minster towers gleaming white in. their 
 shimmer. I was still there when my mother 
 came in. 
 
 "What, not in bed yet, Kathie?" said she 
 cheerfully. Then, seeing that I was crying, she 
 took both my hands in hers, and bent forward 
 to kiss me. " If my little Kathie knew how 
 her mother loves her, she would not come and
 
 48 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 fret here alone, instead of telling her trouble 
 to the only heart in the world that would be sure 
 to sympathize with her," she said. I laid my 
 aching forehead down on her cool hands. " Think, 
 Kathie, of what you have been to me, of what 
 you may still be — my greatest help and comfort 
 next to God; and then consider what I must 
 feel to see you sullen and unhappy. If I could, 
 my poor child, I would give you a good educa- 
 tion, and amusements, and companions ; but you 
 know I cannot. I have worked hard all my 
 life, and have been contented ; if your lot is to 
 be the same, take it patiently : there is One who 
 can lighten your burden, and make it even easy to 
 bear." 
 
 "I do not complain, mother," said I despond- 
 ingly; "I can work; I do work: at least, I do 
 my best." 
 
 "Yes, Kathie, you have been a good child 
 always; you are industrious, obedient, unselfish: 
 you have been friend as well as daughter to me." 
 
 " I know not what ails me to-night ; I am 
 full of wrong feelings ; everything seems hopeless
 
 MORNING MISTS. 49 
 
 and sad ; I cannot be content ; I am of no use to 
 anybody." 
 
 "Katbie!" 
 
 My mother's gravely reproachful accent stung 
 me. I went on speaking rapidly and bitterly, 
 never thinking of the cruel stabs I was dealing. 
 
 " I am of no use to anybody ; if I were dead 
 nobody would miss me. Isabel would help 
 Stephen, who is the only person cared for in this 
 house. Stephen is first and last with every one. 
 I am not like other girls: I never was. As a 
 child I was always sickly, and now I am ugly, 
 and a mere household drudge. If there is any- 
 thing to fetch or carry, it is ^ Kathie here, Kathie 
 there:' I see no end of it, and I am sick of 
 it already." 
 
 I had ceased crying, and looked straight in my 
 mother's face : she was very white, and trembled 
 excessively; she had dropped my hands, and 
 stood a few paces off gazing at me almost 
 shudderingly. When she spoke again, which 
 was not for several minutes, her voice was so 
 changed, so faint and low, that it sank into my 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 50 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 heart with strange power; it echoes there yet 
 sometimes, with a thrill of remorse for my 
 ungrateful cruelty to that good mother. 
 
 '' Kathie, it shall be changed ; you shall not 
 have to complain again," she said. "I thought 
 I had done, and was doing, my mother -duties well : 
 God knows my children's welfare is my only care. 
 I must have gone wrong, strangely wrong, some- 
 where." 
 
 Her voice wavered and broke. I could not 
 bear this : to hear my gentle long-suffering 
 mother accuse herself to me — a sullen-tempered, 
 wayward, petulant child ! My arms were round 
 her neck, and I had kissed her twice or thrice 
 ere either spoke again. I felt her tears wet 
 on my cheek, and then all the enormity of 
 my passionate accusations smote me. I was 
 more eager to retract than I had been to de- 
 nounce. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! " I sobbed in a broken whisper, 
 "forget what I have said: I do not mean it. 
 I would rather live on bread and water, and work 
 day and night, than go away. Only love me,
 
 MORNING MISTS. 51 
 
 motlier : talk to me sometimes. Tell me of your 
 own cares and trials." 
 
 " You fancy, Kathie, that to liear of my short- 
 comings and my young working days wiU bring 
 you easier through your own; you are right: 
 I never thought of that," interrupted my mother, 
 holding me closely to her heart, and putting 
 back the hair from my burning forehead that 
 she might press her lips there. "I have been 
 wrong — do not contradict, child, for I say I have. 
 Many an hour's sewing might I have lightened 
 with old-world stories, when I have suffered you 
 to sit mute and sickening over the monotony of 
 your life." 
 
 Her tender caresses exorcised the evil spirit; 
 and as she spoke softly and lovingly, her words 
 were like balm to my wounded heart. 
 
 "We will try to mend, Kathie, both of us: 
 your mother must not lose her right hand yet. 
 We should miss you sorely, my child, if you 
 were gone away from us — Stephen as much as 
 any. Don't be jealous of the poor boy ; I love 
 you all alike, but he is more dependent than 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNlVERSI'nr OF ILUNOIS
 
 52 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 you, and more exacting. I know his faults : they 
 will lessen as he grows older ; they are the faults 
 of his sex." 
 
 I looked surprised, and my mother smiled. 
 " We will not enter on a discussion of masculine 
 and feminine foibles now, Kathie," added she: 
 " we shall both be better in bed. So good-night, 
 my dear little Christmas gift, my pale winter 
 blossom, good-night ! " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I knew that I was fully, freely forgiven ; that 
 when my mother went away into her own room 
 she carried with her a tenderer sympathy for the 
 child whose love had betrayed itself in over- 
 jealous passion: but I could not pardon myself. 
 No coldness, no impatience, had she ever shown 
 me that I should accuse her of partiality: and 
 as for work — had it not been her portion ? was 
 it not the portion of millions ? 
 
 Weak that I was to fret and chafe under my
 
 MORNING MISTS. 53 
 
 burden ! My reflections were bitter but salutary. 
 They showed me how easily I was discouraged, 
 and how unworthy a successor I should be to 
 that good mother whose fine, mdependent 
 character I longed to emulate. My ambition 
 of fifteen was to be self-sustained as she was ; 
 as free from all trammels of fashion and custom ; 
 yet had I been avowing myself sick already of 
 the home-training under her eye and example, 
 and wearying for a larger sphere wherein to 
 exercise those faculties which yet could not stand 
 alone amidst their narrow duties. 
 
 This outbreak of mine, so sincerely repented 
 since, was not without its good results. It drew 
 my mother and me closer together, and broke down 
 the screen that had hitherto interposed between our 
 hearts. Many a tale did I listen to which has 
 come back to me in later years with a sanctifying 
 strength ; many a quaint shred of actual 
 experience did I .treasure up and bring forth 
 in time of need. Insensibly, too, I exchanged 
 the futile, dreamy, inner life I had been leading 
 for one of higher feeling. I learnt that it is
 
 54 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 worthier and greater to do the duty God has 
 set before us than to aspire after that for which 
 he has provided other and stronger hands. My 
 mother's teaching by parables went home to my 
 heart when drier lessons would have utterly 
 failed ; but even they could not always keep it 
 from wandering after vague phantoms of happiness 
 which should crown the unsatisfying present 
 time ; and though I began to take some pleasure 
 in my round of duties, yet at intervals there 
 would arise moments of rebellious disgust, during 
 which I flew with added zest to the old books, 
 and neglected everything else. Soon, however, 
 followed self-condemnation and confession to my 
 mother, whose tenderness and judgment I now 
 trusted with implicit faith. 
 
 "Be assured, Kathie," she would say, "that 
 the upbringing God is giving you is the one of 
 all others to fit you for your, future life. Self- 
 denial, patience, and industry never come amiss : 
 you may have more need of them some day than 
 you have now. Take the present as Gcd sends 
 it, in all trust and humility,"
 
 THE CLOUDS BREAK. 55 
 
 And I endeavoured to do so: but an inward 
 glow had much to do with my patience. I had 
 a fanciful familiar who made golden tracery over 
 the dull prosaic aspect of my daily life; who 
 exalted my quiet mother into a heroine of social 
 virtue, and my pretty sisters into fairy creatures. 
 It was at this time, on Sunday afternoons, when 
 everybody was gone to church and I kept house, 
 that I began to string rhymes together and to 
 weave foolish stories out of my wayward imagi- 
 nation. I enjoyed those brief Sabbath hours as 
 our first parents might have enjoyed a return to 
 Paradise after their expulsion. 
 
 IX. 
 
 About seven weeks after the circumstances just 
 detailed, the clouds began to break, and the 
 morning mists cleared off. There came for me 
 a totally unexpected invitation to spend a month 
 at my grandmother Brande's house at Crofton. 
 In spite of effort and will, my health, never
 
 56 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 strong, had during some time past been gradually 
 sinking, until nothing was left of me but a pale, 
 grey shadow with large brown eyes. I knew my 
 mother watched me secretly : she thought — and I 
 thought — that my thread of life was nearly spun 
 from the reel ; but the chilly, matter-of-fact 
 epistle of our kinswoman, indited in a strong, 
 manly hand, revealed a glimpse of a renewed, 
 invigorated life. 
 
 " Only give me change — give me freedom — 
 and I shall live," I said : " even pain — even 
 struggle — anything but this slow stagnation." 
 
 It was settled, therefore, that I should go to 
 Crofton. It was a chance for me, and I grasped at 
 it very eagerly. Life was new to me : I did not 
 wish to die yet ; not till some glory had come over 
 its blank places. My mother — I know not what was 
 in her mind, what hopes or what fears — ^hurried 
 forward the preparations for my departure, and 
 I helped her with a will that must have seemed 
 selfish; but the instinct of self-preservation was 
 alive within me, and I did not pause to think of 
 her. Yet when it came to the actual parting, I
 
 THE CLOUDS BREAK. 57 
 
 found it no light tHng to leave home and every 
 one who loved me, to go amongst strangers. 
 
 It was a journey of forty miles to Crofton, and 
 this I undertook alone, one bright May morning, 
 on the outside of the coach which passed through 
 Eversley. There was a swelling in my throat for 
 some time after we had got beyond Westgate ; 
 but soon the changing scene, the exhilarating 
 rapidity of motion, and, above all, the full freight 
 of hope I carried in my heart, drove away sorrow, 
 and I began to look around. 
 
 It was not a beautiful country through which 
 we travelled ; but with its spring face on, any 
 place is pleasant The sun came out in fitfiil 
 gleams, touching the emerald larches, which stood 
 out distinctly against backgrounds of dark wood, 
 and making broad shields of light on the stretches 
 of meadow land, while the far-away wolds lay 
 dusk in shadow. As I watched and pondered, all 
 in my nature that was akin to beauty or poetry 
 sprang up into vigorous life. From the brow of a 
 steep hill, where the coach stayed to leave a 
 passenger, I caught the last view of the three 
 
 D 5
 
 58 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 towers of Eversley Minster, nearly thirty miles 
 away : grey masses against a paler grey. 
 
 As, in the afternoon, we drew near to the end 
 of the journey, both the scene and the weather 
 changed. The road wound over a vast moor, 
 with here and there a few stunted trees breaking 
 its level, and patches of golden gorse coming into 
 bloom. From the elevation of this moor the sea 
 was visible ; and with its expanse, lost in hazy cloud 
 in the distance, entered into my mind a vague 
 idea of Eternity — the Unseen — the Illimitable. 
 
 The afternoon was chill and damp ; the water 
 lay leaden-hued and sullen like a nether sky, 
 while its plaintive, continuous moan came drifting 
 on the slow air over the black moorland. My 
 spirits went down, down to zero. 
 
 At last, by a steep and stony roadway, we 
 entered the long, straggling street of a paltry 
 market-town. The coach stopped at the door of 
 an inn which looked as if it were falling into 
 disrepute, so forlorn was the aspect of its hostess, 
 so dejected that of the lame ostler with a straw 
 in his mouth.
 
 THE CLOUDS BREAK. 59 
 
 Here I left the coach, and was received 
 by a gaunt woman in black, who had been 
 waiting for me. She came forward ejacu- 
 lating " Humph ! " and eyed me with anything 
 but a reassuring expression of countenance. I 
 returned her gaze, and should probably have said 
 '^ Humph ! " too, but I was very small, very cold, 
 and very hungry, quite unequal to a single- 
 handed contest with that huge icicle in the 
 mourning bonnet My little trunk having been 
 made over to the care of a man with a carrier's 
 cart, my grandmother's woman seized my hand, 
 and we set off to walk to Crofton, at a pace which 
 soon left me no thought except for my extreme 
 weariness. She strode along without rest or 
 pause, admonishing me to put my best foot fore- 
 most, and never Kghtening the way with any 
 word of cheer or welcome. She kept her grim 
 face set like one of the stone visages on the 
 Minster walls, that peered into my bedroom at 
 home : ever since, she has been associated in my 
 mind with those weatherbeaten goblins. 
 
 It was full two miles from the place where the
 
 60 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 coach stopped to Crofton, but my grandmother's 
 house stood first as we approached the village, 
 enclosed in a large garden, green and shady. 
 The lilacs and laburnums were out, and the 
 budding sweetbriars filled the air with spicy 
 fragrance. 
 
 I had just an impression of retirement and 
 luxuriant vegetation on my mind, when my guide 
 led me through an open door, across a hall 
 chequered in diamonds of black and white stone, 
 and into a bright little drawing-room, where 
 I found myself in the presence of my grand- 
 mother. She was reading when we entered, 
 but hastily pushed away her book, and stretched 
 forth a hand, tremulous in spite of herself; I 
 put mine into it, and when she had kissed me 
 coldly on the cheek, she put me gently away, 
 and turned to the fire without speaking. The 
 woman in black coughed, and my grandmother 
 looked up. 
 
 " It is a pity, Sharpe ; he might have done so 
 much better," said she, without any apparent 
 reference to the subject under consideration,
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER BRANDE. 61 
 
 namely myself. Sharpe assented gruffly, and 
 glared down upon me from her majestic altitude 
 like the ogres in old story-books. I began to 
 feel excessively uncomfortable. My grandmother 
 drew me towards the fire, felt my hands, 
 which were as cold as stones, and bade me warm 
 myself. 
 
 " She is a poor bit of a thing ; it is scarcely 
 possible she can be fifteen years old," she re- 
 marked in a soliloquizing tone, regarding me 
 meantime as if I were a piece of inanimate matter. 
 " If she is like her mother, it is more than ever 
 a marvel to me what my son could see in her 
 to admire." 
 
 " Men are so odd," suggested Sharpe, with 
 a view to throwing light on the question. It 
 flashed into my youthful mind to wonder whether 
 anybody had been found odd enough to marry 
 her. Nobody had. 
 
 Whilst undergoing my grandmother's scrutiny, 
 I scanned her face. She appeared to be about 
 sixty-five years old, was tall and stately in figure, 
 but of a strong, harsh, unprepossessing counte-
 
 62 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 nance ; her brows were heavy and black ; her 
 features large and swollen with pride. I imagine 
 that our critical examinations were mutually 
 unpleasing, for I was soon dismissed. 
 
 The woman in black, who all this time had 
 stood chafing her hands by the door, was ordered 
 to take me up-stairs and make me ready for 
 tea. I found it ill submitting to her needless 
 and obtrusive services, and was rather chafed 
 in temper when reconducted to the parlour door. 
 She bade me "get in," and advised me to be 
 on my best behaviour, as my grandmother was 
 very particular. Thus encouraged, I stumbled 
 awkwardly and shyly into the room, and was 
 not surprised at being told I had no maimers. 
 
 My grandmother was not alone when I entered: 
 ft little elderly lady, in a bonnet and cloak, 
 occupied the sofa. The moment she saw me, 
 she half rose, pressed her hands together, and 
 gasped spasmodically. 
 
 "There, Bootle, that will do; we appreciate 
 your sentiments to the very core of our hearts," 
 said my kinswoman, frowning upon her from those
 
 MISS BOOTLE. 63 
 
 angerful eyes of hers. "Don't make a scene, 
 pray; if you are going to be lachrymose, take 
 the child away, and cry over her up-stairs: I 
 know you are longing to do it." 
 
 And to my intense surprise, I was hustled out of 
 the room, and conveyed by the little old lady to 
 the top of the house. She ushered me into a large 
 room, where a fire was burning, or rather smoulder- 
 ing, in the grate, and bidding me take one chair, 
 deposited herself on another ; then turning up her 
 dress, to save it from being scorched, she planted 
 her feet on the fender. I wondered who she 
 could be, that took possession of me as a piece 
 of rightful property : not my aunt Aurelia, surely 
 — she looked as old as my grandmother. 
 
 "They are very cold, my dear," said she, 
 nodding at her feet, "very cold: pinched." I 
 gave the fire a poke, and made a blaze, for which 
 she checked me : " Don't, child ! it spoils the com- 
 plexion ! Hand me that screen, please!" I obeyed. 
 "Now don't be impatient! you will know all in 
 good time. I was sure it was to be so, and it 
 makes me happy — very happy. When Mrs.
 
 64 • KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 Brande has made up her mind to say a thing, 
 she says it; or to do a thing, she does it; or 
 to go anywhere, she goes, to her point at once : 
 as the crow flies ; straight across the country." 
 
 The old lady spoke in short jerking sentences, 
 each emphasized by a nod of her head. I enter- 
 tained doubts of her sanity, she was so very 
 queer looking — not to say unpleasant or ugly. 
 She wore a front of pale drab curls, the centre 
 one drooping over her forehead, and many others 
 piled aloft; her features were very small and 
 withered, fall of lines and fine wrinkles ; her eyes 
 light blue; her teeth prominent, and her com- 
 plexion dull as parchment, and as colourless. 
 Her dress was remarkable for the brilliance 
 of its ill-assorted colours, and its general fluttering 
 effect; which gave me to understand that Miss 
 Bootle had not yet abandoned her pretensions 
 to juvenility and fascination. 
 
 " Oh, Charlie !" exclaimed she suddenly ; " wee, 
 pet Charlie!" and she began tearing off" her 
 bonnet and cloak in frantic haste, bewildering 
 me more and more every minute. She cast a
 
 CHARLIE. 65 
 
 cap highly decorated with pink ribbons on her 
 head, twisted a lace pelerine over her shoulders, 
 and then bade me come away, and be mtroduced 
 to her sanctum. We descended to the first floor 
 and went down a long passage. At the outside 
 of a door at the end of it she paused, and said 
 mysteriously, " In this room your father learnt 
 his lessons when he was a little boy. I taught 
 him, and your Aunt Aurelia too. I am your 
 grandmother's companion now." 
 
 She admitted me into a dull unfurnished 
 apartment which was henceforth a haunted 
 chamber to me. As she entered, a httle white 
 kitten sprang from the couch, and ran to meet 
 her with a cry of pleasure peculiar to pet kittens : 
 she stooped down, and it crept into her arms, 
 patted her face with its gloves on, and showed 
 satisfaction in every way of which it was 
 capable. 
 
 " You see, my dear, something loves me : nice, 
 wee Charlie does, bless him ! " cried she, fondling 
 the pretty soft thing in the most affectionate way. 
 "He is my own: he knows my step and my
 
 66 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 voice, and does not care that I am ugly. When 
 I have been chilled down -stairs — shivering — 
 I come up here and Charlie quite warms 
 me: he is a comfort to me, a very great 
 comfort." 
 
 She put him on the couch and laid her face 
 on the cushion: the kitten crept up and made 
 a dash at her cap, which he clawed off, and then 
 he attacked her curls, which were presently reduced 
 to the state and roughness of tow. All the time 
 she continued to address him by the most 
 caressing terms : he was her treasure, her 
 lammie, her darling, her sweet sweeting; yet, 
 ludicrous as these endearments were as applied 
 to that snowball of a kitten, there was something 
 inexpressibly pathetic about them too, which 
 raised the poor companion many degrees in my 
 estimation. Charlie begged play for a long 
 while; he darted round the room, scuttled up 
 the window curtains, hid behind chairs and in 
 empty bookshelves, while through all his 
 manoeuvres his mistress followed him with an 
 agility quite laughable and surprising. This
 
 CHARLIE. 67 
 
 exercise over, she rang the bell, and a servant 
 entered with a cup. 
 
 " Charlie's milk, Jane," said Miss Bootle. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I 've brought it ; " and the cup 
 being placed on the window seat, Charlie jumped 
 up, plunged his little mouth into it, and was 
 oblivious of both of us for five minutes. 
 
 Meanwhile, Miss Bootle produced a round 
 basket lined with blue wadded silk, and having 
 two long strings attached to the handle. I 
 wondered what she was going to do with it : when 
 Charlie had finished his supper I saw. Being 
 ftdly replenished he was no longer frisky, and 
 submitted to be put into the basket, where he 
 coiled himself round, blinking drowsily, and 
 licking his lips. His mistress then opened the 
 window, and proceeded to lower him into the 
 garden very gently, but swiftly ; when the 
 strings were all run out she gave them a little 
 jerk and fastened them by a loop to the button 
 of the blind. 
 
 "There, my dear," said she; "perhaps you 
 never saw that done before. I took the idea
 
 68 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 from the Bible— St. Paul let down by the wall 
 in a basket. It answers remarkably well. While 
 we are at tea, Charlie takes his little constitutional, 
 trots about the shrubbery, and prances up his 
 favourite holly bush. When I come up again 
 I shall tug at the strings: I can tell by the 
 weight whether he is in the basket: if not, I 
 call until he comes and gets in; then I draw 
 him up. Don't you think it immensely clever 
 of him, my dear ? " 
 
 I replied that I thought it perfectly delightful ; 
 whereupon she kissed me impetuously, and called 
 me a treasure. At this moment Sharpe appeared 
 and proclaimed severely that tea had been waiting 
 three minutes and a half. Miss Bootle hastily 
 settled her cap. " Shall I do — am I all straight?" 
 she asked, and without giving me time to say 
 " No," seized my hand and pranced down-stairs 
 as if she had imbibed some of Charlie's vivacity. 
 
 Mrs. Brande was seated at the table when we 
 appeared, with a white-headed man-servant in 
 attendance. I took a seat beside her, and the 
 companion placed herself opposite, her face
 
 CHARLIE. 69 
 
 alight with smiles, its wrinkles even half smoothed 
 out 
 
 My grandmother happening to look towards 
 her, attacked her with asperity. " Bootle, you 
 are intoxicated! why do you come to tea with 
 your hair all touzled in that way?" she asked 
 in her deep voice ; " what a silly thing you are 
 with that ridiculous kitten. I shall order Sharpe 
 to drown it ; she will like the office." 
 
 '^ Oh, don't, please ! " cried I dismayed, whilst 
 a tear trickled down the poor old companion's 
 nose ; " it is the nicest little cat I ever saw." 
 
 The man-servant who was filling the tea-pot 
 from the urn paused and coughed, and Miss 
 Bootle looked aghast, whilst I, in blissful ignorance 
 of the storm I might arouse, reiterated my 
 petition for Charlie. 
 
 " Tush, child, you take me in earnest ! " said 
 my grandmother placably; " Bootle may wear 
 her kitten for a bow in her bonnet if she 
 likes." 
 
 The tear vanished, and we all breathed freely 
 once more.
 
 70 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 When the companion had recovered from the 
 temporary shock to her feelings, she proceeded 
 to narrate some of the gossip which she had 
 collected during her afternoon's walk : especially 
 she dilated on the misfortune which had befallen 
 a neighbouring family, in the breaking off of the 
 eagerly desired marriage of one of its many 
 daughters. 
 
 My grandmother cut her expressions of regret 
 short. *' Stuff, Bootle, don't cant to me ! I know 
 the world," was her testy remark. "People 
 never are sorry for the misfortunes of their 
 friends ; it is a little pleasant excitement to talk 
 about them." 
 
 The companion ventured on a mild dissent, but 
 was instantly frowned into silence. 
 
 " Pshaw ! Mrs. Froude may be sitting in sack- 
 cloth and ashes, and Sybil may be tearing her 
 red hair at this minute, for anything you care : 
 at all events their distresses have not taken away 
 your appetite. How many times have you helped 
 yourself to marmalade?" 
 
 The poor old lady had a liking for this
 
 CHARLIE. 71 
 
 condiment, and was silent for at least three minutes 
 after the rebuff; but she had a happy elasticity 
 of temper, and soon expanded again. She looked 
 at me tenderly, heaved a sort of gasping sigh, 
 and said in an undertone, " This is truly 
 deHghtftJ : I feel perfectly comfortable ; if I may 
 be pardoned the expression, I may say that I 
 feel like a balloon, or a kite — soaring ! " 
 
 ^' DonH be an idiot, Bootle," snapped my 
 kinswoman ; " I wish you would leave that 
 nonsense up-stairs with your cat and your curl- 
 papers." 
 
 This quite extinguished the little old lady ; she 
 put on a deeply aggrieved expression of coun- 
 tenance, and spoke no more. This gave her 
 mistress the opportunity of asking if she were 
 feeling like a balloon in a state of collapse, or a 
 kite without a tail ; but no reply was elicited, 
 unless a tear which trickled down her nice, 
 kind, old face might be called one. 
 
 I had already set down my grandmother as 
 a bitter, cynical, ill-tempered, unloveable woman ; 
 and ranged myself as friend and supporter of the
 
 72 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 companion. When tea was over, the former fell 
 asleep in her chair ; Miss Bootle ascertained the 
 fact by coughing gently, and as this did not 
 elicit any rebuke we were sure she was safe, 
 and escaped up-stairs to the school-room. 
 
 "Now for bonnie Prince Charlie ! " cried the 
 old lady, gaily skipping to the window. She 
 pulled at the strings : " Yes, he is in. Now, don't 
 speak, child! I am nervous about drawing him 
 up; my heart goes pit-a-pat: I don't know 
 what I should do if I upset him." 
 
 Very slowly and carefully she drew in the 
 strings, and soon the basket came in sight with 
 the kitten just waking out of a nap and sticking 
 up his back ; she lifted him out carefully, kissed 
 him, and covered him up in a soft woollen shawl 
 kept for the purpose. 
 
 " Now, my dear, I am going to put him to sleep 
 for the night, so don't make any noise ! " 
 
 She began to walk about the room, hushing 
 him in her arms as if he had been an infant ; 
 singing nursery rhymes in a thin cracked voice, 
 and purring over him like an old mother-cat.
 
 CHARLIE. 73 
 
 Detecting a smile on my face she stopped and 
 said quietly ; " My dear, don't laugh at me. If 
 you live you may become as lonely and as 
 unlovely as I am. People say that every soul 
 has its fellow, but mine has not found its other 
 half yet, so I suspect I must have been bom 
 odd. One must love something, so I am content 
 to love Charlie, who does not despise me because 
 I am old, plain, poor, and dependent." 
 
 I felt quite ashamed of myself for seeing 
 any thing absurd in her proceedings, as she 
 resumed her march and her song. Presently 
 she said in a whisper Charlie was going over 
 nicely ; then that she feared he showed symptoms 
 of wakefulness; and finally that he was fast 
 asleep: she then laid him gently down on the 
 sofa-cushion, kissed, blessed, and covered him up. 
 " There he will sleep till morning, my dear, and 
 when I look in I shall find him sitting at the 
 comer of the table, watching the door. He will 
 have milk ; and if it is fine, he will be let down 
 into the garden in his basket; if not, I shall 
 smuggle him into the drawing-room in my apron, 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 and keep him there while I read aloud to your 
 grandmamma. Now, come away to my bed-room : 
 I have something else to show you." 
 
 I followed, nothing loth, for I greatly pre- 
 ferred the poor companion's society to that of 
 my grim kinswoman. We returned to the attic 
 chamber, and unlocking the top drawer of an old 
 bureau. Miss Bootle took thence a worn port- 
 folio. 
 
 ^^ My dear, do you recognise that portrait?" 
 she asked mysteriously, offering me a small water- 
 colour drawing of a boy in dress between a 
 Highlander and a brigand. I replied that I 
 did not. " You astonish me ! then he must have 
 been changed. It is your father, my dear. I 
 drew it myself." 
 
 " Will you tell me something about him. Miss 
 Bootle?" 
 
 " He was a good boy, my dear, but not much 
 like others. I should say he would have been 
 an excellent and valuable character but for a 
 peculiarity he had. I should call him a boy 
 of one idea : some chimera would take possession
 
 MY FATHER. 75 
 
 of him, and to it he sacrificed everything for 
 the time being. I always wondered whether 
 this habit grew upon him or wore off.'* 
 
 " I think it grew upon him." 
 
 " Indeed ! I feared so. It was the source of 
 much vexation to his mother. With his fine 
 talents he might have risen high in his profession : 
 but they were so ill-regulated." 
 
 " I loved my father very dearly : he was always 
 kind to us." 
 
 " He could not be actively unkind to anything ; 
 but neglect is sometimes as bad in its effects. My 
 dear, I would not hurt your feelings on any 
 account, but truth is truth, and fact is fact 
 There might have been a reconciliation with 
 his mother if he had been less absorbed. Though 
 she might be in the wrong, as a son, it was 
 his place to make the first step towards it." 
 
 " Why did they quarrel ? " 
 
 " There was no quarrel, so to speak, but a 
 gradual estrangement. Then his marriage was 
 a deep offence ; she never forgave it." 
 
 " My mother is good and clever. She kept
 
 76 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 things together: I do not know what would 
 have become of us but for her," I said hastily, 
 for I was really hurt at the implied reproach. 
 
 ^' I am sure she is good. I always said to 
 Mrs. Brande that she was exactly the wife for 
 her son : so homely, careful, and full of thought 
 for others. But she was mortified that he did 
 not consult her. Would you like to have that 
 portrait, my dear." 
 
 I thanked her, but declined it, for though it 
 might remind her of a beloved pupil, as I 
 remembered my father only a grey-haired man, 
 it would be valueless to me. She restored it, 
 therefore, to the portfolio and the bureau. 
 
 At eight o'clock, to my great surprise, Sharpe 
 arrived, and marched me off to bed. I came 
 to open strife with her almost immediately, for 
 she would treat me as if I had not the proper 
 use of my limbs or reasoning faculties. The 
 result of my demonstration was that her services 
 were withdrawn, and I was left in the free exercise 
 of my independence. Thus ended my first night 
 away from home.
 
 A DULL DAY. 
 
 X. 
 
 The next morning I was up and out by dawn, 
 though, for the present, my researches were 
 confined to the garden and shrubberies. The 
 latter were prettily embellished with wild flowers, 
 which grew under the trees and in sheltered spots 
 luxuriantly. I gathered a few, and having made 
 them into a posy, laid them by my grandmother's 
 plate on the breakfast table. When she came in 
 she took them in her hand, and remarked " So 
 your mother's daughter has taste ; " but she threw 
 them aside, and they were swept away by Sharpe 
 with the breakfast crumbs. The meal over, all 
 the establishment came in to prayers, which 
 were read by Miss Bootle. It was only a short 
 ceremony, but too long for Charlie : he did not 
 relish his constrained position in his mistress's 
 apron, and having made his escape, he ran up 
 her back, where, just below the waist, he found 
 what seemed an eligible place for taking repose;
 
 78 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 perhaps he did not poise himself carefully, or 
 else the cushion was less substantial than it looked, 
 for he fell with an obtrusive rustle to the carpet, 
 and was seized by the nape of his neck by 
 Sharpe, who shook him viciously, and without 
 intermission, till she rose from her knees, when she 
 looked perfectly unconscious, and austerely devout. 
 The servants being all gone out of the room, 
 Miss Bootle brought forth a large volume of very 
 dry theological exterior, and prepared to read 
 aloud; but her patroness bade her be quiet and 
 hold her tongue, as she had something to talk 
 about to me. She then proceeded to ask mul- 
 titudinous questions about those at home, our 
 way of life, and our prospects, especially Stephen's. 
 She received my details with short grunts of 
 approbation, and once remarked that my mother 
 had more worldly wisdom than she had given her 
 credit for. It happened frequently that in 
 speaking of what was past, my father's name 
 recurred, and where any allusion suggested the 
 poverty of our home, she winced visibly; and 
 I detected a dim remorse in her stony eyes as
 
 A DULL DAY. 79 
 
 I spoke of the necessities his death entailed 
 upon us. She continued to hover about the 
 subject for a long time after I ceased to speak, 
 asking desultory questions, and returning again 
 and again to the theme of her son's death and 
 its consequences. 
 
 Sharpe's entry with a pile of coarse sewing 
 broke in upon the subject, and it was not then 
 resumed. I had a task portioned out to me, 
 and Miss Bootle was called upon to read aloud. 
 
 Thrice during the morning was sentence of 
 death passed upon Charlie : once for his behaviour 
 at prayers, a second time for making free with 
 a ball of worsted on the carpet, and a thuxl for 
 springing at the pendant curl of Miss Bootle's 
 front while she was reading. The bell even 
 was ordered to be rung for Sharpe to execute 
 the sentence, but as I instantly showed symptoms 
 of tears, he was reprieved, and condemned to 
 perpetual banishment from the drawing-room. 
 I had quite adopted the little animal into my 
 affections, for he seemed the only free and happy 
 thing about the house.
 
 80 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 The hours were very long, for Miss Bootle's 
 book was dry and her voice monotonous: so 
 teasingly monotonous that I could not abstract 
 my thoughts from it, though I was wearying all 
 the while to have my feet on the cool pleasant 
 grass, and to hear, nearer at hand, the voice of 
 that mighty sea whose plaintive moan I had 
 heard on the moorland, and in the dead of the 
 night. The whole of that day, however, I was 
 kept in-doors. Miss Bootle and I revolved 
 between the drawing-room, the school-room, and 
 the attic, amusing ourselves as we could, but 
 chiefly with Charlie. I had asked for a book, 
 but being accommodated with " The History 
 of the War," I had soon relinquished it as 
 unattractive reading. The latter part of the 
 afternoon we spent in turning over the contents 
 of the portfolio, where I saw portraits of Miss 
 Bootle's friends, relatives, and pupils, who all 
 bore a strong family resemblance to each other ; 
 they all possessed blue eyes, more or less globular, 
 Greek outlines of feature, and a uniform insipidity, 
 or rather lack of expression.
 
 81 
 
 When we at last descended to the drawing- 
 room, towards tea-time, my grandmotlier was 
 not alone ; she had a visitor, who, as I gathered 
 from subsequent conversation, was the curate of 
 Crofton, Mr. Mayne. He made way for us to 
 approach the fire, but I was bade impatiently to 
 take my place at the table, and be quiet I 
 instantly obeyed, though not much daunted by 
 mere ill-temper. Nature did not make me 
 originally of a feeble or cowardly soul, though 
 time and other things have much subdued it since 
 then. 
 
 As I had nothing to do but to eat my bread 
 and butter, I made private reflections, observa- 
 tions, and speculations on what I saw and heard. 
 The Curate was a young man, recently ordained, 
 who, as I judged from his talk, held very lofty 
 views of the duties and responsibilities of his 
 office: something in his words warmed and 
 stirred my heart, as did the noble thoughts and 
 aspirations that I met in the old plays. Still I 
 saw that beneath what was good, and spiritual, 
 and self-denying in him, there lurked vast 
 
 E 5
 
 82 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 ambition, and much restless, vivid, ever - 
 increasing dissatisfaction with his narrow^ position. 
 I liked his countenance, though its features were 
 marked and irregular; it was the stamp of 
 strength and purpose in it that pleased me, and 
 perhaps also some chord unsounded till then in 
 my mind, sympathized with his ardent, rebellious, 
 uncurbed temperament. I marvelled what had 
 made him a priest of peaceful times; for he 
 seemed, at heart, as eager for strife and conquest 
 as ever was youthful soldier who has scented 
 glory on his first battle-field. 
 
 To all he said my grandmother listened with 
 an air of polite endurance — she thought him 
 visionary and unpractical ; the poor companion, 
 to whom he was very courteous, was tearfully 
 and gustily responsive. She assured him, from 
 time to time, that she understood him, and agreed 
 with him. There was an every-day side to his 
 character, of less interest than his better self. 
 In speaking of individuals and circumstances, he 
 could be sarcastic and merciless: he had an 
 instinctive repulsion for all false-seemings, mean-
 
 ON THE SEA-SHORE. 83 
 
 nesses, and bland, social hypocrisies ; lie testified 
 no pity for weakness, no sympathy for repentant 
 error. My grandmother, with all her harshness, 
 was scarcely less genial than he when he got 
 amongst the follies and foibles of people whom 
 they knew. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The following morning, immediately after 
 prayers, when I saw the work-basket and big 
 volume about to come into action again, I took 
 my courage in my two hands, and preferred a 
 request for permission to go out. Both grand- 
 mamma and Miss Bootle had objections to raise, 
 but I contrived to overrule them all, and to extort 
 a reluctant leave of absence until noon. 
 
 In his rare moments of social expansion, 
 wonderful tales of his birthplace had I heard 
 my father teU. There the trees in the woods 
 were taller and of fuller foliage than elsewhere ; 
 the birds that built in them were the finest of
 
 84 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 choristers ; the garden flowers boasted richer 
 odours and more glowing tints ; there the sea 
 raved more boisterously in winter weather, and 
 in summer time rolled more wooingly up the 
 sands, than on other coasts. I made no allowance 
 for the bright medium of boyish recollection 
 through which he viewed it ; and, finding the 
 sparkle of the May sun over all, I was not 
 disappointed very much. 
 
