LI E) RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVLR5ITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 P775o 
 
 V. I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/oliverbeaumontlo01pons
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 AND 
 
 LORD LATIMER. 
 
 m 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 OLIYER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Ain> 
 
 LORD LATIMER. 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY EMILY PONSONBY, 
 
 AUTHOB OF 
 
 " THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE," 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUIVIES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1873. 
 
 Ttie right of Translation it raerved.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGTVELL, 
 
 BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 8^3 
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 He that good thinketh good may do, 
 And God will keep him thereunto ; 
 For was never good work wrought 
 Without beginning of good thought. 
 
 ;j VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CAPTAIN DELAFORD, commonly call- 
 ed Jack Delaford, came, by the will 
 of an eccentric old gentleman, into possession 
 of a large fortune. In simple thoughtless- 
 ness — by the impulse, that is to say, of a 
 careless but kindly heart — he had perform- 
 ed an act of kindness and courtesy, and the 
 receiver of the kindness repaid it by the 
 donation of all he possessed. It was on a 
 railway journey that the act was performed. 
 Captain Delaford went on his way and 
 thought of the act, and the unknown old 
 gentleman, no more. The old gentleman, on 
 the contrary, watched his unthinking com- 
 panion ; discovered his name, and a very 
 few hours after his first and last meeting, 
 
 B 2
 
 4" OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 made in his favour a will which for seven 
 years lay in his drawer unaltered. 
 
 Up to the time when Captain Delaford 
 had this piece of fortune (whether good or 
 evil fortune depends not on the fact, but on 
 the person to whom it comes), he had tossed 
 about London on an income sufficient for a 
 single man, but small. His life w^as a care- 
 less, dissipated, good-natured life ; not un- 
 happy, for he had not sufficient powers of 
 thought to be unhappy; but not happy, for to 
 a life devoid of aim, devoid of object, and 
 devoid of affection, the w^ord could not 
 apply. He had no near relations ; he had 
 no very great friends — not such a friend as 
 makes up for the want of near ties — but he 
 had friends and acquaintances by the million. 
 The kindly heart with which he was born 
 made him universally popular ; a nature 
 easy and yielding made him the prey of 
 circumstances ; and his brains, though they 
 were good brains as far as they went, were 
 so narrow in compass that he did not seem
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 5 
 
 to have the power of being in any respect 
 different from what the circumstance of the 
 moment made him. He went right on, 
 sensible enough in discharging the common 
 affairs that came in his way, but always 
 absorbed by the day, and looking neither 
 before nor behind. 
 
 He was one to whom marriage would 
 have been everything. A sensible wife in 
 early days would have made a man of him, 
 would have made him a respectable and 
 useful member of society. But Jack Dela- 
 ford saw a good deal of life, and in the 
 course of his life saw a good deal of the 
 cares of poverty where there is a family to 
 provide for ; and being an easy man, not 
 luxurious, but liking ease and comfort, and 
 dreading care, he early said, " No wife for 
 me. 
 
 Thus it was that he tossed about the world, 
 leading a life of simple dissipation ; that is to 
 say, using all the means and appliances men 
 have found to dissipate time and thought.
 
 b OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 from which means vice itself was not always 
 excluded. 
 
 Jack Delaford had a good and kindly 
 nature ; the phrase " that he was no man s 
 enemy but his own," might have been used 
 concerning him with as much truth as so 
 false a phrase can ever possess. But the 
 thing is an impossibility ; and with Jack 
 Delaford it was an impossibility. The very 
 fact that he had a kindly nature and a good 
 heart made his deviations into the crooked 
 way the more dangerous. No one feared to 
 follow where so excellent a fellow trod. 
 
 Had this truth ever been set before 
 Captain Delaford's eyes, he would probably 
 have been a different man. But it so 
 happened that it never was set before him : 
 not this particular truth, that he encouraged 
 young men, many young men, to step into 
 the path of error and misery ; not the re- 
 sponsibility of every man regarding his 
 fellow-men. He heard many sermons, and 
 was often affected by them, but it did so
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 7 
 
 happen that his conscience regarding others 
 was never awakened. Had it been so, the 
 exceeding goodness of his nature, and horror 
 of doing harm to any one, would have forced 
 him into thought. 
 
 Amid all the carelessness of his life. Jack 
 was never betrayed into irreligion. He had 
 a very great respect for religion. This is a 
 strange phrase to use, if we consider all that 
 it implies ; but it is a true description of 
 the feelings of many. They believe and 
 they respect, but they neither love nor 
 practise. Their respect is not without 
 merit — they do at times, and in certain 
 companies, exercise a courage which has 
 something in it akin to the faith and cour- 
 age of a confessor, but there they pause. 
 They respect and cherish the name of 
 Christian, yet heedlessly break the lowest 
 Christian laws. 
 
 Jack was one of these ; he had so great a 
 respect for religion that, when visiting in a 
 quiet, orderly, religious family, as was some-
 
 8 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 times the case, he was as orderly and 
 religious as they. He would accompany 
 them to church once, twice, even thrice in 
 the day ; would sing with the singers, and 
 listen and approve of the sermon, and 
 enter zealously into all questions of good 
 works. But the following day, if his fate 
 took him to an unorderly and not religious 
 house, he would cast in his lot with the 
 rest ; always excepting that respect for 
 religion which never left him. At times, if, 
 as sometimes occurred, he heard a powerful 
 sermon, his conscience would awake, and he 
 would say, " If all this is true — and no doubt 
 it is true — what will become of Jack Dela- 
 ford ?" And for a day or two he would be 
 pensive and uneasy. In those moods, had 
 any one caught hold of him, had any one 
 understood his character, had any father- 
 confessor probed his feelings, arrested his 
 attention, deepened the impression, the 
 mood might have become a better thing 
 than a mood. But in the life he led, no
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 9 
 
 one did penetrate his character ; and time 
 for thought was so rare that the roood 
 hardly arose before it was dissipated. He 
 left the fate of Jack Delaford to chance, and 
 forgot the doubts that had disquieted him. 
 
 He was thirty-five years old when his 
 piece of fortune came to him. It was very 
 sudden. He came home one day to dress 
 for dinner, and found a letter from a lawyer 
 unknown to him. The lawyer begged to 
 see him on the following morning, but in 
 the meanwhile stated shortly that £10,000 
 a year had been left to him. 
 
 The mind of Jack Delaford was narrow, 
 and he was at the moment so absorbed by 
 the dinner to which he was going — a dinner 
 given by the regiment to which he belonged 
 to some distinguished officer — that he hardly 
 took in the purport of what he had read. 
 Two or three times, while taking off and 
 putting on his clothes, he said, " What a 
 lucky dog I am !" But the dinner, not the 
 legacy, occupied his brain ; and when he
 
 10 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 had hurried off, and become an actor in a 
 scene of some excitement, he forgot even 
 to say "lucky dog." The important piece 
 of news passed from his memory. Late in 
 the evening, when the excitement was over, 
 it recurred to his mind, and in the very 
 same phrase he had used when alone, he 
 made known what he had read to some 
 friends. But his friends had minds of a 
 different conformation to his, and their in- 
 terest, and their excitement, and their in- 
 quiries, and doubts, and congratulations, 
 first made him aware of what a very 
 important piece of news it was. Before he 
 went to bed, the truth had begun to pene- 
 trate his brain ; and when he got into bed, 
 the brain which, on this occasion, had some 
 excuse for being narrow, was unable to admit 
 the idea of sleep. He tossed about, think- 
 ing and thinking, planning and speculating, 
 hoping and doubting, and longing for morn- 
 ing, that he might hasten to see if the strange 
 news was really true. 
 
 There was no doubt of the truth — the
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 1 1 
 
 will had been duly signed and witnessed 
 seven years before ; and the reason of the 
 legacy was stated in the will. Jack then 
 remembered the incident, and being a modest 
 man, blushed as he remembered. ''I am 
 really ashamed," he said ; and he felt what 
 he said. 
 
 "Had Mr. Beaumont no relations?" he 
 asked, after gazing at the will. 
 
 The reason he asked the question was 
 owing to a clause in the will, for otherwise 
 his mind so accepted things as they were, 
 that it might not have struck him to inquire. 
 The property was left to him absolutely, in 
 special words ordaining that by deed of ap- 
 pointment he might leave it to whom he 
 would ; but a clause in proper legal phrase 
 was added, that, should he fail to make a 
 will, or should the property be in any way 
 left without a possessor, then the nearest of 
 kin of the name of Beaumont was to be 
 sought out, and to him the property was to 
 go. 
 
 " Not that I am aware of," replied the
 
 12 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 lawyer. ^' Certaiuly none who have any 
 claims upon him." 
 
 Being satisfied on all points, Jack Delaford 
 took the steps necessary to the occasion, and 
 entered on the possession of his fortune. 
 
 In the first instance, the excitement of his 
 friends, their congratulations, their hearty 
 rejoicing in his luck, elated him. He thought 
 he was very happy, and he thought he was 
 going to be a very happy man. But it was 
 not so. When the fortune came in, care- 
 lessness of mind departed ; and though in 
 some minds care and happiness are not in- 
 compatible, they were not so in his. 
 
 His narrow mind became absorbed by 
 his riches and possessions. He had no 
 other thoughts — not absorbed by them in a 
 miserly way, far otherwise, but by the fact 
 of having them ; by the duties they entailed. 
 