 But there were no cliffs, no beetling rocks 
 hanging darkly over the inflowing tide, each with 
 its awful legend of shipwreck, its echoes of wild 
 cries of drowning men coming out of low-browed 
 caverns with freezing whisper. As the sea was 
 there, it touched me with no awe. Far out, it 
 lay still as a lake ; and nearer, where the waters 
 came tumbling over a reef of black rocks, it 
 dashed its spray playfully into the air, and then 
 came rolling, spreading, gliding up to my very 
 feet. There was a single ship in sight ; its sails, 
 which caught the sunshine, looked like the out- 
 spread wings of some great sea-bird ; and a few 
 tiny fishing-boats, rocked by the slow motion of
 
 ON THE SEA-SHOEE. 85 
 
 the waves, lay mere specks on the shadowed 
 water. I watched them for a little while, and 
 saw how the drifting clouds moved along the face 
 of the deep, chasing the sunshine before them, and 
 then parting and letting it break through ; never 
 repeating their forms or effects, but wandering in 
 infinite variety. Then, with the eternal sea-chant 
 in my ears, and the wind in my teeth, I moved 
 on under the range of low sand-hills that fringed 
 the beach. There were points in the distance — 
 rocks, I felt sure, from the clear outline they cut 
 against the sky — and in the hope of reaching 
 the nearer of the two, I pressed forward ; though 
 the breeze was both cold and strong: already 
 it seemed to quicken the vital current in my 
 veins, and to give me the spring of renewed life. 
 I walked forward for an hour, and then my feet 
 began to lag, for the points seemed still as far off 
 as ever ; but, not liking to yield my whim 
 altogether, I turned my back to the wind, to rest 
 and take breath before proceeding. 
 
 While I stood thus, watching the foam-flecked 
 tide creeping momently higher, a voice behind me
 
 86 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 said, " You are not like the crows : they always 
 face the wind." 
 
 I turned round startled : it was Mr. Mayne 
 who spoke. 
 
 " Where are you bound for — the Nab ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 I answered by pointing at the high rock. 
 
 " I thought so ; but you must turn back with 
 me, for it is seven miles away, and the tide would 
 carry you off long before you could reach it. 
 Come." 
 
 I was very reluctant to accept my disappoint- 
 ment, and asked several questions as to the 
 attainability of the Nab at any time. 
 
 " You cannot reach it within half a mile, even 
 during the neap tides," was his reply. " The 
 rock rises sheer from the water, perpendicular as 
 a wall. It is very dangerous to vessels off the 
 coast in foggy weather : many ships have been 
 lost there. It is the pleasantest to view from a 
 distance." 
 
 I turned back, and trudged homewards beside 
 him, finding him pleasant company ; for he was
 
 MY FIRST FRIEND. 87 
 
 not too proud to answer my trivial questions, 
 neither had he any coldness or fantastic reserve 
 of manner to repel a child. He told me of a 
 wreck which had happened during the preceding 
 winter, and had several stories which gave that 
 low, reef-bound coast a darker interest than its 
 humble features would have led me to suspect. 
 
 " And why do the rooks face the wind ? " I 
 asked, when the sea stories were done. 
 
 " Because they dislike to have their feathers 
 ruffled," was the reply. " They resemble most 
 of us in that respect. I think, though, our 
 difficulties would be less if we fronted them 
 steadily, instead of turning away or trying to 
 cower into the nearest shelter. Do you under- 
 stand me, little girl ? " 
 
 I glanced up into his thoughtful face, and 
 answered that I did, and then he talked on again, 
 sometimes plainly, sometimes mystically. I could 
 not follow him always ; and, seeing this, he 
 descended to my level. 
 
 When we came to the garden-gate, he shook 
 hands, saying, " We are friends, child, are we not?"
 
 88 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I responded gaily, " Yes ; " and very proud of 
 the title my little heart was. 
 
 As I entered the house, grandmamma met me, 
 and asked if it was not Mr. Mayne with whom 
 I had just parted. I replied that it was. 
 
 "And, pray, what did he find to talk about 
 to a child like you ? " she added. 
 
 " Oh ! many things : the sea, and birds, and 
 thoughts that people have on unseen matters. 
 I like him." 
 
 "That is very probable; strange, unpractical 
 man that he is," was my grandmother's comment. 
 "It very often happens that clever men like 
 him are attracted by what is homely in young 
 girls. Go and take off your bonnet." 
 
 XIL 
 
 If my grandmother's household had been regu- 
 lated by clock-work it could scarcely have moved 
 more mechanically than it did. Order and punc- 
 tuality were with her cardinal virtues, and as
 
 jrr YOCATioN. 89 
 
 I cautiously avoided transgressing either, I gained 
 gradually on her good opinion. At first it was 
 impossible to avoid seeing that she treated me 
 with a scarcely veiled contempt, but after the 
 lapse of a week she began to talk to me freely 
 both of my father, my aunt Aurelia, and herself. 
 She was a very proud old woman, and had met 
 with severe disappointments in life, which her 
 peculiar temper magnified into perpetual wrongs ; 
 there was an especial soreness on the subject 
 of her son's marriage. I may be forgiven for 
 feeling that my mother was far more of the true 
 gentlewoman than she who despised her ; little as 
 she had lived in society, and ftdl of small 
 cares and economies as her whole experience 
 had been. 
 
 One evening after tea, when Miss Bootle and 
 I were thinking of making our retreat to the 
 freer regions of the school-room, my grandmother 
 bade me remain, and hear something she had 
 to say to me. 
 
 " Kathie, I am going to send you to school, 
 that you may learn to be of some definite use
 
 90 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 to your family," she began. I coloured, and 
 my heart throbbed fast as she continued. "It 
 was with that view I sent for you to Crofton ; I 
 wanted to see what sort of stuff you were made of." 
 
 She paused, and looked me full in the face; 
 I did not seek to evade her steady passionless 
 scrutiny, but returned her gaze with one as 
 calm, while my pulse settled again to its even 
 beat, and I listened intently for what was to come 
 next. It was not particularly complimentary. 
 
 " I imagine you to possess the elements of a 
 plain, sensible, common-place character, and you 
 will do respectably when your spirit is tamed : at 
 present, you have too much to get forward comfort- 
 ably, for you would always be coming in contact 
 with other people's prejudices ; and as you have 
 your own way to make in the world, the sooner 
 your temper ranges with your fortunes the better." 
 
 I ventured to hint at the possibility of my 
 mother's objecting to my leaving home for long 
 together. 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! Don't be a goose ! " inter- 
 rupted my grandmother testily. " She will not
 
 MY VOCATION. 91 
 
 be so foolish as to stand in your light. It is 
 something for you to be able to earn your own 
 bread decently : you have nothing but work to 
 look forward to; and if you are weU taught 
 yourself you can educate your sisters — ^have a 
 school, in short, which may prove an independence 
 for all of you." 
 
 That was a promising truth, and immediately 
 a vision of what I might one day do for my 
 mother rose up before my mind's eye. " I should 
 like to be a teacher," was my prompt reply. 
 
 " Of course you will like it ; it is the one 
 course for which you are fitted," said my grand- 
 mother, in a cold disenchanting tone : " you 
 seem to have average ability, some perseverance, 
 and some energy. You will not be easily turned 
 back from your purposes, neither will you 
 weakly sicken over a monotonous duty. I do 
 not see that you are either sensitive or enthusiastic, 
 so there wiU be the less disappointment for you, 
 as you will not be apt to look beyond your 
 sphere, and so to neglect the mediocre happiness 
 that lies under your hand."
 
 92 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 As my grandmother with calm deliberation 
 enunciated these opinions, a conviction stole into 
 my mind that she was describing not what she 
 thought I was, but what she wished me to be. 
 Perhaps she read in my eyes a protest against 
 her judgment, for she added in a severe tone, 
 "Nothing is more frivolous or ridiculous than 
 an ambitious, restless woman. She is a sin 
 against the unity of nature, — an anomaly: Kathie, 
 you understand me. Remember, your work will 
 rise before you day by day, and that to be safe 
 and respectable you must adhere steadily to the 
 beaten tracks of life, like other people. Mr. 
 Mayne would be a far happier man if he were 
 not so visionary: while he is flying after Utopian 
 schemes, substantials escape him." 
 
 Miss Bootle ventured to coincide in this 
 sentiment, but was instantly snubbed into silence., 
 
 " If," my grandmother resumed, " if your 
 mother should object to my plan for sending you 
 to school, which I do not anticipate, I shall keep 
 you under my own eye. I will not have you 
 wasted. Bootle may teach you, if she has not
 
 MY VOCATION. 93 
 
 forgotten everything herself; and if she has, we 
 will send her off and find somebody else." 
 
 The persecuted companion looked meekly and 
 tearfully surprised. " Oh, madam ! pray consider 
 it again I " cried she plaintively; "thirty-nine years 
 have I lived in this house — " 
 
 " Well, what of that ? " snapped her patroness. 
 "You do not expect that I shall keep you, and 
 pay you money, when you are of no use? " The 
 poor old lady retired to the window to weep 
 unseen, and to bathe Charlie's coat with her tears : 
 I do not think even he could have comforted her 
 under the threatened dismissal. 
 
 " I shall write to your mother to-morrow, Kathie, 
 so if you have anything to say, you had better say 
 it at once," added my kinswoman, looking grimly 
 satisfied at having made somebody miserable. 
 
 " I should like to go to school, and in the 
 meantime to have a complete holiday," I boldly 
 responded. My grandmother slightly protruded 
 her nether lip, and asked what I meant. " To be 
 as idle as I please : to come and go when and 
 where I like."
 
 94 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 "A pretty demand truly! but perhaps not very 
 unreasonable, all things considered. Well, you 
 may have a rest, and Sharpe, who has nothing to 
 do, can walk out with you." 
 
 "Thank you, grandmamma, but I should not 
 quite like such a giant's castle handmaiden for my 
 companion." 
 
 A grim smile relaxed my relative's features. 
 " I wish Sharpe heard you," said she; "you must 
 have her or nobody: I cannot spare Bootle to go 
 gadding about the country, though I dare say she 
 would like it." I replied that solitary excursions 
 had a singular charm for me, and that I had no 
 fear of going out alone. 
 
 " Humph ! I hope your brain is not filled with 
 a farrago of nonsense ! There, get away and do 
 what you like for a fortnight; only let me hear no 
 more about it. Bootle, put that cat out of the 
 room and do something sensible." 
 
 Armed with my grandmother's permit to enjoy 
 myself, I really did it, and found being at Crofton 
 extremely pleasant. I liked the garden quietness, 
 where nobody came but myself, and the lonely
 
 DAT-DREAMS. 95 
 
 sea-shore and the bleak moorland. It was perhaps 
 not the most healthy way of life for a child ; but 
 ah! how dehghtftd I thought it. First, there was 
 that, to me, rarest of luxuries, complete idleness; 
 a peaceful folding of the hands — a dreamy vacancy. 
 My mind took a fair aspect in the spring sunshine: 
 coloured by external influences it grew brighter, 
 stronger, happier, and more hopefal. I saw before 
 me a future of some promise: the opportunity 
 of mental culture, and the consequent opening out 
 of new mines of enjoyment; girls like myself for 
 companions, friends possibly; the capability to 
 work worthily, and release from the blind, 
 monotonous toil of ignorance — I know not what. 
 Day-dreams all ! There was, too, a weft of even 
 brighter gold than these gleaming across the 
 deader tints of the mingled warp, but it was so 
 light, airspun, and intangible, that but for its 
 beauty, and its genial influence on my temper, it 
 would scarce deserve a name at all. Imagination 
 is amenable to no rules: grandmamma said mine 
 was ill-regulated, and perhaps she was right; 
 nevertheless I would not have exchanged it for
 
 96 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 mucli solid worldly pomps and vanities. It was 
 a fortune inexhaustible, and thus early, nothing 
 had warned me that it might be drawn on too 
 extravagantly. 
 
 I travel but slowly over the preface to my 
 life ; I love to remember this time when I hovered 
 only on the threshold of the storied years, waiting 
 and longing, until Fate should give me the true 
 "Open Sesame!" and cause the gates to fall back 
 before my eager steps. If Fancy hung those secret 
 chambers with too gorgeous tapestries, and 
 accumulated within them more treasures and 
 more joys than could be counted over in many 
 life-times, was she to blame? If she altogether 
 ignored the skeleton-closet, and filled the house 
 with airs of perpetual summer, was it unwise ? 
 
 No matter how these things appear to initiated 
 eyes; let those who have possession of dreamland 
 keep it: I verily believe it is worth the fee simple 
 of many landed estates. Leave to the vision of 
 youth the glory of its hopeful fancies. Practical 
 and disappointed people may hold to their 
 transient realities, but they may chance to find
 
 MT EDrCATION BEGINS. 97 
 
 that in the long run thej are of intrinsically less 
 value than the mind's wealth they endeavour 
 to despise as emptiness and vanity. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 When my mother's answer to grandmamma's 
 proposal for my education arrived, I was not 
 surprised to find that she objected to my being 
 sent to school, on the plea that my health was 
 precarious; but she assented to my remaining, 
 for the present, at Crofton, which was the 
 alternative stipulated for. I was rather glad at 
 first, but soon found that I had no great reason 
 to congratulate myself on the change, for self- 
 guidance, independence, and holidays were gone 
 for an intents and purposes. Grandmamma said 
 that I had no judgment, and must have no will 
 of my own. My education was in a manner to 
 begin, and poor Miss Bootle being, after trial, 
 found too easy and perfectly incompetent, her 
 place was supplied by another lady who had a 
 
 TOL. I. T
 
 \)o KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 theory, and believed in the strengthening power 
 of the abstruse sciences as applied to the feminine 
 idiosyncrasy. I was accordingly put through a 
 severe course of them, to the general confusion 
 of my mind, and the very, very frequent 
 reddening of my eyes. Grandmamma upheld the 
 theory with her authority, Mr. Mayne encouraged 
 me to be submissive and do my best, and dear 
 Miss Bootle, who stayed on sufferance, while 
 Miss Palmer lodged in the village ready to 
 supplant her at a moment's notice, consoled me, 
 and endeavoured to elucidate the mysteries of 
 hard words, which fenced my studies like a 
 chevaux de frise. 
 
 Ah ! what pains they took to make me good, 
 and elegant, and clever! I wonder they were 
 not discouraged — I often was. My head used to 
 throb, and my face to bum ; I had bad dreams 
 at night, and woke crying over a pitiable haze 
 of troubles: my brain was always at work, 
 waking and sleeping; for, being conscientious, I 
 strove with my difficulties, and did battle with 
 obstinate lessons, while I felt myself growing
 
 THE THEORY. 99 
 
 more stupid and incapable every day. My 
 greatest satisfaction was to sit on the school-room 
 floor with Charlie in my lap ; but even then my 
 hand always held before my dazed eyes the 
 "elements" of something. The sea had lost its 
 charm for me. Its mournful sounds confused me 
 till I was almost idiotic ; when I did go down to 
 the shore, it was only to sit and watch the foam 
 lapping the golden sand, and to cry quietly to 
 myself. My mind was then absolutely vacant, 
 unless the gnawing pain of inanition that possessed 
 it might be called a tenant. I never thought of 
 mentioning this in my letters home; I was told 
 that it was my duty to make an effort to learn : 
 and besides, I was not given to complaint; so 
 I carried a French Prayer-book to church, and 
 read the daily lessons in an Italian Bible, and 
 followed, as far as it lay in my power, the path 
 of wisdom by Miss Palmer laid down. 
 
 At length the theory produced its practical 
 results. The little strength and spirits that I had 
 at first imbibed, soon fell away again, and left me 
 more weak and ailing than before. Grandmamma
 
 100 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was angry, and tried to spur me on by sharp, 
 sarcastic speeches, and constantly repeating her 
 conviction that I was either hopelessly dull or 
 irreclaimably idle; Miss Palmer lamented that 
 notwithstanding all her exertions I was painfully 
 deficient in arithmetic and the more occult 
 branches of education; even Miss Bootle re- 
 proached me with tears and caresses. It 
 disappointed everybody that, with such ad- 
 vantages, I was not turning out a shining 
 character; but they did not give me up yet; 
 instead, they applied the screw tighter than ever. 
 I tried hard to satisfy them, and in the effort 
 broke down altogether. Six months after my 
 arrival at Crofton, I lay a prostrate, helpless 
 invalid ; condemned by the doctors, and watched 
 over with angry anxiety by grandmamma. 
 
 My mother came to me in haste, and great 
 indeed was the comfort of her presence. But 
 she stayed not long; I could not be removed, 
 neither could the little ones at home be left. 
 They promised to send for her again if — if there 
 was any change, and I saw her go with an apathy
 
 WEARY TIMES. 101 
 
 too blank even for tears. For a little while 
 grandmamma's friends brought their condolences 
 and their hopes; but as I lingered, lingered on 
 through tedious weeks and months, the excitement 
 passed, and mj shaded room saw visitors but 
 rarely. Even grandmamma tired of my pale, 
 mute presence, and resumed all her usual habits 
 of receiving company. I suffered at times 
 extremely; but Miss Bootle said I bore my cross 
 with patience : my prayer was that I might not 
 bear it long, for it was exceeding heavy. They 
 talked about me without reserve — especially the 
 companion and the nurse — as if they imagined 
 physical weakness and pain must dull my mind. 
 But it was not so : in that calm of a sick room 
 the clouds were falling away from it, and leaving 
 it clear. 
 
 One night — how well I remember it! — Miss 
 Bootle, Sharpe, and the nurse, talked softly 
 together ; I had been dreaming, and heard their 
 voices between sleeping and waking. 
 
 '' We cannot wish her to live : her sufferings 
 are very great, and the doctors give no hope
 
 102 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 of cure." It was the poor old companion who 
 spoke. 
 
 "Poor lile bairn, I love her like my own!" 
 said the nurse ; " what a sweet, meek face she 
 has : it looks oft as if she were in heaven 
 already ! " 
 
 Miss Bootle sobbed and called me a " poor 
 dear!" 
 
 " She might live to be quite an old woman 
 in this way : better one day and worse another, 
 like Miss Donner at the Bank," said Sharpe. 
 
 " But her mind is gone. I hope it will please 
 God to take the child to himself rather than visit 
 her with such affliction," returned Miss Bootle; 
 and coming near the bed to look at me she 
 perceived that I had heard all. 
 
 " And I hope so too," I added with a smile ; 
 and then the tears came. It was sad to die so 
 young, but sadder still the prospect of such a 
 future! 
 
 Through two tedious years I lay in that quiet 
 room. From my pillow I could see the branches 
 bent by winter snows ; budding into deep, shadow-
 
 REYIYAL. 103 
 
 waving green, fading to autumn-brown and 
 November bare. I had no change of days: it 
 was a long Sabbath, any hour of which might 
 have passed me forward to the Eternal one. 
 Four times my mother journeyed from Eversley 
 to see me, and four times we bade each other 
 what we deemed might be a last adieu. 
 
 I regard these two years as part of my educa- 
 tion — the best part perhaps. Such strong, happy 
 thoughts kept me company sometimes. Released 
 from the cramping irons of that dreadful theory, 
 my heart and mind had room to grow. Nature, 
 overwrought, gave way: left to herself, after 
 exacting the due amount of pains and penalties 
 for her broken laws, she began to revive in my 
 veins. Long before others noticed the change, 
 I felt the life-current rising and glowing in my 
 limbs; writhing pain and pitiable weakness left 
 me ; insensibly my feet receded from the shadowy 
 land on whose confines they had hovered so long, 
 and my spirits plumed themselves for a new 
 flight. It was almost as one rising from the 
 dead ; the doctors regarded me as a miracle, and
 
 104 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the nurse said prophetically, sure I was preserved 
 for a purpose. 
 
 From my sick-bed I was, at length, transferred 
 to a couch in the school-room, where I was kept 
 for weeks clad in grave and antique raiment, 
 and petted with small attentions from everybody. 
 Grandmamma's friends came to see me again, 
 and again sent messages ; but my most frequent 
 and favourite visitor was Mr. Mayne. He always 
 brought some amusing story which diverted my 
 thoughts; he had a cheerful voice, and the 
 pleasant, but rare, faculty of soothing nervous 
 irritability such as mine. I was deeply grateful 
 to him, but do not remember that I troubled him 
 with many thanks. He came and went as he 
 liked : at first only a quiet influence, but almost, 
 ere I knew it, a necessity to me ; for if he stayed 
 away three days together, I always contrived to 
 fret myself with foolish and frivolous anxieties; 
 which, however, his quick step on the gravel 
 below the school-room window speedily exorcised.
 
 MY EDUCATION CONTINUED. 105 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As soon as I was sufficiently recovered to go. 
 down-stairs, to my great dismay, the theory 
 began to be spoken of again ; but good Dr. 
 Martin annihilated it at a single blow. 
 
 " She is deplorably ignorant. Dr. Martin ; we 
 must resume her education immediately," said 
 grandmamma. 
 
 " At your peril, madam ! " cried the physician, 
 startled into plain speaking. 
 
 " Then what is to be done? She knows 
 nothing, literally nothing. Miss Palmer's ad- 
 mirable theory had no chance before." 
 
 The irascible old gentleman consigned the 
 theory to a nameless limbo. " She will do, 
 madam, if you will let her alone," he added 
 apologetically: " I suppose she can read and 
 write : when her mind is ready to work, it will 
 work ; and will do far more than if it were laced 
 
 F 5
 
 106 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 up in any theory whatever. Meddle with it now, 
 and the consequences will be such as I do not 
 care to name." 
 
 It was fortunate that a friend so sensible 
 undertook my cause, for everybody conspired to 
 pity me for the disadvantages under which I 
 laboured. My grandmother contemplated me 
 with a dreary and silent commiseration; Miss 
 Palmer, in full receipt of her salary, came daily, 
 and strove to administer the theory in feeble little 
 bits of conversation; and Miss Bootle improved 
 every opportunity of giving me useful information 
 on trifles that had been familiar to me from my 
 sixth year : I distinctly recollect her laboriously 
 explaining to me that a quadruped was an animal 
 with four legs, like Charlie. By dint of seeing 
 myself so continually pitied, I grew to have an 
 overwhelming sense of my deficiencies : the 
 presence of strangers was painful and confusing 
 to me, and I clung to my couch-comer in the 
 school-room as to a harbour of refuge. 
 
 It is probable that I should at length have sunk 
 into a state of physical and mental inertness, piti-
 
 MY TEACHER. 107 
 
 able and miserable, had not Mr. Mayne proposed 
 to give me an occasional lesson in such things as 
 I had a taste for. To this grandmamma acceded 
 with a sigh of relief; Miss Palmer and the theory 
 got their dismissal, and I was handed over to 
 the Curate and Miss Bootle, to be taught or let 
 alone as circumstances appeared to direct I 
 need scarcely say that this arrangement was 
 perfectly satisfactory to me : I believe it was so to 
 all the parties concerned in it. 
 
 I could not have given myself a reason for it 
 then, but I felt glad to be with Mr. Mayne, and 
 to listen to him as he talked to me like the child 
 I was no longer, and yet without appearing to 
 depreciate my understanding. He was as cordial 
 and outspoken as an elder to a younger brother. 
 It is my belief that, at this time, he did not 
 recognise the woman in me at all, but merely 
 a mind that sympathized with his, and responded 
 like a far-away echo to his own thoughts and 
 feelings: a receptive vessel for his overflowing 
 fancies — ^nothing more. I remember one evenuig 
 especially how he talked to me of himself, while
 
 108 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I, half-tired with the afternoon's lessons, reclined 
 on the couch by the school-room window. It 
 was twilight amongst the trees outside, and quite 
 dusk in the room, though the fire sent out 
 fitful glints of light now and then. Miss Bootle 
 sat in the chimney-corner nursing her cat and 
 dozing, as her custom was, and the curate stood 
 at a corner of the mantel-piece, resting against 
 it, with his face all in shadow, and his hand 
 propping his bent head. Watch as I would, no 
 change of feature was discernible; perhaps the 
 dim hour made him less guarded in expression 
 than he would have been in the brilliantly lighted 
 drawing-room ; there was such a homely quiet 
 in the time and place that most of us might 
 have felt tempted, if our company was congenial, 
 to drop fantastic, conventional restraints, and let 
 our hearts speak out. 
 
 '*You wonder what is to come of my Utopian 
 schemes, as Mrs. Brande calls them," said he 
 in answer to a remark of mine; "perhaps they 
 are moonshine — eighteen people in twenty would 
 so condemn them. For what have I done?
 
 IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. 109 
 
 Nothing. Which of my fine theories have I 
 accomplished? None. You see I can sneer at 
 them myself. Fate is to me like that great 
 black rock out yonder to the waves at its base, 
 which dash against it and are driven back by 
 their own force, broken, fretted, chafing and 
 impotent I am like a beggar who dreams that 
 he is a king, and wakes to squalor, and hunger, 
 and sordid rags, and turns to sleep again that 
 the vision may come back. One half of my 
 life is dreams, the other regrets. When I was 
 as young as you I imagined that energy and 
 ability would go all lengths, but it is not so. 
 We can go just so far as circumstances permit 
 and no further ; they guide, and check, and turn 
 us back. You have but to live ten years longer 
 to subscribe to the verity of this. I could pick 
 you out a score of wise saws that are misquoted 
 every day, which carry a specious truth on the 
 face of them, but at the core are utterly rotten 
 and false. I am waiting now for my lucky 
 accident ; I have but to stagnate patiently 
 until it comes."
 
 110 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 This was an unusual phase of the Curate's 
 humour ; he was generally ardent, enthusiastic, 
 and full of hope. I asked if some misfortune 
 had befallen him; he paused on the question 
 before replying. 
 
 "Nothing recently: but old wounds have an 
 unpleasant trick of opening now and then," 
 was the answer when at last it came. "You 
 must know, Kathie, that besides being a dreamer 
 of dreams I am also a writer of books. In 
 them I have ventured to put forward my so- 
 called Utopian theories ; but men raise an outcry 
 against me and say, ' We will none of him ! He 
 does not speak with our tongue, or see with 
 our eyes, or think with our thoughts. He has 
 got into tangles and brakes where there are 
 neither tracks nor guide-posts: we dare not, 
 and we will not, follow him.' " 
 
 " Which, being interpreted, means that you 
 have had no success ?" said I quietly. 
 
 "Was that your voice speaking out of the 
 gloom, Kathie ? It sounded chill ; mind I am 
 not prepared to lose my little disciple."
 
 IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. Ill 
 
 *^ Speak on ; her spirit is sitting at your feet 
 now, waiting to be taught." 
 
 " I like to believe that. I think, Kathie, you 
 and I are something akin: it does me good to 
 see you looking up to me out of your clear 
 untroubled eyes. You remind me of a sister of 
 mine who died young : she used to listen to me 
 with a wise, reflective little face, and upturned 
 eyes of a calm, tender, cool shade, like yours. 
 She used to try her best to understand me, but 
 her own nature was one of method and obedience 
 which puzzled over my wanderings and rebellings, 
 as I think you will never do ; because, whether 
 you will it or no, your spirit understands and 
 responds to mine. If you were man instead of 
 a weak little child-woman, we might stand as 
 friends and equals : do you feel this, Kathie ? " 
 
 " I would rather be what I am : I like to look 
 up and rely. Do you put much of yourself into 
 your books ? " 
 
 " Much of my better self; not my weak 
 unstable thoughts: those which have least of 
 earth-soil upon them ; the angel visitants."
 
 112 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " Should I recognise you in them ? " 
 "Partly. Kathie, I was born and bred in a 
 great manufacturing town where the whole 
 business and pleasure of existence was to get 
 money. I dread lest the spirit of it may cling 
 to mine : all my aspirations are not pure, all my 
 ambitions not worthy. Sometimes I think that if 
 I had money I might escape into liberty and fuller 
 life. Thus far my luckless ventures have made 
 me only poorer in purse, and no richer in 
 reputation. Is it mean and sordid to think of 
 these things? Look at the matter with your 
 eyes: they must be purer than mine; for with 
 each experience we rub off some bloom, and 
 gather some rust." 
 
 I was silent : this mind was beyond my gauge ; 
 he went on : " You can feel, Kathie, what a 
 perpetually renewed thirst of soul it is to find 
 your best efforts fall for ever short of your 
 conception. In all my endeavours I appoint to 
 myself an aim, yet I am only like a man drawing 
 a bow at a venture : I have no assurance that I 
 shall reach my mark. How often may an
 
 IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. 113 
 
 individual of average courage fail before he gives 
 
 up in despair?" 
 
 " You are not that individual : you will never 
 
 despair." 
 
 " But, Kathie, I have despaired." 
 
 " For an hour, perhaps, or for a day." 
 
 " Be a faithful prophetess to me, little friend." 
 
 " When I have any open vision I will tell it to 
 
 you." 
 
 " Kathie, there is this poor consolation for me — 
 though I should myself accomplish nothing, I 
 shall have pioneered the way for those who come 
 after. Out of my chaos of rough-hewn materials 
 some more skilful workman may erect a fair 
 building. All great reformers and all great 
 inventors have found much of their way prepared 
 by the failures of their forerunners." 
 
 " All honour to those pioneers then ! Let me 
 predict for you, not the cross only, but the crown 
 also." 
 
 " How is it, Kathie, that while even the praise 
 and encouragement of others only depress me, you 
 always elevate and strengthen ? "
 
 114 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " It is because I have faith in you." 
 
 He had changed his place from the hearth to 
 the window ; he stood near me, behind the couch, 
 looking out at the dusk tree-shadows waving 
 against the sky, and quite silent for a few minutes. 
 The fire fell in with an obtrusive crash, and the 
 blaze flamed up, filling the room with light, 
 and throwing the grey external picture into 
 darkness. 
 
 " I must go, my child : good night ! " He stooped 
 and left a kiss on my brow, and was gone. I 
 was still for a little while; the flickering blaze 
 sank, and left a pensive gloom, through which 
 moved visions of exquisite grace and beauty, 
 visible to me only. 
 
 Miss Bootle and Charlie roused up, and forth- 
 with they vanished. 
 
 XV. 
 
 It was at this time that a literary lady, Miss 
 Alicia Wilton by name, came and took lodgings
 
 A STRANGER AT CROFTON. 115 
 
 at Crofton, as it was understood for the sake of 
 her health. Her advent made no Kttle commotion 
 amongst us ; it was as if a hawk, intent on prey, 
 had swooped down upon a nest of fledglings, 
 hidden in the crevice of a rock. Whence she 
 came was a mystery: people wondered if she were 
 respectable, and consulted together as to whether 
 it would be proper to call upon her. We got her 
 books, and read them, and were dismayed. She 
 was satirical. We saw ourselves, in anticipation, 
 shown up to the ridicule of the general public, 
 with all our innocent little peculiarities thick 
 upon us. The colour of her eyes, the make of 
 her gowns, and the shape of her bonnets, all 
 underwent speculative discussion in the Grange 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Grandmamma snorted her disapprobation. She 
 wanted to know why that scribbling-woman had 
 not pitched her tent somewhere else: she had 
 always considered actors, literary characters, and 
 circus people as vagabonds, and was astonished 
 that one of the tribe should have the audacity 
 to intrude into a quiet country neighbourhood
 
 116 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 where she was not wanted. The outcry being 
 thus respectably led, before Miss Wilton had been 
 in the village a week we had denounced her as a 
 firebrand, an incendiary, a person totally wanting 
 in proper feminine reticence; and we laid her 
 under the ban of our little empire at once. 
 
 Miss Bootle had the good fortune to meet her 
 on the sands, and pronounced her an interesting 
 person; but on the second morning after her 
 arrival, she threw the whole of Crofton into a 
 state of the wildest excitement. There were 
 round matronly faces, acidulated single-blessed 
 faces, and faces still on their promotion, peering 
 over the blinds, all more or less expanded by a 
 grin. The cottagers looked stealthily out past 
 their door-posts ; the young gentlemen in Doctor 
 Martin's surgery chuckled and stared; the very 
 postman checked his trot, and glanced back for a 
 moment with a round-eyed surprise. The cause 
 of this commotion was Miss Wilton ; who, quite 
 ignorant of the sensation she was causing, was 
 riding up the town-street, mounted on a shaggy 
 white pony belonging to the miller. She was
 
 A STRANGER AT CROFTON. 117 
 
 unattended, and appeared very much satisfied 
 with her position, which we thought most 
 derogatory. We wondered whither she could 
 be going, and considered that we had gained 
 useful information when we learnt that she had 
 taken the bridle-road along the top of the cliffs 
 towards the Nab. She was equipped in a style 
 that shocked our propriety to the utmost verge 
 of endurance. She wore a Holland skirt, a 
 waterproof cape, a scarlet ribbon round her 
 throat, and a broad black felt hat, from which 
 streamed a long feather. 
 
 " After that feather," said Miss Tedo Longstaff, 
 one of our Crofton worthies — " after that feather 
 the woman is capable of anything ! " 
 
 The next day Miss Wilton was seen to put 
 out to sea in a small boat with one solitary sailor, 
 still wearing the obnoxious cape and head-gear. 
 On other occasions she was met in remote places 
 with a camp-stool and a sketch-book, " trudging 
 about as independently as if the whole country 
 belonged to her," observed Miss Tedo. 
 
 In vain we all marvelled at her ignorance
 
 118 • KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 of the observances of society, and raved to see 
 her so easy and happy in spite of our bad 
 opinion. 
 
 " I shall put an end to this ! " gasped my 
 grandmother one afternoon, when the stranger 
 outraged all our feelings by walking up the 
 village in the rain without umbrella, her gown 
 being tucked up and exhibiting a pair of strong, 
 laced boots and brown stockings. Miss Bootle 
 also thought Miss Wilton's friends, if she had any, 
 ought to be informed of her proceedings without 
 delay. Accordingly, the next day my grand- 
 mother went to call upon her, but not finding 
 her at home, deposited a card, and promised 
 another visit. 
 
 Our judgment was rather shaken on the 
 morrow, however, by the poor lady's appearance 
 at church. She wore a bonnet of the orthodox 
 shape, and a very pretty dress: all which we 
 saw distinctly, because she came in when the 
 first hymn was being sung, and we were standing 
 up. She was young, and rather plain, but quite 
 inoffensive looking ; and I believe most of us were
 
 A STRANGER AT CROFTON. 119 
 
 disappointed, having prepared ourselves to see a 
 large, bony, high-featured person, outrageously 
 attired, and flying in the face of all propriety by 
 her general appearance. A council was held as 
 we walked homewards after church, during which 
 Miss Tedo started the idea that this stranger 
 might probably be all the more dangerous, 
 insomuch that she did not wear any insignia of 
 her caUing : she must be a wolf in sheep's clothing 
 intent on efiecting an entry into the fold, and we 
 must be on our guard against her insidious wiles. 
 Grandmamma demurred to this: she thought 
 Miss Wilton's countenance attractive ; and having 
 begun to contradict, from being her most severe 
 depredator, my kinswoman became her fiercest 
 partisan; and the opinions Mrs. Brande pro- 
 mulgated, Crofton received as articles of faith. 
 On the Monday, Crofton left its cai'd at Miss 
 WUton's door unanimously, and my grandmother 
 was admitted to an interval, from which she 
 came home converted to admiration of the 
 stranger. 
 
 " She is a sensible woman, who is above
 
 120 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 truckling to the absurd usages of the world," 
 we were informed. " She will be an acquisition 
 to our society; I shall make a party for her 
 and ask her here." 
 
 Every invitation to meet the extinct firebrand 
 was eagerly accepted, and when she appeared 
 amongst us there was almost a strife as to who 
 should be most flattering and cordial ; though 
 we did think her plain black net frock and 
 braided hair rather disrespectful, where every- 
 body else was in their best attire : but we could 
 allow her a few eccentricities by virtue of her 
 book-writing. 
 
 Once introduced she rose suddenly into fashion, 
 and if she had chosen to scour the country 
 mounted on Doctor Martin's blue cow nobody 
 would have wagged a tongue against it. Her 
 favourite attitude was standing with her back 
 to the fire and her hands behind her, like a 
 gentleman; Miss Bootle said it showed her 
 intellect and strength of mind. She did not 
 talk much, but had a little grave manner which 
 might have passed for simplicity, had not her
 
 A DANGEROUS WOilAN. 121 
 
 sleepy eyes brightened up now and then into 
 a wicked and mischievous vivacity. Miss Tedo 
 Longstaff said she believed those eyes saw more 
 than they seemed to see, for they made her 
 skin tingle if they glanced at her when their 
 owner was being discussed, and she would 
 warrant her for detecting people's real characters 
 under the thickest and most specious veils, 
 sooner than any professed craniologist or physi- 
 ognomist in the three kingdoms. 
 
 Soon after her reception amongst us a book 
 of hers was announced, and everybody posted 
 off to the Loughboro Library to get it the first. 
 Miss Tedo Longstaff was the successful person, 
 and after she had run through the first volume, 
 she came over in hot haste to the Grange to 
 unmask it, as she stated. She had never liked 
 Miss Wilton, and this was what we got by 
 admitting professional writers within our doors. 
 She bade us observe how markedly Crofton was 
 satirized under the guise of a large provincial 
 town, and then proceeded to distribute the 
 characters amongst us, as if it were Twelfth 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 Night; they suited us about as well as those 
 charity garments which are all made of one 
 size, and then fitted at random upon divers 
 shapes of bodies. I was not much flattered at 
 the portrait indicated by Miss Tedo as mine: 
 it was a little, impish, deformed child, who made 
 no end of mischief for everybody connected 
 with her; neither was my grandmother, who, 
 our enlightener insisted, was caricatured under 
 the figure of a blunt, harsh-voiced market-woman. 
 I dare not say how many people showed them- 
 selves aggrieved when it was pointed out to them 
 that they ought to be so, to whom it would never 
 have occurred but for Miss Tedo's suggestions. 
 She even wanted to mention these cruel per- 
 sonalities to Miss Wilton, but she was prevailed 
 on to forbear, lest that treacherous person should 
 feel flattered and gratified at the success of our 
 portraitures. 
 
 After we had wasted a great deal of excellent 
 resentment, and delivered our labouring bosoms 
 of the severity of our indignation to each other in 
 private, we one day made the discovery, by
 
 A DANGEROUS WOMAN. 123 
 
 reference to tlie title page, that the obnoxious 
 work was passing through a third edition, and 
 that therefore it must have been written and 
 printed long before Miss Wilton invaded our 
 domestic peace. 
 
 "Ah, well ! " cried Miss Tedo much chagrined ; 
 "if she has not taken us off in this book she 
 will in the next, you may depend upon it. I 
 dare say these are the last people that she lived 
 amongst on familiar terms. I won't trust her." 
 
 I believe at that juncture, if anybody had 
 been public spirited enough to propose such a 
 step, we should have bribed Miss Wilton to go 
 away, and leave us undistinguished by her 
 satirical pen; but we were half afraid of her. 
 It was very distressing, if we tried to take an 
 observation of her in the course of an innocent 
 tea-drinking, to find her eyes either quite dark 
 or else rolling back a shrewd scrutiny upon 
 ourselves; and if Miss Tedo, as she ventured 
 to do sometimes, complimented her sarcastically 
 on her successful likenesses, to hear her ask, 
 with the most indifferent and unconscious air in
 
 124 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the world, " Do they remind you of any of yonr 
 acquaintance? I am glad if they do, for I 
 always try to be true to nature." As if she 
 understood Miss Tedo to mean a good general 
 likeness to a class, or some individual portraiture 
 at unity with itself throughout. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It was now about midway in September, still 
 warm as with the remembrance of summer past 
 when the air was unstirred, but with a chill 
 breath in the breezes that lifted the foliage at 
 unsheltered corners of the shrubbery and garden 
 walks. I was now permitted to walk there daily 
 for an hour, and daily my strength grew, and a 
 faint bloom dawned upon my cheek, until its worn, 
 haggard hollowness rounded to the outline of 
 youth and health. One morning about this time, 
 I received a long letter from my mother, which I 
 carried out into the garden to read a second and a 
 third time through. She wanted me at home,
 
 GIRLISH FANCIES. 125 
 
 and I was desirous to go, but felt, nevertheless, 
 that there was much at Crofton that it would 
 pain me to leave. Grandmamma wished me to 
 stay until the cold season began, and then to 
 return to Eversley for the winter: my aunt 
 Aurelia was coming to visit her mother, and it 
 was advisable that I should make her acquaintance. 
 All the reasons why I should remain at Crofton 
 awhile longer seemed to me very good, and those 
 for my return home quite insufficient. Dr. 
 Martin was of opinion that I was just in that 
 state of health to profit by the pure, bracing sea 
 air, and I agreed with him entirely : but through 
 all I had a consciousness that a wholly personal 
 and selfish motive was secretly actuating me; 
 and after a third perusal I put my letter 
 away, and determined to let others decide 
 for me. 
 
 It was a quiet morning; the sky was misty 
 blue : grey over the sea, not with defined clouds, 
 but as if a floating, vaporous haze were creeping 
 stealthily up from the horizon to the low-lying 
 shore. The air, balmy and genial, was filled
 
 126 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 with pleasant and musical sounds. Twitterings 
 of birds, the silvery rush of wings from bough 
 to bough, the breaking of the waves upon the 
 sand, the rising murmurs of wind, the fluttering 
 downwards of drifts of withered foliage, and the 
 crisp rustle of dead leaves upon the path. My 
 youthful fancy kept me company as I paced to 
 and fro; we weaved fresh tinted buds into our 
 garland of hope, and went on thinking, thinking, 
 thinking, mistily and extravagantly as the heart 
 of seventeen will think, let grave Experience and 
 sober Reason twit it as they will. 
 
 Standing to gaze through an opening between 
 the trees at the sea, I said to myself — " If I had 
 been born in these solitudes — if, instead of that 
 glorious old Minster, and that dim west parlour, 
 and the window on the stairs, I had had the sea 
 and the wild moorland hills, up yonder, for my 
 study and my dream-land, should I have had my 
 haunting mystical fancies ? I should have loved 
 this silence ; it breathes vigour and freshness. 
 My mother was moorland-bred; is it from her 
 I inherit this yearning after nature in her
 
 GIRLISH FANCIES. 127 
 
 remotest haunts ? My heart glows as if a stream 
 akin to it were flowing through its arteries ; 
 its musical pulses thrill harmonious to all these 
 notes of earth, and air, and sea. But the old 
 Gothic city is dearer. I would not change its 
 mute teaching ; it is part of me : my familiar, my 
 haunting genius. Its grey shadow lies on me 
 softly; its memories, its traditions are mine, in- 
 wrought with the web of my mind." 
 
 Returning slowly under the shelter of the trees, 
 I fell into another mood. I was sensible of a 
 mournful strain in my feelings; whence it came 
 I knew not, nor whither it tended: it had the 
 dim, prophetic outline of distant cloud — cloud 
 which is not storm, but may be. I paused, and 
 stirring the dead leaves on the pathway with my 
 foot, said half aloud, " Courage, faint heart ! shall 
 we not take pleasure in the wealth of nature 
 because of these scatterlings of untimely decay? 
 Jt is idle to lament over one broken branch while 
 whole forests stand in their green beauty, and 
 the blue sky over all. No dews can put life 
 again into these sapless leaves; there they must
 
 128 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 lie, there they must rot, till their dust mix with 
 mother-earth, and a fair flower, perhaps, spring 
 from their decay." 
 
 My grave thoughts were at this point sum- 
 marily put to flight by the sudden apparition of 
 Charlie tumbled out of the drawing-room window, 
 followed by the most exquisite little snow-drop 
 of a white kitten that was ever seen. Grand- 
 mamma had done it; and her face, looking 
 dreadfully irate, remained at the glass watching 
 the frolics of the pair upon the smmy lawn. In 
 about two minutes Miss Bootle came trembling 
 forth, and tried to coax her pet to take refuge 
 in her apron ; but Charlie had acquired a shameful 
 independence of character, and utterly refused to 
 do it. There was dolour in the old lady's every 
 feature as she advanced to me and said with a 
 pensive air, " You see how it is, my dear. I did 
 not tell you when you were ill because I knew 
 you would be hurt and disappointed as I was, but 
 this is the third time Charlie has taken on himself 
 the cares of maternity. I gave half-a-crown for 
 him as a little king-cat, and it was a shameful
 
 THE FUTTJEE DEAN. 129 
 
 imposition. I do hate to be taken in, don't you ? 
 Imagine then what a shock it was when I 
 discovered him in my wardrobe with two wee, 
 blind, chintzy kittens. Sharpe drowned them, 
 and she did it the second time too ; but I contrived 
 to keep that sweet pet secret until this morning, 
 when she found it out, and told Mrs. Brande." 
 " It was very ill-natured, I 'm sure ! " 
 "It was, my dear, but perhaps your grand- 
 mamma might have forgotten it if I had not 
 been such a silly old goose. I have been 
 practising ever so long calling Charlie Dinah, 
 and trying to accustom myself to the use of the 
 feminine pronoun; and when I was reading I 
 am afraid I introduced the name, for Mrs. 
 Brande asked what I meant with ' my Dinahs,' 
 and then, remembering the kitten, she snatched 
 at my apron, and discovered the innocent pet 
 asleep in my lap with its mother. You saw her 
 throw them out of the window: I could have 
 cried. And the worst of all is that Sharpe 
 has been ordered to drown it, and I know she 
 is lying in wait to do it." 
 
 G 5
 
 130 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " Could we not propitiate her ? " 
 
 "As well try to propitiate Charlie himself 
 where a mouse is concerned." 
 
 "Then let us give it away." 
 
 " But it is not weaned ; and besides, who 
 would have it ? " 
 
 " I have a thought ! Give it to Mr. Mayne !" 
 
 " His Hannah would be kind to it ; — ^well, my 
 dear, we will walk up to the cottage with it 
 to-morrow morning, and in the meantime, we 
 must keep it in safe hiding. Poor Charlie will 
 break his heart : it is such a winsome wee 
 thing." 
 
 I always had a great delight in circumventing 
 the gorgon, Sharpe, so I undertook to hide the 
 little kitten, and after casting about in my own 
 mind for an eligible place of concealment, fixed 
 finally on that grim waiting-woman's best bonnet- 
 box as the least suspicious locality ; for it stood 
 in the great wardrobe on the top landing, where 
 grandmamma's state apparel was kept, and which 
 was never opened except on Sundays and festa- 
 days. The bonnet I hid in a trash closet until
 
 THE DEAX. 131 
 
 the following morning, and though both Sharpe 
 and poor Charlie wearied themselves in their 
 researches after the missing kitten, neither suc- 
 ceeded in discovering it. 
 
 Immediately after luncheon the next day. 
 Miss Bootle and I received a dispensation to 
 walk up to the Curate's cottage; and having 
 made all look straight and unsuspicious, we 
 abstracted the tiny animal from his concealment, 
 and started to carry our present to Mr. Ma^Tie. 
 He was not at home; but his housekeeper, 
 Hannah, received us hospitably, and promised 
 maternal cares to Charlie's ofiPspring. Miss Bootle 
 wept at resigning him, but was comforted at 
 seeing him lap cream, hopelessly entangle 
 Hannah's knitting, and then go to sleep upon it, 
 
 "I shall call him ^ the Dean,'" said the 
 housekeeper ; " my last cat was auld Dean. 
 It is professional, and I do hope to see my 
 master a dean, ay, maybe a bishop, before I die." 
 
 We acquiesced in the irreverent title and the 
 reason for its adoption, and then inquired where 
 Mr. Mayne was.
 
 132 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " He has gone across the moor to Loughboro, 
 and I suppose he '11 come back by your place ; 
 this is a scattered parish for a gentleman who 
 always travels on Shanks' nag. You'll have 
 heard that our Rector and his family are coming 
 next week, and then he'll not have so much 
 to do : the old gentleman must take some hand 
 in the parish surely." 
 
 Miss Bootle had heard of the projected arrival 
 of the Pompes; she hoped the Curate's work 
 would be lightened thereby, but did not anticipate 
 such a result. 
 
 " I thought I knew every face about Crofton, 
 but I don't know yours, miss," said Hannah 
 with an earnest look at me : " you won't be Mrs. 
 Brande's sick grandchild that I have heard 
 master speak of so oft?" 
 
 " Yes, I am." 
 
 " Why I thought you were only a lile bairn, 
 and you are almost a lady ! If I had thought of 
 you coming, miss, I 'd have had all redd up and 
 tidy." 
 
 Everything was in neatest order, and so we
 
 MR. MATNT:'s HANNAH. 133 
 
 said; but the housekeeper continued to express 
 regrets till* Miss Bootle turned her thoughts into 
 another channel, and one in which she was 
 particularly fluent — namely, her master. 
 
 " He 's a grand man ! " she averred ; " a grand 
 man, with a power of book learning, and a real, 
 kind. Christian heart. If you knew him as well as 
 I do you 'd say nothing is too big or too little for 
 him. I've seen him lift a poor worm off the 
 garden walk in the dust, for fear he 'd tread on it 
 when it got too dark to see it as he went up and 
 down. There isn't a thing that doesn't love him, 
 from the childer at the school to the birds he feeds 
 at his window every morning. That little cat 
 you 've brought wiU take to him better nor ever 
 it will to me : it 's a way he has ; I don't pretend 
 to understand it, but so it is." 
 
 " You are proud of him, Hannah," Miss Bootle 
 said. 
 
 " Ay, ma'am, and a good right too. I known't 
 his equal! I nursed him in these arms, and 
 a real noble bairn he was; though he had a 
 temper. You may get glints of it at whiles now
 
 134 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 when anything puts him up : he 's no lamb isn't 
 Master Felix. A strange name, Felix, miss ; but 
 his mother said it meant happy, and it would 
 maybe be like a blessing to him : I don't know. 
 She was wrapped up in that lad, and he was a 
 good son to her ; ay, if he had been as high and 
 mighty as ' Get out ! ' with me five minutes afore, 
 he 'd slip off his shoes to go up to her room, and 
 speak as soft, ay, as soft as a doo ! " 
 
 *• And she is dead ? " 
 
 "Yes, miss; she died a matter of six years 
 since, soon after Ellen — that was master's sister : 
 there was only two of them. He was a sore care 
 to his mother, was Master Felix, though he loved 
 her dearly. He was a troublesome tyke as ever 
 lived in a house. Rest ! bless you, he couldn't do 
 it; and oft-times I'm tempted to think he can't 
 yet, though he's better now nor ever he was. 
 Still if there is a danger he must melF on it and 
 be first in it. You'll mind of that awful wreck 
 last January, Miss Bootle — what call had he to be 
 there? I tell him it will be a strange thing if 
 he dies in his bed. He ought to have been a
 
 AN APOLOGY FOR CATS. 135 
 
 soldier, and then he 'd have getten plague enough 
 without going out of his way to seek it." 
 
 Though Hannah spoke in a tone of complaint, 
 it was easy to see that what she imputed to her 
 master as faults were virtues in her eyes. 
 Perhaps there were others there of the same way 
 of thinking. 
 
 The first time we saw Mr. Mayne after our 
 visit to his cottage, he acknowledged the gift of 
 the kitten (he said " the Dean,") with com- 
 placency. Grandmamma being present, asked 
 him if '^that silly Bootle" had infected him with 
 her mania for pet cats. 
 
 " I do not see why ordinary people should 
 undertake to despise cats," replied he with 
 imperturbable gravity : " Montaigne had a cat, 
 and played with it, or it with him. Robinson 
 Crusoe had a cat; Dr. Johnson had a series of 
 cats, and studied their qualities with the dis- 
 criminating eye of a philosopher. You remember 
 Hodge, madam, alluded to in Mr. Boswell's life 
 of the Doctor ? " 
 
 " No." Grandmamma could not burthen her
 
 136 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 memory with any such rubbish. Miss Bootle, 
 however, recollected the passage, and was of 
 opinion that it was one of the most amiable traits 
 in the great man's character; she had been 
 touched even to tears when first she met with it. 
 
 " Let us have the book if it is entertaining, and 
 read it instead of that dense old ecclesiastical 
 history," said grandmamma. 
 
 The proposal was received with favour, and the 
 morning readings became quite attractive to me. 
 I think Mr. Boswell's Life of his friend one of the 
 best biographies that were ever written, and turn 
 to it always with ^undiminished pleasure and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 There we have the very man as he lived, 
 moved, spoke, and thought. I like him better 
 every time I read it. His extreme sufferings and 
 poverty are painful : I like that touch of character 
 recorded of him at college, where he was so ill- 
 shod that he was obliged to keep his room, yet 
 too proud and independent to accept the new 
 shoes which some charitable soul secretly placed 
 outside his door. This was the same pride that
 
 DIGRESSIYE. 137 
 
 later on, when his own unaided energy had earned 
 him success, rejected the tardy patronage of that 
 courtly dissembler, Chesterfield. To think that 
 this man was sometimes in want of a dinner ! I 
 wished I could have given him one every day ! 
 
 And perhaps there are men of powers as great, 
 going through the same stern discipline of work 
 gnd want to-day I who knows ? Nobody meeting 
 that gaunt, unattractive figure, and gloomy 
 countenance, in London streets, could say that he 
 would soon become one of the most noted men of 
 his time. There is a lesson in his life of more 
 worth than all his philosophic teachings. The 
 poor hypochondriac, cursed with hereditary 
 disease, exposed to the contumely of the great 
 and the ridicule of the little, patiently working, 
 fasting, and waiting, upheld by his own strong 
 heart, until his appointed hour comes with its 
 guerdon of honour, success, and fame — not, let us 
 hope, as he says in that bitter letter, " till he was 
 indifierent and could not enjoy it; till he was 
 solitary and could not impart it; till he was 
 known and did not want it"
 
 138 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 There is something inexpressibly sad in reading 
 of the sorrows of such a man, though we know 
 that they are ended, for they suggest parallel cases 
 in this present time. Perhaps no man was ever 
 the worse poet for going through harsh ex- 
 periences: Crabbe might not have written so 
 well but for his hungry probation; and surely 
 Goldsmith could not either. I wonder what 
 Otway thought of life, and poor Chatterton ? It 
 was something like gnashing their teeth on stones 
 I suspect, and instances might be multiplied up to 
 yesterday; but let them pass — this digression is 
 already too long, seeing it has arisen out of the 
 destiny of a kitten. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 During the last week of September, my aunt 
 Aurelia arrived at Crofton, as also did the 
 Rectory family: consisting of Dr. Pompe; the 
 honourable lady, his wife; Milicent, their daughter; 
 and Reofinald, their son. From that time forward
 
 SOCIETY AT CROFTON. 139 
 
 the peaceful economy of my grandmother's house 
 underwent a thorough reform: the dinner horn- 
 was changed from two to half-past six, a con- 
 stant influx of visitors inundated the little 
 drawing-room, and there was an incessant running 
 to and fro between the Rectory and the Grange, 
 as our house was called. Miss Bootle and I were 
 permitted to exile ourselves to the school-room as 
 much as we chose, and there the lessons went 
 on as usual; Mr. Mayne coming and going at 
 stated hours. 
 
 There were three or four families of gentlefolks 
 in Crofton, from amongst whom it was easy to 
 make up small, early parties, and whenever Mrs. 
 jMarston was not at the Rectory, or at one or 
 other of these people's houses, there was always 
 company at home. On these occasions the 
 companion and I appeared in the drawing-room, 
 where I always had a seat near the fire, and away 
 from the draughts of doors. It was understood 
 that I was a girl of delicate health, neglected 
 education, and no character; so people did not 
 supplicate me to take my turn at the piano.
 
 140 ELiTHIE BRANDE. 
 
 neither did they ever make a remark to me that 
 was not as old and as respectable as the hills. 
 
 I was ineffably wearied, of course, and deemed 
 these entertainments lesser purgatories, where I 
 expiated my sin of false appearances ; being now 
 in perfect health, and, though the theory had 
 failed, much less stupid than my friends and 
 relatives supposed. Sitting in my corner I 
 watched the incipient flirtations, and heard scraps 
 of the inane talk that went on about me ; inwardly 
 envious of the companion, who fussed about the 
 rooms and seemed acceptable to everybody. It 
 was pleasanter for me when the Curate was there, 
 for then I was sure of a few minutes' conversation 
 once or twice during the weary evening ; indeed, 
 the mere fact of his presence would have been 
 enough without so much as a word. But when 
 he did not come, it was very tedious : I had only 
 to answer the everlasting question about my 
 health and my morning's walk, to listen to the 
 same songs, and respond gratefully to the same 
 mild advice, tendered by the same amiable old 
 ladies, as I had heard ten times before.
 
 MY AUNT AURELIA. 141 
 
 Previous to my aunt Aurelia's arrival, I had 
 ventured to indulge in some day -dreams con- 
 cerning her, which fell collapsed, as day-dreams 
 mostly do, at the touch of reality. She was the 
 faded remains of a once beautiful woman, but the 
 expression of her face was that of utter weariness, 
 almost of discontent. Her manner was at once 
 proud and kind, careless and capricious: still 
 young — thirty-three at the utmost — she had the 
 worn and jaded look of a woman nearly twice her 
 age ; every exertion seemed a fatigue to her, and 
 every pleasure a burthen. I had much difficulty 
 in understanding her character at first ; afterwards 
 it came to my knowledge that she had been early 
 urged into a marriage of interest which had 
 turned out miserably ; and being left a childless 
 and wealthy widow at twenty-four, with certain 
 restrictions on her property which prevented her 
 from marrying again, she had indemnified herself 
 for the clog on her liberty by leading since a gay 
 and frivolous life. When I was introduced to 
 her as her niece, she perused my features for an 
 instant, observed that I was not like my father.
 
 142 KATEIE BRANDE. 
 
 gave me a limp shake of the hand, accompanied 
 by a cold kiss, and forthwith seemed to forget my 
 existence in the house. I was recalled to her 
 memory, not by my own merits, but in the 
 following manner: — coming into the school-room 
 one evening at five o'clock to seek Miss Bootle, 
 who officiated as her maid, she found Mr. Mayne 
 there giving me a lesson. 
 
 " I was not aware that you acted as private 
 tutor to my niece, Mr. Mayne," said she; 
 " pray do not let me interrupt ; " for he rose 
 to go, we having just come to an end of our 
 day's work. I said so ; and as the Curate had 
 an engagement, he immediately took leave, and 
 went away. 
 
 "How long has Kathie had Mr. Mayne for 
 her teacher?" my aunt asked of grandmamma, 
 who entered at the moment. 
 
 "I cannot exactly say: ever since she was 
 well enough to learn." 
 
 "And what do you pay him?" was the next 
 question^ 
 
 "I am sure Mr. Mayne will never take
 
 Mr AUNT AURELIA. 143 
 
 any money for teaching me ! " cried I 
 hastily. 
 
 "And, pray, why not, Kathie?" retorted 
 grandmamma. 
 
 I felt why, but did not choose to say, and 
 blushed instead. 
 
 Aunt Aurelia answered for me. 
 
 " Because he works for love ! " cried she with 
 a displeasing laugh ; then added, as if she had 
 just made an interesting discovery, "Kathie is 
 not so very ugly, mother, after all : her eyes 
 are lovely, and when she colours she is almost 
 pretty; but you dress her like a nun. I shall 
 take her in hand myself, and try to make her 
 rather more presentable." 
 
 I felt foolish and confused at having been 
 betrayed into the hasty assertion respecting Mr. 
 MajTie, but I am free to confess that my aunt 
 Aurelia's outspoken criticism did not displease 
 me. So accustomed had I been to consider 
 myself as a very plain girl, and so shyly 
 and painfully conscious had I often felt of my 
 personal deficiencies, that I experienced almost
 
 144 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 a sensation of gratitude towards her for setting 
 me more at ease with myself. It was enough 
 that I was not so palpably and obtrusively plain 
 as to provoke comment ; perfectly insignificant 
 I was content to be, but not displeasing or 
 repulsive. 
 
 My aunt's threat that she would take me in 
 hand herself she began to put into execution 
 on the very next morning. She had Sharpe and 
 the village milliner set to work on a new white 
 muslin dress ; and she herself, with Miss Bootle 
 for her aider and abettor, made a lay figure of 
 me during two hours for the purpose of distorting 
 my hair into every conceivable hideous fashion. 
 My hair was my one beauty — as soft and glossy 
 as silk, and so long as nearly to reach my knee ; 
 nothing would have induced me to part with it, 
 and when Sharpe proposed to have it cut, so 
 that I might wear the fashionable crop of short 
 curls, I flung away from my tormentors, and 
 defied them to touch it. I was not to be shorn 
 of my glory, which — which somebody had admired, 
 for all the waiting-women in Christendom !
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 145 
 
 " She is as proud of her locks as Absolom," 
 said my aunt laughing. 
 
 "Because she has nothing else to be proud 
 of," was the discomfited Sharpe's viadictive 
 reply. 
 
 It would be difficult to say how many times 
 I was given up to that person's lugubrious 
 attentions and froggy hands before the white dress 
 was accomplished to my aunt's satisfaction ; but 
 at last it was finished, and I was attired therein 
 1» go to a great party at the Rectory. The 
 much-cavilled-at hair was dressed after my 
 ordinary manner — braided from my face, and 
 twisted into a wreath of plaits low in the neck 
 behind : I copied it originally from an old print, 
 but it was so imlike other people's that nobody 
 would acknowledge that it had any other merit 
 than that of being always tidy. 
 
 " The dress is very suitable ; the child really 
 looks pretty well," was grandmamma's comment, 
 to which Miss Bootle warmly assented. 
 
 " Yes," responded my aunt " Kathie, let me 
 fasten this cluster of rose-buds into the bosom 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 of your dress; they are almost the last in the 
 garden : the crimson and green relieve the 
 whiteness. Now look at yourself in the glass." 
 
 She drew me to the long mirror, wherein I 
 saw reflected a slender shape, draped in soft, 
 snowy muslin, which I should not have recognised 
 as my own but for the internal assurance of my 
 personality. 
 
 "I should not be ashamed of my niece any- 
 where," said my aunt. "I wish she were 
 going to live with me, and I would bring her 
 out properly." 
 
 ^' Aurelia, I am surprised at you ! " cried grand- 
 mamma severely; "how can you talk such 
 ineffable trash? It is quite wrong to put ideas 
 into the child's head when in a month or two she 
 must don her plain stuff gown, and work as hard, 
 or harder, than our village schoolmistress. Do 
 you know what depends upon her, that you speak 
 so inconsiderately ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, mother ! and it is a great pity and a 
 great sacrifice, that is all." 
 
 " Pshaw, Kathie ! do not listen to your aunt's
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 147 
 
 nonsense: she will spoil you. Make up your 
 little mind to a quiet respectable life, and do not 
 care for admiration and frivolity, because they 
 are quite out of your way. Come, Aurelia ! you 
 promised to be at the Rectory early, and it is 
 nearly nine o'clock : make haste ! " 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 My grandmother's allusion to the work-day Kfe 
 that awaited me did not take off the edge from 
 present enjojTuent. I was young, happy, and 
 desirous of finding favour in somebody's sight, 
 and this, with the innocent girlish consciousness 
 that I was looking my best, and rather nice than 
 otherwise, gave a more than usual bloom to my 
 cheek, and to my eyes a not unpleasing lustre. 
 Besides, this was my first party, which is always 
 an exciting era in a girl's life. I had my little 
 vanities then, and do not choose to ignore them 
 now ; if I could have decked myself with angel- 
 beauty I would have done it, but only that in one
 
 148 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 person's sight I might look fair : had all the rest 
 of the world been blind, his approving eyes would 
 have sufficed me. Some people may regard this 
 confession of mine as weak, others may denounce 
 it as unfeminine ; I offer no plea in extenuation : 
 thus it was ; mine is no model character, but one 
 full of errors and mistakes. As yet I was only 
 earning my experience, and could not be wise 
 before my time. True it is, that an instinctive 
 pride kept my childish love hidden ; but secret 
 though it was, it was strong and real — the 
 strongest and most real thing in the whole world 
 to me : I might conceal it from others, but I could 
 no longer deny it to myself. 
 
 My aunt and I were amongst the earliest guests 
 to arrive at the Rectory, and Milicent Pompe led 
 us into a pretty little inner boudoir which opened 
 to the brilliantly lighted conservatory; nobody 
 else was there, so, making my aunt sit down, 
 the young lady knelt on the hearthrug before 
 her, and with her round white arms resting in 
 her lap, entered into a low-toned conversation. 
 
 " Why do I so rarely see you now, Mrs.
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 149 
 
 Marston?" she said in a complaining voice: 
 "you have another companion, and don't miss 
 me." 
 
 " My dearest Milicent, what would you have ? 
 We meet almost daily." 
 
 " I want you to go to the Charltons : mamma 
 has accepted their invitation for three days, and 
 I shall expire of weariness if you stay away. 
 That everlasting embroidery, and mediaeval 
 conversation, stifle me: promise me that you 
 will go." 
 
 " But I cannot leave my mother so soon ; 
 besides you will have plenty of gaieties, and will 
 never feel my absence." 
 
 " Gaieties ! Perhaps we shall ^.have a carpet 
 dance, when the dust will make us all sneeze 
 penitentially ; do you call that gaieties ? " 
 
 " I am sorry to disappoint you, Milicent : I 
 really cannot go." 
 
 "You will not." She pouted like a thwarted 
 child for a minute or two, then brightening again 
 asked confidentially, " What do you think of 
 papa's curate, Felix Mayne ? I have been longing
 
 150 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 to know, but it seems as if I never could have 
 you to myself now." 
 
 " My dear, I am scarcely acquainted with him ; 
 but he is a favourite with my mother, so he must 
 be something superior." 
 
 " I like him : he has so much genius, and he is 
 so ambitious and proud. Papa says that he 
 means well, but for any purpose of practical 
 mundane utility he might just as well be 
 revolving in infinite space, a star of the first 
 magnitude." 
 
 My tongue burned to protest against this, but 
 I contrived to hold my peace ; and presently, on 
 the entrance of a party of people to me unknown, 
 Milicent Pompe and my aunt left the boudoir, 
 and mixed with the other visitors. 
 
 My ordinary fate then overtook me ; and soon 
 I found myself established on a couch between 
 two elderly dowagers, who squabbled over my 
 head about " odd trick," whatever that might be. 
 I resigned myself to a total eclipse with fortitude, 
 and perhaps relief. It was not in me to glide 
 about the room, making myself universally
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 151 
 
 agreeable, as I saw Milicent Pompe and other 
 girls doing : my strength was to sit still. 
 
 Mr. Mayne had been present some time before 
 I descried him in the first room, the centre of a 
 group of ladies, all talking together, while he 
 listened, or seemed to listen, with a grave sarcastic 
 attention. It has not been said before, and may 
 therefore as well be said now, that this gentleman 
 was universally admired by our sex, who looked 
 up to him almost as a god amongst men: from 
 the Rector's pompous lady to his little pupil in 
 the Grange school-room, there was not one 
 dissenting opinion. By mere force of intellect he 
 influenced most people ; he was infinitely greater 
 and better than anybody else, so we set him up 
 on a pedestal, as it were, and worshipped : that 
 was my sentiment, at least, and it was not 
 unshared. It often gave me a cruel pain to see 
 how women fluttered about him : I fancy it was 
 the same jealousy of passion that quivers in the 
 heart of a poor animal when she is tethered and 
 sees a strange hand fondling her young; she 
 dreads that they may be taken from her. I knew
 
 152 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 he liked me ; I had hived up many tokens of that, 
 but I wanted him to like me only : I wanted to be 
 the sole worshipper at the shrine. It pained me 
 now to see him follow Milicent Pompe to the 
 piano, and turn over the leaves of her song. 
 Milicent was a beautiful woman — I could see 
 that — very beautiful: not lovely, because of a 
 certain shade of coarseness in expression that 
 time would further develope; but brilliant and 
 striking, with a clear vivid complexion, great 
 eyes, and floods of deep bronzed red hair. Her 
 figure was tall and large, her neck gracefully and 
 haughtily curved, and her arms pretty, but spoiled 
 by a broad, thick, pulpy hand. Grandmamma 
 said her age was twenty-six; if so, she had 
 preserved unfaded her youthful freshness. She 
 had a fine voice, and sang in a free, natural, 
 careless way, which was exceedingly pleasant to 
 hear. Many people said she was the handsomest 
 and most accomplished woman they knew: I 
 heard it in grandmamma's drawing-room daily ; 
 Aunt Aurelia, whose friend she was, insisted on 
 it with earnestness: Miss Wilton added her
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 153 
 
 word of praise — a word of weight at Crofton 
 now. ^ 
 
 Before Milicent's song was finished, one of the 
 dowagers had vacated her seat, and left my view 
 more open. I could see all the group at the 
 piano: Mr. Longstaff, from the White House, 
 Miss Theodosia, his maiden sister, Miss Wilton, 
 and old Miss ConoUy, stood on the further side; 
 the three Miss Froudes, in blue crape, with 
 entwined arms, hovered restlessly by; and Mr. 
 Mayne, with yoimg Reginald Pompe, and a black 
 bearded stranger, hung uncomfortably in the rear : 
 a pale, fair-haired, little lady in pink, the dark 
 individual's wife, was close behind Milicent, with 
 her hands clasped on her shoulders. While I 
 observed them they began to sing a duet together, 
 and Mr. Longstaff, smitten with admiration for 
 the tune perhaps, growled out at intervals a not 
 very tuneful bass. Miss ConoUy and his sister 
 seemed to me to incite him to the performance, 
 and afterwards to compliment him upon it — very 
 unnecessarily. 
 
 When elderly people will sing in society, it is 
 
 H 5
 
 154 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 always a matter of regret to me that they have 
 ever had voices — they are so Reluctant to forget 
 their ancient triumphs ; even Miss Conolly 
 quavered through the refrain of that beautiful 
 song, which for thirty years back, at least, she 
 ought not to have attempted. 
 
 Mr. Mayne did not appear to be listening: 
 there was a sort of far-away abstraction in his 
 eyes, downcast on the carpet, and a set, cold 
 expression about his lips which gave a sternness 
 to his countenance. Aunt Aurelia went and 
 spoke to him, and he started like a man breaking 
 away from an unfinished dream. Milicent Pompe 
 laughed, and made some rallying speech, for he 
 appeared to be excusing himself, and then turned 
 again to Mrs. Marston. Though I could not 
 hear a word where I sat, I knew by the movement 
 of his lips that he was asking after grandmamma, 
 and then that he added, " And how is Kathie 
 to-day ? " for my aunt looked towards the boudoir 
 and said, " She is here ; I left her on the couch 
 by the conservatory door : " that I did hear ; and 
 immediately Mr. Mayne crossed the drawing-
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 155 
 
 room, and came through the folding doors 
 straight to where I sat. He seemed very glad, 
 and made a low-toned observation on my pro- 
 pensity for hiding myself in out-of-the-way 
 corners, as he took a seat near me. The other 
 velvet dowager presently sailed away ; and though 
 we had not much to say to each other, the 
 contented expression that came over his face 
 made me happy for all the night. I liked so 
 much to feel that my being there was pleasant 
 to him, and that he would come to me even when 
 there were so many gayer and cleverer people to 
 talk to. If he had not found me, or if, having 
 found me, he had left me again directly, I should 
 have gone home miserable, and perhaps have cried 
 myself asleep. I always thought his manner to 
 me kinder than to other women : though he was 
 courteous to all, for me his voice had a gentler 
 and yet freer tone, as if he were more at home 
 with me than with them. He once even expressed 
 this when he came from the Rectory to give me 
 my lesson : he said, " Kathie, I feel as if I were 
 coming to my own fireside." And on this evening
 
 156 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 there was a peculiar kindness in his tone, and an 
 eager softness, very different to the conventional 
 attentions and respect I had seen him distribute 
 amongst the Misses Froude. I could not help 
 saying to myself, " I am sure he likes me," 
 with a sort of reckless exultation : I did not stop 
 to count the cost of my triumph, then or ever. 
 
 Not six sentences had we exchanged when 
 Mr. Longstaff, a long, thin, fossilized gentleman, 
 entered the boudoir, and came forward to talk 
 to Mr. Mayne about some geological discoveries 
 of recent date. Then in glided Miss Conolly, 
 who must have been very old ; yet she was 
 still serving the world, and bowing heart and 
 soul to it, though her head was white and her lank 
 jaw toothless: still making it many offerings 
 of cramps and pains glossed over with, alas ! 
 smiles no longer — spasmodic grins rather ; 
 reminding one of the grin mortality wears when 
 the flesh has rotted from the skull, and left it 
 bare, open-mouthed, mocking as it were at its 
 very loathsomeness — from which lips wherein 
 life is would shrink away shuddering. It offended
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 157 
 
 my sense of the fitness of things to see decrepit 
 age masquerading in the garb of youth ; looking 
 as grimly fantastic as a death's head crowned 
 with May roses. She had a harassed expres- 
 sion of eye through all her smirking, which 
 caused me to suspect that, intent as she seemed 
 on Mr. LongstafF's geological conversation, she 
 was aware that her auburn front had been 
 accidentally pushed awry, and that she was 
 watching her opportunity to set it straight. 
 He, poor stony man, seemed quite impervious 
 to her fascinations, looking straight into the 
 opposite wall, and talking like a scientific report. 
 When a pause occurred, she complimented him 
 on his memory, and then, turning to me, asked 
 in a stage whisper if I did not think him a very 
 spiritual person. The queer, shrewd smile that 
 slanted across his hard face boded ill for his 
 susceptibility to elegant figures of speech. 
 
 Mr. Longs taff was a frequent visitor at my 
 grandmother's house, and he had distinguished 
 me by a good deal of kindness as towards a 
 child: sending me fruit and flowers often while
 
 158 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I was ill, and since my recovery even inviting 
 me to the White House to inspect his geological 
 specimens — a mark of favour which his sister 
 told me he had never extended to one of my 
 sex before. He wearied me certainly; but I 
 generally contrived to keep up my attention, 
 because he was such an excellent and amiable 
 person, and so tolerant of my ignorance, which 
 everybody was not. Now, however, he was 
 unpardonably tedious : it seemed as if he would 
 never cease his long-winded dissertation on a 
 fossilized bee's-wing, or something of that kind. 
 He fairly talked Miss Conolly off her feet, and 
 she retired to an ottoman near the door-way 
 where she could see without hearing. Mr. 
 Mayne supported it a little longer; but hearing 
 his own name in the other room, he gladly beat 
 a retreat, and Mr. Longstaff dropped into his 
 seat as if he had been waiting for it. I groaned 
 internally, knowing but too well his capability 
 of holding forth on his favourite hobby for 
 hours together; but many bunches of grapes, 
 many posies of Russian violets, with " Mr.
 
 MT FIRST PARTY. 159 
 
 Longstaff's compliments and desires to know 
 how Miss Kathie is to day ? " weighed me down 
 like lead to my couch-comer. It was never 
 my failing to forget or be ungrateful for kindness, 
 and I thought this gave him a large claim on 
 my endurance, so I listened patiently. 
 