 It was said that had any friend, any ad- 
 viser, any spiritual pastor or master, under- 
 stood his character, they could before now, 
 by touching on his sense of responsibility,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 13 
 
 have made a different man of him. His 
 conscience was dulled as regarded himself, 
 but as regarded others it was very keen. 
 It was this sense of responsibility, this sen- 
 sitive conscience, which now came into play 
 and mastered him. He had not the brain 
 to consider his duties — sift, and weigh, and 
 decide upon conflicting claims ; every claim, 
 every duty seemed to him equally impera- 
 tive, equally pressing ; his conscience called 
 on him to fulfil all, and the mail, between 
 his perplexed brain and his crying con- 
 science, became a miserable being. 
 
 His property consisted of land in several 
 places, but there was one large property of 
 £7,000 a year, with a house upon it. It 
 was here that his perplexities began. He 
 went to see it, dreams of a fine country 
 house floating before him ; he found a large, 
 desolate, dilapidated, and almost unfurnished 
 mansion, with a wild, rough spot called a 
 garden surrounding it, overgrowing it, sha- 
 dowing it with gloom.
 
 14 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " This must all be put in order," he said 
 to the person who attended him. 
 
 *• It will cost a mint of money," replied 
 the man. 
 
 " Well, but I can afford it." 
 
 But no sooner was it known that Captain 
 Delaford, the new possessor of the property, 
 was on a visit in the country, than his ears 
 were besieged by all the wants and necessi- 
 ties of the district. 
 
 The late proprietor, Mr. Beaumont, had 
 been a hard man — not at all a kindly or a 
 courteous one. The kindly act of Captain 
 Delaford had perhaps made the greater im- 
 pression on his mind because he was him- 
 self hard. Though he did not neglect actual 
 barefaced duties to his dependents and 
 tenantry, he was unassailable to many a 
 crying want and grievance. There was a 
 hard-worked Rector, sinking in spirit at the 
 sight of the increasing wants of his parish, 
 and no hand was stretched out to help him. 
 There were children growing up in ignor-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 15 
 
 ance, because the schools were insufficient ; 
 there were epidemics because of the miser- 
 able state of the cottages, and the over- 
 crowding of the dwellings of the poor. 
 Owing to various causes, the population 
 during the last few years had nearly 
 doubled ; but although an increase of in- 
 come had followed, no proper provision for 
 wants spiritual or wants temporal had been 
 made. 
 
 All persons who had anything to say 
 visited Captain Delaford ; each man, very 
 properly, putting forward his own grievance, 
 and his own hope or recommendation for 
 the future. All were good men and sensi- 
 ble men, and had sensible plans in their 
 heads and offered sensible observations ; but 
 the poor narrow brain of their hearer was 
 paralyzed by the multitude of ideas that 
 thronged upon him. To each he promised 
 consideration, and he went back to London 
 to consider with might and main. 
 
 From that moment his misery began. He
 
 16 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 could not rest. Iq vain his younger friends 
 said to him, " Hang duties ! enjoy yourself 
 for a time." In vain a sager friend 
 observed, " Set your house in order — go 
 down and live. Then see what you can do." 
 In vain his lawyer remonstrated, '* One 
 thing at a time, sir. Hercules only per- 
 formed one labour at a time." It was worse 
 than speaking to the deaf adder. The din 
 of conflicting claims within made him deaf 
 to advice. He had seen with his own eyes 
 the necessities of his own people ; their 
 claims had struck their fangs into him, and 
 he could not free himself. 
 
 He threw himself heart and soul into 
 business, and not having a head for business, 
 he muddled — there is no better word — all he 
 had to do. He took advice now — he was too 
 willing to take advice. Conscious of his own 
 small powers, he took advice of everybody 
 he saw, and the consequence was unceasing 
 change of plans, waste of money, mistakes 
 and failures, despondency and regrets. At
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 17 
 
 the end of three years his health was failing 
 him. He had no regular disease, but heart 
 and brain were alike weakened by the in- 
 cessant strain upon them. Always planning, 
 always hoping, always disappointed. His 
 sleep failed him — his appetite failed him. 
 He worked on, but he languished. 
 
 As he had no actual disease, he consulted 
 no physician. To his friends, he said all he 
 wanted was sleep ; when his mind had got 
 used to its bothers he should sleep, and then 
 it would be all right. He doctored himself 
 therefore, now taking a cordial, and now a 
 cooling draught, and so struggled on, work- 
 ing hard all the while. But one day he had 
 a serious attack, a kind of faint, attended 
 with unpleasant sensations. He then asked 
 advice, but receiving the advice that he 
 must rest, he said it was impossible ; and in 
 the mad way in which persons act, declared 
 that physicians were humbugs, and continued 
 to bother his mind as before. 
 
 He grew worse ; he was at last confined 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 to his room. He saw that life was in 
 danger, and he began to consider. He 
 was not much dismayed at the thoughts of 
 death; his mind had taken a turn which 
 made both Hfe and death secondary con- 
 siderations. His subject of consideration 
 was, what to do with his wealth. 
 
 One evening he sent for the physician 
 whose advice he had neglected. The physi- 
 cian came, and found him lying on a sofa in 
 a room strewed with letters and papers of 
 various sorts. 
 
 He sat down by him, looked at him, felt 
 his pulse, looked grave, but said nothing. 
 
 " Well, Dr. Webb, how am I?" Jack asked. 
 
 The physician made no immediate reply. 
 
 " I see what you think," said his patient, 
 calaily, " and that is only what I expected. 
 You think I am in a bad way ? But what 
 I want to know is, am I doomed ? — is death 
 certain ? People are often in a bad way, 
 and yet they get over it. Must I die ? — that 
 is what I want to know."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 19 
 
 " I do not think you must^'' was the reply, 
 after a moment's pause. " As you have 
 said, I think you are in a bad way ; but I 
 still think complete rest might save you. 
 Try a sea- voyage. That, I think, would be 
 the best thing for you." 
 
 "Now, look here!" exclaimed Jack, and 
 he sprang up almost with alacrity from his 
 couch, and walked to the window — " come 
 here and look at this moon !" 
 
 Dr. Webb, amazed and puzzled, obeyed 
 him, stood by his side, and looked at a 
 glorious moon rising up — " climbing the 
 heavens," as poets express it. 
 
 " Now, do you suppose, if you and all the 
 College of Physicians united were to order 
 that moon to stop work, not to fulfil its 
 duty of shining round the world, it would 
 obey you ?" 
 
 He looked with a determined glance at 
 his physician, who, to humour him, gravely 
 replied, " I fancy not." 
 
 " And that is my case. I have got a work 
 
 c2
 
 20 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 to do, and I have not led so good a life, I 
 can tell you, that I can afford to trifle with 
 my duty when I see it. I will not rest, 
 please God, till I rest in ray coffin." 
 
 Physicians are often blamed without con- 
 sideration. Dr. Webb was blamed in after- 
 days for not having saved Jack's life. But 
 what can a physician do in such a case? 
 He has no power to put a man of commonly 
 sane mind in a strait waistcoat ; nor even, 
 had that been possible, can a man's mind 
 be calmed against his will. 
 
 The day after his interview with Dr. Webb, 
 Jack Delaford sent for Mr. Beaumont's 
 lawyer, Mr. Borodaile, of the house of 
 Borodaile and Dashwood. He had not had 
 much personal communication with this gen- 
 tleman. He had employed a friend of his 
 own as a man of business, and such com- 
 munications as he had had, had been chiefly 
 through him. But he sent for him now. 
 
 " I once asked you, Mr. Borodaile," he 
 said, *' whether Mr. Beaumont had any re-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 21 
 
 lations ? I was satisfied at the time with 
 your answer ; but I feel now I ought to 
 have made further inquiries. Had he really 
 no relations? Have you heard nothing? 
 Have there been no remonstrances against 
 his will in my favour ?'' 
 
 "None, sir. I have heard nothing from 
 any friend or relative on the subject." 
 
 Jack thought for a moment. 
 
 " But you think there are relations ?" 
 
 " 1 fancy there are. There must, I think, 
 be distant ones ; but he did not notice 
 them ; nor do I think they ever thought of 
 him. I think, sir, you may set your mind 
 at rest about relations. The property is 
 your own, to do with as you please " 
 
 " I am not sure of that," Jack mut- 
 tered. 
 
 Mr. Borodaile went on — 
 
 " Mr. Beaumont was an only son ; so was 
 his father. Mr. Beaumont, the father, was, 
 as I have heard, an idle, ill-conditioned 
 fellow. He married early, and married
 
 22 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 beneath him ; and both father and mother 
 died when our Mr. Beaumont was a boy. 
 He was placed by some friend of his father's 
 in a merchant's office, and luck, and perse- 
 verance, and parsimonious habits, made him 
 at seventy a rich man. I do not know all 
 the steps by which he became rich, but I do 
 know that what he had was his own to 
 bestow, that no relations ever made any 
 claim upon him, and that he never acknow- 
 ledged any relations as having a claim." 
 
 " But you think there are relations ?" Jack 
 inquired again ; for his mind was now^ pos- 
 sessed with one idea. 
 
 " I daresay there are. I can. inquire, if 
 you choose. But a heap of relations is a 
 perplexing thing, especially to a person in 
 the state of health " 
 
 " What is a man's duty," said Jack, stern- 
 ly — as sternly, that is, as his kindly nature 
 could speak, " must be done, whatever his 
 state of health. Before I die — which I fancy 
 I may do any day — I wish to dispose of my
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 23 
 
 property properly. If among Mr. Beau- 
 mont's relations I can make a choice to 
 satisfy my conscience, that I imagine will be 
 the best thing I can do. Can you employ a 
 person to make inquiries for me, without 
 allowing any among them to know that such 
 a person as I am exists ?" 
 
 Mr. Borodaile said there would be no 
 difficulty in making inquiries secretly and 
 discreetly ; and promising to have them 
 made at once, departed. 
 
 In about ten days the result of the in- 
 quiries was made known to Captain Dela- 
 ford. Two families of relations had been 
 found. The one bore the name of Beau- 
 mont. The present head of the family was 
 a gentleman farmer in Cheshire ; his great- 
 grandfather and the late Mr. Beaumont's 
 grandfather had been brothers. This great- 
 grandfather was the elder son, and had in- 
 herited a few — a very few — paternal acres. 
 These, with the addition of some he tenant- 
 ed, he farmed himself — bestowed on them,
 
 24 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 that is to say, personal supervision ; so had 
 his son, and his son's son, and so did the 
 present possessor. The late Mr. Beaumont's 
 grandfather was the younger brother, had 
 early parted from his elder brother, and 
 come to seek his fortunes in London. Nei- 
 ther brother was in circumstances to do 
 much for the other, and as neither of them 
 possessed any warmth of character or strong 
 natural affections, they had parted to meet 
 no more. The younger branch had won 
 and lost, and won again in London ; the 
 elder had remained solidly rooted at home, 
 with few ideas beyond the cares of the 
 farm. 
 
 The present Mr. Beaumont, of Bloom- 
 fields, in Cheshire, had been married for 
 about six or seven years, and had a son of 
 five years old and a little daughter. 
 
 The other family was a step nearer in re- 
 lationship, but in the female line. The head 
 of this family was a clergyman on the borders 
 of Herefordshire and Wales, of the name of
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 25 
 
 Vau^han. His Grandmother had been a 
 Miss Beaumont, sister to the late Mr. Beau- 
 mont's grandfather, and to the great-grand- 
 father of the family in Cheshire. She had 
 married a Welsh squire, and had died 
 shortly after the birth of a daughter. This 
 daughter had married a clergyman of the 
 name of Vaughan, and her son was the 
 gentleman just named. She had also had 
 two daughters, one unmarried and one a 
 widow, but there were no families to report 
 upon. 
 
 Mr. Yaughan, the clergyman, was the 
 rector of a living of about £400 a year. 
 He was married, and had two or three 
 children ; the eldest was a girl of six years 
 old. 
 
 These were the particulars — somewhat 
 difficult to understand — regarding the family 
 of Beaumont which were forwarded to Jack 
 Delaford for his consideration. His mind 
 was wholly occupied by one idea, one de- 
 sire — to leave the property to a worthy
 
 26 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 person. The late Mr. Beaumont's relatives 
 should have the first claim, but he had no 
 intention of leavinsj it to them as a right. 
 His duty was to find or make a person wor- 
 thy of the trust, and he intended to do it. 
 It was in consequence of this desire that he 
 made one of those wills, the product of 
 weak, conscientious brains, which strive to 
 govern the course of events, and often give 
 much trouble. 
 
 Feeling that he, after his idle life, had 
 been very unfit for the trust, he passed 
 over entirely in his thoughts the fathers of 
 the families (who were, he supposed, too 
 old to learn, although neither of them was 
 above forty years old). He fixed his mind 
 on the elder children of the two families, 
 and his first choice, with the usual prefer- 
 ence for mankind, was of the boy, Oliver 
 Beaumont, now five years old. 
 
 The conditions of the will were these : — 
 
 Oliver Beaumont was to be brought up 
 
 in ignorance of the prospects awaiting him.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 27 
 
 If the secret was divulged to him, he forfeit- 
 ed his claim. At one-and-twenty he was to 
 inherit, supposing that before that time he 
 had made choice of a profession, and entered 
 upon it, if it was the Army, or Navy, or 
 official life ; or supposing him to choose one 
 of the learned professions, to be in due 
 course of study and preparation for it. He 
 hoped thus to secure an industrious and 
 well-instructed person. Should he not have 
 chosen, he forfeited his claim. 
 
 And in that case it was left to Rosamond 
 Vaughan, now six years old, daughter of 
 the Reverend Edward Vaughan. 
 
 This will the poor modest, dying, puzzled 
 man was proud of He had thought it out 
 in sleepless nights ; and his still sleepless 
 nights were calmed by the peace of con- 
 science it brought. He had done his very 
 best, and having done so, he allowed his 
 mind a little rest ; or perhaps the worn-out 
 body refused to allow the mind to work any 
 more. Both faded away together, and he
 
 28 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 rested at last in his coffin, as he had said. 
 
 Until the majority of Oliver Beaumont, 
 the property was left in the hands of Messrs. 
 Borodaile and Dashwood ; they were to 
 make choice of an agent, who should reside 
 on the spot, and see that poor Jack's plans 
 and wishes were carried out as far as pos- 
 sible. In their hands were left the property, 
 and the will, and the secret. The secret 
 was to be communicated shortly after the 
 death of Captain Delaford to the father and 
 mother of Oliver, and to no other person or 
 persons whatever. If they divulged it, their 
 son forfeited his claim. To the Vaughan 
 family nothing was to be said. 
 
 N.B. — It is possible that the provisions of 
 the will of Captain Delaford, as described, 
 may not be exactly permissible ; but as, 
 though childish, it is not unnatural, it is 
 hoped that the freedom assumed for the 
 powers of will-makers — if it be a freedom — 
 may in a fiction be allowed.
 
 29 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 RS. BEAUMONT, the mother of Oliver, 
 was recovering from a severe illness. 
 She had lately been confined, and her little 
 baby had died, and anxiety regarding the 
 child, together with a cold she had caught, 
 had brought on a severe illness. She was 
 now recovering, and although not yet able 
 to be active and busy, as it was her custom 
 to be, she was allowed to turn her mind to 
 domestic concerns without fear of danger. 
 
 During her illness, Mr. Beaumont had 
 received a letter from Messrs. Borodaile and 
 Dashwood. Mr. Beaumont was a man 
 " whose talk was of bullocks." He was 
 possessed of good sense, a good heart, and 
 a little, but good education — that is to say,
 
 30 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 his education, so far as it went, was 
 thorough — it did not go very far. He was 
 a good husband, a good father, a good 
 master, therefore a good man so far as he 
 went. He did not aim very high. But his 
 talk was chiefly of bullocks. His farm had 
 that part of his heart where care dwells. It 
 was not exactly his treasure, nor did he 
 love it as well as his wife and children ; but 
 it had all his care, and almost all his time — 
 it was his passion, and apparently his voca- 
 tion. The few paternal acres he inherited 
 brought him in about £800 a- year. It was 
 a nice little property, with a quaint family 
 mansion upon it. By farming it himself, 
 together with the land he rented, he more 
 than doubled his income, and brought up 
 his family in ease, and order, and comfort. 
 Not aiming high, but aiming to fit them, 
 however many children he might have, for 
 the station in which they were born. 
 
 The care of the farm, and the coming in, 
 or income, he took on himself; the care of
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 31 
 
 the family, and the going out, he laid on his 
 wife! The children especially were the 
 mothers care — he never troubled himself 
 about them ; not, it must be understood, 
 from want of interest, but because he had 
 laid that care on his wife. 
 
 When he received the letter from Messrs. 
 Borodaile and Dashwood, his wife was 
 recovering, but was still weak. " Very 
 important," he said, as he read ; " but this 
 is my wife's business." And he put the letter 
 away. The day afterwards he thought he 
 had better acknowledge it. This he did, 
 saying he had received the important com- 
 munication, and would write about it as soon 
 as his wife was restored to health. 
 
 Messrs. Borodaile and Dashwood were 
 surprised at the cold, unexcited tone in 
 which this answer was couched. But, in 
 truth, Mr. Beaumont felt coldly on the sub- 
 ject. This legacy, which might come to the 
 boy Oliver in sixteen years, and then only 
 supposing a certain condition was kept, was
 
 32 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 a vague thing in his eyes — vague, and there- 
 fore, to his working, practical turn, devoid 
 of interest. His mind, like Jack Delaford's, 
 was narrow — not weak like his, but, like 
 his, admitting only a certain quantity of 
 ideas. At the moment the letter arrived, 
 there was about to be a great Cattle Fair in 
 the neighbourhood, and what he should sell 
 and what he should buy was a subject that 
 occupied him wholly ; he put the letter 
 carefully aside until his wife should be in a 
 fit state to enter on the business. 
 
 Nevertheless, although it did not occupy 
 him in the least, the idea of the legacy 
 during these days was, in the curiously 
 secret, silent way in which ideas will do so, 
 taking possession of his mind. He gave it 
 no time ; he was, indeed, wholly occupied 
 with other matters, but every now and then 
 it made itself felt. In the midst of his ear- 
 nest cogitations regarding profitable sales 
 and purchases, in the very midst of the 
 Cattle Fair, when annoyed at losing some
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 33 
 
 bargain on which his heart was set, the idea 
 stirred and said, "After all, these things 
 are not so important as they were, for 
 Oliver, at any rate, is provided for.'' He 
 was hardly conscious of the flitting sugges- 
 tion ; but it was thus, and in this manner, 
 that the legacy had taken possession of his 
 brain before he came to talk to his wife. 
 