 He was not an abrupt person, but it will 
 always be a marvel to me how, in less than five 
 minutes after we were left by ourselves, he, 
 without startling me, glided out of the valley 
 of dry bones into offering me his hand "with 
 his heart in it," and the position of mistress of 
 the White House. His face never changed a 
 muscle, his eyes never swerved from the wall: 
 Miss ConoUy from her post of observation on the 
 ottoman could not have conjectured how her 
 schemes were being perilled; he might have 
 been alluding to some new specimen that he 
 was going to put into a glass case. I had no 
 inclination to laugh, though it was ridiculous ; 
 nor to cry, though it was disagreeable ; least of 
 all to feel confused : so I declined the honour — 
 indeed, such it was — plainly and positively, in
 
 160 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 half a dozen words or less; during which, and 
 following which, there was no physiognomical 
 change whatever in Mr. Longstaffs face, except 
 that his eyes left the wall and sought the carpet. 
 He was silent for the space of perhaps thirty 
 seconds ; then he asked in the same tone if he 
 must really abandon hope, and if I was pre- 
 attached. At this blunt question, the colour 
 flushed warm in my face ; then I turned very 
 white: probably he felt that he had no right to 
 make this demand almost as soon as it was uttered, 
 for, finding that I made no reply, he added 
 rather hastily, " I crave your pardon. Miss 
 Kathie," (he was an old fashioned man, and used 
 odd words) " let us remain friends : there is no 
 offence." I was so young as to feel re-assured 
 at hearing this, and if he had chosen to take 
 another turn into the world before the flood, 
 I should have followed without diffidence, looking 
 on it in the light of compensation ; but he did 
 not ; he went to the card-table, and took a hand 
 at whist instead. 
 
 My casual views of society as it existed at
 
 CROFTON SOCIETY. 161 
 
 Crofton, were not very enlivening, but it must be 
 borne in mind tbat I was a spectator rather than an 
 actor therein. People appeared to come together 
 in their best clothes, and to conspire to be 
 ceremoniously and respectably dull. Certain 
 elderly ladies and gentlemen sat down to cards ; 
 the younger people clustered round the piano, 
 and if they played or sang, repeated their pieces 
 and ballads as if they were an institution not to 
 be foregone ; diffident individuals entrenched 
 themselves behind picture-books, and looked at 
 them perseveringly throughout whole evenings; 
 rarely opening their mouths except to stave off 
 any approach to intimacy. Mr. Mayne, Mr. 
 Longstaff, and young Reginald Pompe, were the 
 only unmarried men in the community, while the 
 young ladies were in the majority of six to one ; 
 thus a flirtation could only be got up under 
 difficulties, unless some lucky accident drifted an 
 eligible stranger into the village ; for Mr. Mayne 
 divided his courtesies impartially, Mr. Longstaff 
 was as hard and unimpressible generally as one of 
 his own pre- Adamite relics, and Reginald Pompe
 
 162 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was too deeply in love with his own handsome 
 face and person to be otherwise than conceited 
 and stupid. The Froudes, whose education had 
 been finished in Paris, made a few spasmodic 
 efforts to introduce games and dancing amongst 
 the evening-party givers; but they had been 
 speedily snubbed into propriety, and ended by 
 becoming as dull, stagnant, and insipid, as the 
 oldest and most respectable inhabitants of the 
 township. 
 
 The present meeting formed no exception to 
 the rule: there was the usual amount of polite 
 wrangling amongst the card-playing seniors; 
 Miss Conolly sung her song, " Had I a heart 
 for falsehood framed," and was duly complimented 
 and laughed at ; Milicent Pompe gave " Where the 
 bee sucks," and took part in several duets, with great 
 applause ; and a young girl from school thundered 
 through the newly imported " Battle of Prague," 
 which I thought a fine piece then, and do still. 
 Everybody appraised everybody else's attire ; 
 there was the proper amount of talk, never rising 
 above personal or parish gossip ; and at half-past
 
 MY FIRST PARTY 163 
 
 twelve everybody, as with one consent, rose up 
 to go. 
 
 It chanced that in the dispersion of the com- 
 pany IMiss Conolly, my aunt Aurelia, and I, were 
 left the last ; and Mrs. Pompe arrested us just as 
 we were on the point of departing, to make, as 
 she stated, a communication of importance. To 
 me she hastily presented an album of portraits of 
 celebrated characters, as a hint that little girls 
 were not desired to listen ; so I discreetly seated 
 myself at the round table, though not out of ear- 
 shot, for they spoke aloud. 
 
 The Rector's lady always had a pet grievance 
 on hand for the delectation of her friends; the 
 present one which she wished to impart to Mrs. 
 Marston concerned the curate at Dr. Pompe's 
 living in Hampshire. It appeared that this 
 gentleman was about to commit the indiscretion 
 of marrying, and that, finding his stipend of 30/., 
 even with the addition of a furnished cottage, 
 insufficient for the maintenance of himself and 
 wife, he proposed to resign his curacy, and turn 
 schoolmaster. Miss Conolly, who had a nephew
 
 164 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 waiting for a title for holy orders, animadverted 
 on such foolish and monstrous ingratitude; and 
 Mrs. Pompe dismissed the presumptuous curate 
 with valedictory remarks, and an incomprehen- 
 sible quotation touching the sinfulness of Satan 
 and ambition. 
 
 " I should like Mr. Mayne to exchange his 
 curacy here for Broughton/' said she in con- 
 tinuation : " Broughton is a very populous parish, 
 and he is such a trustworthy person. He would 
 always have suited that place better than Crofton." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, we never go down to Broughton 
 now!" interrupted Milicent: "I see no reason 
 whatever for Mr. Mayne's exchanging." 
 
 "That partiality of yours is a weakness that 
 I do not approve, my dear ; pray conquer it," said 
 her mother shortly; "it has nothing to do with 
 the present question, and I am surprised that 
 you should intrude it. It is most mortifying 
 to your father and me." 
 
 " Very well, mamma, then say no more about 
 it : if Mr. Mayne goes, Crofton society will have 
 lost its best member."
 
 MY FIRST PARTY. 165 
 
 " We are only among intimate friends, 
 Milicent, or I should be ashamed of you. I 
 wonder a girl of your position and talents should 
 be so absurd as to think for a moment of 
 Mr. Mayne, who has nothing besides his curacy : 
 it is most unworthy." 
 
 Milicent turned sharply round, and walked 
 away ; I heard her muttering fiercely to herself 
 as she passed behind me. 
 
 "I do not know what the world is coming 
 to," said the Rector's lady, as it appeared to 
 me, rather irrelevantly : " nobody is content in 
 their natural station: some are striving to rise, 
 and others hastening to degrade themselves. 
 There is an immense fuss about education ; I 
 never could see the use of it myself: it only 
 makes the lower orders impudent and encroach- 
 ing; as for the daughters of shopkeepers and 
 professional people, there is really no distinguishing 
 them from the old gentry. The Maynes were 
 manufacturers, and Ellen Mayne was one of the 
 loveliest and sweetest mannered girls I ever saw 
 — quite the young gentlewoman. Then look at
 
 166 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 tailor Craddock's daughter just home from 
 boarding-school : she is beautiful, and sings at 
 church as well as Milicent." 
 
 "Better, mamma, — twenty thousand times; 
 and tailors' daughters are proverbially hand- 
 some," interposed the young lady. 
 
 " Let people keep their places. Mr. Mayne has 
 some very radical ideas, and you have imbibed 
 them," retorted Mrs. Pompe: "I heard him 
 telling you yesterday that true education raises 
 men in their station, but not above it." 
 
 " Well, mamma, if our progenitors had all held 
 your theory, we should still reside in caves, 
 promenade the woods sumptuously clad in blue 
 dye, and fare luxuriously every day on acorns." 
 
 " Milicent, you are incorrigible ! " was the 
 only reply vouchsafed to this ; and the elder lady 
 sailed over to where I sat, and asked if the book 
 amused me. It lay open at a medallion portrait 
 of the Duke of Wellington, which was encircled 
 with an allegorical border ; while at the bottom, 
 within three inches of the great soldier's nose, 
 couched peacefully the British Lion. Mrs.
 
 MY FIEST PARTY. 167 
 
 Pompe lifted her glass, and with a cursory glance 
 at the portrait observed, " Wellington, I suppose, 
 when he went to see the wild beasts ? " 
 
 I thought she was jesting ; but a look at the set 
 of her fuU, protruding lip convinced me that she 
 was quite in earnest. No wonder she objected 
 to progress in any shape ! 
 
 Meanwhile an undertoned colloquy was going 
 on by the fire between my aunt, Milicent, 
 and ^liss Conolly, still on the subject of the 
 curate. 
 
 " I have thought more than once that he is the 
 least happy and least contented man in the 
 parish," said ^liss Pompe. 
 
 "That is a strange sentiment, and I hope 
 not a true one," responded IMiss Conolly 
 gravely. 
 
 " He is a man of great ability ; he is ambitious, 
 he is proud, and he is fettered with poverty: 
 therefore it is Yery likely to be true," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " Milicent, it is most unbecoming in you to 
 speak so much of that person," interrupted
 
 168 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Mrs. Pompe angrily. " I wish he were at 
 Broughton." 
 
 The young lady laughed very unpleasantly; 
 and to my great relief, Aunt Aurelia and Miss 
 Conolly bade good night, and we departed. It 
 was very fine, and in overshoes and calashes we 
 walked back to the Grange in company. 
 
 " Mark my words ! " said Miss Conolly 
 emphatically ; " if Mr. Mayne makes the smallest 
 effort, he may win Milicent Pompe any day." 
 
 *^Not a doubt of it," answered my aunt 
 laughing: "she has a nice fortune at her own 
 command, and I think it would be a very sensible 
 thing. There is a great deal of good in Milicent, 
 and he would bring it out. Good night. Miss 
 Conolly : I hope you will not take cold." 
 
 With a somewhat bitter cud of reflection to 
 chew I entered the house, not quite certain 
 whether the heart I bore in my bosom was not 
 considerably heavier than when I left it less than 
 four hours before. 
 
 Grandmamma had not gone to bed, as her custom 
 was, and she asked a great many questions as
 
 MT FIRST PARTY. 169 
 
 to how I had enjoyed the evening, who had 
 talked to me, and what I had done ; if her manner 
 had been of the caressing order, she would 
 certainly have caressed me then. 
 
 I could not imagine what this novel affectionate- 
 ness portended, for it continued during three whole 
 days; and Miss Bootle, who escaped scolding 
 during the interval, wore an air of inflated mystery 
 infinitely laughable and puzzling. Repeatedly my 
 grandmother led the conversation back to the 
 party at the Rectory, as if expecting some unusual 
 confidence from me. At last, one evening, having 
 called me to her room, where the companion was 
 helping her to dress, she observed, after a little 
 desultory chat, that she thought of inviting Mr. 
 Longstaff to dinner on the following Thursday. 
 I tried to say " Indeed ! " in a careless way, but 
 my face burnt guiltily. Suddenly my kinswoman 
 turned round upon me with a snap and a scowl, 
 the meaning of which I knew full well. " Kathie 
 Brande, don't think to play the sentimental fool 
 with me ! " cried she stormily : " don't pretend to 
 misunderstand me! Mr. Longstaff spoke to me 
 
 YOL. I. I
 
 170 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 before he addressed himself to you, and I will never 
 believe that you have been such a born idiot as to 
 refuse him." 
 
 My aunt Aurelia entered, but perceiving what 
 was going on, with a glance at me, and a white 
 scared face, she went out again immediately. 
 That momentary vision gave me strength for 
 what was to come: I recalled similar scenes 
 enacted in that very room years ago, which had 
 grown to miserable and shameful end ; and I cared 
 no more for the frantic ravings of my grand- 
 mother than I should have done for a dull actress 
 going through a dull part. To all she said, 
 whether passionate rebuke, or scornful taunt, 
 or fierce threat, I opposed only a silent, pale 
 resistance. 
 
 ^^ I did not think there was such mulish 
 obstinacy in you, Kathie," she concluded by 
 saying ; " but if you are determined to fly in the 
 face of fortune and common sense, I will throw 
 you off. Write to your mother, and say you will 
 be at home this day fortnight."
 
 PRIVATE SKELETONS. 171 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Grandmamma and I kept our own counsel : we 
 neither of us sought sympathy abroad. There is 
 a homely French proverb to which most discreet 
 people give heed — " Ti faut laver son linge sale 
 en famille : " a process we two went thi'ough in 
 that bow-windowed dressing-room, many, many 
 times during the ensuing ten days ; and then we 
 went out together friendly and smiling, and faced 
 the Crofton world — deceiving it perhaps, perhaps 
 being ourselves alone deceived. 
 
 Some of our friends might possibly be going 
 through a similar role with a like imperturbability. 
 It would be a strange world if all the false- 
 seemings were unmasked: a sorry world, and a 
 sad, if every bleeding heart were to drop its cloak 
 down from the lacerated breast, and lay the 
 anatomy of its suffering bare. I do not think we 
 should get over our griefs any better if we 
 covered ourselves with sackcloth and put ashes
 
 172 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 on our heads : people would only hold us up as 
 monuments of righteous judgment, and point to 
 us as sinners above all who are dwelling in our 
 Jerusalem. And the true mourning, after all, is 
 done in secret heart-chambers, where our dead 
 hopes are sepulchred ; where they become first a 
 bitter dust, and finally, by some occult trans- 
 muting and refining power, they turn to a rich 
 incense, which embalms our memory through long 
 and arid years. Deeds which our acquaintance 
 designate our follies, may at another tribunal be 
 our virtues — our single redeeming points: who 
 judges rightly, who can rightly judge where so 
 many of our efforts are bent to seem other than 
 we are, and the universal conjuring trick of this 
 world is to throw dust expertly in our neighbours' 
 eyes? 
 
 I believe my aunt Aurelia suspected at length 
 what proof armour I wore under my girl's frock, 
 but she never hinted at it. Even women the 
 most worldly respect a pure first love ; it is the 
 mercenary, interested affaires de convenance they 
 mock at and chatter about so unscrupulously.
 
 memory's jewels. 173 
 
 It is likely enough that they themselves have the 
 true thing hidden sacredly away, like a gem that 
 has come wrongfully into their possession ; that 
 they have been into mourning for it; and that, 
 after that period was expired, they learnt to look 
 upon the jewel with composure. Finding it quite 
 old fashioned, chaste but antique, precious but 
 useless, some of them will even keep it all their 
 lives as in a relic box, offering before its shrine 
 annual incense of regrets and tears ; others will 
 recklessly barter it away for a gaudy, modem 
 trinket, that they can wear on unblushing brow, 
 and which, in time, they may come to vaunt 
 themselves of having gained. 
 
 I have seen such bargains made over and over 
 ao-ain. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Two days after the party at the Rectory, 
 Milicent Pompe originated a picnic to Bishops - 
 wood — a beautiful spot, some eight miles from
 
 174 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Crofton. Grandmamma demurred as to the 
 propriety of allowing me to join in it after 
 my criminal behaviour ; but Miss Tedo Longstaff' 
 having offered to take me in her carriage, I was 
 reluctantly permitted to go. 
 
 The morning rose as soft and warm as July, 
 which tempted most of the party to go by water ; 
 but grandmamma would not listen to any change 
 of plan for me, and I was shut up in the close 
 chariot with Miss Tedo. Miss Wilton, in her 
 obnoxious cape and feather, rode the miller's 
 pony ; Mrs. Pompe, Miss ConoUy, and the Doctor, 
 went in their family coach, with great provisions 
 for luncheon ; and the rest — Mr. Mayne, Milicent, 
 the Froudes, Reginald Pompe, and several gentle- 
 men impressed from Loughboro for the 
 occasion — went in a boat, intending to land on 
 the beach below Bishopton, and walk up to the 
 inn where we were all to meet. 
 
 Much rather would I have been of the latter 
 party ; for Miss Tedo was very stiff at first, and 
 looked at me with an injured, resentful 
 countenance, which troubled me far more than
 
 MISS TEDO LONGSTAFF. 175 
 
 my grandmother's invectives. At length, un- 
 bending with a sort of forgiving severity, she 
 informed me that her brother was gone into 
 Wales. I blushed uneasily; which sign of grace 
 caused her to relent still more, and she added, 
 " You have shown yourself a discreet little girl ; 
 but I had rather you could have testified a higher 
 appreciation of my excellent brother, all the 
 same: but we have no quarrel against you. 
 Oh, no!" 
 
 " I am very sorry to have grieved anybody," 
 was all it came into my head to say. 
 
 " Don't let such a thought distress you, I beg ! 
 John William was unwise ever to think of such 
 a young wife ; but when men get to his age they 
 do unaccountably silly things sometimes. I dare 
 say that in a month's time he will be very 
 thankful that you refused him." 
 
 " I shall be very glad, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Yes, you did not lay yourself out to ensnare 
 him, as some are doing ; but I would wish you to 
 know that you may go further and fare worse 
 than you would have done as wife to John
 
 176 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 William Longstaff, of the White House. Yes. 
 He has a fine estate, and a very good head of his 
 own. Yes." 
 
 Each phrase was emphasized by a little jerking 
 nod; w^ith the last of which Miss Tedo brought 
 herself up into the corner of the chariot in a very 
 tight and erect position, which expressed her 
 virtuously indignant sentiments admirably. I, 
 meanwhile, experienced all the uncomfortable 
 sensations of a school-girl had up for judicious 
 reproof; and not knowing how to propitiate the 
 affronted old lady, I maintained a submissive 
 silence until she spoke again. 
 
 " Miss Kathie," she said with austere dignity, 
 " you have acted properly, I allow, and nobody 
 would have been more angry if you had taken 
 advantage of John William's infatuation; but I 
 wish he had not given you the opportunity of 
 inflicting the mortification upon him. He bears 
 you no ill will, neither do I ; but, at the same time, 
 I wish it had not happened. It disturbs me to 
 have him away : I am quite alone." 
 
 " I am going home next week. Miss Longstaff,
 
 A DAT AT BISHOPST^'OOD. 177 
 
 if my being here makes any difference," I replied 
 humbly. " I like your brother very much, and 
 am only sorry to have vexed him. It was not 
 my fault : I would have prevented it if I could : 
 but I did not know he cared for me." 
 
 And at this pomt, to my great relief, the 
 carriage stopped before the door of Bishopton Inn. 
 Miss Wilton, who had just dismounted, and was 
 kilting up her habit for walking, informed us that 
 the rest of the party had gone forward to the 
 wood, and left word for us to follow. Miss Tedo 
 remarked that it was very unceremonious of them ; 
 but Dr. Pompe tm^ning up opportmiely to offer 
 his arm, her good humour was restored. Th^y 
 walked on, and Miss Wilton bade me stay with 
 her, insinuating that it would be pleasant to take 
 our time alone. 
 
 '' Can you laugh ? " she demanded suddenly, 
 as we leisurely followed the Doctor and Miss 
 Tedo. * 
 
 " Yes, under sufficient provocation." 
 
 *' I am glad to hear it ; for I thought when you 
 got out of the carriage that you had been frowned 
 
 i5
 
 178 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 down for the day. Now, I am not going to join 
 myself to all those people who have gone on 
 before: they have come for their purposes, and 
 I have come for mine: and mine is sketching. 
 Your company suits me: will you stay with 
 me?" 
 
 I acceded ; not sure whether I was most 
 flattered by her preference or disappointed at 
 not being with those whom I knew better. 
 There were clearly no social intentions on my 
 companion's part ; for as soon as Dr. Pompe and 
 Miss Tedo were out of sight, she sat down by the 
 road side to sketch Bishopton Inn. It was one 
 of those pretty rural hostelries which are fast 
 disappearing from the land: it had a great pro- 
 jecting porch, lattice windows, and a lofty gable 
 surmounted with ball and spike, and half buried 
 in ivy. There was a green in front with a large 
 pond, across which a line of grand old oaks 
 threw a broad mass of shadow. My companion 
 sketched rapidly; but she informed me, for my 
 comfort and sustenance, that in a ride this way 
 the day before she had marked down several
 
 A DAT AT BISHOPSWOOD. 179 
 
 picturesque bits of scenery for transference to 
 her drawing-book ; so that I need not expect soon 
 to rejoin the rest of our party. 
 
 Bishopswood skirted the great Langland estates, 
 formerly ecclesiastical property, and still pre- 
 serving the remembrance of what they were 
 in the designations of their several parts. Its 
 depths were craggy and precipitous, and gave 
 rise to the Monksburn, which wound its hidden 
 way amongst stones and underwood until it 
 reached the meadows ; whence, almost circling 
 Bishopton, it afterwards ran to the sea below, 
 through a stony gully called Prior's-death. 
 
 At Bishopton there existed previous to the Refor- 
 mation a richly endowed monastery, the tenants 
 of which had been driven out by royal mandate, 
 and their dwelling razed to the ground. Its 
 ruins were still to be traced in the vicinity of the 
 church. From this place, with occasional breaks 
 where it had for convenience been levelled, 
 there extended to a deep hollow in the forest 
 a sort of terrace, once enclosed between two 
 lines of elms, and still called the Abbot's Walk.
 
 180 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 Cowled figures were said by the superstitious to 
 haunt the Walk, especially on bleak, wintry 
 nights such as that when the king's order came ; 
 and a great white stone, over which neither 
 moss nor lichen grew, went by the name of 
 Abbot's-pillow, because tradition related that 
 beside it the body of the venerable superior was 
 found, sheeted with snow, the morning after he 
 was driven from the monastery. Another of the 
 monkish fraternity met his death in the gully 
 through which the beck rushed to the sea; 
 and hence its designation of Prior's - death. 
 This burn ran almost parallel with Abbot's 
 Walk ; and several times, as Miss Wilton and I 
 wandered leisurely on, had I to smother my 
 impatience while my enthusiastic companion sat 
 down to sketch. 
 
 Sometimes it was the gnarled twisted trunk 
 of a decayed oak stretching its arms across the 
 shallow burn that attracted her attention; then 
 it was a group of cattle standing in the water 
 to drink ; and again some curiously tinted cottage, 
 picturesquely ruinous, and long since deserted.
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPS WOOD. 181 
 
 She demanded my admiration frequently ; but 
 at last she shut up her book, and said with a 
 curious smile, " Our heart 's in the woodlands ! 
 well, let us go ! " 
 
 I could not help feeling as if she had discovered 
 my secret, especially when she added, "Kathie 
 Brande, you have the patience of a saint ! Let 
 me predict your future for you. Cross my hand 
 that I may tell you true." 
 
 We were down by the burn ; so I sprinkled a 
 few drops of water on her palm, and said I 
 hoped it was holy enough still to warn away 
 evil prophecies. 
 
 "We shall see: now, like a real gipsy, let 
 me read the lines of your hand and face ; then 
 I will pronounce. — You shall hope long and 
 pertinaciously; you shall have much struggle 
 and suffering ; final calm, and great happiness ; 
 and a heart and strength for all." 
 
 " Thanks ! you are quite oracular : I dare not 
 seek to know more. The prediction would 
 suit Sybil Froude as well, or Milicent Pompe 
 either."
 
 182 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 *^ No, it would not. It suits you, and nobody- 
 else." 
 
 " But everybody has sun and storm, happiness 
 and sorrow." 
 
 " Stuff, my dear child ! there are natures so 
 dull, selfish, and insensible, that, providing they 
 eat and sleep, nothing moves them. Their 
 passions are like stagnant water, their vices and 
 virtues all negatives. They are born, and they 
 die — that is the sum of them. Their happiness 
 never rises above a lethargic content, and their 
 unhappiness never exceeds a vague sense of 
 disturbance in their torpor. Let them be: we 
 have nothing to do with them. I like the fine 
 clay through which the vivid soul shines like 
 a star, not the dense earthen pipkins that the 
 rushlight cannot penetrate. You and I think 
 and feel more in one month than the rudely 
 fashioned vessels do in a whole lifetime." 
 
 " Oh, no ! you are mistaken in me : I am 
 very ignorant and slow. I know nothing ! 
 Everybody says so ! " I interrupted hastily. 
 
 " Everybody is an earthen pipkin ! " was the
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPSWOOD. 183 
 
 reply. "Does your priest, Felix Mayne, say 
 so ? He knows better. You have a fine 
 intelligence, cultivated by thought, solitude, and 
 observation — the truest intelligence. You have 
 not read many books, you have not gone 
 through the whole manual of modern accomplish- 
 ments successfully (No, indeed ! thought I), and 
 you have not lived long enough to know society ; 
 but you have a sense to see, and see justly — to 
 understand, and that quickly. I approved you 
 from that moment when you came up to me 
 at your grandmother's house, and offered me 
 flowers, with a little shy look that said, as 
 plainly as words could have done, ' Don't class 
 me with all these people who have laughed at 
 you.'" 
 
 I reddened, and confessed that some such 
 thought had been in my mind. 
 
 " Yes. What you feel you show : your face 
 is a sad tell-tale. I watched you at the Rectory 
 the other night, when you were in the boudoir. 
 For a long while your coimtenance was still, and 
 simply observant ; but when its play began there
 
 184 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was a shrewd turn, both of eye and lip, which 
 marked your ready appreciation of all that was 
 notable amongst the guests. For a time you were 
 passive, as if waiting for something ; then anxious 
 and meditative; and finally your eyes kindled 
 with a very glad light: if I were a man, and 
 loved you, I should like your eyes to brighten 
 so for me. You seemed very well contented all 
 the evening after, though anybody might have 
 thought you were having a very dull time 
 of it." 
 
 " I am rarely dull," said I, shrinking a little 
 from my companion's inquisitorial probe. 
 
 " Because you extract food for fancy from 
 everything and every person that comes in your 
 way. You do not talk : many people think there 
 is nothing in you all the time that you are uncon- 
 sciously reading off their little shams, peculiarities, 
 and general traits of character, and storing them 
 up in your mind for afterthought. If you were a 
 writer, you would reproduce them mellowed and 
 toned down, with all the coarseness refined out of 
 them ; for you have an instinctive shrinking from
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPSWOOD. 18o 
 
 whatever is base, that leads you to idealize human 
 nature, and think of it better than it deserves ; and 
 what you cannot but condemn, you strive to cover 
 with the wide mantle of your charity. You are 
 not suspicious, and you are tenaciously hopeful. 
 Then you have veneration strong, which gives you 
 faith in goodness, and a great admiration for all 
 that is lofty and noble. But there is a measure of 
 weakness in you too: you are never certain of 
 yourself; you will act impulsively, and then fret 
 yourself for days with the idea that perhaps the 
 impulse was wrong and the deed faulty. If you 
 see that any one looks down on you, you don't 
 resent it, but feel oppressed with your insigni- 
 ficance, and endeavour to rise in their esteem ; 
 but I imagine that to be incidental to your training. 
 Were you thrown on your own resources, you 
 would fight your battle independently." 
 
 '' Is it pleasant to write books ? " I asked, 
 thinking that myself had been quite sufficiently 
 discussed. 
 
 " Very pleasant ! It is happiness enough for me 
 now ; I do not much care for its annoyances.
 
 186 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 Sybil Froude said to me a few days since, with 
 her ineffably-patronizing air, ' I presume you feel 
 yourself above domestic matters and lady's work, 
 which we like so much ? ' It is a fact that I can 
 handle a needle as deftly as any woman : I do 
 not relish being looked upon as incapable, and 
 deficient in common sense ; which I am not. The 
 same young lady also confided to me that hitherto 
 she had looked upon female writers as disreputable 
 and dangerous characters ; indeed, I see that many 
 of the respectable people do regard the gift as 
 a mental twist and deformity — a visitation like 
 blindness, a wen, or any other physical defect — 
 something that they may treat with a sort of 
 lofty, half- contemptuous pity. Sybil thanked 
 Heaven piously that she was not a clever woman, 
 because men hate clever women ; upon which 
 Milicent Pompe, who was present, handed to me a 
 literary curiosity, which she laughingly stated to 
 be her friend's highest mental effort. It began — 
 
 " ' Dear Milicent, 
 " ' Will you look in the top, right-hand drawer
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPSWOOD. 187 
 
 of the wardrobe of the room where I slept when 
 I was at your house in London, and you will find 
 a small box which I left behind. Unlock it with 
 the key I enclose, and in the second compartment 
 (the nob is off the lid, and you will have to raise 
 it with your penknife) you will find some pearl 
 buttons. Please take one of the plain ones and 
 get it matched with a dozen of the same kind : I 
 want them for a lovely new habit-shirt. My 
 bonnet came safely : it is sweetly pretty. How is 
 dear little Tiny ? ' &c. &c. 
 
 " Milicent assured me that she considered this 
 specimen a favourable one, for it was neither 
 scandalous, ill-natured, nor ill-spelt; and asked if 
 I did not think it an excellent diploma of the 
 young lady's domestic virtues. I need not inquire 
 if you have friends amongst these girls, for I am 
 sure you cannot have : they despise us both, from 
 the depths of their little minds — you as insigni- 
 cant, me as unfeminine." 
 
 " You don't care, then, not to be loved ? " 
 
 " I can exist without it. I don't like personal
 
 188 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 abuse : I shrink from it naturally, as I do from all 
 things harsh and disagreeable ; but the momentary 
 soreness past, I feel quite indifferent. Not long 
 since. Miss Tedo Longstaff, a well-intentioned but 
 very impertinent old lady, lectured me on the 
 satirical passages in my books, until I was obliged 
 to remind her that we are bee-like in our pro- 
 pensities, and cull our store from every pasture ; 
 but instead of visiting only sweet flowers, we 
 extract a pungent kind of honey from nettles and 
 brambles, and that some tastes relish the wild 
 honey more than the dulcet syrup. Then she 
 wanted to know if ever I took people off, and 
 I had much difficulty in convincing her that 
 accidental resemblances must occur in books that 
 are true to nature; but that I had never in my 
 life sat down deliberately to take a portrait, 
 though I must have reproduced the results of my 
 observations in society over and over again. She 
 thought it very wrong, and advised me to write 
 essays and moral lectures." 
 
 " They would be safe at least ; but in so-called 
 personalities people are not half so ready to take
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPSWOOD. 189 
 
 a laughable resemblance to themselves as they 
 are to fit it to their friends and acquaintance. 
 They are quick enough to cry, ^ How like so and 
 so ! ' but I never heard anybody say, ^ How very 
 like me!'" 
 
 Miss Wilton laughed. "Nor I," said she: 
 " and if you give any book the reputation of 
 being personal, how eager everybody suddenly 
 becomes to read it." 
 
 I blushed, remembering how we had all rushed 
 to Loughboro Library after ^liss Tedo's report on 
 Miss Wilton's own books ; and she gave me a quick 
 convicting glance which told that she knew of oui* 
 avidity and aggravation quite as well as I did. 
 
 " Tell me what character was given unto you, 
 Kathie Brande ? " she asked. I informed her. 
 " And were you vexed ? You must have seen 
 the absurdity of the charge." 
 
 " So I did ; but I did not like having such a 
 disagreeable reputation fixed on me: I fancied 
 there must have been some resemblance, or Miss 
 Tedo would not have said so." 
 
 " My dear child, she would have said so under
 
 190 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 any circumstance ; for she pounced on the book 
 with no other intent than to share out its 
 characters amongst the good folks of Crofton. I 
 was infinitely amused when the Loughboro man 
 told me into what a state of excitement the whole 
 of the innocent community had been thrown by 
 that old story written three years before I ever 
 saw any of them. But here we are in the wood : 
 do you know which way we must take ? " 
 
 I did not know, but thought the hollow to 
 which Abbot's Walk led the most likely place; 
 so we still kept to the now less distincty marked 
 terrace, and by and by the sound of voices 
 warned us that we were approaching our party. 
 
 " We shall only come in for the crumbs of 
 the feast," observed Miss Wilton. "Are you 
 indifferent to the good things of this world? 
 I confess that I am not." 
 
 And indeed when we entered the hollow we 
 found that only Sybil Froude, looking very sour, 
 Dr. Pompe, Mr. Mayne, and Miss Tedo, were 
 there; all the rest were sauntering gradually 
 away by twos and threes to explore the bonnie
 
 A DAT AT BISHOPSWOOD. 191 
 
 wild forest glades. I proposed tliat we should 
 possess ourselves of some fragments, and do like- 
 wise ; but my companion needed comfortable 
 refreshment, and drew near to Sybil, who sat 
 mournfully amongst the relics of the luncheon, 
 eating biscuits. 
 
 "What is the matter?" INIiss Wilton kindly 
 asked. Sybil pointed to a white net bonnet 
 lying much crushed on the grass besides her. 
 " Reginald Pompe sat down upon it," she tear- 
 fully explained. 
 
 " A new bonnet is very near to a pretty 
 woman's heart; but don't grieve, Sybil," said 
 IMiss Wilton : " if you could weep a flood, its 
 shape would never be restored. Never let that 
 squashed bit of finery spoil your pleasure ! I can 
 see it in your eye at this minute, it has taken all 
 the flavour out of the veal-pie, turned the 
 champagne into bitters, and the macaroons into 
 saw-dust; worse, it is taking away all the zest of 
 the many compliments you have received to-day : 
 cheer up ! " 
 
 Sybil smiled dolefully, and twirled the wreck
 
 192 KATUIE BEANDE. 
 
 round on her finger, asking with a touching 
 pathos if we had ever seen such a thing in our 
 lives before, and if it were possible for her to put 
 it on to go home in. 
 
 " Certainly ; let me straighten it for you," 
 replied Miss Wilton, and she really did contrive 
 to elicit some shape out of it again. " There ! 
 but for a perverse little twist in the crown it 
 would be all right ; " and she replaced it on 
 Sybil's head with the assurance that except for 
 the cloud in her own eyes she looked as well as 
 she did when she left home. " Well then, I '11 
 walk with you; and Miss Tedo shall take me 
 home in her chariot, and Kathie Brande can go in 
 the boat : will you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I should like the exchange." 
 
 While Miss Wilton and I were preparing to 
 fortify ourselves with luncheon, Reginald Pompe 
 came back to fetch Sybil, and Mr. Mayne to 
 attend upon us. 
 
 " Where have you been wandering ? " he asked. 
 Miss Wilton passed him her sketch-book ; but just 
 as he was going to sit down with us, and look it
 
 A DAY AT BISHOPS WOOD. 193 
 
 over, Doctor Pompe arrived to ask whether he 
 would go up to those springs at Woodhead that 
 they had been talking about, and he went away 
 with the Rector at once. 
 
 " Ah ! " thought I sighing ; " I shall not see 
 him any more now, and I counted on such a 
 happy day ! " 
 
 " Never mind, Kathie : you are going home in 
 the boat ! " said Miss Wilton, answering my 
 thought in an uncanny way, that made me reflect 
 whether it would not be as well to wear a mask 
 when in her company. 
 
 She rallied me good-naturedly on my lack of 
 appetite; and when she had lunched herself, 
 proposed that we should resume our stroll and 
 artistic researches. We did so, and wandered 
 deep into the wood ; but we encountered none of 
 the party, and supposed they had gone in other 
 directions. Miss Wilton was bent on finding the 
 place where the Monksburn rose; and dragged 
 me on through craggy difficult places and soft 
 spongy ground, until I was ready to drop with 
 fatigue. At last we came to a ledge of grey 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 rock, down the face of which trickled little lines 
 of moisture; below a tuft of alders, a gush of 
 ice-cold water poured like a miniature fall, and 
 wearing itself a bed amongst the stones, babbled 
 the secret of its way through the wood to all 
 listeners. This was Monksburn; and Miss Wilton 
 said she must sketch the romantic vignette it 
 would make. I was patient enough now, knowing 
 that my day was gone. We stayed there so long, 
 and loitered so much by the way in returning, 
 that when we passed through the hollow not a 
 vestige of our party was to be seen: servants, 
 hampers — everything had disappeared; neither 
 did we overtake any of them in going along 
 Abbot's Walk to Bishopton. 
 
 Miss Wilton knew a short cut to the beach 
 where the boat was left in the morning; so, 
 instead of going to the village, we descended 
 thither; but, to our dismay, we were told that 
 it had gone " most of an hour ago." We posted 
 up to the inn in haste — the carriages had 
 gone too. 
 
 " Never mind, Kathie : millers' horses always
 
 THE RETURN TO CROFTON. 195 
 
 carry double: you shall ride home behind me," 
 said Miss Wilton, cheerfully. 
 
 Indeed, there was nothing else for it. Oh, 
 how grandmamma ^ould scold! The woman at 
 the inn lent me a skirt and a warm cape, and a 
 sort of pad being put on the pony, there was I 
 moimted behind Miss Wilton. The effect 
 must have been ludicrous in the extreme ; for as 
 we started at a slow pace, a broad grin on every 
 face bade us good-by. 
 
 " Keep up your spirits, Kathie : it will be dusk 
 when we make our triumphal entry into Crofton," 
 said my companion. " This is not a very elegant 
 mode of conveyance, but in an emergency it is 
 not to be despised. I wish I could make a sketch 
 of our appearance." 
 
 I cannot say that I appreciated the comicality 
 of it so much as Miss Wilton did, for I was 
 excessively tired, not a little disappointed, and by 
 no means cheered with the prospect of grand- 
 mamma's displeasure. 
 
 The September day was already closing when 
 we left Bishopton, and as we could only go at a
 
 196 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 foot-pace, the dusk overtook us several miles 
 from Crofton. It was a beautiful clear twilight, 
 and the sun set beyond Marton Nab in a crimson 
 flush of glory. • 
 
 A silent fit had come upon Miss Wilton; at 
 last she said, " This time of day always inclines 
 me to blinking retrospections. It is of no use to 
 turn up the sods that cover the graves of past 
 pleasures and past pains ; but once our youth past, 
 all women who are alone do it. You live in the 
 future, I in the past : there is nothing for me to 
 look forward to except growing old. But how 
 wrong of me to talk dismally to a young thing like 
 you, dwelling in golden dream-land still ! " 
 
 She relapsed into silence for some time; and 
 then, to my surprise, began to whistle very deftly 
 the air of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 This was a novel accomplishment ; and the tune 
 ended, she said, " I had two brothers and no 
 sister ; we lived alone with my father ; our mother 
 was dead; they taught me boyish sports, and I 
 caught up their trick of whistling. I shall never 
 leave it off now : it reminds me of them. Ther
 
 THE RETURN TO CROFTON. 197 
 
 are both dead." And she glided mto the lively 
 tune of " MoUy Bawn." It ceased suddenly, and 
 she exclaimed, " Here comes somebody to meet 
 us ! " It was Mr. Mayne. 
 
 " Well, did everybody think we were lost ? "' 
 cried Miss Wilton as he came up. 
 
 " There was a misunderstanding : Sybil Froude 
 told us she was going in one of the carriages, but 
 she never recollected to mention Kathie; there- 
 fore we did not wait. You must be weary, child," 
 he said to me. 
 
 " Not so very tired." Indeed, the sensation 
 of heaviness left me directly I heard his voice. 
 
 " We conjectured how you would get home ; 
 but your grandmamma was so restless and 
 uneasy, that I said I would come and look for 
 you. Have you had a pleasant day ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 He walked alongside of us all the way until we 
 came to the Grange, and then went in with me, 
 which diverted my grandmother's wrath for the 
 time into the direction of Sybil Froude ; but, for 
 a punishment, she pretended to think I appeared
 
 198 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 SO worn out as to need sending to bed immediately; 
 and as Mr. Mayne stayed to tea, it was a punish- 
 ment, and a grievous one too. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Towards the end of the week the weather 
 changed abruptly : for three days there was a 
 storm; the sea one heave of foam and wrath, 
 the sky one mass of lurid cloud. During that 
 period Mr. Mayne did not come to the Grange, 
 and I missed my lesson in consequence. I 
 tried to think it was business that had kept him 
 away ; but I knew he had been at the Rectory 
 twice. On the third evening, we were all at 
 home, and, as it chanced, quite alone. I had taken 
 a book and sat by the fire ; not reading, however, 
 but listening to the angry sounds that convulsed 
 the air : the cracking thunder, the ponderous 
 roll of the wind, the breaking of the waves upon 
 the shore, the tossing and rustling of the garden 
 trees, and the peevish rattle of doors and windows.
 
 A STORMY NIGHT. 199 
 
 More than once through the tempestuous wrack 
 I had heard a long, dull sound ; it was repeated 
 very distinctly a third and fourth time, while we 
 were all silent : I asked what it was, and we 
 listened intently for some minutes ; then the low 
 boom of a gun was heard above the whistling 
 winds and the roaring waves. 
 
 " A vessel on the reef ! " cried my aunt 
 Aurelia, and we all rushed to the window: a 
 fierce spasm of pain clutched my heart, as vividly 
 uprose from my imagination a vision of death in 
 the midst of that wild uproar. There was a 
 heaving blackness outside, riven at intervals by 
 spears of lightning and clouds of driving rain; 
 and through it all, like the groan of a soul in 
 agony, came the echo of the signal gun. 
 
 We had stood perhaps five minutes hearkening 
 in silence, when a quick, light step came across 
 the lawn, and a flash of lightning revealed the 
 figure of ]\Iilicent Pompe. We went out into 
 the hall to meet her ; she was very pale, and her 
 hair, all loose and wet, hung about her throat, 
 while she trembled excessively; whether with
 
 200 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 cold or excitement it was impossible to tell. 
 Grandmamma brought her into the drawing- 
 room, and asked what had possessed her to leave 
 the house on such a night. She made no answer, 
 but stood on the hearth, wringing the moisture 
 from her hair and looking bewildered. Aunt 
 Aurelia offered to give her some wine, but she 
 put it back with her hand impatiently, and said, 
 " You have heard the gun from the brig on the 
 reef — you hear it now ! Mr. Mayne has been 
 dining with us, and he is gone down to the shore : 
 the men are afraid to go out to the crew's rescue, 
 and he will go. Why should he risk his life? 
 They must know the danger better than he does. 
 It is rash folly ! " She spoke in a hard, unnatural 
 tone, as if labouring under violent and repressed 
 feeling. I had drawn close to her side, laying my 
 hand on her arm, and was listening breathlessly : 
 she looked suddenly into my face, and said sharply, 
 " You are not afraid of wind and rain, are you ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then come with me : we may dissuade him 
 from putting his life into such useless peril."
 
 A STORMY NIGHT. 201 
 
 "Nay! I should bid him go, rather than 
 hold back," was my reply. I do not think, 
 however, that she heard it ; for though grand- 
 mamma. Aunt Aurelia, and IVIiss Bootle, all hfted 
 up an alarmed remonstrance, she pulled me into 
 the hall, wrapped a plaid with her own trembling 
 hands over my head and throat, and with a 
 painful grip on my arm hurried me out into 
 the night. 
 
 " Listen ! " cried she, as we ran along under 
 the creaking trees to the gate which led from the 
 shrubbery into the lane — "Listen 1 there is the gun 
 again, so no boat has reached the brig; perhaps 
 none has started, and we may be in time." 
 
 We crossed the road, and stimibled down the 
 sandhills towards a spot where we dimly discerned 
 a group of seamen; who, from the loudness and 
 violence of their voices, appeared to be quarrelling. 
 
 We stopped. " Some of them are gone," said 
 Milicent ; " he is not there." 
 
 We listened, and gathered from the next few 
 words that, incited by Mr. Mayne, some of the 
 boldest seamen had put off with him to the wreck. 
 
 K 5
 
 202 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 "I was sure of it I" gasped my companion, 
 and her clutch on my arm tightened until I could 
 scarcely forbear crying out with the pain. She 
 drew me a few paces further off, and sat down 
 on the sand as if incapable of supporting herself 
 longer ; she trembled convulsively, and I could 
 feel her quick, panting sobs as she leant against 
 me. At length her grasp on my arm relaxed, 
 and I rose up watchful and patient. 
 
 Strange ! I had no fear for the issue ; and was 
 calmer and more myself than I had been when 
 standing by the window in the warm, well-lighted 
 room. It was almost like gazing into a wall of dark- 
 ness ; except when the lightning revealed the foam 
 churned in white ridges along the shore, and the 
 dense masses of cloud that whirled across the 
 sky. Once or twice, beyond the black swell, I 
 saw a spark shining through the spray, which I 
 supposed to be a light hung out by the brig 
 for the guidance of the boat ; and also the 
 dark hull of the vessel lying motionless where it 
 had struck, its mast broken, and the sea washing 
 over it.
 
 A STOR^nr NIGHT. 203 
 
 Milicent had not stirred from her crouching 
 posture, when suddenly a shout ran through the 
 night. " Saved ! saved ! " was the cry. She 
 then started to her feet, and rushed towards the 
 group of seamen, who were drawing in a strong 
 cable. I followed, trusting that in the confusion 
 we should escape observation ; for now several 
 women had come down to the shore, and were 
 adding at least their voices to the efforts of the 
 men. Soon the boat with its human freight 
 grated on the sand ; a tall bareheaded figure leaped 
 into the surf, and waded to the shore, carrying 
 in his arms a slight boy, who, from his nerveless 
 attitude, appeared to be either dead or insensible. 
 
 A flash from a lantern struck across tliis man's 
 face as he resigned his burthen into the hands 
 of the women, and revealed to us the features of 
 Mr. Mayne ; he was ghastly white, and his black 
 hair hanging wet over his brow made him scarcely 
 recognisable. His lips were close set, and he did 
 not speak a syllable as he returned through the 
 surf to the boat. Several persons had been set 
 on shore ; how many I saw not, being intent on
 
 204 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the proceedings of those still in the boat : it was 
 pushed off again, and disappeared in the mist 
 and darkness. There were still five individuals 
 on the wreck, some one cried. The next quarter 
 of an hour was one of voiceless agony : Milicent 
 hung like a dead weight on my arm ; the fury of 
 the storm seemed to be redoubled. It was all we 
 could do to maintain our footing against the 
 wind. We had approached the water, and the 
 foam curled over our feet while we were drenched 
 with the flying spray and the rain ; ever and anon 
 the lightning gleamed athwart the sky, and 
 showed us the anxious waiting group on shore, 
 and the dark heaving sea beyond. 
 
 Now the boat was returning : yet a few 
 minutes, and it would be safe. A wild cheer 
 arose, as if to give encouragement to men whose 
 strength might yet fail them. It was repeated : 
 twice — thrice. Then for a moment a dead silence, 
 as if even the storm hearkened; and a long, 
 triumphant yell went down the wind, as the boat, 
 broken by the fury of the waves, sank within 
 ten yards of the shore. Milicent cowered down
 
 A STORMY NIGHT. 205 
 
 with her face hidden against me. I watched — 
 
 CD 
 
 silent, strung up, calm. Out of that peril he 
 would come unscathed, I knew. And so it was. 
 There was the shrill cry of one " strong swimmer 
 in his agony ; " but Mr. Mayne, and the rest, 
 battled their way to the shore, sorely beaten and 
 exhausted, but still living men. 
 
 " He is safe I " I whispered in my companion's 
 ear. She lifted her head, looked wildly towards 
 the spot where he stood for a moment, and then, 
 in spite of resistance on my part, began dragging 
 me in the direction of the sandliills. 
 
 " What did we come out for if this is all we 
 can do ? " I could not help asking : " could we 
 not be of use to some of those poor creatures ? " 
 
 " They will be taken care of: they always are," 
 was Milicent's reply ; then as I still held back 
 she added passionately, " Do come on ! Do you 
 want to be laughed at ? Oh ! you are lead or 
 ice, surely." 
 
 It seemed then as if we had been guilty of 
 a very foolish and undignified escapade; and as 
 I had as little wish to be ridiculous as she had,
 
 206 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I no longer resisted. She ran stumbling along 
 in the loose sandy road, never relaxing her grasp 
 on my arm, while the rain driving in our faces 
 half blinded us. On coming to the garden gate 
 she stopped. 
 
 " I am not going in, " said she ; " I must 
 make haste home : they fancy I went to my 
 room ill. Promise me one thing — that you will 
 not tell where we have been to-night. Promise ! " 
 I did promise. " I can trust Mrs. Marston, " 
 added she ; and then, with a short, hot grip of 
 my hand, she left me, and hastened on towards 
 the Rectory. 
 
 My grandmother and aunt Aurelia received 
 me at the door, with Sharpe looming severely in 
 the background ; and I was hustled up-stairs, 
 where Miss Bootle was preparing possets, without 
 being permitted to say a single word. The 
 waiting-woman applied herself to the task of 
 removing my wet garments ; and remarked 
 parenthetically that I must sorely have needed a 
 task to set out on such a wild-goose chase that 
 fleysome night. My aunt was anxious to get
 
 DREAMS BY NIGHT. 207 
 
 her out of the room, and when we were by 
 ourselves she questioned me eagerly about 
 Milicent. 
 
 I told about the wreck, and the loss of the boat, 
 but evaded speaking of my companion ; as well 
 from delicacy towards her, as from an indefinite 
 pain it gave myself. 
 
 *' Kathie is wiser than Milicent, " said my 
 grandmother ; " if the foolish girl cannot keep 
 her own counsel, the fewer confidantes of her 
 absurdity the better." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 I was left to toss and tumble through a weary, 
 restless night. If I slept for a few moments, 
 miserable dreams harassed me. Either Milicent 
 was dragging from my shoulders a tattered cloak 
 which sheltered my limbs from the bitter frost, or 
 she was wresting out of my anns a perishing 
 child; then mocking at me, down on my knees, 
 lonely, helpless, and despairing. Again I was on
 
 208 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the sea-shore, watching with straining eyes ' a 
 diminishing speck on the water, which seemed to 
 take away with it my very life of life. Then I 
 was in the Minster, kneeling beside a grave : grass 
 grew out between the stones of the pavement, and 
 all looked like death and desolation. 
 
 I awoke in the morning with a dull sense of 
 pain and prostration somewhere, but where I could 
 not tell: it was mental rather than physical, I 
 suspect. Striving to put it away from me, I arose. 
 The wind had fallen, and both sea and sky were 
 wrapped in a blank of lead-hued mist. 
 
 " It is the weather : it always influences me," I 
 said to myself, and began to dress. 
 
 Sharpe came in: she observed something un- 
 usual possibly, for she remarked, " You must just 
 get into your bed again, if you don't want to have 
 a fever. Miss Kathie. This comes of being wet to 
 the skin." 
 
 I accepted her explanation, and obeyed; glad 
 to cover my face from the light, and to be still. 
 By and by grandmamma and Aunt Aurelia came 
 softly in ; but I feigned sleep, not wishing to be
 
 FEARS BY DAY. 209 
 
 questioned ; so they went out again, and left me 
 alone. 
 
 My mind was in great disorder : a blind, help- 
 less fear seemed to be maundering to and fro in it ; 
 shapeless, yet all pervading; intangible as night 
 darkness, but as black. 
 
 Towards noon my aunt entered. " Kathie, are 
 you awake?" she asked. I uncovered my face 
 and looked up. " You are not ill ; only tired, I 
 hope. If you don't feel better before evening, we 
 must send for Dr. Martin." 
 
 She took my hand, which was burning with 
 fever, in her cool, pleasant grasp. I saw she had 
 not said all she came to say. " Mr. Mayne has 
 been here making most particular inquiries about 
 you, Kathie," she went on. " I fancy he more 
 than half suspects where you were last night ; so 
 when you see him again you must be careful not 
 to betray it, for Milicent Pompe's sake : she is 
 very foolish to expose herself as she does. She has 
 been here too, and she was very anxious to come 
 up, but my mother would not have you disturbed." 
 
 " I will not be made her confidante. Aunt
 
 210 ' KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Aurelia. Keep her away from me!" I hastily 
 exclaimed. My aunt made no reply beyond 
 slightly elevating her eyebrows ; and then advising 
 me to try to sleep, she went away. In the after- 
 noon up she came again, and grandmamma too. 
 
 " Well, Kathie, how do you feel now?" asked 
 the latter. " Mr. Mayne had to come into the 
 village again, so he called and left these for you." 
 
 They were a few late roses, very beautiful and 
 very fragrant ; but where she placed them on the 
 coverlet I let them lie, untouched. 
 
 " Poor child ! she is quite heavy and dull," said 
 my aunt kindly. " Have you any pain, Kathie ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then will you get up by and by ? Milicent 
 is coming in to spend the evening, and perhaps we 
 may have Mr. Mayne too. It would be more 
 cheerful on the couch down-stairs than here alone." 
 
 I entreated to be left in peace for that day, pro- 
 mising to be quite well on the morrow; so they let 
 me have my own way. 
 
 All the evening, while Milicent Pompe was 
 singing in the drawing-room, the roses lay wither-
 
 FEARS BY DAY. . 211 
 
 ing. I never once put forth my hand to take 
 them, though my eyes scarcely wandered from 
 their rich crimson, until in the evening dusk 
 they were undistinguishable from the surrounding 
 white. Miss Bootle, coming in with my tea, espied 
 them; and saying it was a pity the poor things 
 should die for want of a drop of water, put them 
 in a glass on the toilette-table. By morning they 
 had revived, and some of the buds were half 
 blown. 
 
 During the silent, dark hours I had time to 
 gather my strength about me, and to take myself 
 severely to task. My curbless fancy had well 
 nigh borne me into unfathomable abysses of shame 
 and wretchedness. I had been wilfully deceiving 
 myself, and deserved the rude shock which had 
 forced me upon the truth. 
 
 Who and what was I, that I should look to be 
 loved? Milicent was a beautiful and passionate 
 woman ; and where she gave her love, equal return 
 ,vould surely flow back to her: it could not be 
 otherwise. Let me remember this. I fell asleep 
 with that thought weighing on me like a night-
 
 212 . KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 mare, but awoke at dawn quietened, and without 
 the lassitude and depression that had made all so 
 hopeless the day before. I rose immediately, 
 dressed, and wrote a long letter to my mother, in 
 which I dwelt much on my return home. As I 
 sealed it, almost unconsciously the words escaped 
 my lips, " I wish I had never seen Crofton." 
 
 Then I set my window open, that I might feel 
 the sharp morning air upon my face; it came 
 blowing over the roses, gently rifling them of 
 their perfume, which it wafted towards me like 
 a plea for kindly thoughts of the donor. With 
 the first sound of movement in the house I 
 descended to the garden with a plaid over my 
 head. There was hoar frost on the ground, and 
 on the trees, on which the lingering green of 
 summer was changing to crimson, brown, and 
 golden yellow. The storm had beaten off the 
 leaves in the shrubbery, where they lay in 
 sodden masses on the paths, drifted in heaps 
 against the beech -tree boles, and whirled over 
 the dead wild flowers, which they half buried. 
 
 The beauty of autumn was ever to me a
 
 PEEYISIONS. 213 
 
 melancholy beauty. Nature draws up her veil 
 of cloud and frost over her head, and sits low 
 on the earth, mourning with wild storm-winds 
 like dying groans and sobs ; weeping floods of 
 dreary tears, while decay sweeps round her 
 pleasant haunts, and makes them dank, bare, 
 and cold as empty sepulchres. 
 
 Pacing slowly and thoughtfully in the grey 
 chill morning, I seemed to see stretched out 
 before me the vista of a long life: laborious, 
 blank, with little cheer, and but dim, lowly, 
 hopes. Already it appeared that my rede was 
 being spun for me, and that I had but to look 
 on and submit. My childish impatience and 
 wilfulness being gone, into their place had come, 
 in lieu of higher trust, a certain passive humility ; 
 half fatalist perhaps. I said to myself, " Che sara, 
 sara,''^ and ceased struggling with the blind time 
 that had overtaken me. 
 
 At breakfast I observed that Aunt Aurelia 
 kept her eyes studiously averted from my face ; 
 and when it was over, grandmamma advised me 
 to take a long walk on the sands, to blow away
 
 214 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 the remains of my feverishness. Really glad 
 to be alone, I left the house ; but not in the 
 direction indicated. I wanted to be up once 
 more on those purple-black moors, high, high 
 above the salt mist and the monotonous wave- 
 song ; so I turned into the fields, and tramped 
 along their upland paths, and through the grass, 
 lush with heavy rains, until I emerged on the 
 heath, which lay wild and wide below a sky 
 of silvery grey, flecked over with small, snowy 
 clouds. On the horizon still hung huge watery 
 masses which the storm had not yet swept 
 aw^ay, and seawards was a dim haze enveloping 
 all, as in a cloak. I had crossed this moor in 
 the coach on coming to Crofton — what a gap 
 lay between that time and the present ! — it 
 stretched for miles away, an even surface of now 
 fading heather; a desolate expanse suggestive 
 of wintry winds and drifting snows. A cross- 
 road, very rugged and stony, seemed to strike 
 into the heart of the moor-land; and taking it 
 in preference to the highway, I followed it for 
 a couple of miles, until it divided into two
 
 ON THE MOORLAND. 215 
 
 branches ; one tending eastward to the sea, the 
 other going in a northerly direction. 
 
 A great block of stone, perhaps intended to 
 serve as a guide to travellers, furnished me 
 with a resting-place, and I sat down to think 
 in the deep solitude. I was far above the 
 valley here, in one of nature's grand, indefinite, 
 calms; the air was, for the present, almost as 
 still as in a pictured landscape, and there was a 
 pale, clear shining out of the sky which made 
 no shadows, but only a gentle suffusion of warm 
 light through the atmosphere. There was the 
 subdued murmur of the ocean-life far off; the 
 distant shout of the waggoner to his team, and 
 the whistle of people labouring in the fields ; 
 and nearer the insect- voices in and out amongst 
 the heather. 
 
 Mine was then that mood which is infinitely 
 soothed by the balm of peace and natural 
 beauty ; not that wounded spirit which turns 
 away, sick alike of earth and heaven. Affection 
 had warmed my heart, but passion had not 
 scorched it, nor disappointment frozen- There
 
 216 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was clovid in my sky, but no storm of death- 
 dealing potency ; under that cloud I might walk 
 subdued for a little while, but it would disperse. 
 I was glad that I was going home. There 
 would be peace and safety, and household 
 affections warm and true, between which and 
 me no interloper could come. For Milicent — 
 rich, beautiful, brilliant — were the first-fruits 
 of the love that had given me — a weak, pale 
 girl — a shelter under its summer boughs, and 
 some fragrant blossoms swept down by gentle 
 sighing winds. 
 
 " Let me be content," I said : " the timely 
 shelter has refreshed me. It may be remembered 
 with pleasantness ; never Avith regret, never with 
 pain." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 For two hours or more I stayed up there 
 communing with my own thoughts ; and rose, at 
 length, to return home, patient and almost
 
 OUT ON THE MOORLAND. 217 
 
 cheerful. I took the steep descent to the east, 
 instead of the way I had come, because it seemed 
 shorter; and there was a darkening in the 
 atmosphere as if the storm were brewing up 
 again. From the edge of the moor came sailing 
 heavily those great packed clouds, driven onwards 
 and onwards by others behind them, and followed 
 by a strong cold wind. 
 
 Half an hour's brisk walking brought me to a 
 green lane, shut in between two high hedges : 
 warning drops had then begun to fall, and soon 
 the storm broke — pitiless, drenching. Uncertain 
 of my whereabouts, I tramped steadily forward^ 
 hopeful of meeting with some friendly roof before 
 I was half drowned. But the lane was long, 
 straight, and unsatisfactory ; it seemed indeed to 
 lead nowhere ; and the propriety of retracing my 
 steps before I got farther entangled had just 
 begun to suggest itself, when I espied a light curl 
 of smoke above the hedge, and, a few paces 
 farther on, a little wicket-gate. It was Mr. 
 Mayne's cottage. 
 
 I had been there once before ; but, having come 
 TOL. L I.
 
 218 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 by a different route, the locality looked quite 
 strange to me : it was, indeed, the last place in 
 the world to which I should have voluntarily 
 gone for shelter ; but Hannah, who was standing 
 in the porch, apparently on the look out for some 
 one, descried me in an instant, and called to me 
 to go in. I hesitated, and made as if I would 
 proceed ; but she came hastily down the streaming 
 path, and said that she could not answer to her 
 master for letting me pass by in such a storm. 
 " So come your ways in. Miss : the rain will be 
 overed in an hour," persisted she. 
 
 I suffered myself to be persuaded ; and was led 
 into the Curate's parlour : a queer bow-windowed 
 room full of little nooks and corners, and littered 
 with books. A cheerful fire burnt in the grate, 
 before which reposed the Dean, now a fine well- 
 grown cat ; and high in the window hung a pretty 
 brass-wire cage, in which a bullfinch was carolling 
 melodiously. The housekeeper hung my shawl 
 to dry, and then began to speak of the storm of 
 the night before last. 
 
 " Little thought I where he was in it all," said
 
 MB. MATNE'S HANNAH. 219 
 
 she ; " but I might have guessed : it 's so like him 
 to be perilling his Hfe whenever he gets a chance. 
 He's gone now to bury that poor lad that was 
 drowned off the wreck. He belonged to Marton." 
 She gave me some details respecting the drowned 
 sailor and his family, which showed that she took 
 an interest in the people to whom she belonged, 
 deeper than is often the case with persons of her 
 class. She was indeed a faithful, unselfish, kind 
 creature. 
 
 Observing that I watched the bird in the 
 window, she asked if I had one; and when 
 I answered that I had not, she told me I should 
 have the pretty little songster in the cage. 
 
 " But, perhaps, Hannah," said I, " your master 
 may not like you to give it away." 
 
 She stopped me quickly. ^^ Oh, Miss ! I hear 
 him talk : bless you, I know," said she. " He has 
 brought it up for somebody, and that somebody 's 
 you. Why, if you was Ellen herself, I don't 
 think he could like you better than he does." 
 
 Hannah's shrewd grey eyes were on me as she 
 spoke ; and I coloured deeply, with strange mixed
 
 220 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 feelings. "Take off your bonnet. Miss, till the 
 rain gives over, or you '11 get heated, and may 
 be catch cold when you go out," she advised. 
 
 I did so ; upon which she took my face between 
 her hands, kissed me, said I was " real bonnie," 
 and she " didn't wonder." I laughed confusedly, 
 and replied that I wished ^everybody would look 
 at me through her partial spectacles. This 
 metaphorical expression led her to descant upon 
 the virtues of good eyesight, which she declared 
 to have been hereditary in her family for many 
 generations : witness her mother and grandmother, 
 who both read their Bibles without glasses up to 
 their deaths, at seventy-nine and eighty-two. 
 By this time the rain had partially ceased, 
 and I rose to go ; but Hannah put me back into 
 my chair, with a little gentle force, that might 
 have been greater had I resisted. 
 
 " If it 's Master you 're afraid of, he won't be 
 in till dusk, I expect, for after the burying 
 he '11 go to Marton ; " said she with a smile that 
 would have been quizzical if it had not been so 
 kind.
 
 MR. MAYNE's HANNAH. 221 
 
 Though not afraid of IMr. Mayne, I did certainly 
 not desire to meet him that day. I think if it had 
 fallen to me to decide, I should have chosen to go 
 home to Eversley without meeting him again; 
 and when I had got there, I should have bitterly 
 regretted it — as we so often have to regret proud, 
 wilful deeds when they are done, and hasty words 
 when they have gone from us beyond recall. 
 My confusion, therefore, was extreme, when 
 from my seat by the fire I heard the gate clash, 
 and Hannah cried, " Master 's changed his mind : 
 he 's come back." 
 
 She bustled out into the entrance to receive 
 him, while I hastily flung on my shawl, re-tied 
 my bonnet, and prepared for instant departure; 
 wishing myself at home, on the moor, on the reef — 
 anywhere but where I was. Still this was very 
 foolish ; I knew it was, but yet could not prevent 
 my colour from changing absurdly when Mr. 
 Mayne entered, dripping at every point, and 
 shaking hands, told me that I was weather-bound 
 for yet an hour to come, and must have some 
 luncheon before I thought of stirring. He was
 
 222 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 SO matter-of-fact, cordial, and frank, that it was 
 far easier for me to accept in tlie same spirit than 
 to invent any sufficient excuse to go away; for 
 the rain was again pouring in torrents. I was 
 left alone for about a quarter of an hour; for 
 Hannah, who seemed to be a privileged domestic 
 tyrant, told her master to change his things if he 
 did not want to catch his death. While he was 
 absent, I took a book, and tried to read, but only 
 one idea would present itself: how happy I was 
 to be in the sunshine of my master's presence! 
 how completely the sore fretting pain at my heart 
 was forgotten when I heard his voice ! When he 
 came in again, he stirred up the fire, took his easy 
 chair, and told Hannah to bring in luncheon; 
 which she presently did. 
 
 "By the by, Kathie, you were down on the 
 seashore the night before last," he suddenly said. 
 It was fortunate he did not look at me, for the 
 blood flushed scarlet in my face, and so startled 
 was I, that no answer came. "I suppose you 
 are an admirer of nature in all her moods : her 
 fierce one is certainly not the least sublime.
 
 AT THE COTTAGE. 223 
 
 Perhaps you had never witnessed such a scene 
 before?" I had not. "I was not surprised to 
 see you there ; for when Kathie Brande takes it 
 into her head, she both says and does strange 
 things. But your companion — what brought her 
 out? I acquit her of all enthusiasm for the 
 charms of nature and danger." 
 " Whim, perhaps ; I cannot say." 
 Mr. Mayne smiled: it was a peculiar smile; 
 doubtful, sarcastic, not pleasant. ^^ Being there, 
 what was it that caused you both to run off in 
 such haste ? Was it the wind, the rain, or that 
 your curiosity was satisfied ? Or was it that you 
 feared to be seen." 
 
 I blushed an affirmative. 
 
 " There it is ! I have observed often that it is 
 our best actions which seem to lie most open to 
 ridicule and misconstruction : what a paradoxical 
 state of things it is ! Kathie, were you ashamed 
 of being seen to take an interest in your fellow 
 creatures ? If you were, it was a weakness alien to 
 your real character." 
 
 I attempted no self-exculpation, lest I should
 
 224 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 say too much ; and, diverging from the personal 
 strain into which the conversation was tending, 
 Mr. Mayne told me that the vessel which had 
 been wrecked, was from Leith, bound to London ; 
 and that the young man who had been drowned 
 was a sailor who had voyaged over every sea in 
 the globe — ^in frozen Polar Regions, in breezeless 
 Indian seas ; and yet, after a life of peril, it was 
 his fate to perish within sight of home. Hannah 
 uttered an ejaculation of pity; and her master 
 said she must go and visit the drowned man's 
 mother, who was sorely smitten by his 
 loss. 
 
 " It is not good to speculate on the ways of 
 Providence," he added after a pause ; " but it is 
 difficult at times to see why events fall out as they 
 do. I had a friend once — Arthur Crawfurd — he 
 was my school-fellow and college companion; a 
 fine soldierly, enthusiastic fellow; full of energy 
 and fire, capable of self - sacrifice, prompt, 
 intelligent, armed for every emergency : so good 
 a tool might have done a long day's work : yet he 
 was drowned going out to join the African
 
 CONCERNINa BOOKS. 225 
 
 mission. I have never replaced him : he was the 
 best friend I ever had." 
 
 " Master," interrupted Hannah, " where 's that 
 ribbon I bound round your sprained wrist this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " The ribbon ? Oh ! I took it off up-stairs and 
 have forgotten it, so better proof cannot be that it 
 is not needed : my arm is only stiff." 
 
 " You 're very wilful, master." 
 
 " Those books, Kathie, are not of my gathering," 
 the Curate said, pointing to the largest of the 
 book - cases ; " they were Arthur Crawfurd's : 
 he left them to me when he decided on his 
 vocation. I think he had brought together every 
 poet of eminence since the flood. Do you like 
 poetry ? " 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 "What kind?" 
 
 " Best that which echoes my own feelings, or 
 speaks of silent struggle patiently endured. 
 There is a great deal of what is called poetry, 
 which to me is ftdl of sound and fury, signifying 
 absolutely nothing. What is purely speculative 
 
 L 5
 
 226 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 and obscure, I do not like : what appeals to my 
 intellect only I do not like. Poetry, as I under- 
 stand it, is a voice speaking to the secrets of the 
 heart. Perhaps I am the best pleased when I meet 
 with some blind wayward fancy of my own, which 
 could never have shaped itself out of my mental 
 chaos, fitted with apt words : they move as light 
 over the formless darkness." 
 
 "I take that to be the popular feeling as 
 regards poetry. Touch a passion, a sentiment — 
 strike some nerve of past pleasure or past pain — 
 and the heart-echo answers back with a thrill that 
 stamps that verse as poetry to one section of 
 humanity at least. For myself, I still like a 
 measure that stirs my pulses like the sound of a 
 trumpet ; as in music I prefer a march to soft 
 strains, and the clash of a military band, or the 
 roll of your Minster organ, to the sweet flute or 
 even the best trained human voice." 
 
 " Poetry, then, is individual, not universal ? " 
 " It seems so : at least, taste is individual, 
 and will never be reduced to one standard of 
 perfection. To some it is given to see more than
 
 POETRY. 227 
 
 others, as they are endowed with intellect, refined 
 by cultivation, sharpened by experience, or 
 purified by suffering. I have never thought 
 deeply on the subject, however, so I merely offer 
 these remarks as suggestions, not as opinions: 
 you must sift them for yourself, Kathie." 
 
 " And, master, you know I always like what 
 tells about them that go down to the sea in 
 ships," interposed Hannah gravely. " There 's 
 St. Paul's shipwreck in the Acts, and some pieces 
 of Job that speak of what I have been seeing 
 all my life ; and I understand and like them best 
 of any story chapters that I read." 
 
 " And when you go about your work, I hear 
 snatches of sea-songs — " 
 
 " Ay, master, I remember them since I was a 
 bairn at home : perhaps I caught them up from 
 my father — I don't rightly recollect ; but they are 
 my favourites." 
 
 "And they are poetical by association, chiefly if 
 not wholly ; for they are of the rudest ballad style." 
 
 "Nay, master, there's sound in them, and 
 sense too, I 'm sure I "
 
 228 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " I do not gainsay it, Hannah : surely there is. 
 When I say, 'poetical by association,' I mean by 
 the feelings they touch and rouse — by the old 
 scenes and memories they call up. I will give 
 you an illustration, Kathie. A week or two since, 
 at an evening party, I met an Indian officer — a 
 stalwart greybeard whom you would have 
 supposed about as susceptible to tender emotion 
 as a rhinoceros. There was a little girl present 
 who sang rather prettily some weak, sentimental 
 songs. There was one in particular — a sort of 
 moan over a dead love; and the grim warrior 
 stood listening, and twirling his moustache, and 
 winking his eyes, in which were actual tears, 
 ' while the child sang that bit of namby-pamby 
 three times over to please him. The tune was 
 poor, the words were foolish and maudlin ; but 
 they carried him back, no doubt, to some old 
 story of his youth, and, perhaps, were to him 
 the finest poetry he had ever heard." 
 
 " Yes. My mother sings one or two border 
 songs in the rudest north-country dialect : I 
 remember once asking her why she did so, and
 
 POETRY. 229 
 
 she said, because they reminded her of her home 
 and her childhood. A servant in her father's 
 house used to sing her to sleep with them when 
 she was a little girl." 
 
 The rain ceased while we were still at luncheon, 
 and when it was over I went immediately to 
 the window, to see what prospect there was for 
 my departure ; being, if the tnith must be told, 
 very anxious to go away home, but rather doubtful 
 of my reception when I should arrive there. 
 
 '^ I perceive you will be restless, Kathie, now, 
 until you set off; so choose some books, and we 
 will go," said Mr. Mayne. " As it is likely 
 to turn out fine, I shall go to Marton, and by 
 the sands will be your shortest way too." 
 
 I did as I was bid, and chose two books : 
 Herbert's Poems, which had a quaint attractive 
 look about them ; and the " Faerie Queene" — an 
 ancient brown volume. 
 
 The Curate glanced at their titles : " Strange 
 choice! You will never read through Spenser," 
 remarked he : " let me find you something newer." 
 
 He took from its shelf a poem entitled " Childe
 
 230 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Harold," saying that it was glorious. Glorious 
 it was. 
 
 There was a continuation of the steep lane in 
 which Mr. Mayne's cottage stood, down to the 
 sea-shore ; and ahout a mile to the left lay 
 Marton, Crofton being to the right ; therefore, on 
 reaching the sands, I held out my hand and said, 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 " It is to be ' good-bye' here, is it?" said Mr. 
 Mayne. " Why should it ? I have to go to 
 Crofton to see the Doctor, and might as well bear 
 you company." 
 
 " But you were going to Marton." 
 
 " I can go to Marton as I return : it is all the 
 same." 
 
 " No, the tide will be up and the sands covered. 
 It is rising now." 
 
 " There is the high road, my little friend." 
 
 " Good-bye. The high road is very far about. 
 Go to Marton now." 
 
 " You want to be rid of me, Kathie : that is 
 ungrateful. I was glad the storm had driven you 
 to my fireside : I liked to see you there."
 
 MY MASTER. 231 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Mayne." 
 
 '' I am going to Crofton now, Kathie." 
 
 " Master, you are very wilful," said I, laughing, 
 and quoting Hannah's words. 
 
 " Both wilful and persistent, Kathie. Why do 
 you call me master ? Am I your master, child ? " 
 
 He peered down into my face curiously ; but I 
 looked up and said, " By no means :" he was not 
 to think it — at which he feigned surprise. 
 
 '^ No wonder Miss Palmer turned you out a 
 failure : you have no veneration for authorities." 
 
 " Are you authorities ?" 
 
 " I thought Kathie had faith in me," was the 
 significant, low-spoken reply. 
 
 It made me quite silent, and filled my heart 
 with a strange wild throb that threatened to undo 
 all my morning's solemn thoughts and resolutions. 
 It was quite a relief to me when we came to the 
 steps in the sandhills by which we entered the 
 village. We separated there ; Mr. Mayne going 
 to the Rectory, and I towards home. 
 
 " To-morrow is your lesson," said he as we 
 shook hands.
 
 232 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " Yes." My last lesson, I thought to myself. 
 
 " Where in the world have you been, Kathie ?" 
 was my grandmother's demand the moment I 
 appeared. 
 
 I told her briefly how I had been caught in the 
 rain, where I had taken shelter, and how I had 
 been entertained. Miss Pompe was there making 
 a call : she laughed much at my narrative. 
 
 " You are an odd little creature," said she ; 
 " you have queer, independent, boyish ways. I 
 am sure I should not have ventured to stay 
 luncheon with Mr. Mayne, though he is papa's 
 curate, and I have known him for years. People 
 talk so." 
 
 I put down my books on the table, and she 
 came forward to see what they were. 
 
 ^^ Some of Arthur Crawfurd's books !" was her 
 rather surprised observation. " Has Mr. Mayne 
 lent them to you ? He prizes them very much." 
 
 " It was foolish in you to bring them, Kathie, 
 when you are going home so soon," interposed my 
 grandmother. 
 