 Ten days had passed since the reception 
 of the letter before he said anything about 
 it. The Cattle Fair was over, and Mrs. 
 Beaumont was recovering. She was still 
 upstairs, and lying on a sofa ; but it was the 
 body only that was weak. She was well, 
 and conversation and a little excitement did 
 her good. Although the loss of the little 
 baby had not been a very grievous loss, she 
 had mourned for it as a mother will ; and 
 the doctor who attended her had on this 
 day observed to Mr. Beaumont that the 
 more she had to occupy her mind the 
 better. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont did not bestow a great 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 34 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 deal of time upon his wife, but he was not 
 the less very fond of her, and as soon as 
 he heard this opinion, he felt- cheerfully 
 that he had got a cure in store. On this 
 day he said, therefore, 
 
 '* I shall come home to tea with j^ou at 
 seven." 
 
 It was just before haymaking, and time 
 was precious, and during his wife's illness 
 he had taken to himself a little independ- 
 ence, dining at odd times — sometimes early, 
 and sometimes late — and making his cook 
 heartily wish that her mistress was well 
 again. 
 
 When the tea was put ready — a large 
 tea, such as Mr. Beaumont sometimes fan- 
 cied, with hot cakes and a huge loaf — the 
 monthly nurse, who was still in attendance 
 on Mrs. Beaumont, said that, as it was a fine 
 evening, and Mrs. Beaumont had company, 
 she should like to go home for an hour or 
 two. She lived in the neighbourhood. Leave 
 was given, and she went.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 35 
 
 When Mr. Beaumont came in, he had 
 made himself tidy, and his wife perceived 
 that she had got the whole man for once. 
 Mr. Beaumont in a hurry — that is to say, 
 during three quarters and half a quarter of 
 the year — was only half a man to her. 
 Sundry questions put aside in her mind to 
 be brought forward on these great occasions 
 bestirred themselves ; and while he was 
 arranging his chair comfortably, putting his 
 head out of window to inspect the sunset, 
 and cutting a preparatory huge slice, or 
 hump off the loaf, she was looking into her 
 store to select the most pressing of her 
 questions. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont was a pretty woman — 
 fair and pensive, gentle and sensible ; such a 
 woman as a man whose talk is chiefly of 
 bullocks very often specially fancies. Her 
 refinement meets something deep down in 
 his nature, surviving amid all the rougher 
 associations of life, and requiring this satis- 
 faction. 
 
 d2
 
 36 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Why, you look beautiful, Marion !" he 
 said heartily, as he watched her thoughtful 
 attitude ; ** you are famously got up to- 
 night !" 
 
 " I am almost well now. It has been a 
 long time — a weary time and expense to 
 you, I fear. But it was God's will, and I 
 could not help it." 
 
 '' Of course you could not. God's will 
 must be done. And let it be done. Amen. 
 That is what I should always wish to say. 
 It would be well if it was done more than it 
 is in this world ; but we all have our wills, 
 and that's the truth, and it makes a great 
 struggle. All but you, Marion. I believe 
 you like God's will better than your own." 
 
 She shook her head with a sad smile, but 
 did not enter on the discussion. 
 
 "Well, I am glad to see you looking so 
 fresh to-night, for I want to talk to you. 
 There's some business in hand." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont slipped back her questions 
 into the secret place from whence they had
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 37 
 
 arisen. She saw that although the whole 
 man might be present, he had a subject of 
 his own to occupy him. It might not be 
 true, as her husband said, that she liked God's 
 will better than her own ; she certainly 
 would have kept her baby, had she been able 
 to do so ; but with regard to her fellow- 
 creatures, she was one who always put their 
 wills before her own. 
 
 "About ten days ago," he said, laying 
 down his knife and plunging his hand into 
 his pocket, "I had this letter. 1 just 
 answered it ; that is to say, I told the gentle- 
 man I had received it ; but I felt it was your 
 business more than mine, and I put it away 
 till I could have your opinion. Now read 
 it, and tell me what you think." And he 
 took up his knife, and returned to his bread 
 and butter. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont read the letter with a 
 colour coming and going on her cheek. It 
 was gone altogether when she had finished. 
 As she laid it down on her knee, she said,
 
 38 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 looking earnestly at her husband — *' I must 
 think. It is so very sudden." 
 
 "Think away," he said kindly. 
 
 Many husbands would have said, ''Think ! 
 why, what have you got to think about, when 
 £10,000 a year is offered to your son ?" but 
 Mr. Beaumont was not a hasty man ; he had 
 not caus^ht at the idea, nor was he conscious 
 as yet what he himself thought upon the 
 subject. 
 
 He wished also to hear his wife's opinion. 
 He ate on, therefore, patiently, while she lay 
 with her eyes on the letter. At last she 
 looked at him again and said, 
 
 " I do not like it. If I had my will I 
 would refuse the legacy." 
 
 Then and there Mr. Beaumont suddenly 
 became conscious of what he thought. He 
 knew then that the prospect of the legacy 
 had taken a place in his mind, in his ideas, 
 in his vision of the future. 
 
 But he was not hasty. He only replied, 
 *' Hardly refuse, Marion."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 39 
 
 " I do not know," she cried ; '* it seems to 
 me that it will poison life. A secret is a 
 painful thing. It seems to me even already 
 that a wall is being built between my boy 
 and me." In her earnestness she put up 
 her hand in the form of a barrier. " There 
 will be deception in all our dealings with 
 him." 
 
 " That's a hard word, Marion. Hardly 
 deception, I should say. Read me the 
 letter. No, give it me. I will read it 
 aloud." 
 
 And taking it from her fingers he read it 
 in an emphatic sonorous voice, pausing at 
 one or two passages to take in the sense, and 
 twice repeating the last sentence, " Should 
 the secret be properly kept, and the other 
 condition fulfilled, it will be our duty, when 
 your son Oliver Beaumont attains the age of 
 one and twenty, to hand over to him the 
 property of the late Captain John Dela- 
 ford." 
 
 "There is no deception there, Marion.
 
 40 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 It is all clear as day. Is anyone there?" 
 he asked suddenly. "Is anyone in the 
 next room ?" 
 
 "I think not. Mrs. Greyson has gone 
 home for an hour or two. But it may be 
 best to look." 
 
 He walked to the door, which was just 
 ajar, pushed it open and saw all quiet, 
 closed it and sat down again. 
 
 " There is no deception, Marion," he re- 
 peated. 
 
 '* Not in the will. The deception 
 will be in us — chiefly in me. I shall teach 
 my boy with this secret on my mind. There 
 will be a thought between me and him. I 
 shall have to urge him to choose a profes- 
 sion, and I shall know I have a secret reason 
 for what I say." 
 
 " Well, but — well but, a profession is a 
 good thing — good for all men. I some- 
 times wish I had had one myself in my 
 young days." 
 
 " I know it !" she cried, eagerly — " I feel
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 41 
 
 it ; I should wish Oliver at all events to fol- 
 low a profession. But do you not see what 
 I mean? I feel if I once let my mind think 
 of this, if we once accept it, that the prospect 
 will take hold of our hearts. We shall do 
 all we can to fulfil the condition. I feel I 
 shall no longer act for my boy as I would, 
 for his highest good ; I shall have a low, 
 earthly motive poisoning all I say." Her 
 voice, which was a very soft one, soft and 
 low, became almost shrill as she spoke. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont, though a slow man, saw 
 what she meant. He did not mean to re- 
 fuse, whatever she said ; but he liked to hear 
 her unworldly views, and cast in his mind 
 for some answering good thought to meet 
 hers. While he was searching about for 
 this, he let drop a short sentence which was 
 as effective as anything he could say. 
 
 '^There's one thing, Marion — T don't 
 think we are quite free agents in the matter. 
 What would Oliver say to us, one of these
 
 42 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 days, if he knew we had refused such a 
 thing?" 
 
 " That is true," she said, suddenly struck, 
 and feeling at once she must give in. 
 
 " Fathers may do a great deal, no doubt," 
 he observed, shaking his head — " I am all 
 for fathers' authority. But I should hardly 
 like to have this on my mind all Oliver's 
 young days. If I heard him wishing for 
 half-a-crown, I should feel that some day 
 he would turn upon me and say I had 
 defrauded him." 
 
 '' He never would. But I see it — I see 
 it. It must be accepted, and we must do 
 the best we can, and forget it as much as we 
 can ; and pray," she added, softly, '* that we 
 may not set our hearts upon it." 
 
 "Very right. Amen!" he said, seriously. 
 Then, having found, as he hoped, a really 
 good thought in his head, he brought it 
 forth — " And there is this to be said, 
 Marion. From what the gentlemen say, 
 this poor Captain Delaford was anxious
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 43 
 
 about his property. He wishes it to go to a 
 person fit to manage it. Now, you see, in 
 educating Oliver and forcing him to choose 
 a profession, you may be thinking of the 
 highest motives you can ; you need not think 
 of the £10,000 a year, but the ten thousand 
 people he will be wanted to guide and in- 
 fluence. Whatever profession he goes into, 
 whether it is to knock about in the army or 
 study for the law, he will be getting so much 
 good into him for his future duties. It 
 seems to me that is the way to look at it." 
 
 *^ Yes," and the cloud partly lightened 
 from her face — " yes, I see that. Certainly, 
 it will be a great responsibility, and I hope 
 and pray Oliver will be fit for it. I wish it 
 had never been, with all my heart, but I see 
 it must be accepted. We have no choice."
 
 44 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 RS. BEAUMONT had shown an in- 
 
 IVI 
 
 -^'-■- stinctive knowledge of herself, as 
 well as of human nature in general, in say- 
 ing that if once the legacy was accepted, 
 even though reluctantly, she should set her 
 heart upon it. It became a subject of her 
 thoughts, an object in the future, an anxiety 
 in the present. It invested Oliver with a 
 new importance. Troublesome, noisy, good- 
 tempered, pleasure-loving Oliver became a 
 personage. His sayings and doings were 
 noted and watched ; his propensities were 
 speculated on. His parents had too much 
 simple sense to make the change in his 
 distant prospects the cause of a change in 
 childhood. He was unmolested in his child- 
 ish whims and fancies ; was allowed to pass
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 45 
 
 his life in paddling in the water, and making 
 mud pies, as before. But Oliver, had he 
 been of a turn to speculate and comment, 
 might have observed that his mud-pies were 
 more noticed than before, that he was no 
 longer troublesome Oliver, whose absence 
 from any tidy room was an object to be 
 desired, but a being whose comings and goings 
 were considered, and whose privileges had 
 received an extension. 
 
 Oliver was not of a turn to speculate. 
 He received indulgence with that happy 
 confidence that it was his right, which cha- 
 racterizes sweet and hopeful natures. In- 
 dulgence he received benignly ; a grave 
 look he coaxed away ; advice he slid from 
 as rapidly as he could. Indulgence being 
 his right, he made no remarks on more or 
 less ; being in his own eyes a creature of 
 supreme importance, notice attracted no 
 notice. He knew he was Oliver, the be- 
 loved of his parents' heart, and he rested 
 happily on that knowledge.
 
 46 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 The thought which had been put into 
 Mrs. Beaumont's mind regarding his fitness 
 for his future duties, was perhaps the chief 
 cause of the tenacity with which the idea 
 persecuted her. She had by nature so 
 tender a conscience, that the thought of a 
 duty laid fast hold upon her. She had too 
 much good sense to allow the influence of 
 this thought to appear in her words and 
 actions ; but it made her watch and weigh 
 Oliver's character with a premature and 
 questioning watchfulness ; made her almost 
 grieve over its childish heedlessness ; made 
 her tremble at his early developed love of 
 pleasure and hate of trouble. 
 
 It was not for many months that the word 
 profession was used ; and when Oliver was 
 asked his feelings on this point, the question 
 came quite by chance. His birthday of six 
 years old was two days after Christmas. 
 Partly because it was Christmas-time, partly 
 because Oliver was now a personage, he was 
 invited on this great occasion to dine —
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 47 
 
 actually to dine with his parents, who dined 
 very early on that evening, to allow of the 
 indulgence. His little sister, Dorothy, two 
 years j^ounger, came in for a few moments, 
 but she was soon taken to bed ; and Oliver 
 remained in his glory. 
 
 There were mince-pies on this occasion, 
 and Oliver, as he sat munching his mince- 
 pie, expressed his intention of having mince- 
 pies every day when he grew up. 
 
 " That must depend," his mother ob- 
 served, " on what you are, and where you 
 are. 
 
 " No, mamma, it shan't depend ; I like 
 mince-pies, and when I am a man I shall 
 have them every day." 
 
 " I mean to say that in some professions 
 people can't have what they please, even if 
 they have the money to pay for it. Now, 
 for instance, Oliver, if you are a soldier — 
 soldiers have to go through great hardships, 
 particularly about food. Sometimes they 
 are in places where they can get nothing but
 
 48 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 biscuit and salt meat. You can't make a 
 mince-pie out of that. Now, what should 
 you do then?" 
 
 Oliver did not mean to give up his mince- 
 pies, but he had seen mince-meat made too 
 often to have a hope that biscuit and salt 
 meat would be enough. He thought for a 
 moment upon the difficult question, then 
 settled it. 
 
 "Then I would not be a soldier, mamma." 
 
 '' What will you be, then ?" asked his 
 father, seized with a sudden desire to hear 
 his wishes on the important point. 
 
 " I will be — I think, papa, I will be no- 
 thing," he said, with a mischievous glance 
 at his mother. 
 
 ** Oh ! but you must be something !" cried 
 his father. " It will not do for a man to 
 be idle. Everybody must do something." 
 
 " What is papa?" looking at his mother. 
 
 '* I am a farmer," answered the father. 
 
 "Then I will be a farmer too." 
 
 " I don't know how you will like that,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 49 
 
 Oliver," observed his mother, in her soft 
 voice. " A farmer has to get up very early, 
 and go out to see his labourers get to work 
 in all weathers. A cold, foggy, wintry 
 morning must see him up early just as much 
 as a Summer's day. I think I know some- 
 body who likes to stay in bed when it is 
 cold." 
 
 " I will tell you what I will do, mamma. 
 I will get up and go and see the labourers, 
 and then I will run home to bed." 
 
 " That would be a lazy way of being a 
 farmer, or of being anything. I don't like 
 lazy people." 
 
 Oliver, who was now eating a mite of 
 bread and cheese, sat thoughtful for a few 
 seconds. He then said, 
 
 "Then, mamma, if I am lazy, shall you 
 not like me ?" 
 
 He thought he had asked what might be 
 called a poser, but Mrs. Beaumont replied — 
 
 " I think I shall like you better if you 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 OUVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 are brave, and industrious, and unselfish, 
 and not afraid of trouble." 
 
 Oliver's eyes, which had been twinkling 
 with mischief, became round and serious. 
 He said no more, but solemnly finished his 
 repast. 
 
 Oliver did not like advice or serious 
 talk ; he therefore allowed the subject to 
 drop, and played a merry game at beggar- 
 my-neighbour with his mother. All the 
 while, however, the subject had lodged 
 itself in his small brain ; especially he 
 thought of what his mother had said about 
 the hardships of soldiers and the necessity 
 of taking trouble. He had some questions 
 to ask, but he reserved them for one who 
 seldom accompanied her talk with admoni- 
 tion. 
 
 Oliver was the king of the nursery. 
 Having been an inhabitant of this castle for 
 two years before his supremacy was disputed, 
 and then only by a girl, and a shy one, he 
 reigned without a rival. His nurse, Mrs.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 51 
 
 Baker, belonged to a day that is past ; she 
 was very ignorant, yet clever ; high-princi- 
 pled in certain points, yet with a very im- 
 perfect standard of morality ; capable of 
 great love and devotion, and equally capa- 
 ble of a great hate, if it should happen to 
 come in her way. She had been for many 
 years a nursery-maid — longer than persons 
 will now remain in that capacity — and being 
 well versed in the care of children, and a 
 trusty person, had been taken by Mrs. 
 Beaumont for the head of her nursery at 
 01;ver's birth. Oliver was her first sole 
 charge, and she adored him ; she taught 
 him very many good things — cleanliness, 
 and the habits of a little gentleman, and a 
 certain degree of obedience, and, best of 
 all, reverence — not only reverence religi- 
 ously considered, for though that was not 
 absent, she was not a religious woman, — but 
 the habit of reverence, respect for whatever 
 was to be respected, all love, and authority, 
 and greatness, and goodness in the world. 
 
 e2
 
 52 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 She had this reverence in herself, and she 
 imparted it to her charges with unconscious 
 earnestness. 
 
 But she was very ignorant, and her 
 morality was imperfect. She was no severe 
 judge of many great sins, and although the 
 most trusty of women in one sense, she was 
 exceedingly low in her views regarding 
 harmless lies ; she would listen at a door 
 without a thought that she was transgress- 
 ing in so doing, and could she have served 
 anybody she cared for, by telling even a 
 great lie, she would have thought herself 
 justified in so doing. 
 
 Mrs. Baker was on this evening awaiting 
 Oliver's pleasure in the nursery. A king 
 always — on this night he was to be an 
 Emperor. If he pleased to go to bed with- 
 out washing, he was to go to bed without 
 washing ; if he pleased to sit by the fire and 
 talk, he was to sit by the fire and talk. If, 
 after his repast downstairs, he had a crevice 
 remaining unfilled, she had some little pastry
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 53 
 
 animals — pigs, camels, and dromedaries — 
 with humps stuffed with currants, and such 
 other exquisite things, awaiting him. 
 
 When Oliver came up his pleasure was to 
 talk. He placed himself with his back to 
 the fire, in the attitude of some gentleman 
 he had remarked, and stood roasting himself 
 while he addressed her. 
 
 When he was about three years old he 
 had one day observed with childish wit that 
 if she was a good baker she could make a 
 bun. She had responded to the wit by 
 making him a monster bun, which had so 
 delighted him that ever after he called her 
 Bun ; and the name had now become her 
 name throughout the family — so much so 
 that a new servant had called her Mrs. Bun, 
 to her extreme indignation. 
 