 " I have leave to take them away with me."
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 233 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " cried Miss Pompe, " you and 
 the Curate seem to have struck up a friendship on 
 platonic principles. I thought that style of thing 
 was quite gone out of fashion. Did not you, Mrs. 
 Marston ?" 
 
 I went away up-stairs, leaving them to the 
 discussion of the question. 
 
 " It has been pleasant to-day — very pleasant," 
 I thought to myself, as I stood for a few seconds 
 by the open window, with Mr. Mayne's flowers 
 before me ; — " too pleasant, and it must not be 
 repeated " 
 
 I dashed off my bonnet, bade all sweet delusions 
 avaimt, and returned to the drawing-room to cool 
 my imagination with the study of that beautiful 
 and triumphant woman's grace and wit. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 That evening my aunt Aurelia was invited to a 
 quiet family dinner at the Rectory; and just as 
 grandmamma. Miss Bootle, and I were sitting
 
 234 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 down to tea in her absence, Mr. Mayne walked 
 in. He was asked to stay ; and though he said 
 he could not, for he had refused his rector's 
 invitation two hours since, it ended by his taking 
 a seat and abandoning himself to our society 
 without any strong persuasion. Miss Bootle 
 observed that as he had no business, either real 
 or ostensible, at the Grange at that hour, it was 
 very odd that he should have come if he meant to 
 go away again directly. He looked slightly con- 
 fused, and did not attempt any further explanation. 
 It was a very pleasant evening. My grand- 
 mother happened to be in one of her best moods, 
 and Mr. Mayne was cheerful ; the lines of his 
 usually grave face looked less deep, and his eyes 
 were full of a genial, human content. I sat by 
 the lamp, netting a purse of crimson silk and 
 speaking but rarely, while he gave my grand- 
 mother some details of his early life. I remember 
 he spoke of his mother with a tender and manly 
 enthusiasm, and that I thought within myself, 
 " What a power of loving there is in that man's 
 heart ! " And I — weak, presumptuous, insignificant
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 235 
 
 thing — dared to dream that he might pour it forth 
 on me ! 
 
 " There is more genuine worth in the world 
 than in gloomy, disappointed moments we are 
 willing to admit," said my grandmother, in answer 
 to some allusion that the Curate made to an 
 individual whose aid had formerly been of great 
 service to him. 
 
 " My own experience echoes that," was his 
 reply. " I think, on the whole, it gives us back 
 the reflection of our own faces, and that we find 
 friends even as we merit them. It is hardly to be 
 expected that the world — by which we mean that 
 section of society whose suffrages we covet — 
 should condescend to soothe down the .surly spirit 
 that abuses it. I have found mine a kindly 
 world, though I have not been what is commonly 
 called a successful man : my character appears 
 to lack the popular element." 
 
 " You are young, and may look forward to a 
 happy and honoured future." 
 
 " I do look forward, and hope yet to be of use 
 in a more extensive sphere than this."
 
 236 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " You are ambitious, Mr. Mayne." 
 
 I remembered of old my grandmother's idea of 
 ambition — a statue of vapour, hovering over a 
 deep pitfall, and luring by its insidious graces 
 many high hearts to their ruin. 
 
 " I trust mine is no unworthy ambition," said 
 the Curate; then added, with a glance towards 
 me, " What would our life be without its dreams 
 and its hopes?" 
 
 The guilty blood dyed my face, and my 
 grandmother remarked it. 
 
 " You may well blush, Kathie : dreaming is 
 half your existence," said she. " Still, it is the 
 best to call things by their right names : 
 imagination has misled far more than it has 
 benefited. You need not expect life to be all 
 sunshine." 
 
 " I need not, judging by what is gone of it ; 
 but even that would have been inexpressibly more 
 dreary but for the fancies you despise," said I, 
 hastily and half bitterly. " Perhaps it is a 
 providential dispensation, grandmamma, that those 
 who are to find little actual pleasure in their
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 237 
 
 existence should be able to escape from it, now 
 and then, into a brilliant dream-land." 
 
 I felt IVIr. Mayne's eye upon me after I had 
 spoken, when, with my head bent down low over 
 my work, I threaded the needle through the 
 crimson loops. I wondered what he sought in my 
 face : it had lost its childish pallor and the shadow 
 of discontent, I knew ; it was not beautiful, but 
 youth and health had given it the tints of spring, 
 and as much of grace and attraction as it was ever 
 to possess. I did vnsh for one instant that I were 
 beautiful — beauty is so sure a charm for love. 
 
 That night, when I laid my head on my pillow, 
 whether I would or no, a soft hope nestled itself 
 in my heart. In vain I bade it depart and carry 
 its sweet delusion far from me ; in vain I said the 
 cold truth was stronger and better than a dream 
 which would vanish at dawn : it stayed by me ; it 
 refused to be gone.
 
 238 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 xxy. 
 
 Is it well to strangle our happy thoughts and 
 hopes ? Even if they die unrealized, they do us 
 good ; therefore, I say, let the vain, foolish things 
 live out their hour. It is good to be loved, but it 
 is paradise to love. If love bears a sting — was 
 there not a serpent in Eden too ? But First 
 Love, looking out through guileless eyes, beholds 
 only the sunshine of God's presence ; and its deep 
 calm, its passion-pure ecstasy,- are worth an age 
 of plodding, pulseless life. First Love is the 
 golden key to the gate of happiness, which no 
 counterfeit of baser metal can ever open. Many 
 go away from that gate weeping, weary, sick 
 of earth and its sordid passions ; gazing back 
 sadly at the shining portals whence for evermore 
 they are outcast, and which the mists of Lethe 
 will soon dim and tarnish. It is said that some 
 there are to whom love is a myth, a beautiful 
 delusion, talked of in stories, sung of in songs ;
 
 A>-GEL-THOUGHTS. 239 
 
 — some to whose eyes its eternal truth has never 
 been revealed, who rank it with old poets' fables ; 
 — some who, if they acknowledge it at all, say 
 that it existed only in primitive times, when men 
 talked face to face with angels, and the world was 
 in its youth. 
 
 Do we never talk with angels now? never 
 imawares entertain a heavenly visitant ? Surely 
 we do. Mercy and Charity still walk abroad, 
 silent, but with visible foot-prints ; and, too — let 
 the callous or disappointed scoff at it as they 
 will — there comes the sweep of Love's silvery 
 wing, making low, tender music in young hearts, 
 and vindicating earth from the charge that it is 
 forsaken of the angels. 
 
 For me Love dawned as softly as a summer 
 morning ; waking up life in the calm of the early 
 hours ; growing swiftly to noontide heat ; ripening 
 in sweet drowsiness till the twilight of age crept 
 greyly over it, and came the hush of night and 
 the grave. It glorified my existence as the sun 
 glorifies the long summer day ; and surely such 
 love as this is the dim, holy shadow of the lost
 
 240 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Eden. I shall have to tell of cloud — of mid-day 
 storm, perhaps ; but who thinks of them in the 
 evening glow? As I come to this part of my 
 story, it seems as if I ought to remember them 
 no more. 
 
 I know this issue is not for all — not for many : 
 there were fewer sceptics if it were often thus. 
 To some. Love comes like a glittering beam 
 cleaving its way through thunder-clouds; dazzling 
 in its sudden light, half tearful though it be. A 
 wild, passionate thrill that Love has — still the 
 angel visitant descending into the heart, though 
 it abide not: the rent clouds glide up again 
 and blot out the sun, till the gloom is deep as 
 eternal twilight. God help that soul in its 
 loneliness, and God help those who through the 
 livelong day see but the dull, leaden arch of a 
 loveless life! The fiercest gust of passion that 
 ever wrecked a soul were better than that dead 
 torpor of the heart. Verily, to love and to suffer 
 is better than to love not at all.
 
 FOR THE LAST TIME." 241 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 There is a certain feeling of sadness connected 
 with the idea that we are going to do anything 
 for the last time. My books being laid ready 
 for my master, when he should come, and all 
 my lessons carefully prepared, I placed myself 
 near the school-room window to watch. Miss 
 Bootle was not there ; only Charlie, coiled round 
 on the hearth-rug and fast asleep. 
 
 Four o'clock was the hour, and Mr. Mayne 
 was always punctual; but on that day it had 
 struck by the church and every clock in the 
 village, and still he did not appear. The daylight 
 began to fade, and I began to say, " If he should 
 not come," with a perfect sickness of pain : " If 
 he should not come, I may never see him 
 more." 
 
 At last the gate of the garden swung open, as 
 if flung back in haste and agitation, a quick 
 tread passed below the window, and he came 
 
 VOL. L M
 
 242 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 up the stairs two or three steps at a time, and 
 entered the room, when I still leant white and 
 trembling against the side of the window. 
 
 His first words, spoken in a vexed tone, were, 
 "Kathie, why did you not tell me yesterday 
 that you were going away from Crofton ?" 
 
 With one sweep of his hand he scattered ; the 
 lesson-books, as I drew near the table to begin, 
 and with the other held me, shaking and weeping 
 as I was, there before him. 
 
 '^ You little reserved thing, why do you shut 
 yourself up from me ? You are glad to go, then ? 
 There is nobody at Crofton you love?" 
 
 A storm of passionate, childish sobs quite 
 convulsed me ; I wrenched myself out of his 
 grasp, and dropping on my knees beside the 
 table I hid my face upon it, and cried as if my 
 heart would break. 
 
 " Kathie, my child, my darling ! " said he 
 deprecatingly : " listen to me, Kathie." He had 
 put his arm round me and raised me from the 
 floor; I felt myself drawn irresistibly to his 
 breast ; he lifted up my face and looked at me.
 
 MY MASTER. 243 
 
 I struggled to be free : it was more than I could 
 bear. 
 
 " If you wish to go — go !" he said mournfully, 
 but at the same time his clasp grew closer. 
 " Kathie, I cannot spare you — your place is 
 in my heart: say you love me a little, my 
 chUd." 
 
 I was still and silent : hushed by the sense of 
 great happiness that came to me then. 
 
 "Have you not one word for me, Kathie — 
 not one ? " 
 
 I raised my face to his, and he read his answer 
 there. 
 
 " You belong to me : you are mine," he said 
 in a deep passionate tone ; " mine now and ever ! 
 Kathie, you have felt that I loved you : could 
 you have gone away from me coldly ? " 
 
 "Oh, no !" It was easy to confess that now, and 
 it cheered my heart to do it : lightened it of those 
 phantom doubts and fears that seemed almost 
 traitorous, since he had called me his. 
 
 He drew me gently to the window, and for a 
 little space we were silent ; but soon the spell was
 
 244 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 broken up, and we began to talk : not in a sage 
 or edifying way at all, but as egotistically as 
 people in such circumstances always do. Felix 
 told me of some new dawning worldly hopes — 
 ambitious manhood's wild high hopes ! What a 
 discursive, subtle, wiling theme ! and I entered 
 into it, every nerve of my heart thrilling as I 
 felt that I was privileged to share those hopes; 
 to give him the help of a loving faith ; to watch, 
 to tremble, to exult with him. Oh, indeed, 
 Kathie Brande was a happy girl on that blessed 
 day when Felix Mayne gathered her in his arms 
 and said he loved her! He told me that in his 
 eyes I had the best beauty — youth, health, 
 cheerfulness ; and the best dower — spirit, energy, 
 and fortitude. Then he spoke of the time when 
 I should be his wife; when we should live 
 together in one home, and have but one interest : 
 of long summer rambles ; of winter nights by the 
 fireside : of all that, gathered together under one 
 roof, and bound by one tie, is carried in our 
 memory as home. 
 It all rises up before me so distinctly while I write:
 
 MY MASTER. 245 
 
 the darkening school-room, the yellow sunset, the 
 rising moon, and the trees all black and shadowy 
 outside. I know not whether such temperaments 
 as mine feel joy and pain more exquisitely than 
 others do, but to hear Felix say those magical 
 words, and to feel his eyes resting on me with 
 love, was almost too much happiness. I had 
 begun to know already that he was more than 
 all the world to me; and that a glamour was 
 rising up between my heart and my reason, that 
 it was hard to see through clearly. 
 
 " When shall this sweet romance of ours become 
 an everyday reality, Kathie: when will you be 
 my wife indeed ? " he asked gently. For a few 
 seconds I was silent ; then I made answer, " We 
 must wait." 
 
 " Wait ! " he echoed impatiently. 
 
 The tears sprang to my eyes, but a touch from 
 his lips arrested their fall. Old home-affections 
 were not forgotten ; but they stood back, yielding 
 the first place to the great master - passion. 
 Before me the brightest page in all life's book 
 lay open: I conned its lines lingeringly, without
 
 246 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 any looking back at past chapters, or any fore- 
 shadowings of what might be to happen, before 
 death should turn over to the finis and shut up 
 the book. All the sights and sounds of that hour 
 wore themselves into a dream, which was to rise 
 up in the dark days of far-off years with a tender 
 and softened light. I was not sad then : there 
 was not a tinge of melancholy in my feelings. I 
 was not experienced yet in hours of patient hope, 
 or years of vain waiting. I was only trustful and 
 happy. 
 
 " Wait, Kathie ? " said Felix again ; " why 
 wait? Our best days are these: why not make 
 our way together? I want you to encourage 
 me, and uphold me. Think of me when 
 you are gone, with no companion on my 
 hearth but Dean, and only an indefinite hope 
 to cheer me." 
 
 But I had another fireside in my mind's eye, 
 where I was even then expected — a fireside under 
 the shadow of the old Minster : no brighter than 
 his, but with harder toil and fewer hopes ; and my 
 place was there for years yet. What could I do ?
 
 ^rr MASTER. 247 
 
 what could I say ? Still nothing but " We must 
 wait." 
 
 '' Kathie, I have found what I love ; I want to 
 take it to myself, and shelter it from every trouble 
 but such as I can share!" was his impetuous 
 reply. '' And you answer me with ' Wait ! ' 
 Are we to go our separate ways, and some day, 
 no duties coming between, to be happy ? " 
 
 He half withdrew his arm, as if rejecting such 
 a compromise ; but when I shrank away, he 
 caught me back again, and asked almost fiercely 
 if his love were so indifierent to me that I could 
 leave him thus. The glistening happy tears in 
 my eyes were answer enough. He returned to 
 his first idea of the folly of waiting. I reminded 
 him of the duties I owed at home. 
 
 " Who can require the sacrifice of you ? " he 
 passionately exclaimed : " what mother can ask 
 a child to give up her best years to such work as 
 yours will be ? " 
 
 " Oh, Felix ! she would not ask it," I replied, 
 grieved and yet touched by his tone : " she 
 would toil on to her dying day rather than stand
 
 248 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 in the way of our happiness. Do not urge me, 
 Felix: I have a duty which 1 must do. Could 
 you expect a selfish daughter to make a good 
 wife ? I am so young, and I have done nothing 
 for my mother yet. I must go to her for a time : 
 I ought." 
 
 " You speak calmly, Kathie, and expect me to 
 be convinced. And I want you, too: for you, 
 and with you, I could do anything. Have you 
 not pledged yourself to me ? " he said gently and 
 tenderly. He held me against his heart, and 
 looked down into my eyes for an answer. I 
 shook my head, and avoided his gaze. My sense 
 of duty withstood this first appeal of passion. 
 He loosed his arm, and put me away mournfully ; 
 but I did not stir to go : I could not. I longed 
 to lay my head on his breast, and tell him I would 
 do whatever he willed. 
 
 " My love then is nothing to you, Kathie ! 
 You are proud: you will not let me work for 
 you," he added. 
 
 I was silent ; but the hot tears swelled into my 
 eyes at his injustice. I saw my future before
 
 THE FTirEE OF DREAM-LAND. 249 
 
 me — quiet and tranquilly happy, even through 
 those half-bitter tears. There would be a round 
 of small duties to do — duties that would prevent 
 idle anxieties and foolish fears. My life looked 
 like a stream flowing peacefully through meadow 
 lands ; no swift currents, no shallows or dangerous 
 quicksands showed in its course: now and then 
 there were inflowings from another river — 
 gushing, sparkling, making sunny eddies where 
 the waters met — then on they glided again with 
 gentle ripple. Perhaps there might come a shadow 
 across that stream; but shadows would not stop 
 its tide: it might wind deviously through long, 
 long miles; it might be skirted by dusty roads 
 where Hope would lag, and Patience grow foot- 
 sore ; but I saw a point where the two rivers 
 mingled, where rose a fair city looking seawards : 
 thence the deep still waves flowed on into strange 
 lands beyond my ken — beautiful lands where the 
 sunshine was never dimmed, or the flowers 
 stricken with frost or blight. I glanced up 
 from my vision to find his reproachful eyes 
 watching the flickering changes on my face. 
 
 M 5
 
 250 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 " True-hearted, trusting little Kathie ! " he 
 exclaimed, drawing me back fondly to his side. 
 " I cannot, looking into your face, doubt : you 
 are a faithful soul. I don't know whether this 
 guileless child's heart of yours is not too precious 
 a boon for me : it is mine, Kathie ? " 
 
 *^ Oh, Felix ! I am so proud that you love 
 me!" 
 
 " Let me have you to myself while I can, 
 Kathie: do not be in haste to be gone. Here 
 is a little ring; promise me to wear it until I 
 exchange it for another. I wish that day were 
 nearer at hand." 
 
 His arm was round me as he spoke ; he must 
 have felt how wildly my heart beat. It was 
 pleading for him eagerly, passionately. But duty 
 had a clear voice that sounded warningly above 
 that sweet petition. 
 
 " Felix, you must be on my side," I said : " a 
 few years will soon slip away. 
 
 He kissed me, and said it was a harder task 
 than I knew, to be patient. 
 
 " I hoped Kathie would be plastic as fine clay
 
 MY MASTER. 251 
 
 in my hands; but what a sturdy little will she 
 opposes to mine ! I do not love to be thwarted, 
 my child: it is a new lesson you want to teach 
 me, and I am not an apt scholar." 
 
 I considered that subject disposed of, and 
 would not return to it. 
 
 " Felix, I shall keep this ring always, and wear 
 it always : even if any change should come, I shall 
 wear it in memory of what has been." 
 
 " Tush, darling, no forebodings ! Changes 
 cannot come. I trust you, Kathie, and you have 
 faith in me ; have you not ? " 
 
 « Perfect faith." 
 
 " Then it is enough. Kathie, are you happy 
 now?" 
 
 « Yes, Felix." 
 
 " Happier than you were an hour ago ? " 
 
 " I was not sure then that you loved me." 
 
 He bent down till his lips touched my brow. 
 At that instant the school-room door opened, and 
 grandmamma entered. I immediately made my 
 escape to my own room, leaving Mr. Mayne to 
 explain to her what she undoubtedly had seen.
 
 252 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 I might have been there, perhaps, half an hour 
 alone, when I heard my kinswoman's still firm, 
 deliberate step approaching. She came in, sat 
 down, and looked at me not unkindly. 
 
 " Well, child," she began, ** a pretty coil of 
 mischief you have brought us all into! Your 
 coming to Crofton has been an unlucky business 
 altogether. There, don't cry ! it cannot be helped 
 now, and we must make the best of it," and she 
 sighed as if very bad were the best. "So you 
 and Mr. Mayne are engaged ? " in a satirical tone. 
 " Oh, Kathie ! you are a foolish, headstrong girl ! 
 If you would have listened to Mr. Longstaff *s 
 proposal — you need not flash out — it would have 
 been sensible ; but this engagement is ridiculous. 
 Mr. Mayne is too poor to marry ; and you little 
 know what a drag, what a galling fetter you may 
 become to that ambitious man. He loves you, 
 but that will not satisfy him : be warned in 
 time." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Then you had better marry at once, and plod 
 through life together. He might turn school-
 
 MT grandmother's adyice. 253 
 
 master, and then with his curacy he would be 
 able to keep you, in a mean sort of way. But 
 if in poverty and obscurity the time should come 
 when he murmurs at his position, remember 
 that, bat for your selfishness, it need not have 
 been." 
 
 " Grandmamma," said I, " we intend to 
 wait" 
 
 " You will have enough of waiting ! " she 
 exclaimed tartly. " Kathie, I have seen so much 
 of long engagements and long estrangements, that 
 I am sick of the very name of them! You 
 promise to marry, neither of you having the 
 slightest idea when ; trusting to Time and 
 Providence to find you the ways and means. 
 You are going to buy your experience dearly; 
 and a good many tears you are likely to pay 
 for it. There, get away : it is of no use to talk 
 to you ! " 
 
 As I went, a sentence that I had read a few 
 days before in the works of a man wiser in 
 words than in deeds recurred to me : " Love 
 troubleth men's fortunes, and maketh a man that
 
 254 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 he can by no means be trae to his own ends." 
 Its wisdom did not approve itself to me, and I 
 turned from it resolutely. 
 
 At the foot of the stairs I met Aunt Aurelia : 
 she kissed me, and I saw an unusual glitter in her 
 eyes as she said, " Be faithful, Kathie, and 
 whatever betide you will have some happiness. 
 He is in there, waiting for you." 
 
 She pointed to the drawing-room which she had 
 just left, and I went in. 
 
 Felix sprang forward and took my two hands 
 in his. " We have been lectured, Kathie ; but 
 you are on my side, and nothing can come 
 between us," said he gaily. 
 
 " Grandmamma is not implacable — not very, at 
 least," responded I. 
 
 Miss Bootle entered in her hastiest and most 
 expansive mood, and wept over us; crying at 
 intervals that nobody knew how delighted she 
 was, for she had predicted it in confidence to 
 Charlie from the very beginning. We all passed 
 that evening together, and it went over without 
 one hiss or one sarcasm from grandmamma.
 
 THE FLOOD-TIDE OF LIFE. 255 
 
 So ended the day when my tide of life was at 
 flood. The ebbing waves left me some relics of 
 wreck to count and bury away in the dead of the 
 night. There were times in which I could only 
 see the golden sparkle on their crests, when a 
 stray dream lit on me, and wooed me into the 
 Past, only too glad to follow its beck ; but the 
 glory of that day faded never — the memory of 
 my great happiness stayed by me through all. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Before noon of the next day, Mr. Mayne was 
 down at the Grange, and my grandmother 
 received him with amity. She had said to me 
 not long before, " I do not see where your 
 witchery lies, Kathie ; you are but a fragile 
 bit of a girl. It is a marvel to me what two 
 clever men like Mr. Longstaff and Mr. Mayne 
 have found in you to daze their understandings. 
 They are dazed, you know : they do not see you 
 with the eyes of the flesh."
 
 256 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I knew she thought me honoured beyond my 
 deserts, and so I was ; but I felt older and more 
 dignified than I had done before the glamour was 
 achieved. 
 
 Mr. Mayne would have me walk to Marton 
 with him, and return up the lane to see Hannah — 
 an excursion which lasted some two hours. 
 
 In coming down the Rectory lane on our return 
 we saw young Reginald in the road, and heard 
 him swearing most energetically at his groom for 
 some neglect concerning the horse which the man 
 held ready for him to mount. We walked slowly, 
 in hopes that the wrathful young gentleman would 
 take himself away ; but, having disposed of the 
 groom, whom he did not dare to strike, he turned 
 round, and proceeded to vent his rage on a fine 
 dog which had been jumping up to him for some 
 moments to attract his attention: he lashed the 
 poor animal most savagely, while, with a pitiful, 
 deprecating whine, it dragged itself to his feet and 
 crouched there humbly. 
 
 " You '11 spoil that dog, Mr. Reginald," remon- 
 strated the groom.
 
 REGINALD POMPE. 257 
 
 " Who cares if I do ? Isn't he my own ? " and 
 again the whip came down on the tortured beast. 
 
 Felix Mayne sprang away from my side. I 
 cannot exactly describe how it was done, but the 
 next minute the young man was disarmed of his 
 whip, and standing red with rage and confusion 
 at being detected in his brutal cruelty. Felix 
 seemed to say a few bitter, contemptuous words, 
 as he tossed back the whip, and then Mr. Reginald 
 immediately mounted his horse, and galloped oif. 
 
 " Young Pompe was six months under my 
 care," said Felix, as he joined me : " I could do 
 nothing with him. He has what I call a bad 
 nature — cruel, cowardly, vain. Many sore hearts 
 he will make before his course is run." 
 
 The hot spark did not leave Felix's eyes for 
 a long while after. It made me remember what 
 Hannah had said about his passionateness. I 
 liked it in him. Cruelty to dumb creatures 
 always makes my own blood boil furiously : I 
 detest it and loathe it. 
 
 When we came back, and were loitering side 
 by side across the lawn towards the house, I saw
 
 258 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 Milicent Pompe at the drawing-room window. 
 I know not why, but the sight of her face just 
 then gave me a shock of pain and almost of 
 terror. It looked white, but suffused; and the 
 smile she gave us as we passed was a mere 
 spasmodic contortion. She met us, however, with 
 great gaiety of manner, and rattled on in her 
 usual style of conversation for about twenty 
 minutes. When she took leave, we all strolled 
 out into the garden together : being a little apart 
 from the rest, she whispered, " I hope you may 
 be happy, Kathie Brande ;" but she kept her 
 hands folded in her mantle when she said good- 
 bye, and, as I left Crofton three days after, I did 
 not see her again. I felt as if I were charged 
 with some guilt against her. 
 
 My aunt Aurelia went to pass the evening at 
 the Rectory, and Miss Bootle was at Miss 
 Conolly's ; so grandmamma and I were left to 
 ourselves. She took this opportunity of telling 
 me some passages from her family history, already 
 heard in part from the companion. My aunt 
 Aurelia — a warm-hearted, impetuous girl — had
 
 MY AUNT AUKELIA. 259 
 
 formed an attachment, perhaps more natural than 
 prudent. This, by her mother's exertions, was 
 broken oflf; and she was driven into a marriage 
 with a gentleman of large wealth, but past middle 
 age. She was frivolous and capricious; he was 
 harsh and overbearing : domestic discord resulted, 
 and they separated by mutual consent. Mr. 
 Marston died shortly after, leaving her a con- 
 siderable property, providing she did not marry 
 again: if she did, she forfeited all. This was 
 the secret of her contradictory character. 
 
 Poor, proud grandmamma ! hers w^as a lonely, 
 uncheered life — a prey to remorse often; con- 
 scious that her son had died unforgiven, and that 
 her daughter bore about in her heart an unspoken 
 reproach for her wasted happiness. Much more 
 truly happy had my mother been with her large 
 family, her poverty, and her many cares. To 
 her, disappointments came with less bitterness: 
 for they were met and borne with Christian 
 fortitude and Christian faith. Hers was the finer, 
 keener, truer perception between right and wrong. 
 There was no mist of prejudice, no warping
 
 260 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 expediency, to blind her to what was just ; no 
 likelihood that she would sacrifice her children 
 for fear of the world. There might be sore 
 trouble for her, and sore disappointment ; but not 
 life-long anger, or life-long vain regret. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 My visit to Crofton came to an end, and I left 
 it in the morning grey of the last day in October, 
 to meet the coach at Loughboro. Mr. Mayne met 
 me walking with Sharpe, and would accompany 
 us. He carried in his hand the little bird-cage 
 which I had seen with the bullfinch in it at the 
 cottage ; and this, I understood, was a present 
 for me. He had also caused to be sent to the 
 coach-ofiice a parcel of books for my edification, 
 and several pots containing plants which had 
 been duly cherished by Hannah. My baggage 
 altogether was of a very miscellaneous character, 
 and perhaps it might have been objected to had 
 not both guard and coachman been handsomely
 
 HOME. 261 
 
 fee'd before starting. When I was all comfortably 
 packed, with the inside of the coach entirely to 
 myself, Mr. Mayne looked in upon me, and said, 
 *' Kathie, I will see you at Christmas ; " and 
 before I had time to recover from the surprise 
 of this intelligence, I was whirled away down 
 Loughboro town street, and was mounting the 
 steep hill to the moor. For a mile or two, I 
 thought of nothing but what I left behind ; but 
 soon came a rush of pleasant home anticipations. 
 This was another of my days which deserves to be 
 marked with a white stone. 
 
 Stephen was waiting to meet me at the inn 
 where the coach stayed in Eversley. We scarcely 
 knew each other, both were so grown and altered ; 
 but at the first word the strangeness disappeared. 
 
 " Why, Kathie, you look as fresh as a daisy ! " 
 cried Stephen pleasantly ; " you have grown quite 
 pretty, I declare ! What have you been doing 
 to yourself ? " 
 
 I laughed, and said I did not know, but was 
 much obliged for the compliment. 
 
 " It won't do to call vou ^ moodv Kathie' anv
 
 262 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 more/' added he; and indeed I had lost my 
 claim to that title. 
 
 I scarcely felt the ground under my feet as we 
 set off to walk homewards. It was quite dark, 
 and the lamps were lighted in the narrow, old- 
 fashioned streets ; but at every step we came on 
 some familiar place ; either a queer pointed gable, 
 or an old archway, or a window encroaching on 
 the pavement. It was impossible to talk ; I could 
 only feel and remember. As we caught sight of 
 the Minster, I stopped to look up for an instant 
 at the dim, night-veiled towers: at that moment 
 out rang a joyous peal that made my heart echo 
 again. The foolish tears were even in my eyes. 
 Five minutes more brought us to Percie Court. 
 
 It was worth while to go from home, if only for 
 the pleasure of coming back again. Jean and 
 Isabel were on the watch in the stone hall ; their 
 cry of welcome brought my mother through the 
 red door, and I was clasped close in her kind 
 arms, and kissed over and over again in an April 
 mood of tears and smiles. Ann was at the stairs- 
 foot, with a toasting-fork over her shoulder (she
 
 HOME. 263 
 
 always bore some insignia of her office) : she 
 uttered an exclamation that it could not be Kathie 
 surely, and rushed into the kitchen with her apron 
 thrown over her head. Then we went up-stairs, 
 my mother holding me at one side, and Jean 
 hanging on at the other ; with Isabel carrying the 
 candle in front and turning round at every two 
 or three steps to see that we were following. 
 Being come into the west parlour, Stephen drew 
 me to the fire to take another observation, 
 bestowed on me a sonorous fraternal embrace, 
 and asked if I should care much for liis going 
 to the bells. My mother thought that at his age, 
 and going to college so soon as he was, he might 
 find better employment ; however, with a half 
 rueful, half mischievous look at me, he started 
 off, without scarcely giving me time to see what 
 a handsome, manly lad he had become. 
 
 We had tea soon ; and after it, all gathered 
 round the fire for a long talk. There was not 
 any change in my mother's face : perhaps her 
 hair was a shade greyer ; but her skin was as 
 smooth, and her eyes were as clear as ever. Tlie
 
 264 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 little ones were, however, almost as much changed 
 as I was. Isabel, now twelve years old, was a 
 slim, graceful young thing, with a promise of 
 exquisite beauty. As she sat in the fire-shine, 
 her face slightly flushed with excitement, her 
 long, waved hair hanging loose on her shoulders, 
 and her singular eyes beaming like stars from 
 beneath her arched brows, I thought that never 
 anything more picturesquely lovely could be seen 
 in this wide world. 
 
 Jean, a year younger, had a little peaceful, 
 patient countenance, very frank and intelligent. 
 She had a kind of beauty too, but was a very 
 pale floweret beside our sister Isabel. 
 
 How much of the pleasantness sprang from my 
 own heart, I cannot tell ; but certainly the parlour 
 looked brighter and more cheerful than it had 
 ever done in my early, colourless days. The old 
 furniture had been polished up, and new chintz 
 covers and curtains replaced the faded crimson 
 cloth ; a flower-stand filled one of the windows, 
 and already my bird-cage was exalted to a nail 
 above it. My father's chair was drawn out from
 
 HOME. 265 
 
 its recess, and tlie great book-case was all re- 
 arranged ; the hideous Chinese figures on the 
 mantel-piece had given way to three tall, elegantly 
 moulded vases of glass, in which Isabel and Jean 
 had put some late-blooming flowers and laurel. 
 Altogether the old room seemed to wear a smile 
 on its familiar face, such as it had never worn 
 before. 
 
 To mark the occasion of my return, the little 
 ones sat up till eight o'clock; when they were 
 gone, I told my mother of my engagement to 
 Mr. Mayne. She asked few questions, but was 
 entirely satisfied with what I told her : if I had 
 not known her manner so well, I might have 
 thought she received the news of my happiness 
 too calmly ; but the long strain in her arms, and 
 the " God bless you, my Kathie ! " which she 
 murmured with her good-night kiss, assured me 
 that her heart-sympathy was deep as a mother's 
 should be. She would speak of it more here- 
 after. 
 
 Oh, my little closet-chamber! what happy 
 prayers and visions did you witness that night 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I was at home where everybody loved me; 
 where labour would be pleasure, being turned 
 into stepping-stones to a higher, warmer love. 
 Since I had left that dim, quiet room — not quieter 
 or dimmer in its perpetual shadow than I had 
 been — what vital change was there wrought in 
 me ! All my young anxieties, all my rebellings 
 against Fortune, who had given me a lot amongst 
 the workers of humanity — my vague aspirations 
 to be something greater and better than I was — 
 were put to rest. Often had I stood in that 
 narrow window, when the dawn of summer 
 morning was gilding the Minster towers, and 
 thought in my faithlessness — "There can no 
 light come down to me ; I shall always stand in 
 the shade: there will be no vividness in my 
 existence ; it will be all twilight." Yet already 
 through the mist had broken the mid-day sun ; 
 under its influence were budding better feelings ; 
 I felt rich in happiness, for my heart dilated from 
 its immaturity and coldness into full strength. 
 Kneeling at the window, whence I could catch 
 a glimpse of heaven, I realized the change most
 
 HOME. 267 
 
 distinctly. This place had heard my childish 
 sobs of pain — my later visions murmui'ed to 
 myself; on this deep ledge had I often sat, 
 with knees for desk, and pencil in hand, scribbling 
 down the puerile fancies of my girlhood — fancies 
 that I was ashamed for anyone to know, and 
 which were hid away in a little cupboard in the 
 wainscot with a shabby doll and a few battered 
 toys, that some lingering fondness induced me 
 to preserve from the destructive fingers of the 
 little ones. 
 
 Often during the night I awoke, and rose up 
 to look out at the Minster to assure myself that 
 I was not in a dream ; and in the morning when, 
 before any of the others, I was down in the 
 west parlour, I amazed Ann by crying aloud, 
 " It is true then ! I am really at home ! " Yes ; 
 there were the poplars overtopping the garden 
 wall, there was the dingy sUp of ground with 
 its smoky shrubs, the mossy terrace steps, and 
 the range of unhappy flower-pots. My bird 
 came chirping to the side of its cage for its 
 accustomed caress, and we had a little foolish
 
 268 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 talk together about somebody who had been 
 kind to both of us ; which mystified Arm to 
 that extent that she observed to my mother, 
 "Miss Kathie was well nigh daft with joy at 
 getting back home again." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 That day brought a considerable burden of 
 serious talk with it. In the first place, my aunt 
 Aurelia had charged me with a proposal to my 
 mother for the adoption of Isabel. The child's 
 eyes sparkled with irrepressible glee when she 
 heard it ; she sprang up, and danced round the 
 room, singing a wild street ballad, and clapping 
 her Kttle hands delightedly. My mother looked 
 at her sadly and gravely, and bade me write a 
 decided negative. 
 
 " I cannot consent to give up any more of 
 my children : your sufferings have been a 
 warning to me," she said resolutely. 
 
 Isabel stood for a minute quite disconcerted.
 
 ISABEL. 269 
 
 \ 
 
 then she gave way to one of her most outrageous 
 bursts of passion ; stamping, crying, dashing 
 herself on the floor like an insane thing. Any 
 word of reason only seemed to increase her 
 fury: she vowed that she hated us all, and 
 she hated her home, and she wished she were 
 dead. My mother grew white, but made no 
 sign of retracting her determination ; instead, 
 she bade me write the letter, and get it done 
 with; upon which Isabel dashed away up-stairs 
 to the garret, and fastened herself in. To her 
 violent mood succeeded several days of resentful 
 sullenness : she would speak to nobody, not 
 even to Jean, who exerted all her little arts of 
 soothing and affection. My mother said she 
 must be let alone ; the fit would wear off : to 
 notice it only strengthened her obstinate anger. 
 It passed, at length, in a burst of tearful 
 repentance ; and the subject of contention seemed 
 to have been finally laid aside, and forgotten. 
 
 My mother was at this time very full of anxiety 
 about Stephen. The examinations for the scholar- 
 ship had been going forward, but the decision
 
 270 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 was Still pending. She thought Stephen's success 
 certain, and was reposing in this belief so 
 implicitly, that I had not the heart to disturb 
 it by suggestions to the contrary: indeed, I 
 ended by being as certain as she was. When 
 I spoke to Stephen himself about it, and asked 
 him how he felt, he replied impatiently, " Oh ! 
 confound the scholarship ! I 'm sick of hearing 
 about it. You know, Kathie, I'm safe to win, 
 for there is only Francis Maynard to care about, 
 and he is but a slow, plodding fellow: I'm not 
 afraid of Am." 
 
 And my brother's confidence in himself en- 
 gendered a like confidence in me. This scholar- 
 ship was fifty pounds a year for three years ; and 
 no wonder my mother looked to it as a material 
 help during Stephen's time at college. 
 
 Our third subject of grave discussion was my 
 employment at home. It had been several times 
 talked about at Crofton, and my grandmother had 
 suggested that I should take a few little girls of 
 the better class to instruct in the elementary 
 branches of education, with Isabel and Jean.
 