 " I say, Bun," said Oliver, " I have had a 
 mince-pie — a large one." 
 
 " A little bird told me that ; and how did 
 the little bird know ?" 
 
 '* I suppose the bird was Janet. A very
 
 54 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 fat bird ! I say, Bun, I think you should 
 make her and stuff her ! She would be 
 better than a pig !" And he left the fire for 
 a moment to inspect the pastry animals. 
 
 '' What a child it is !" said Mrs. Baker. 
 "Well, Mr. Oliver, I will make her on 
 Twelfth Night ; but we must not make it too 
 like, for fear she should take offence. That 
 would never do." 
 
 ** No," he said, laughing ; " and she made 
 such a good mince-pie to-night I must not 
 laugh at her. It was capital ! No, thank 
 you," as she put forward a camel for the ex- 
 pected crevice, " I am not hungry to-night. 
 Put them away till to-morrow. I say. 
 Bun," coming to the subject that occupied 
 him, " I told mamma I should always have 
 mince-pies when I grew up, and she says I 
 can't." 
 
 " Did she ? — I wonder why ? I should 
 say ladies and gentlemen could always have 
 mince-pies, if they like. I am sure you 
 could, Mr. Oliver."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 55 
 
 " So I thought — but mamma says not. 
 She says, for instance, if I am a soldier when 
 I grow up, that I may have to go through 
 great hardships, and particularly about food." 
 With the wonderful memory of a child, he 
 had kept all her words accurately. 
 
 " But you need not be a soldier, Mr. 
 Oliver." 
 
 " No, I need not be a soldier, but I must 
 be something ; and I want to think about it. 
 What is there to be ? Does a sailor have 
 to have hardships, particularly about food ?" 
 
 " Poor souls ! I am afraid they have — and 
 getting up in the cold nights! You shall 
 never be a sailor, Mr. Oliver, while I live." 
 
 " Do they get up in the cold ? And so 
 does a farmer, mamma says. What else is 
 there to be. Bun ? Does a doctor get up in 
 the cold?" 
 
 "A doctor! Bless us, Mr. Oliver, you 
 are not going to be a doctor ?" 
 
 **No, I think not; but I want to see
 
 5Q OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 about it all. Mamma says I must be some- 
 thing ; and so does papa." 
 
 " Then it is a shame of them to say so.'' 
 
 ''Well, Bun, I don't know that. You 
 would not have me idle, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, I would, sir." 
 
 *' Oh ! no, I must not be lazy and selfish. 
 Mamma says she should not half like me if I 
 ever was. Everybody must do something, 
 papa says." 
 
 *' I only mean idle in a certain way, Mr. 
 Oliver. You know that great Lord Nant- 
 wich that lives out there, with the tower on 
 his house ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and the flag." 
 
 "Well, do you call him idle?" 
 
 " I don't know. What does he do ? Tell 
 me about him, Bun." 
 
 As Oliver's back was now completely 
 roasted, he pulled his little chair close to 
 the fire, and sat down, requesting Bun to do 
 the same. His small brain, what with his
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 57 
 
 dinner, and what with his subject, was teem- 
 ing with ideas. 
 
 Mrs. Baker, having taken her seat, began 
 her history of Lord Nantwich. 
 
 " Lord Nantwich had a father called Lord 
 Nantwich, and he was his son ; and his 
 father had a son who was Lord Nantwich, 
 too, and so it went back for, I daresay, a 
 thousand years, and they were all Lord 
 Nantwiches. How they got it first I don't 
 well know, but I have heard that it was for 
 some honourable thing they did which made 
 the king pleased. And of course they had 
 the tower, and the castle, and land as well ; 
 and every one of them left it all to his 
 eldest son, till it came to our Lord Nant- 
 wich, and he has it all, and is Lord Nant- 
 wich, as we know. And as he had it all, of 
 course there was no need for him to work. 
 No Lord Nantwich that I know of ever did 
 work, because, you see, he had got it." 
 
 However perplexing her tale may read
 
 58 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 to older minds, Oliver followed it perfectly, 
 and with great interest. At last he said, 
 
 " Yes, Bun ; but then, you know, you 
 said Lord Nantwich is not idle. What does 
 he do?" 
 
 '' Plenty to do, Mr. Oliver. Idle !— no, 
 indeed. One day he has to go up to Par- 
 liament, to advise the King ; the next day 
 he sits on the Bench, to send a murderer to 
 prison ; the next day he opens the new 
 bridge ; the next day he throws down a 
 poor man's cottage, and has it built up new 
 for him.*' 
 
 "Himself?" Oliver asked, with interest, 
 thinking the throwing down must be fun. 
 
 *'No, no — not with his hands. Lord 
 Nantwich does a deal of work, as I hear, but 
 it is all of his own free will, and all with his 
 brains," tapping her forehead. " And as he 
 does, so must you do, Mr. Oliver." 
 
 " But I am not going to be Lord Nant- 
 wich, am I ?" and Oliver's large blue eyes 
 looked perplexed.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 59 
 
 "Not exactly; but something like it." 
 She nodded her head, and shook her head, 
 and looked altogether like a person who has 
 some great idea inside. 
 
 "Why, Bun, what am T going to be? 
 Papa said I must be something ; but he did 
 not mean not to work — he meant work." 
 
 " I don't know what he meant ; but I 
 know what I know. Now, Mr. Oliver, if I 
 was to tell you a great secret, should you 
 tell?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, Bun — never." 
 
 '* You must mind you don't. Well, Mr. 
 Oliver, I think somebody, whether he is a 
 great lord or not, I did not catch, but some- 
 body has left you a great large property, 
 something like Lord Nantwich ; and you 
 are to step into it the very day you are 
 twenty-one." 
 
 " Really, Bun ?" 
 
 His eyes were now bursting out of his 
 head with excitement. 
 
 " As true as we sit here — you and I."
 
 60 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " But how do you know ? Does mamma 
 know ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, she knows. I will tell you 
 how I know. It was when your mamma 
 was ill this last Spring — do you remember? 
 — at that time when God took the new little 
 baby that came, to be an angel?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember," Oliver said, awed 
 and sorrowful. With undoubting faith he 
 had accepted the fact that it was better for 
 the baby brother to be an angel with wings 
 than to grow on the earth ; but nevertheless 
 he had looked forward to having a boy to 
 play with him, and he had shed many tears 
 at the time. At this moment he was excited 
 with other thoughts, and though awed he 
 did not dwell on the recollection. 
 
 " Well, your mamma and papa were in 
 the room together, and Mrs. Greyson went 
 out for a walk, and she asked me to lay a 
 tray of clean linen down in the dressing- 
 room. And I went in, and the door was 
 partly open, and your papa read a little out
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 61 
 
 loud, and it was about this. I did not hear 
 it all, but I could hear bits. And then your 
 papa called very loud, ' Is any one there ?' 
 and I thought perhaps he would be angry, 
 so I came away and I heard no more, but I 
 am positive I heard that, Mr Oliver." 
 
 Mrs. Baker told very nearly the whole 
 truth, nor was she conscious that she omitted 
 to say that on hearing the name of Oliver, 
 her darling, she had gone very near the 
 door to see what was plotting against him. 
 
 " Heard that I was to be some great rich 
 man, Bun ! — really that ?" 
 
 ** Yes, sir. A great one, and a good one 
 too I hope, like our Lord Nantwich." 
 
 "Then of course I need not be some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "No, only for fun, if you like. Many 
 young gentlemen are soldiers for fun, and 
 sometimes other things, I suppose ; but it is 
 fiin and nonsense. But now, Mr. Oliver, 
 you must never, never tell what I have told 
 you !"
 
 62 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ** I never will." 
 
 *' You would get me into a terrible scrape 
 if you did, that I can tell you." 
 
 " I would never do such a thing, Bun." 
 
 He spoke very earnestly, for he was a 
 very kind little boy. 
 
 " I daresay 3^our papa and mamma will 
 tell you all in good time. Don't you say a 
 word till then." 
 
 "Never," he repeated sleepily, and the 
 next moment his eyes had closed, and his 
 head dropped. 
 
 He had been excited about the subject, 
 but the fact did not sufficiently interest him 
 to prevent the overpowering sleep of child- 
 hood from taking possession of him. 
 
 " Bless the child, he's asleep !" said Mrs. 
 Baker, and putting all questions aside, 
 she arose to perform her usual tasks. 
 
 The operations of his disarraying in some 
 degree aroused him, and his last words were 
 merry. 
 
 " I wonder, Bun," he said, as she folded
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 63 
 
 the clothes around him, *^ whether Lord 
 Nantwich had a mince-pie to-night ?" 
 
 " Twenty, I should think," she replied. 
 
 " Then I think he is greedy ;" on which 
 he dozed off, and thought no more of mince- 
 pies or professions.
 
 64 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ATOR did he think of them on his awaking. 
 -^^ The excitement of his birthday, with 
 possibly a touch of indigestion, had overset 
 the equilibrium of his brain, making it more 
 thoughtful than was his wont. He rose in 
 the morning to his usual happy indifference 
 about a future. Some snow had fallen ; 
 more was expected. " If I cannot make a 
 snow-man, perhaps I can a snow-baby," he 
 shouted to his nurse ; and for several days 
 he .was occupied with trying to collect suf- 
 ficient snow for this smaller object. 
 
 When the snow melted, some other bliss 
 absorbed him wholly, nor did the idea of 
 being a great man at twenty raise a picture
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. Q5 
 
 in the future sufficiently tangible to over- 
 master the present pleasure. 
 
 Nor did Mrs. Baker recur to the subject. 
 She too had spoken under excitement. She 
 thought it a real shame to talk to Mr. 
 Oliver about a profession, but she was 
 satisfied with what she had said, and was 
 certainly very anxious not to have her 
 revelation discovered. 
 
 When Oliver was nine, he was taken 
 from a young woman who had hitherto in- 
 structed him, and sent to a grammar-school 
 in the neighbourhood, returning home on 
 Saturday to spend his Sunday at home. 
 His master was not very severe, and as 
 Oliver, though he gave the smallest amount 
 of attention that was possible, had pretty 
 good natural ability, he managed to keep 
 out of trouble. He made no great progress, 
 but still struggled on sufficiently to be 
 happy. A boy who is unhappy and in 
 scrapes will console himself with thoughts 
 of the future; but Oliver, always good- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 QQ OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 tempered, always popular, and not very 
 much in disgrace with his master, was too 
 satisfied to trouble himself about it. He 
 had not forgotten what he had been told, 
 but he rarely thought about it. Occasion- 
 ally, if his lesson was more than usually 
 badly said, his master would slap his head 
 and say, " I know who will be a dunce ;" 
 and Oliver would then console himself by 
 making a joke in his heart — " Then I shall 
 be a great dunce," and laugh most heartily 
 by himself at his wit. 
 
 When he was about eleven, Mr. Beau- 
 mont, who had hitherto taken it easily, be- 
 gan to fuss himself a little about Oliver and 
 his profession. Every Monday evening he 
 would observe to his wife, 
 
 " Well, Marion, did Oliver say anything 
 this time ?" 
 
 And the answer was invariably the 
 same — 
 
 "Nothing about a profession. He does 
 not think yet."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 67 
 
 After this question had been asked her 
 for six weeks running, Mrs. Beaumont de- 
 termined to try to bring Oliver to a little 
 talk. She could not help being herself 
 anxious on the subject, yet she was so deter- 
 mined to withstand the temptation she had 
 foreseen would assail her, that she was al- 
 ways on the watch against her anxiety. 
 
 On the Sunday morning, Dorothy was not 
 well, and Mr. Beaumont went straight from 
 Church to speak to a gentleman who lived 
 in a contrary direction. Mrs. Beaumont 
 and Oliver walked home alone. When they 
 had walked a little way, she asked him if 
 he remembered the text. Both Oliver and 
 his sister knew that this question would be 
 asked in the course of the day. Dorothy 
 hardly ever failed to answer, but Oliver, 
 though sincerely desirous to do so, could 
 rarely attain his object ; something, as he 
 said, always '* came funny " at that moment, 
 and put it out of his head. 
 
 On this day, however, something in the 
 
 f2
 
 68 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 text itself had caught his fancy, and, pleased 
 with his memory, he gave it out with great 
 pomp — 
 
 " ' Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do 
 it with thy might.' " 
 
 The sermon had been a useful, practical 
 discourse on the need of spirit and industry, 
 both in our earthly and our heavenly busi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Good boy !" said his mother, warmly ; 
 and now, as you have remembered that so 
 well, perhaps you can remember something 
 in the sermon ?" 
 
 Oliver loved praise ; he did not dislike a 
 little flattery, but real, honest praise was 
 both pleasant to him and useful to him. 
 He was anxious now to gain a little more, 
 and the rather because he remembered 
 there had been something which had im- 
 pressed his mind, but which, unfortunately, 
 had put into his head a dispute about a 
 ball, and this had occupied him till the ser- 
 mon was over. He walked along, trying to
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 69 
 
 catch at that thought which had put the 
 other thought into his head. At last he 
 found it. 
 
 *' I remember, mamma, the man — the 
 gentleman — the clergyman — said that, even 
 in the midst of their sports and pastimes, 
 people ought to remember that they are — " 
 Oliver ';;uoted so far pretty accurately, but 
 here he paused, for he was a modest, 
 reverend boy, and disliked using holy 
 words. The conclusion had been "children 
 of God, doing their father's business." After 
 a pause he concluded with a flat "good," 
 not being able to think of any other varia- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, that is just what he said," said his 
 mother, pleased ; " and can you remember 
 anything further ?" 
 
 " No, mamma, that is all," he replied, 
 decidedly, for he knew well that at that 
 very point his mind had gone oflP on its ex- 
 cursion, the words " sports and pastimes " 
 being tantalizing to the imagination.
 
 70 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 "The reason I ask you is, because a part 
 of the sermon made me think of you." 
 
 "Did it? What could it be ?" 
 
 " It was towards the end. He said 
 everybody in the world had some special 
 work laid out for them ; they ought to see 
 w^hat it was, and try to do it. I thought 
 when he said it, Oliver, that you, too, will 
 have some special work to do. What will 
 it be ?" 
 
 " I wonder, mamma !" and he said the 
 words with such unfeigned wondering that 
 Mrs. Beaumont felt baffled. She was not a 
 clever woman, and having laid her little 
 plan for drawing Oliver into conversation, 
 no new thought, when thus baffled, oc- 
 curred to help her. 
 
 Oliver had seen no plan, and had not 
 intended to baffle. He thought perhaps 
 something was coming, but as nothing came, 
 his thoughts took a new turn, and after they 
 had walked a little way in silence, he sud- 
 denly burst out laughing.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 71 
 
 *' I was thinking, mamma, that, when I 
 was a little boy, I used to think that the 
 clergyman lived in the church, and did so 
 wonder where he put his bed on a Sunday." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont smiled ; but then, being a 
 mother who was always on the watch to 
 slide in a good thought, she told him that 
 his idea at one time used very nearly to be 
 true ; that in the old time holy men used to 
 sleep very near the church, and almost 
 make the church their home ; and that little 
 boys were brought up living close to the 
 church, having their business to light the 
 candles, and take care of the things used in 
 the various services. 
 
 "Like Samuel?" Oliver said, with in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Yes, my dear boy," his mother said, in 
 a pleased voice ; adding, " And how should 
 you like such a life, Oliver ?" 
 
 " Not much, mamma. I am afraid I 
 should very soon be tired of living in a 
 church."
 
 72 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Is there anything that would tire you 
 less ?" Mrs. Beaumont quite hated herself 
 for thus endeavouring to surprise him into 
 an expression of a wish, but the words arose, 
 and she spoke them. 
 
 *' Well, mamma, talking and laughing — I 
 don't think I shall ever be tired of that." 
 
 When Mrs. Beaumont repeated to her 
 husband this, not tame, perhaps, but impo- 
 tent conclusion to her endeavours to make 
 something out of Oliver, Mr. Beaumont 
 cried, " Oh, the rascal !" and laughed so 
 loudly and so long, that the mother felt 
 assured that, for a time, at least, she and 
 Oliver would be left in peace. 
 
 When he was past thirteen, he was sent 
 to the public school at Shrewsbury. The 
 night before he went, his father spoke to 
 him seriously. This was rarely the case ; 
 he left all that to his mother. When he 
 wished him good night, he said, 
 
 " Now I have a word to say, Oliver ; I 
 am sending you to a good school, and we
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 73 
 
 are putting ourselves to expense to do it. 
 You must make the most of your time. 
 The little fellows " (there were young twins) 
 " will be growing up some day, and you 
 must get on well before them." 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa I" Oliver felt slightly 
 offended ; he was eight years older than the 
 twins. 
 
 " Yes ; but I say, Oliver, you must look 
 sharp. There's a future coming, and you 
 must make yourself fit for it." 
 
 '' Yes, papa." 
 
 " Yes, yes — but yes, papa, is not enough. 
 There's many a boy who is making his way 
 in the world at your age. I don't want 
 that ; but you must begin to be thinking — 
 you must look sharp, Mr. Oliver. Do you 
 hear what I say?" 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 The extreme vagueness of this conversa- 
 tion caused it to leave no impression what- 
 ever on Oliver's mind. Mr. Beaumont 
 thought he had spoken w^ell, because he
 
 74 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 spoke authoritatively ; and Mrs. Beaumont 
 thought the same ; but as Oliver always 
 intended to look sharp, and grow up before 
 his brothers, he felt in no degree affected 
 by the discourse. 
 
 He went on at Shrewsbury just as he had 
 done at the Gram mar-School — merry and 
 popular ; often in little scrapes, but never in 
 great ones ; doing well enough, but never 
 very well ; and in the holidays he was the 
 same — always busy about some boyish 
 amusement, so that, although she watched 
 and watched, Mrs. Beaumont could never 
 surprise him into a serious talk ; and on the 
 occasions when she did instruct him seriously 
 in religious knowledge, seeming so childish, 
 so joyous, so impassive, that it was out of 
 place to bring in reflections upon an earthly 
 future. 
 
 At the end of rather more than a year, 
 when he was approaching fifteen, Mr. Beau- 
 mont observed, 
 
 ^' I say, Marion, something must be done.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 75 
 
 Oliver must begin to think of something. 
 
 Suppose you write to Mr. , and ask him 
 
 to be so good as to give us his views on 
 Oliver's character. We must look sharp, I 
 say." 
 