 MY WORK. 271 
 
 For anything else I was unfitted ; and not quite 
 free from nervousness, even as regarded the 
 teaching of young children: I knew so little 
 myself. My mother approved the plan, and 
 encouraged me by citing the many people in the 
 Minster Close who, having known and respected 
 my father, would be glad to extend a helping 
 hand to his children. It was finally arranged 
 that after Christmas I should begin ; and in the 
 interim I was so fortunate as to obtain the 
 promise of seven little girls, all under ten years 
 of age. This success set me free from all present 
 anxieties; for, to keep my school select, the 
 parents agreed amongst themselves that I should 
 be more HberaUy paid than was usual; and, no 
 doubt, as I obtained experience, I should increase 
 my number. It must be confessed I thought my 
 prospects very favourable. 
 
 When I communicated the tidings in a letter 
 to Mr. Mayne, he expressed himself disappointed. 
 " I had hoped nobody would have you but 
 myself," he wrote.
 
 272 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 One evening about a fortnight after my return, 
 when Stephen was away at the Minster, and the 
 little ones were in bed, there came to our door a 
 knock — a loud, authoritative knock. Expectant 
 of good news as we daily were, every unusual 
 sound brought the scholarship to mind. 
 
 A heavy foot mounted the stairs, preceded by 
 Ann's quick, running step. " Please, ma'am, a 
 gentleman wants to speak to you," was the 
 ex-Greycoat-girl's style of announcement ; and 
 in walked a tall, grey-headed man, with a lank, 
 stooping figure — Mr. Withers, of the Grammar 
 School. 
 
 He entered, swinging his long arms, and 
 swaying his person backwards and forwards in a 
 series of embarrassed bows, rubbing up his 
 grizzled hair, coughing, and indulging in various 
 other nervous eccentricities. His countenance 
 forbade us to hope that he was the messenger
 
 ILL NEWS. 273 
 
 of pleasant tidings : naturally he was a pale man, 
 but now he looked flushed and annoyed. Three 
 several chairs did he try before he settled; and 
 then all the information he appeared to have to 
 communicate was that we should be surprised 
 to see him — a fact of such vast importance, that 
 he stated it four times, and then changed his seat 
 again. My mother had put on her quietest and 
 most resolute face; she looked neither agitated 
 nor impatient : I was on thorns. 
 
 Mr. Withers next told us it was a fine day (we 
 could hear the rain pattering on the glass) ; then 
 that it was of no use to beat about the bush ; and, 
 finally, it was what he always feared. 
 
 Still the story did not come; so I spoke. 
 "Stephen has not won the scholarship, Mr. 
 Withers ? " I said interrogatively. 
 
 " You are right, my dear young lady, he has 
 not ; and it is his own fault entirely," replied the 
 master, speaking like a sane person, and looking 
 immensely relieved. " There is not another lad 
 in the school with his abilities; but he is too 
 indolent and pleasure-loving by half. It is the 
 
 N 5
 
 274 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 old fable of the hare and the tortoise, Mrs. 
 Brande." 
 
 My mother suppressed a sigh, and said some- 
 thing about its being a pity and a disappointment. 
 "Not that his failure in this instance need 
 change his ultimate destination," she added 
 calmly; "I have provided against such a con- 
 tingency. Perhaps it may have the effect of 
 sobering him for the future." 
 
 " There is no harm in the lad," said Mr. 
 "Withers cheerfully ; " I have a feeling for him 
 for my friend Brande's sake: he has decidedly 
 more than common ability, but he is rather too 
 self-confident. I agree with you in thinking this 
 may give him a check. He is a fine youth; 
 and I assure you, ma'am, I feel more than a 
 common interest in him. Good-evening, Miss 
 Brande; I wish you a very good evening, 
 ma'am." 
 
 He shook hands with my mother, and bowed 
 himself out with almost as many graces as he 
 had bowed himself in. After he was gone, my 
 mother quietly resumed her work. I could not :
 
 THE LOST SCHOLAESHIP. 275 
 
 I felt ready to cry for poor Stephen's mortification 
 and disappointment. 
 
 " Do not be distressed, Kathie," said my mother, 
 but with a tremble in her own voice notwith- 
 standing ; " Stephen takes nothing in earnest : I 
 should not be surprised if he made a jest of this. 
 Listen ! he is coming in now : is not that his 
 foot?" 
 
 And so, indeed, it was, taking half a dozen of 
 the shallow steps at a time, as if all life were a 
 mere feather-weight; he was whistling, too, as 
 blithely as ever, and his countenance looked as 
 free from trouble as it always did. We received 
 him very quietly : pity and condolence were quite 
 uncalled for. 
 
 " Well, mother, you have had Mr. Withers 
 about the scholarship ? " said he carelessly ; 
 "Maynard won. The decision was announced 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " So we understand, Stephen. It is a dis- 
 appointment, my boy, to all of us, I am 
 sure." 
 
 "Yes, mother, but I suspect there has been
 
 276 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 favouritism in the case : Maynard is old Withers's 
 nephew, you know." 
 
 My mother did not agree to this supposition, 
 much as it might have flattered Stephen and 
 comforted herself. 
 
 " Well, I am glad it is over and off our minds ; 
 mine feels all the lighter for it," he added with a 
 toss of his beautiful head as he sauntered towards 
 the door. 
 
 I followed him out, at a sign he made; for I 
 saw he wanted to say something more. 
 
 " Kathie, mother does not seem to mind ; I was 
 afraid she would be in a terrible taking," he 
 whispered. 
 
 " It is not her way to say much, Stephen, 
 but she is grievously sorry," was my answer. 
 
 " I have been an idle dog, and given her lots 
 of trouble," said he in a soberer tone ; '' but I 'II 
 mend, Kathie — see if I don't ! After to-night I '11 
 give up the Minster bells and the river, and study 
 like a regular sap: I'll be as hard-working as 
 Maynard ; and then I shall soon distance him out 
 and out."
 
 GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 277 
 
 I had not much faith in poor Stephen's good 
 resolutions: he procrastinated always; and his 
 to-morrows of amendment never came. He had 
 little practical energy: his character possessed 
 neither bone nor muscle; but was always soft, 
 plastic, and yielding. It never seemed to me as 
 if he were making one conscientious effort to 
 overcome his natural indolence. He loved society, 
 and he loved pleasure, and was possessed of most 
 of those dangerous qualities that make men 
 acceptable in the one, and slaves to the other : in 
 short, he was gifted with all those endowments 
 which usually distinguish the class of people of 
 whom friends say in their adversity, " They were 
 nobody's enemies but their own " — a false conclu- 
 sion, very, very often ; since few are so isolated as 
 to stand alone in their ruin. 
 
 The immediate consequence of the disappoint- 
 ment about the scholarship, was the reversal of 
 my mother's determination respecting Isabel. 
 The child had been promised lessons in music, 
 for which she showed a remarkable talent, 
 conditionally on Stephen's gaining it : my mother
 
 278 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was now obliged to explain to her that the 
 expense would be inconvenient ; and this brought 
 on another of those frantic outbreaks of temper 
 which were the dread of the whole house. 
 
 During the sullen period that followed, my 
 aunt Aurelia arrived in Eversley, and stayed at 
 " The George," on her way to London. We saw 
 her several times; and Isabel made all her 
 grievances loudly known. My aunt sympathized 
 with her; and strenuously combated all my 
 mother's arguments and denials. The result 
 was a reluctant consent to the child's leaving us, 
 which quite intoxicated her with delight; and, 
 remembering how eager I myself had been for 
 change, I scarcely wondered at it. From the 
 time it was decided that she should go, my mother 
 could scarcely bear to let anyone touch her but 
 herself. I recollect on the last night she kept her 
 close at her side ; and when she was put to bed, 
 she curled her hair, and loitered tenderly over 
 every stage of her undressing: more than once 
 her lips were pressed to the little white shoulders 
 and dimpled arms, while Isabel looked wonderingly
 
 ISABEL LEAYES US. 279 
 
 at her, as if with a dim perception of being pained 
 by so much love. My mother's presentiments for 
 her child were not happy ones, but she held her 
 peace. 
 
 My aunt remained in Eversley a week, during 
 which interval she often had Isabel with her. 
 The innocent young creature did not intend to 
 be selfish or unfeeling; but many times during 
 those few days I saw my mother's eyes filled 
 with tears as Isabel ran out into the court in 
 thoughtless haste, crying that the parlour was 
 dull, and she wished her aunt were ready to go 
 away. 
 
 I shall never get out of my mind's eye the look 
 of the pretty thing the morning she left us. She 
 was all in haste to be gone ; and her little impetuous 
 ways, as she danced about and brought the colour 
 into her cheeks, made her look bright as a 
 vision. She shed no tears at saying " Good-bye ; " 
 and her face, at the last moment, beamed upon 
 us from from the carriage window in its merriest 
 guise. 
 
 Thus this bird took flight from the parent
 
 280 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 nest with eager, untried wing! What storms 
 were to beat those slender pinions? what cruel 
 winds to beset the wanderer? My mother 
 prayed that night that the Father of the father- 
 less would temper them to the nestling's 
 weakness. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The house seemed very still after Isabel was 
 gone. My mother missed her blithe carol, and 
 Jean was dull for want of her playmate ; but after 
 a few weeks, things fell into their new routine, and 
 her empty place seemed no longer strange. We 
 heard from her of her safe arrival in London, of 
 our aunt's pretty house, and of the teachers who 
 were to transform her into a clever little lady. 
 She seemed perfectly happy in the change, and 
 I think my mother's anxieties lessened. Aunt 
 Aurelia, we were persuaded, would be very kind 
 to her, as it was her nature to be kind to every- 
 thing ; and the child's own self-will would protect
 
 CHRISTMAS-TIME. 281 
 
 her from the heavy restraints which had formerly 
 been so injurious to me. 
 
 Christmas-time was now approaching. The 
 ground was hard as iron with a long frost ; the 
 river was frozen, and the Barbican moss was 
 covered with skaters. Jean and I had walked 
 to a country friend's for some holly to deck the 
 west parlour, and were returning through the 
 South-gate, laden with spoils, when Mr. Withers 
 overtook us. He wanted to speak to me about 
 his three little motherless girls — could they be 
 received at my school ? Polly was twelve, and 
 the others younger. I was delighted, and said I 
 should be most glad to have them. The arrange- 
 ment was made in five minutes, for the master 
 was not a man of many words. Jean whispered 
 this was good Christmas news for my mother, and 
 could not refrain from capering as we went up the 
 steep stone steps to the walls ; preferring to return 
 home that way rather than to carry our bunches 
 of holly through the town. 
 
 There was a pale, winterly sun shining on the 
 roofs of the houses, and on the Minster ; and a
 
 282 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 clear, frosty, healthful breath in the air, that 
 pinched our cheeks till they were rosy red. I 
 felt so happy and free from anxiety, that I might 
 have imitated little Jean's fashion of testifying her 
 joy, if I had not been so burdened. As it was, 
 I only hummed the burden of a Christmas-carol, 
 which faintly echoed the music in my heart. 
 
 We did not walk fast, so that by the time 
 we came to the steps where the ferry-boat was 
 usually moored to convey passengers across the 
 river, the sunshine had given place to dusk. The 
 river was now passable on foot ; so we made our 
 way, amongst skaters and sliders, to the further 
 side. Stephen and several of his schoolfellows 
 were there, young Maynard amongst the rest. 
 He came up and spoke to Jean, offering to carry 
 her holly; but she rejected the proposal quite 
 tartly, and quickened her pace to escape up the 
 street. 
 
 " If he had not beaten Stephen, Bella would be 
 with us now," said she in pettish explanation. " I 
 don't like Francis Maynard half as much as I did, 
 Kathie."
 
 CHRISTMAS-TniE. 283 
 
 We can rarely afford to be just where we love. 
 
 When we reached home, my mother was called 
 upon to rejoice with us over the three pupils that 
 were added to my list ; and this she did by saying 
 she was always sure her little Kathie would make 
 herself friends. Jean and I then threw off our 
 bonnets and cloaks, and, having summoned Ann 
 to bring the steps, proceeded to decorate the room. 
 We made festoons to garland my father's book-case, 
 filled the chimney-glasses with sprays begemmed 
 with scarlet berries, and, the bare flowers being 
 removed from the stand, wreathed it over with 
 green. Then I mounted the steps, to garnish the 
 old mirror between the windows, and as much 
 as possible to hide its unsightly frame. I was 
 singing now with all my heart, and Jean's sweet 
 little voice chimed in. My mother sat by the 
 fireplace, where a great Yule log was blazing, 
 admiring our handiwork and occasionally putting 
 in a word of advice. 
 
 Though Aim had not brought in candles, the 
 room was full of warmth and cheerful light. The 
 black old wainscot, with its quaint carvings, shone
 
 284 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 again; and the crimson furniture looked homely 
 and appropriate. I remember thinking it quite 
 picturesque and pretty in its Yule-tide garnishing. 
 There I was, mounted aloft, holding in my hand 
 a splendid branch, which I wislied to fix in the 
 arched top of the glass, my hair all in wild 
 disorder, and my cheeks crimson with the air and 
 exertion of our walk, when the door opened, and 
 some one came in. Thinking it was Stephen, 
 I cried out to him to come and help me ; but, 
 Jean's song ceasing suddenly, I turned round, and 
 saw, to my delight, a tall, cloaked figure standing 
 just within the room. It was Mr. Mayne ! 
 
 I sprang down with an exclamation of pleasure, 
 and in the irrepressible joy of the moment he 
 caught me in his arms and kissed me. This was 
 quite presentation enough to my mother : she 
 came forward and gave him a warm reception ; 
 and Jean shyly accepted his overtures of friend- 
 ship. She confided to me afterwards that he was 
 so tall, and so serious in the face, that she was 
 half afraid of him, and wondered a little how I 
 dared to love him.
 
 CHRISTMAS-TIME. 285 
 
 That evening we all spent together in the old 
 parlour. My happiness was full when I saw how 
 completely my mother and Felix agreed, and how 
 sincere and deep were the respect and admiration 
 each conceived for the other's character. But I 
 had never doubted that it would be so. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 There come now a few white days in my 
 memory: nothing intermeddled with their joy. 
 The morrow of Mr. Mayne's arrival was Christmas 
 Eve. We passed the morning in the iVIinster : a 
 bitterly cold morning it was, with a frosty sun- 
 light shining through the windows, and throwing 
 jewelled arabesques of colour on the pillars and 
 pavement Each trivial incident of this time has 
 burnt itself deep into my memory, and I love 
 to recall the picture in its vivid minuteness. 
 Outside in the Close all was white, hard, and 
 clear ; no wind stirred ; but the black, bare 
 poplars swayed slowly to and fro, and through
 
 286 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 the towers went a low, plaintive sigh, as if some 
 breeze had lost its way amongst the bells, and 
 were moaning to get out. 
 
 The great south door stood wide, and a few 
 strangers came strolling in, and went roaming to 
 and fro the aisles with stealthy steps, prying 
 behind old monuments, and peering through iron 
 gates, to the small satisfaction of their curiosity. 
 Presently Mr. Withers advanced down the nave, 
 with lurching gait, and umbrella in hand; with 
 which, notwithstanding the place and his pro- 
 fession, he was playing an imaginary but very 
 energetic game of cricket. Then the Dean 
 entered, in white surplice, carrying his cap in 
 his hands behind him : his fine countenance was 
 overcast as with the shadow of recent trouble; but 
 he mechanically bent his grand white head in return 
 to the reverent salutes of the people. Next came 
 the scurry of a troop of little boys, who had been 
 improving the time with marbles on the Minster 
 steps to the last moment : they all had short white 
 gowns, crimped frills, and shiny faces ; and were 
 endowed with that superabundance of spirits
 
 CHRISTMAS-TIME. 287 
 
 which seems to be a providential dispensation to 
 keep chorister bojs warm. Then followed the 
 bustling rush of three minor canons, all late, all 
 corpulent, and all short of breath. They dis- 
 appeared through a little low door for a few 
 seconds, whence they issued forth fully robed, 
 with glowing countenances and great decorum : 
 a man bearing a silver poker marshalled them 
 to their respective places, and the service 
 commenced. 
 
 The congregation scarcely numbered two score 
 souls. The strangers settled down for a few 
 restless minutes, and went out again into the 
 side-aisle to read the Latin inscriptions on the 
 tablets until the music began, when they returned, 
 or hung about the doors of the choir to listen. 
 The prayers were almost inaudible. 
 
 In about an hour the service was concluded, 
 and away flashed the chorister-boys, pulling their 
 white gowns over their heads, slyly hitting each 
 other, and jumping on the pavement to warm 
 their frozen feet ; while the Dean, the minor 
 canons, and the canon major departed in a group.
 
 288 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 and left the old Minster for a few hours to the 
 sunshine, the vergers, and the strangers. 
 
 While Felix and I were hesitating whether we 
 should go or stay, a verger came up to us, 
 recognised the cloth by a deferential bow, and 
 asked if we wished to see over the building; to 
 which we assented. With a few other individuals, 
 we followed in procession, listening to stories and 
 descriptions run one into another like badly- 
 struck colours ; went down into crypts — dark, 
 damp, mouldy ; glanced over monuments of 
 kings, archbishops, bishops, and other great men 
 of the earth ; heard of Oliver Cromwell's melting 
 down silver images, and leaving the niches 
 empty ; saw the pious relics and ancient curiosities 
 in a little dark room like a vault; visited the 
 beautiful Chapter-house, and so round about and 
 back again until we came to the place whence we 
 had started. 
 
 Our guide then suggested that it was a clear 
 day to go to the top of the great tower. All the 
 other people declined, with a shiver; but Felix 
 and I accepted the proposition, and, being led to a
 
 IN THE MINSTEB. 289 
 
 narrow door, were ushered into twilight at the 
 foot of a spiral stair. Then up — up more than 
 three hundred steps, for the most part in gloom, 
 sometimes in total darkness. At the narrow 
 loop-holes we paused to take breath an instant ; 
 then forward again, till at length we emerged on 
 the sloping, battlemented roof. 
 
 Here we were alone : the hum of men — every 
 sound — lost. We might have been in a city of 
 the dead, for any voice that came up to our ears. 
 The air was very keen, and even the sunshine had 
 an icy gleam on the white stone, all unlike the 
 glow of summer. For miles and miles away, the 
 fields lay grey and bare, the woods showed black 
 in their nakedness, and the river — white as a 
 silver ribbon rolled loosely over the landscape — 
 was lost in mist towards the sea. Northward and 
 westward stretched lines of low hills, covered with 
 unmelted snows ; where the snows would He until 
 the spring dawned on their chill slopes. 
 
 We stayed and talked together a little while — 
 talked of our future. Who does not ? For 
 whom is the present so all-sufficing, as that 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 imagination cannot woo them to dwell on the 
 mysterious unknown and unseen ? — Then down 
 again into the chastened light of the long aisles, 
 with quiet, hopeful thoughts for guides. 
 
 In the afternoon we were at the Minster again, 
 to hear the Christmas Eve anthem. We sat up 
 near the altar, where the music came rolling like 
 billows of sound through the hollow roof. 
 Looking upwards, we could see nothing but 
 darkness : pillars, arches, gemmed and storied 
 windows, all melted into the solemn gloom. The 
 singers' voices came as from a long way off; 
 sweet, rejoicing, triumphant, like those voices of 
 the heavenly host which, centuries ago, were 
 heard by the shepherds of Bethlehem on the 
 midnight hills of Judea. 
 
 That evening, when we were all of us together 
 in the west parlour, Felix brought out a map 
 of India, upon which the missionary stations were 
 marked down. Stephen and he pored over it 
 together for some time, the rest of us watching. 
 
 " It is a fine field for our labour," said Felix 
 gravely.
 
 YULE-TIDE. 291 
 
 " Yes," retumed my brother, " for men like 
 you, who are at heart as much soldier as priest, 
 and who would die in the cause with pride and 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Kathie, would you go ? " asked Felix. 
 
 My glance at my mother and Jean and Stephen 
 said, " And leave all these ! " 
 
 Forthwith the map was folded up, and restored 
 to its case. ^^ I shall find my work at home," 
 replied he contentedly. 
 
 There was a great fall of snow that night ; and 
 when the clanging bells awoke us to the Christmas 
 morning, it was to look out on white streets, and 
 snowy billows drifted up against the Minster but- 
 tresses, and Ijmg thick on every ledge and mould- 
 ing, and grotesque carving. The sky above was 
 pale blue, and the sun shone frostily over the winter 
 mantle in the Close. We all went to St. Mark's 
 church, and showed Felix my father's grave under 
 the low wall. It struck me as less dreary and 
 neglected with its pure covering than it had 
 ever done before ; and perhaps the same thought 
 came into my mother's mind, for she turned
 
 292 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 round and said to me, " Kathie, when I die, 
 remember, I wish to be buried by your father." 
 
 The time of Mr. Mayne's stay with us was 
 marked by no events. It formed one of those 
 pleasant, homely pictures, which Memory loves 
 to hang in her gallery, and often to loiter before 
 in after days : a fireside study, full of tender 
 touches and delicate shades ; trivial, perhaps, and 
 ineffective to others ; but to the owner precious in 
 its quaint simplicity, and most dear in its quiet 
 truth. I showed him all the old town ; made him 
 penetrate with me into the ancient courts of 
 Friargate and the Barbican, where we disinterred 
 many architectural remains, unobserved till then 
 amidst the squalor and poverty that herded 
 amongst them. I led him round as much of 
 the walls as remained, and showed him our walks, 
 that he might know my favourite haunts as well 
 as I knew his at Crofton. 
 
 On the morning before he left us, we went 
 down to the river-side : it was a cold thaw, very 
 chill and very dreary; but it did not affect us. 
 The sky was heavy and low ; and the river,
 
 BY THE RIYEE. 293 
 
 being very full, flowed with an eddying current, 
 whirling on its surface bits of stick and straw. 
 The fields were dead green ; the sedges on the 
 banks all torn and brown; the gaunt, naked 
 boughs of the trees like black pencil lines on a 
 dull grey ground. We had come out there to 
 be alone : that we might have the cheerless scene 
 to ourselves ; but its misty desolation was cheered 
 and brightened to us by a ray from the City of 
 Hope. I understood that day how necessary I 
 was to Felix's happiness, and also how my love 
 for him lay deep down amongst the springs 
 of life. 
 
 But it is enough of the old happy days ! He 
 left us ; Stephen went back to school, and my 
 work-a-day life began. 
 
 xxxni. 
 
 The west parlour was now a different and a 
 busy scene. There were little figures perched 
 primly on green-baize-covered benches, samplers
 
 294 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 in hand, shaping uncouth letters on the canvas ; 
 also stammerings through Mrs. Barbauld's stories 
 and Dr. Watts' hymns, and dear, quiet Jean 
 setting everybody a good example. My beginning 
 was very unambitious, but people spoke to me 
 kindly and encouragingly, and said I must hope 
 better things by and by, being still little more 
 than a child myself. In the course of a few 
 weeks I fell into the routine of my new duties, 
 as if I had been at them for years. I had met 
 with a great many stumbling-stones on the path 
 of knowledge myself, so I did my best to lift 
 them out of my young scholars' way. It is 
 painful to hear a child fret over its difficulties, 
 therefore I did the hard bits in seams, and the 
 obstinate sums that would not come right ; and 
 if — as sometimes would occur to Polly Withers, 
 and Janey Munro — the little people flew into 
 a passion, and stamped or danced on their books 
 or work, I let them achieve their riot and subside 
 into shame-faced silence. Altogether the results 
 were not discouraging. By four o'clock in the 
 afternoon the scholars had all trotted home ; then
 
 STEPHEN. 295 
 
 I either had an hour's private study in my old 
 retreat, the stained window, or else took a walk 
 into the country with Jean. Sometimes we went 
 to the INIinster ; almost always we did on Wednes- 
 days, when Dr. Munro, the head organist, 
 played, and the anthems were the finest. 
 
 Stephen was rarely in, except at meals : his 
 good resolutions had departed to that limbo 
 which good resolutions are said to pave. He still 
 frequented the bell tower, went boating on the 
 river, and played at cricket, while I accomplished 
 his impositions. I wished sometimes IMr. Withers 
 could know who did them; then perhaps they 
 might have been rather less frequent. The lad 
 had a blithe, frank humour which made him 
 very popular among his companions ; he was 
 mischievous but not malicious, and his selfishness 
 was so gay and unconscious that it was impossible 
 to hate it — almost to discourage it. 
 
 Post time at our house was nine o'clock. Felix 
 Mayne's letters always came on Thursday mornings. 
 For nearly a year there was no more conspicuous 
 event in my life than the receipt of these letters.
 
 296 KATHIE BRANDS. 
 
 They were always dearly welcome ; for though 
 I was contented and happy as girl could be, they 
 came like a breath of vivifying air through the 
 tranquil summer noon, whispering of a golden 
 autumn yet to come, rich laden with such pleasant 
 tones. No shadow had fallen yet across the 
 rippling river, and the wayfarer still breasted 
 her way with head erect, and pulses throbbing, 
 full 6f life and hope. 
 
 XXXIY. 
 
 On the eighth of October in this year, my 
 brother Stephen went up to Oxford. He left by 
 the night coach, and I went to the office to see 
 him off. In his haste — for we were late — and 
 the necessity of looking after his luggage, he 
 quite forgot me, and never said good-bye. I stood 
 on the inn steps till the guard wound his unmusical 
 horn, and the four horses started — hoping that he 
 would give me a wave of his hand at least ; but 
 no — the coach disappeared, and he never turned
 
 STEPHEN GOES TO COLLEGE. 297 
 
 his head. " Ah, well ! " thought I, " the dear lad 
 is thinking of his new career, and may be 
 forgiven." 
 
 It was a very dark night, and but for the rare 
 lamps at the street corners, I might almost have 
 lost my way ; I did not loiter in my walk home, 
 therefore, but with my cloak gathered tightly 
 round my shoulders made the best haste I could. 
 When I came into the Minster gardens the keen 
 autumnal winds met me ; the moon was just rising, 
 and began to gleam through the drifting clouds, 
 making black, broad shadows on the grass. I 
 passed through the gates by the Deanery into 
 the Close ; few people were abroad, and they 
 seemed to be hurrying homewards out of the 
 chilly night. There was a depressing sensation 
 at my heart just then : perhaps it came from 
 Stephen's forgetfulness of me — I cannot tell ; but 
 it was the first time for many months that I had 
 felt dull or saddened. I stood for a minute or 
 two, to look upwards at the moon, which had 
 broken from its screen of inky cloud ; the age- 
 worn elms and poplars were writhing in the wild 
 
 5
 
 298 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 gusts that came sweeping round the Minster : in 
 this moonlit mist it had a more ghostly air than 
 usual, and the grey old houses in the Close, with 
 their ornate gables, narrow windows, and deep 
 porches, looked like haunted dwellings. From 
 their gardens, where the sun shone rarely, came 
 a smell of dank, rotting leaves, and grave-mould ; 
 and the owl that lived in the huge sycamore in 
 Chapter House Yard gave out a long melancholy 
 hoot. It is weak to dwell on presentiments, but 
 it was inherent in my dreamy temperament. 
 
 My mother was on the look out for me, 
 thinking me long absent, and I met her with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Did he go in good spirits, Kathie ? " she 
 asked very cheerfully. 
 
 I replied that I thought he did, and we talked 
 about him and his prospects till bed-time ; but 
 there were reserved fears with both of us — 
 especially with her. Stephen's departure was 
 naturally a source of anxiety ; we should have felt 
 better satisfied if he had left us in a more staid 
 frame of mind, and with a higher sense upon him
 
 Stephen's letters home. 299 
 
 of his duties and responsibilities. But it seemed 
 a moral impossibility to make any enduring 
 impression on his elastic temper ; there was a 
 weak side to his character which made us tremble 
 for him secretly, now that he was removed from 
 the influences and restraints of home. 
 
 A whole month we waited for the letter that 
 he had promised my mother should receive in a 
 few days. She looked more wan and troubled 
 after each morning's disappointment, and when 
 it came at last her fingers trembled so much 
 that she could scarcely break the seal ; she was 
 obliged to ask me to read it, not having her glasses, 
 she said — but, ah ! my poor mother ! I knew it 
 was for the tears in your eyes you could not see 
 to read your careless darling's letter ! 
 
 An emotion of rather unsisterly vexation 
 hurried me through t?ie half dozen lines that 
 composed it. There were no details such as we 
 expected : no description of the town, of his 
 college, his masters, or his studies; but a 
 contemptuous allusion to the Eversley boating- 
 club, and a lengthy eulogium on the companions
 
 300 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 with whom he was ah'eadj popular. He excused 
 the brevity of the letter, for which his mother had 
 been waiting exactly five weeks and three days, 
 by saying he was going to join a wine-party given 
 by one of his friends. When I had read it 
 through once, my mother took it, and pored over 
 the scanty lines as if trying to extract a grain of 
 comfort or affection from them ; but, at last, with 
 a sigh she folded it up, and said she feared 
 Stephen would always be thoughtless. 
 
 The time went on. His letters were never 
 frequent, but T could have found in my heart to 
 wish that they had been even less so, for they 
 invariably cast a damp over us for the day. 
 Never, by any chance, did he give us a cheerful 
 account of his proceedings: he had to endure 
 more privations and to fag harder than any man 
 of his acquaintance; neither did he scruple to 
 complain of the smallness of his allowance, and 
 to beg for its increase. My mother was grieved 
 for him, and retrenched our already scant luxuries 
 to minister to his. Thereupon, I privately wrote 
 him a remonstrance. I laid before him the
 
 Stephen's lettees home. 301 
 
 sacrifices our mottier had made, and was still 
 making, for him ; and besought him not to make 
 her affection the instrument of his selfish indul- 
 gence. In answer I received a letter calling me 
 unkind and unsisterlj, and bitterly disclaiming 
 his wish to cultivate his own pleasures at our 
 expense ; yet three posts later brought an urgent 
 petition for ten pounds, with a postscript begging 
 it might be kept from my knowledge, as I was 
 so hard upon him. Nearly the whole quarterly 
 sum of my mother's annuity went to satisfy this 
 demand ; and poor Jean, like Isabel before, lost 
 her music lessons. Unstable characters like 
 Stephen are a vast trial to love and forbearance ; 
 but my mother still excused, rather than blamed 
 him, and I was ever willing to think and hope 
 for the best. 
 
 The Christmas vacation he spent in London 
 with our aunt Aurelia ; and though it would have 
 been pleasanter to have had him with us, we 
 were cheered by knowing that he had more 
 gaiety there than he could have had in Eversley, 
 and also that he was being weaned from the
 
 302 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 companions in whom he had dehghted when at 
 home. Isabel, too, was glad to have him ; and 
 each wrote very kindly of the other. Mr. Mayne 
 again spent a few days with us at this time ; 
 but as his visit was as quiet as the former one 
 it calls for no particular details. 
 
 When Stephen returned to Oxford the demands 
 on the purse at home ceased, and we began to 
 flatter ourselves that he was, at last, beginning 
 to study as he ought ; but still we heard of no 
 distinctions, no triumphs of his brilliant talents : 
 his examinations were not passed successfully, 
 but got through indifferently. Mr. Withers 
 said he was disappointed in him; and through 
 young Francis Maynard there came, from time 
 to time, rumours of wildness and reprimand, but 
 nothing serious enough to increase our anxiety 
 very materially. 
 
 In the spring of this year my grandmother 
 Brande died suddenly at Crofton, leaving the 
 bulk of her property to my aunt Aurelia, and a 
 legacy of a thousand pounds to be equally divided 
 amongst her son's surviving children. A codicil
 
 THE LAST GATHERING AT HOME. 303 
 
 to her will, added during my visit, also bequeathed 
 to me a further sum of five hundred pounds. 
 To Miss Bootle was left a life annuity of ten 
 pounds, in consideration of her long and faithful 
 services. Stephen was excessively angry and 
 disappointed at the smallness of his inheritance ; 
 he expected to share equally with Mrs. Marston, 
 and had, I believe, incurred some heavy 
 pecuniary responsibilities in that hope. The 
 whole of his legacy melted away during his 
 second year at college. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I was now fast approaching the end of my 
 twentieth year. My little school had flourished, 
 and my pupils had satisfied eager parents — one 
 parent so much that he expressed a wish to 
 establish me permanently in his home. This was 
 Mr. Withers, of the Grammar-school. The 
 worthy master had been a widower many years, 
 but he did not think his five children, or his
 
 304 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 ten lustres, constituted a serious objection to a 
 marriage with me, and was deeply offended at 
 my refusal. 
 
 On my twenty-first birthnight I sat up in my 
 closet-room long after the others were in bed. 
 I kept that Christmas Eve in a mood of still 
 happiness, and I saw the dawn of the day of 
 the everlasting Sacrifice with a glad heart. Hope 
 had been near to me, and whispered a prophecy 
 for the next year's spring which made my cheek 
 glow in its solitude. I had waited patiently, and 
 my reward drew near. No need to tell Felix 
 now that sometime I should be his ; no need to 
 say to him any more, *^ Be strong and of good 
 courage." He was as assured as I that we were 
 rapidly approaching that fair city of our hope, 
 whence we should journey together all the more 
 peacefully and gladly for our long probation. 
 No Christmas Eve, before or since, has been 
 like that one spent alone : never since have 
 Christmas-bells had the same tone of promise 
 and prophecy as they had that Christmas 
 morning.
 
 THE LAST GATHERING AT HOME. 305 
 
 And this was the last time that my mother 
 ever saw all her children collected round her 
 at once. Stephen had come down from Oxford 
 and brought Isabel with him. Felix Mayne was 
 also with us. It was, indeed, a very contented 
 and a very happy time, and deserves to be 
 remembered amongst my best of days. Jean 
 and I had made the west parlour look its 
 gayest; and that Yule-tide saw a gathering of 
 young hopes about its hearth such as it was 
 never to see again. 
 
 Francis Maynard was there ; and keeping close 
 by my mother all the evening was Lilias Fenton, 
 my first pupil once, but now a slim, sprightly 
 girl of sixteen, and my brother Stephen's 
 promised bride. She was a very pretty, innocent 
 creature, gentle tempered and affectionate, but 
 so frail and delicate in constitution as to make all 
 who were interested in her anxious to ward off 
 from her the least sorrow. She was the only 
 child of an eccentric antiquarian, Paul Fenton by 
 name, who lived m one of the old houses in the 
 Minster Close. He did not bear a very high
 
 306 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 character in our neighbourhood, being a man of 
 close niggardly habits, reputed rich. But his 
 child he valued above his money — yes, even 
 above his own soul ; for he had bartered that for 
 gold in many a foul and dishonest deed that 
 never saw the light of the sun. She was the 
 one human kindness left to his heart : the solitary 
 link which bound him to earth and heaven. 
 
 He had never shrunk from the world's dirty work, 
 but toiled through its sloughs and murky places 
 with a zeal that showed his spirit was in the 
 labour. What he did or what he endured — how 
 many hearts he trampled on as if they had been 
 stones — how many luckless creatures he had 
 crushed as he crawled through the filthy avenues 
 of dishonest gain to an eminence in society which 
 men's wealth-worship made respectable, it matters 
 not now to tell. He never spoke of his early 
 career: he was well contented to let the veil 
 which covered it rest unlifted. It might have 
 exhibited dark scenes of human degradation, and 
 sins foul as the bones in a sepulchre, could we 
 have raised it ; but his iniquitous days were past
 
 THH LAST GATHERING AT HOME. 307 
 
 and half forgotten, or only remembered in those 
 dark hours when all the din and grattdation of 
 success cannot blind the eye to their hideousness, 
 or harden the ear to their rebuke. 
 
 Lihas had been left much to her own devices 
 until her father consented to her coming to 
 me ; and then, being of a most teachable 
 and intelligent disposition, she leamt quickly. 
 She attached herself warmly to my mother, 
 and became Jean's favourite companion : her 
 beauty was an attraction to Stephen, but he 
 presently loved her for her good, sweet nature ; 
 and I think we were all of us well contented 
 when we heard that old Paul did not set himself 
 against their attachment, and that they had 
 exchanged rings, and were betrothed. 
 
 Isabel was very lively at our expense: she 
 whispered to my mother that there was never so 
 dull an assemblage of people collected together 
 before ; for Stephen and Lilias were one pair, Mr. 
 Mayne and Kathie another, and Francis Maynard 
 and little Jean a third : for her part she considered 
 lovers the very worst company in the world.
 
 308 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 She would enliven us with some Christmas songs, 
 she said ; and flew to the piano with that intent. 
 
 What an exquisite, happy voice it was : clear, 
 trilling, and natural as the tone of a bird ! Even 
 the lovers' talk ceased that we might listen to her ; 
 and I saw tears of wonder and pleasure glitter in 
 my mother's eyes. 
 
 Little Ann came up with her faithful Joe on 
 the stairs, and they were surprised by me seated 
 in the painted window listening. 
 
 " Miss Kathie, it 's like an angel's song," said 
 Ann : " it is real beautiful." 
 
 Isabel was pleased at our praise, and was sweet 
 as summer all the night: my mother and I 
 thought she had outgrown her wilful temper, 
 and become quite gentle and unselfish. She 
 was a most lovely girl to behold: even Lilias 
 Fenton looked like a pale weed beside her 
 richly tinted face, and tall, proud form. She 
 appeared older than she was, from a certain quick, 
 impatient way she had, and an imperious little 
 gesture of her head, which betrayed that she was 
 conscious of her charms and valued them.
 
 THE LAST GATHERING AT HOME. 309 
 
 Francis Maynard would jest at her, and call 
 her a fair shrew, and feign that he lived in dread 
 of manual correction whenever he was in her 
 presence. " Has Petruchio come yet ? " he asked 
 in a sly whisper. 
 
 " I shall never mate with a Petruchio I " cried 
 she scornfully. "Katherine was not tamed: he 
 was only hoodwinked. You do not tame a 
 lioness by shutting her up in a cage. Petruchio 
 made his shrew a hypocrite : he should not have 
 tamed me so ; I would have killed him rather," 
 and her eye had a dangerous spark in it as she 
 emphasized the avowal with a slight stamp of her 
 foot. 
 
 She marched the length of the room with her 
 neck up, and her nostril quivering, then came 
 back amongst us with a shy, ashamed smile, and 
 my mother drew her down to a seat beside her. 
 
 ^^ I hope yours will be a gentle taming, Isabel," 
 whispered she. 
 
 I remembered later how the child sat quiet after 
 this, with her hands lying lightly folded on her 
 lap and her face bent down, while we were
 
 310 KATHIE BKANDE. 
 
 all talking merrily around her: she took no 
 part in our conversation ; and when Francis 
 Maynard, after a while, asked her suddenly, 
 "Are you seeing pictures in a magic glass, 
 Isahel ? " she jumped up with a start and a sigh 
 that made us all laugh. She feigned to be 
 displeased, and went back to her music ; where 
 I think she must have played her reverie, for it 
 was a strange, wild thing — very melancholy 
 sometimes, and sometimes madly gay. 
 
 " What is that ? " Francis inquired, bent on 
 teasing her. 
 
 She made no reply, but went on with a 
 plaintive melody: the music seemed to trickle 
 from her fingers like water in sunshine over a 
 shallow bed. Presently every voice sank into 
 silence, for a solemn hymn broke on us suddenly, 
 then the trill of bells, and both died into a low 
 wailing strain which made me shiver. 
 
 " Oh, Isabel ! don't play in that way : it is like 
 a requiem ! " cried Stephen. " Who taught you 
 those doleful ditties? Give us something in- 
 spiriting."
 
 THE LAST GATHERING AT HOME. 311 
 
 And forthwith she struck into a march; but 
 by and by that too sank into a subdued movement ; 
 and when the sound swelled again, Felix ex- 
 claimed, "That is the ^ Dead March in Saul,' 
 Isabel." 
 
 " Yes ; I cannot help it : nothing comes to me 
 to-night but dirges," replied Isabel ; and she 
 played it to the end. 
 
 My mother smiled, and began a new theme, 
 and the piano was shut up. After that came 
 supper, which broke the charm of quiet imposed 
 on us by the music, and the rest of the evening 
 was all cheerfulness and gaiety. 
 
 Stephen and Francis Maynard would have 
 snap-dragon; and, burning their fingers in the 
 pursuit of raisins, were laughed at for their pains 
 most merrily by Isabel and Lilias, in whose 
 service they suffered. Then they burnt nuts in 
 the fire in pairs to see who loved them; and 
 Francis showed Isabel himself and her blazing 
 peacefully together, while Lilias's representative 
 flew away from Stephen's into the remotest comer 
 of the room. My mother told them this was not
 
 312 KATHIE BEANDE. 
 
 the night for burning nuts, and so they were not 
 likely to give a true prophecy. 
 
 Then there were Christmas healths and kind 
 wishes, and more talk round the yule logs, and 
 then parting — Stephen taking Lilias home, and 
 Francis Maynard reluctantly departing to his 
 lodgings at his uncle Withers' ; who himself 
 was keeping Christmas, with all his young family, 
 at his father's house in Norfolk. 
 
 Stephen presently returned shivering, saying it 
 was a bitter cold night, and I left them to go 
 round the house, as my custom was, to see that 
 all was safe, and the door into the Court barred 
 and locked. On coming to the red door, however, 
 I found that Ann's Joe had not yet departed ; and, 
 from what I heard, he must have been supplicating 
 for a kiss — " Come, give me one, Ann : don't be 
 cross ; only one," said he in an uncouthly tender 
 way. 
 
 " I shan't, then," was Ann's curt reply. 
 
 Poor Joe entreated yet awhile longer, till Ann, 
 exasperated at his stupidity, exclaimed, "Can't 
 you help yourself, Joe ? " a permission of which
 
 STEPHEN AT HOME. 313 
 
 he liberally availed himself, and then departed 
 happy. 
 
 Ann came in, looking rosy and triumphant. 
 " Joe's just gone. Miss Kathie," said she cheer- 
 fully : " this has been a real good day, I call it." 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Three days after Christmas Mr. Mayne returned 
 to Crofton. Isabel was to remain with us a few 
 months, and Stephen's vacation was not expired. 
 My brother's presence did not add to the comfort 
 or peace of our home. Age and mixing in gay 
 society had not improved him : he had assumed 
 an air of superiority over us, which w^ould have 
 been merely ridiculous had not it been accom- 
 panied by a surliness and moroseness of temper 
 quite insufferable. Abroad and in society he 
 could be as genial and gay as ever, and though 
 exacting with Lilias, he was gentle to her ; but to 
 his own family he was generally moody and 
 indifferent. After Mr. Mayne was gone, he 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 rarely passed an evening at home, and habitually- 
 stayed out late. 
 
 I remember one night especially ; Isabel, Jean, 
 and Ann, were all gone to bed, and as my mother 
 was not well, I wished her to go too, but she 
 would not. The fire was mended up, and she sat 
 by it a long while wrapped in a shawl, and 
 talking a little at intervals: I then first began 
 to notice how she was ageing, and how deeply 
 care was telling on her face and strength. 
 
 Twelve o'clock struck ; one o'clock struck ; but 
 still Stephen did not come. She rose, and began 
 to pace the room to and fro. It was a bitter 
 night, and the snow had fallen so thickly as to 
 deaden every tread ; and even yet the wind came 
 laden with white flakes on every gust. I joined 
 my mother in her walk. Everybody knows these 
 waiting agonies : how at the creaking of a loose 
 board you start and cry, " He is coming ! " how 
 you pause to hearken to each passing foot-fall; 
 how loud the clock sounds through the hushed 
 night ; and often, often, the throb of your own heart 
 too. My mother's face was ashen white, but she
 
 NIGHT WATCHES. 315 
 
 refused to let me wait alone ; and when she was 
 weary she lay down on the couch and watched 
 the fire. I occupied myself by pulling down the 
 Yule garlands, now crisp and dry with the heat 
 of the room. 
 
 " Hush, Kathie, darling ! I camiot hear for those 
 rustling leaves," my mother said, so I took one of 
 Felix's books, and sitting on the hearthrug, read 
 a long time to myself. 
 
 The clock was on the stroke of two, when 
 there came a stealthy knock at the outer door. I 
 descended hastily, and let my brother in. He 
 stopped a minute or two in the hall to shake the 
 snow from his clothes, and then followed me up 
 to the parlour. His face was flushed, and he 
 was in a moody, irritable temper. 
 
 "You are late to-night, my boy!" said my 
 mother, gently ; " where have you been ? " 
 
 " Never mind ! " was the surly reply. 
 
 For a few seconds my mother stood gazing at 
 him: her eyes were dry, and she said not a 
 word of reproach or complaint ; but most touch- 
 ing was her voiceless agony. What a harvest
 
 316 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was this for her who had sown with so much 
 
 care 
 
 " Good night, Stephen ; you will go to bed 
 soon : these late hours will destroy your health," 
 she said at last, bending forward to kiss him ; he 
 repulsed her impatiently, and turned away his 
 face. 
 
 The tears were coursing down her pale worn 
 cheek as we went up-stairs together ; but she was 
 anxious to excuse him even yet. 
 
 " Do not think of it, Kathie : you see he is 
 not quite himself to-night," she said. 
 
 But for her the frequency of slight could never 
 dull the pain : her dream of maternal pride, shorn 
 of its beauty, looked ghastly now in its pall of 
 faded love. It was a heavy sorrow for all those 
 hearts who put their faith in Stephen Brande: 
 their deepest devotion would be but a thankless 
 sacrifice for one so careless and so selfish.
 
 MAKING bride's CLOTHES. 317 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Oh, Kathie ! what a frightful pile of work, 
 when will it all be done?" cried Isabel, as Ann 
 came into the parlour with a pile of linen which she 
 had been submitting to a softening process down 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 " We'll all be fain to see the day. Miss Kathie," 
 observed Ann smiling broadly ; " solidly speaking, 
 Mr. Mayne is the best and kindest gentleman, 
 except old master, that ever I came acquainted 
 with." 
 
 My sisters stood looking at the white heap 
 reflecting ; then Jean turned to me with a pretty, 
 puzzled air and said : " We might think, Kathie, 
 that you had never had any clothes before, or else 
 that you suspect you will never be allowed a 
 fresh supply. Do all girls have such a quantity 
 of new things when they marry?" 
 
 " Most have : it is the custom." 
 
 " Then, as soon as yours are finished, I think 
 
 p 3
 
 318 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 I '11 begin mine- I am fourteen now, and may- 
 expect my time to come by four-and-twenty. In 
 ten years with great diligence I might accomplish 
 them. Don't you think so, Kathie?" 
 
 " Possibly," I replied, mimicking her demure 
 air ; " possibly you might, but not without the 
 most serious application : you would have to 
 relinquish everything else, of course." 
 
 " I shall speak to my mother about it : it is not 
 pleasant to be all in a fuss at the end. I wonder 
 if it is with a view to being married some day 
 that Ann knits all those worsted stockings. She 
 never does any other work ; she must have scores 
 of pairs ; I should like to inquire." 
 
 " Do, Jean, if your curiosity is very lively." 
 
 Ann again appeared, breathless, and cast down 
 more linen. 
 
 "That's the last of it, thank goodness!" she 
 ejaculated, giving her cap a vicious pull to one 
 side : " you '11 want a waggon and horses to fetch 
 you and your traps away. Miss Kathie." 
 
 "One small pony brought them up-stairs," I 
 returned, smiling at the grimaces Ann made
 
 319 
 
 while giving her arms a little comfortable 
 friction. 
 
 " It is time you thought about marrying, Ann ; 
 perhaps you do think of it ? " said Isabel. 
 
 " Of course, I do, Miss Isabel ; I 'm getting my 
 stockings ready." 
 
 " Ah, Ann ! you heard what I said," cried Jean. 
 
 " Yes ; I heard every word." 
 
 " Well then, Ann, tell us how many pairs you 
 have?" 
 
 " I don't rightly know myself. Miss Jean, but I 
 could count 'em if you 're so curious ; there 's not 
 much over thirty pair." 
 
 " Thirty pair of worsted stockings ! You can 
 never wear them out, Ann." 
 
 " They '11 come in. Miss Jean, never fear. 
 Keep a thing seven years, and turn it; keep it 
 another seven years, and turn it again, and 
 you '11 find a use for it at last. My stockings 
 won't go a-begging. I 've knitted 'em of all sizes. 
 You see. Miss Kathie, I do think a bit now 
 and then, though Missis says I'd lose my head 
 if it was not fast on my shoulders."
 
 320 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 "Your pans are in most danger now, Ann," 
 said my mother, who entered at the moment; 
 and Ann decamped, indulging in objurations 
 on the carelessness of men in general, and of 
 Joe Tinman in particular, who had promised 
 faithful to call for those pans in the morning, 
 and had forgotten. 
 
 Making bride's clothes ! Many a long hour did 
 I and my sisters spend over that pleasant work 
 during those winter months, plotting and planning, 
 dreaming and hoping. My bird, which had grown 
 quite tame now, would come out of his cage and 
 warble us a song while perched on my shoulder ; 
 and Jean and Isabel would be chorus. Miss Bootle, 
 who since my grandmother's death had been so 
 fortunate as to be elected to a place in the Old 
 Maids' Hospital in Westgate, sometimes joined us, 
 and brought gossip without stint : one evening in 
 the dusk she arrived with Charlie under her 
 cloak; but as he became demonstrative at the 
 sight of my bird, he was sent down to the kitchen, 
 where he sullied his white coat (newly washed 
 for the visit) during his investigation of certain
 
 MAKING bride's CLOTHES. 321 
 
 mouse-holes behind the ledge where Ann put 
 the kettles and pans. I found afterwards that 
 the old lady carried him as a delicate attention 
 to see her special friends, and that she was hurt 
 at my not letting him stare my bird into fits. 
 She, on another occasion, brought me a piece 
 of exquisite old point lace, which she pressed 
 on my acceptance with many significant smiles 
 and nods and half words, which Isabel imitated 
 with ludicrous exactness and gravity ; and another 
 time, to my dismay, she told the story of Mr. 
 Longstaff^'s courtship, and wound up by saying, 
 "From an ardent lover, Kathie converted him 
 into a friend and a brother." 
 
 We were very merry over our work, especially 
 when the companion was with us. She delighted 
 to help us, and to see each finished garment 
 folded away in a drawer, where all were to 
 lie until a certain day in April. I used to 
 stand looking at them myself sometimes, for a 
 few quiet minutes, and thinking what a happy 
 wife I should be, and how dearly I should love 
 and reverence Felix. My habit of day-dreaming
 
 322 KATHIE BRANDE. 
 
 was still as strong as ever, notwithstanding that 
 the fulfilment of my hopes drew nigh. 
 
 And thus the time went on; Stephen being 
 gone back to college, and we three girls with 
 my mother at home, till the wild March winds 
 began to blow. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 London: Printed by Smith, Eider & Co., 16, Old Bailey.
 
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 present even a competitor. As far as our examination has gone, we have found it generally 
 accurate ; and independently of its accuracy it is valuable for two qualities — the sturdy common 
 sense and pleasant humour of the author. In short the book is useful because it is amusing, and 
 because it has the rare merit of being a lively abridgment of a historj' which people will read 
 before they place it on their shelves. It is also in the main practical and soivad."—Ti7iies. 
 
 " A graphic, compendious, and popular narrative of by far the most deeply interesting series 
 of events that have occurred in our time, of which no collective re'sum^ can anywhere else be 
 found which is at once so condensed and so readable as that here supplied by Mr. Cayley." — Daili/ 
 News. 
 
 " Mr. Cayley has evidently studied his subject thoroughly ; he has consequently produced au 
 interesting and philosophic history of an important epoch."— iYeu; Quarterly Review. 
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES: 
 
 BEING 
 
 LETTERS ON THE DANGERS TO RELIGIOUS LIBERTY IN THE 
 PRESENT DAY. 
 
 By the CHEVALIER BUNSEN. 
 
 Translated by Miss Susanna Winkwoeth. 
 
 One Volume, 8vo, price 16s. cloth. 
 
 " An investigation of the religious principles at work in the Christian world • tracing, as far 
 as modem politics extend, the action of priesthood, associations, and "Secular decrees enforcing 
 spu-itual dogmas. It is the most remarkable work that has appeared iii modern timeMljbm tlie 
 pen of a statesman." — Leader. ' ' 
 
 " A valuable work, by a man of consummate intellect, and upon a subject second to none in 
 interest aud importance." — Econamist. 
 
 " The moral character and the intellectual powers of M. Bunsen are tonressed on every one 
 of these letters."— Gtofte. k^J .T* 
 
 " There is much to be found here that is really instructive and practical." — John Bull.
 
 MODERN PAINTERS, Yol. IV. 
 
 By JOHN RUSKIN, M.A., 
 
 Imj^erial Svo, ivith TJiirty-Jive Illustrations engraved on Steel, 
 
 and 116 Woodcuts, draivn by the Author, price 21. 10s. cloth. 
 
 " Of all the volumes Avhich Mr. Ruskin has issued, there is probably none that exhibits his two 
 counterbalancing faculties of speculation and observation in a state of such intense activity. 
 
 * * * If the reader's entertainment flags, his deference for the author's immense study and 
 knowledge of natural phenomena, and for his consquent judgement in art matters, must rise 
 considerably. He will find that it is not without reason, not without labour and preparation and 
 experiment, that Ruskin claims to know when nature is truthfully or untruthfully rendered. 
 
 * * * Considered as an illustrated volume, this is the most remarkable which Mr. Ruskin has 
 yet issued. The plates and woodcuts are profuse, and include numerous drawings of mountain 
 form by the author, which prove Mr. Ruskin to be essentially an artist. Keen sight, keen 
 feelhig, and keen power of expression are the qualities which go to the making of an artist, and 
 all these Mr. Ruskin possesses. He adds to them a peculiarly subtle turn for theory, investiga- 
 tion and exposition. This combination makes liim an unique man, botli among artists and 
 writers." — Spectator. 
 
 *' The present volume of Mr. Ruskin's elaborate work treats chiefly of mountain scenery, and 
 discusses at length the principles involved in the pleasure we derive from mountains and their 
 pictorial representation. The author is moi'e philosophical and less critical than before. Mr. 
 Ruskin is establishing what he considers to be true principles, and only casually notices adversa- 
 ries who advocate theories which contradict his own. The work is essentially positive, and 
 we have less negation than we are accustomed to meet with in treatises by this author. There 
 is less declamation and more proof. Mr. Ruskin does not wish the reader to adopt his conclu- 
 sions merely on his authority. He labours diligently to give evidence of ' the faith thatis in him.' 
 Mr. Ruskin occupies a peculiar position as a writer. He compels his most vehement 
 adversaries to admii'e even while they dissent. The singular beautj' of his style, the hearty 
 sjTnpathy with all forms of natural loveliness, the profusion of his illustrations, and above ail 
 the earnest denunciation of cant, form irresistible attractions. You may quarrel with the critic, 
 but you cannot fail to admire the writer and respect the man. High thoughts, clothed in elo- 
 quent language, are the characteristics of Mr. Ruskin's productions. ******* 
 The present volume contains the most connected exposition of the author's theory which he has 
 yet given to the world." — Daily News. 
 
 " All art is one, and Mr. Ruskin writes of painting with the ever present consciousness of 
 poetry, sculpture and architecture, as equally implied. This it is which gives the wide and per- 
 manent charm to his writhigs. Interesting as they are to painters, they almost equally fascinate 
 the general public, because in them may be read rare criticisms of natural appearances and of 
 artistic representations. * * * We must all feel subdued by his eloquence, enlightened by 
 his novel views, stimulated by his thoughts, instructed by his accurate observations of nature. 
 Such a writer is really a national possession. He adds to our store of knowledge and enjoy- 
 ment." — Leader. 
 
 MODERN PAINTERS, Vol. III. 
 
 With Eighteen Illustrations draicn hy the Author, and 
 engraved on Steel, price 38s. cloth. 
 
 " This book may be taken up with equal pleasure whether the reader be acquainted or not 
 with the previous volumes, and no special artistic culture is necessary in order to enjoy its 
 excellences or profit by its suggestions. Every one who cares about nature, or poetry, or the 
 story of human development — every one who has a tinge of literature or philosophy, wiU find 
 something that is for hun in this volume." — Westminster Review. 
 
 " Mr. Ruskin's third volume of ' Modern Painters' will be hailed with interest and curiosity, 
 if not with submissive attention, by the Art-world of England. * * » Mr. Ruskin is in 
 possession of a clear and penetrating mind ; lie is imdeniably practical in his fundamental ideas ; 
 full of the deepest reverence for all that appears to him beautiful and holy, and, though owning 
 to very strong preferences, founding those preferences on reason. * * * His style is, as 
 usual, clear, bold, and racy. Mr. Ruskin is one of the first writers of the day." — Economist. 
 
 " The present volume, viewed as a literary achievement, is the highest and most striking 
 evidence of the author's abilities that has yet been published. It shows the maturity of his 
 powers of thought, and the perfection of his grace of style." — Leader. 
 
 " All, it is to be hoped, will read the book for themselves. They will find it well worth a 
 careful perusal. This third volume fully realizes the expectations we had formed of it."— 
 Saturday Review.
 
 Smith, Elder and Co. 
 
 Miorlis of ||tr. ^lusliiii. 
 
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 MODERN PAINTERS. 
 
 Imperial 8vo. Vol. I. Fifth Edition^ 18.?. cloth. 
 
 Vol II. Fourth Edition, Ids. 6d. cloth. 
 
 " ilr. Ruskin's work •will send the painter more than ever to the study of nature ; will train ; 
 men who have always been delighted spectators of nature, to be also attentive observers. Our | 
 critics will learn to admire, and mere admirers will learn how to criticise : thus a public will be | 
 educated." — Blackwood's Magazine. ■ 
 
 " A generous and impassioned review of the works of living painters. A hearty and earnest ' 
 work, fiill of deep thought, and developing great and striking truths in art." — British Quarterly 
 Remew. \ 
 
 "A very extraordinary and delightful book, full of truth and goodness, of power and : 
 beauty."— iVoriA British Review. I 
 
 THE STONES'OF VENICE. I 
 
 Now complete in Three Volumes, Imperial 8vo, with Fifty -three Plates and 
 num£rous Woodcuts, drawn hy the Author. 
 Price 51. I5s. 6d., in emhossed cloth, with top edge gilt. 
 EACH VOLUME MAY BE HAD SEPARATELY, VIZ.— 
 Vol. I. The Fouxdations, with 21 Plates, price 21. -Is. 
 Vol. II. The Sea Stoeies, with 20 Plates, price 21. 2s. 
 Vol. in. The Fall, with 12 Plates, price 11. Us. 6a. 
 
 " This book is one which, perhaps, no other man could have written, and one for which the 
 world ought to be and wUl be thankful. It is in the highest degree eloquent, acute, stimulating 
 to thought, and fertile in suggestion. It shows a power of practical criticism which, when fixed 
 on a definite object, nothing absurd or evil can withstand ; and a power of appreciation which 
 has restored treasures of beauty to mankind. It will, we are convinced, elevate taste and 
 Intellect, raise the tone of moral feeling, kindle benevolence towards men, and increase the leve 
 and fear of God." — Times. 
 
 " The ' Stones of Venice' is the production of an earnest, religious, progressive, and informed 
 mind. The author of this essay on architecture has condensed into it a poetic apprehension, the 
 fruit of awe of God, and delight in nature; a knowledge, love, and just estimate of art; a 
 holding fast to fact and repudiation of hearsay ; an historic breadth, and a fearless challenge of 
 existing social problems, whose union we know not where to find paralleled." — Spectator. 
 
 " No one who has visited Venice can read this book without having a richer glow thrown 
 over his remembrances of that city , and for those who have not, Mr. Ruskin paints it with a 
 firmness of outline and vividness of colouring that will bring it before the imagination with 
 the force of reality." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " This work shows that Mr. Ruskin's powers of composition and criticism were never in 
 greater force. His eloquence is as rich, his enthusiasm as heartj-, his s>Tnpathy for all that is 
 high and noble in art as keen as ever. The book, like all he writes, is manly and high-minded, 
 and, as usual, keeps the attention alive to the last." — Guardian. 
 
 THE SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 Second Edition, with Fourteen Plates drawn hy the Author. 
 Imperial 8vo, II. Is. cloth. 
 
 " By the ' Seven Lamps of Architecture,' we imderstand 3Ir. Ruskin to mean the seven 
 fundamental and cardinal laws, the observance of and obedience to which are indispensable to 
 the architect, who would deserve the name. The politician, the moralist, the divine, will find 
 in it ample store of instructive matter, as well as the artist. The author of this work belongs 
 to a class of thinkers of whom we have too few among us." — Examiner. 
 
 " ilr. Ruskin's book bears so unmistakeably the marks of keen and accurate observation, of 
 a true and subtle judgment and refined sense of beauty, joined with so much earnestness, so 
 noble a sense of the purposes and business of art, and such a command of rich and glowing 
 language, that it cannot but tell powerfully in producing a more rehgious view of the uses of 
 architecture, and a deeper insight into its artistic principles." — Guardian. 
 
 " A lively, poetical, and thoughtful book ; rich in refined criticism and glowing eloquence. 
 3Ir. Ruskin's poetry is always to the purpose of his doctrines, and always the vehicle of acute 
 thought and profound feeling."— /'ra^er'* Magazine.
 
 Works Published hy 
 
 LECTURES ON ARCHITECTURE AND PAINTING. 
 
 With Fourteen Cuts drawn hy the Author. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8ro, price 85. Qd. cloth. 
 
 " Mr. Ruskin's Lectures— eloquent, graphic, and impassioned— exposing and ridiculing some 
 of the vices of our present system of building, and exciting his hearers by strong motives of 
 duty and pleasure to attend to architecture— are very successful ; and, like his former works, 
 will command public attention. His style is terse, vigorous, and sparkling, and his book is both 
 animated and attractive." — Economist. 
 
 " We conceive it to be impossible that any intelligent persons could listen to the lectures, 
 however they might differ from the judgments asserted, and from the general propositions laid 
 down, without an elevating influence and an aroused enthusiasm, which are often more fruitful 
 in producing true taste and correct views of art than the soundest historical generalizations 
 and the most learned technical criticism in which the heart and the senses own no interest." — 
 Spectator. 
 
 YII. 
 
 NOTES ON THE PRINCIPAL PICTURES EXHIBITED 
 AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY, and the SOCIETY OF 
 PAINTERS IN WATER COLOURS. No. II.— 1856. 
 
 Sixth Edition^ loith Postscript. 8»o, pHce 6d. 
 
 vin. 
 PRE-RAPHAELITISM. 
 
 Suo, 25. sewed. 
 " We wish that this pamphlet might be largely read by our art-patrons, and studied by our 
 art-critics. There is much to be collected from it which is very important to remember." — 
 Guardian. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE OPENING OF THE CRYSTAL PALACE: 
 
 Considered in some of its relations to the Prospects of Art. 
 8yo, price Is., sewed. 
 " An earnest and eloquent appeal for the preservation of the ancient monuments of Gothic 
 architecture." — English Churchman. 
 " A wholesome and much needed protest."— Zcadcr. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER; 
 
 OR, THE BLACK BROTHERS. 
 Third Edition, with 22 Illustrations by Richard Doyle. 2^. 6c?. 
 
 " This little fairy tale is by a master hand. The story has a charming moral, and the writing 
 is so excellent, that it would be hard to say which it will give most pleasure to, the very wise 
 man or the very simple cMlA."— Examiner. 
 
 EXAMPLES OF THE ARCHITECTURE OF VENICE, 
 
 SELECTED AND DRAWN TO MEASUREMENT FROM THE EDIFICES. 
 
 In Parts of Folio Imperial size, each containing Five Plates^ and a short 
 
 Explanatory Text, price 11. Is. each. 
 
 PARTS I. TO III. ARE PUBLISHED. 
 
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 SERMONS. By the late Rev. Fred. W. Robertson, 
 
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 First Series — Third Edition, Post ^vo, price 9s. cloth. 
 Second Series — Third Edition, price 9s. cloth. 
 
 " Mr. Robertson, of Brighton, is a name familiar to most of us, and honoured by all to whom 
 it is familiar. A true servant of Christ, a bold and heart-stirring preacher of the Gospel, his 
 teaching was beautified and intensified by genius. New truth, new light, streamed from each 
 well-worn text when he handled it. The present volume is rich in evidence of his pious, manly, 
 and soaring faith, and of his power not only to point to heaven, but to lead the vr&Y"— Globe. 
 
 PAPERS OF THE LATE LORD METCALFE. 
 
 Selected and Edited by J. W. KAYE. Demy 8vo, price 16*. cloth. 
 
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 RIFLE PRACTICE. By Lieut.-Col. John Jacob, C.B. 
 
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 reading, and conveys not a little valuable information. Few unprofessional men are so capable 
 of forming a judgment on naval tactics as ilr. Hughes appears to be." — Economist. 
 
 THE COURT OF HENRY VIII.: 
 
 Being a Selection of the Despatches of Sebastian Giustinian, 
 
 Venetian Ambassador, 1515-1519, 
 Translated by RAWDON BROWN. Two Vols., crown 8oo, 2ls., cloth. 
 
 " These volumes present such a portrait of the times as is nowhere else to be found. They 
 are a most important contribution to the materials for history." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 A CAMPAIGN WITH THE TURKS IN ASIA. 
 
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 Turkish army, and the solid information which is scattered through the book, render the volumes 
 of present interest and of importance as a future x^car^."— Spectator. 
 
 THE RED RIVER SETTLEMENT. 
 
 By ALEXANDER ROSS, Author of " Fur-Hunters of the Far West." 
 One Volume, post 8vo, price lOs, 6d, cloth, 
 
 THE FUR-HUNTERS OF THE FAR WEST. 
 
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 Indians of Oregon."— Spectator.
 
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 RUSSO-TURKISH CAMPAIGNS OF 1828-9. 
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 MILITARY FORCES AND INSTITUTIONS 
 
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 By professor LEONE LEVI, Author of " Commercial Law of 
 
 the World." 8vo., price 12,s. cloth. 
 
 " We recommend to all merchants and tradesmen, and to all who are studying great questions 
 
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 THE LAWS OF WAR AFFECTING 
 COMMERCE AND SHIPPING. 
 
 By H. BYERLE Y THOMSON, of the Inner Temple. Second Edition, 
 greatly enlarged. 8vo, price 4s. 6d. boards. 
 
 LECTURES ON the ENGLISH HUMOURISTS 
 
 OF THE 18th CENTURY. 
 
 By W. M. THACKERAY, 
 
 Author of " Vanity Fair," " The Newcomes," &c. 
 Second Edition. Crown Svo, price 10s. 6d. cloth. 
 
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 searching strokes of sarcasm or irony ; the occasional flashes of generous scorn ; the touches of 
 pathos, pity, and teuderness ; the morality tempered but never weakened by experience and 
 sympathy ; the felicitous phrases, the striking anecdotes, the passages of wise, practical reflec- 
 tion ; all these lose much less than we could have expected from the absence of the voice, 
 manner, and look of the lecturer."— Spectator. 
 
 ESMOND. By W. M. Thackeray. 
 Second Edition, 3 vols., Crown Svo, reduced to 15s. cloth. 
 
 " Mr. Thackeray has selected for his hero a very noble type of the cavalier softening into the 
 man of the eighteenth century, and for his heroine one of the sweetest women that ever 
 breathed from canvas or from book, since Raffaelle painted and Shakspeare wrote. The style 
 is manly, clear, terse, and vigorous, reflecting every mood— pathetic, grapliic.or sarcastic— of the 
 ■writer.'"— Spectator. 
 
 THE ROSE AND THE RING; or, the History of 
 Prince Giglio and Prince Bulbo. 
 
 By Mr. M. A. TITMARSH. 
 With 58 Cuts drawn by the Author. Zrd Edition, price 5s.
 
 Smith, Elder and Co. 
 
 I. 
 
 YOUNG SINGLETON. By Talbot Gwtnne, 
 
 Author of " The School for Fathers," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 " !ilr. Talbot G^v}^lne has made a considerable advance in ' Young Singleton ' over his 
 previous fictions. In his present story he rises into the varied action, the more numerous 
 persons, and the complicated interests of a novel. It has also a moral ; being designed to paint 
 tlie wretched consequences that follow from envy and vanity." — Spectator. 
 
 " Power of description, dramatic force, and ready invention, give vitality to the story."— Pz-e^a. 
 
 II. 
 
 E V E L E E N. By E. L. A. Berwick, 
 
 Author of " The Dwarf." 3 vols. 
 
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 and skilful delineation of character." — Sun. 
 
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 The plot is romantic, and great literary skill and considerable power are shown in the truth and 
 artistic contrast of character presented. As a story to attract, to interest, to improve, few 
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 " ' Eveleen ' is a work of promise ; it bears evidences of care, pains-taking, and honest hard 
 work— quahties to which we always give honour."— Athenceum. 
 
 III. 
 
 E R L E S M E R E : or, Contrasts of Character. 
 By L. S. Layenu. In 2 vols. 
 
 " ' Erlesmere ' belongs to the same class of novels as the stories of Miss Young, ' The Heir of 
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 tragic circumstances being revealed in momentary flashes of dramatic force."— Press. 
 
 " Thought, and the forceful srs'le of writing which is said to exhibit power, -svill be fovmd in 
 the book ; and there are scenes of passion, though Injured by Yioltnct."— Spectator. 
 
 lY. 
 
 PERVERSION; 
 
 Or, The Causes and Consequences of Infidelity. 
 
 A Tale for the Times. In 3 vols. 
 
 " This is a good and noble book. It is indeed a ' Tale for the Times,' and is the production of 
 a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian. It is the best timed and most useful book which 
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 " ' Perversion ' is powerful as a composition. An unflagging energy sustains the writer from 
 first to last." — Spectator. 
 
 " A novel written ■v\ith a strong sense both of what is amusing and what is right. It is a 
 religious novel, free from dnMness."— Examiner. 
 
 " This work is extremely clever, and well and temperately written. The story has a touching 
 interest, which lingers -svith the reader after he has closed his \)Oo\i.."—Athenceum. 
 
 " The ablest novel that has appeared for many a day."— Literary Gazette. 
 
 y. 
 BEYMINSTRE. 
 
 By the Author of " Lena," " King's Cope," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " Abounding in romantic adventure, and distinguished by pure feelmg and natural pathos, 
 BejTninstre is one of the best novels of the season." — Post. 
 
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 interest from first to last. The characters are real and hving persons."— 6^Marf7(are. 
 
 " We have still some good novel -wTiters left, and among them is the author of ' Beyminstre.' 
 The conduct of the story is excellent. Many of the subordinate parts are highly comic ; an air of 
 nature and life breathes through the whole. It is a work of unusual merit."— Saturday Review. 
 
 " There are admirable points in this novel, and great breadth of humour in the comic scenes. 
 ' Beyminsti-e ' is beyond all comparison the best work by the a.utixor."— Daily News. 
 
 " There is not a dull page in the wor^."— Globe. 
 
 " A really admirable novel, abounding in character." — Press.
 
 10 Works Published by 
 
 ^l|tU ^^oud»* 
 
 VI. 
 
 LEONORA. By the Hon. Mrs. Mabeely. 3 vols. 
 
 " In the stor}'^ of ' Leonora' Mrs. Maberly has described the career of an ambitious, beautiful, 
 but unprincipled woman. Many of the scenes are drawn with great skill, and lively sketches of 
 fashionable life are introduced." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Leonora is drawn with more than usual power. Her pride, her imperious will, her sins, her 
 punishment, and her penitence, are skilfully wrought, and sustain the reader's attention to the 
 last." — Critic. 
 
 " The story is told with a fearful amount of fascination : it is that of a woman whose loveliness 
 is only surpassed by her baseness, and whose schemes result in perfect retribution." — Dispatch. 
 
 VII. 
 
 AFTER DARK. By Wilkie Collins, 
 
 Author of " Basil," " Hide and Seek," &c. 2 vols, 
 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins tells a story well and forcibly, his style is eloquent and picturesque, he 
 has considerable power of pathos, understands the art of construction, and has a keen insight 
 into character." — Daily News. 
 
 " The tales are stories of adventure, well varied, and often striking in the incidents, or with 
 thrilling situations ; and are as pleasant reading as a novel reader could desire." — Spectator. 
 
 " Mr. Wilkie Collins takes high rank among the few who can invent a thrilling story, and tell 
 it with brief simplicity."— G'iofte. 
 
 "Mr. Wilkie Collins possesses a rare faculty : Vart de conter. No man living better tells a 
 story." — Leader. 
 
 " The volumes abound with genuine touchesof nature."— 5n^wZj Quarterly Review. 
 
 " These stories possess all the author's well-known dramatic power."— iVew Quarterly Review. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 AMBERHILL. By A. J. Barrowcliffe. 2 vols. 
 
 " There is great power in 'Amberhill,' and its faults are forgotten in the sustained excitement 
 of the narrative. There are in the book some of the shrewdest sketches of character we have 
 ever met with. If we suppose the story to be the work of an artist, the leading characters to be 
 imagined, and her whole career from first to last to be shaped by design, we must regard it as a 
 wonderful work of creative genius."— Press. 
 
 " 'Amberhill' is an exciting book, not belonging to any established school of novel, unless it 
 be the defiant. There is a freshness and force, a petulant grace, and a warm-hearted satirical 
 vein in 'Amberhill,' which will give it a charm to every blasd novel reader. The characters are 
 vigorously drawn and have genuine life in them." — Globe. 
 
 " There is talent and vigour about this work ; we welcome it, in spite of the morbid and painful 
 interest of the story. The story is told with great energy and some eloquence. If the author 
 will cultivate her talents, she may produce something far better than 'Amberhill.' " — Athenceum. 
 
 " 'Amberhill ' appears to be intended as a lesson against weakness of character, over-lust of 
 wealth, and disregard of religion. The writer has one great quality for fiction, that of com- 
 manding the attention of the rQsAev."— Spectator. 
 
 MAURICE ELVINGTON: 
 
 OR, ONE OUT OF SUITS WITH FORTUNE. An Autobiography. 
 Edited by Wilfrid East. 3 vols. 
 
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 skill." — Weekly Dispatch. 
 
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 reader." — Examiner. 
 
 " A careful study of modem life and manners, written in a pointed scholarly style 
 
 It is a work of talent."— Zcoder. 
 
 Just Ready, 
 
 I. 
 
 OLIVER CROMWELL : a Story of the Civil Wars. 
 
 By Charles Stewart. 2 vols. 
 
 THE ROUA PASS: 
 
 OR, Englishmen in the Highlands. 3 vols.
 
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