 In obedience to her husband, ^Irs. Beau- 
 mont wrote to the head-master. It was a 
 maternal letter, entering fully into her 
 anxieties about Oliver, expressing the wish 
 of his parents that he should choose a pro- 
 fession, and asking advice on the subject. 
 The head-master had many such letters ; but 
 he was a kind man, and although his 
 answers might not be always satisfactory, he 
 answered them all. His letter to Mrs. Beau- 
 mont was not long, but it was so far satis- 
 factory that it expressed an opinion. He 
 said Oliver was a well-conducted boy, with 
 good abilities, but so very young for his 
 age that it was almost as difficult to say 
 for what he was fit as if he was ten years 
 old. In his opinion it was better to leave 
 him at school, where he was doing well, and
 
 76 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 to let his future destiny alone for the pre- 
 sent. "I am no fjreat lover," he said in 
 conclusion, " of precocious boys ; and though 
 I own that your son is singularly boyish, I 
 might say childish, for his age, I have not 
 found that such characters are less useful in 
 the world, when the childish things are once 
 left behind." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont was tolerably satisfied 
 with the letter. She was accustomed to 
 lean on the opinions of others — more espe- 
 cially on the opinions of those who spoke 
 hopefully regarding Oliver ; and she thought 
 the head-master must know what was best. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont was not so well satisfied. 
 He was beginning to be very anxious on 
 the point, and to feel thwarted. He was 
 not often cross, but he was very near being 
 cross when the letter came. 
 
 *'It's all very well, Marion," he said, 
 " but the man don't know what we know. 
 Leave the future alone with all my heart, if 
 you can — but there's the row ; — we can't."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 77 
 
 " We can for the present," she said. " He 
 means that Oliver will choose more wisely 
 in a year or two." 
 
 " Hang the wisdom ! — we don't want it. 
 But I wash my hands of it," and he made a 
 violent demonstration with his arms. " You 
 must undertake it, Marion. I leave it to 
 you. He's your son, and you are his 
 mother." 
 
 In her heart Mrs. Beaumont was more 
 anxious than her husband. A woman in 
 such a case is sure to be so. The older 
 Oliver grew — the nearer came the hope — the 
 more did it possess itself of her mind. But 
 though she could not help the anxiety, she 
 had determined it should not govern her, 
 and she now replied, 
 
 "' Well, leave it to me for a year or two. 
 Oliver is not much more of a man than 
 Robin is at this moment ; but it will soon be 
 different. We have asked advice — let us 
 take it." 
 
 Mr. Beaumont made no answer ; but he
 
 78 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 accepted the principle of the last words, and, 
 glad to put the responsibility back into the 
 hands from which he had for a short time 
 taken it, went off to his bullocks.
 
 79 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 rriHERE came to Shrewsbury School a 
 -^ boy who took a great fancy to Oliver 
 Beaumont. His name was Frank Vaughan. 
 Frank Vaughan was two years younger than 
 Oliver, but more than his equal in attain- 
 ments. He was a clever boy, and a steady, 
 persevering boy ; and though originally 
 placed in a form below OHver, he had, after 
 one half, been placed with him, and was at 
 the top of the class, while Oliver was nearer 
 the bottom. But fancies are not always 
 guided by intellectual attainments, nor even 
 by similar tastes, and Frank Vaughan looked 
 up to Oliver with sincere admiration. What 
 he admired it would be hard to say, for
 
 80 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 admiration was a very large word to use 
 towards a character like Olivers, but the 
 word was true. Frank loved him with a 
 boy's ardent love, and admired him, though 
 perhaps he could not himself have told why. 
 
 They had made acquaintance during the 
 half when Frank was in a different form, 
 and the mutual fancy had been felt. In the 
 next half the fancy became a warm friend- 
 ship. It was over the fire in the Winter 
 nights that the friendship was firmly com- 
 pounded and cemented ; and when Easter 
 drew near, Frank one day said, 
 
 " I wish you would go home with me for 
 the holidays. It would be so jolly !" 
 
 " I should like it, of all things," Oliver 
 said ; " but how would your father like it ? 
 Have you asked him ?" 
 
 " Not yet, because I only thought of it 
 this morning. I shall, of course — but I 
 know he will like it. My father is not at all 
 that sort of person." 
 
 " But, I saj^, Vaughan," and Oliver looked
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 81 
 
 thoughtful, " I thought you told me your 
 father was poor." 
 
 " I know I did — that is why I work so 
 hard. I know it is all he can do to send 
 me here, and I should not be worth two- 
 pence if I did not do my best." 
 
 "My father is not rich," Oliver said ; 
 " but not quite that, perhaps — and, be- 
 sides " 
 
 This was an enigmatical speech addressed 
 to a little prick of conscience, and Frank 
 Vaughan took no notice of it. He only re- 
 plied, 
 
 '^ Say yes, Beaumont." 
 
 " What I was going to say," Oliver began 
 again, " is that I am rather an awful kind of 
 person to have in the way of appetite. My 
 mother says she would rather have a troop 
 of dragoons to a leg of mutton than me." 
 
 " My father won't mind," Frank said, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! but I mean what I say. She says 
 she is sure, if Snowdon was made of plum- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 pudding, that I could eat it all on a Sun- 
 day." 
 
 *' I don't think we often have plum-pud- 
 ding, but I am sure we will, if you like it, 
 and the more you eat the better." 
 
 " We don't always have it either, but it is 
 all the same. If Snowdon was Stilton cheese, 
 I should eat it." 
 
 '^ And I am sure my father would say 
 you were welcome to eat it ; he likes people 
 to enjoy themselves, and we all have great 
 appetites. Come, Beaumont, don't talk 
 nonsense — do come." 
 
 "Well, if you really think he won't mind 
 having a person like the giant in * Jack and 
 the Beanstalk,' I will write and ask home, 
 and you had better do the same." 
 
 Both answers were favourable. Mrs. 
 Beaumont, though sorry to lose her son's 
 company, was always glad that he should 
 see something besides the bullocks of his 
 own home, and this was not an easy thing 
 to manapre. She ^eive a willinsj consent.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 83 
 
 Frank's letter was from his sister. She 
 said her father would be very glad to see 
 " a fellow " — the words were quoted from 
 Frank — and more particularly glad to see 
 Oliver Beaumont, as he found he was a 
 sort of cousin. He hoped Frank would say 
 how very welcome he would be. 
 
 " You see, Beaumont," Frank said, giving 
 him the letter. " But how do you come to 
 be a cousin ? That's news !" 
 
 "And much more than I can explain. 
 Somehow I never studied my genealogical 
 tree. I wonder where your father found it 
 out ?" 
 
 '' I don't know. I don't know my tree 
 either. That letter is from my sister." 
 
 *' So I see — Rosamond." 
 
 " She is such a jolly girl ! 1 think you 
 will like her." 
 
 Oliver was a little scared at the word. 
 His quiet, pensive mother and shy sister 
 Dorothy had formed his ideal of woman- 
 kind, and he held a jolly girl — for he had 
 
 G 2
 
 84 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 seen such — in profound abhorrence. For a 
 moment he made no reply; then, thinking it 
 was better to forewarn, he observed, 
 
 *' I don't like jolly girls in general." 
 
 "I think you will like her. She is 
 really, though she is my sister, so out-and- 
 out jolly." 
 
 Internally, Oliver shuddered ; but having 
 made known his opinion once, he thought 
 it unnecessary to say anything further on 
 the subject. He made, however, a few 
 other inquiries regarding Frank's family, 
 wishing to make himself at home, more or 
 less, before his arrival among them. 
 
 Mr. Vaughan was still the Rector of the 
 parish on the borders of Herefordshire and 
 Wales. His circumstances were unchanged, 
 with the great exception that his wife was 
 dead. She had died four years before the 
 present date of the story. Mr. Vaughan 
 had £600 a year — £200 a year of private 
 income, and £400 from his living. On this 
 he was, in the eyes of those about him,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 85 
 
 ^' passing rich," for he did a great deal with 
 it. 
 
 There is a cant phrase of this day that 
 speaks of Nature's noblemen. Mr. Vaughan 
 was one. A lover of order and beauty, a 
 lover of liberality and hospitality, an ardent 
 lover of charity ; not an enthusiast, for he 
 had good sense and good taste, and rock- 
 like principles, controlling every act and 
 mood, but born with a hand and heart open 
 as day to melting charity — to that large 
 charity which embraces rich and poor, mind 
 and bodies, the silent and the crying wants 
 of human nature. 
 
 With these tastes he had married. As a 
 young curate with £200 a year of private 
 income he had been rich. But he fell in 
 love while still a young curate, and married ; 
 married, as such men usually do, where there 
 is no dowry, and left riches behind him for 
 ever. 
 
 His wife was beautiful, and as like himself 
 as could well be, but she had nothing but her
 
 86 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 intrinsic merit to bestow upon him. The 
 two young people — he was twenty-five and 
 she was nineteen — looked the future in the 
 face steadily and calmly; not with the eye 
 of romance, which supposes that love will 
 support under all trials if cares should arise, 
 but with the eye of wisdom, which knows 
 that an income of £300 a year must produce 
 cares of poverty, and that although love will 
 support, love will also add trials all its own. 
 
 They looked it in the face, and decided 
 that to be bound together was worth every 
 care and every sacrifice that poverty could 
 bring. 
 
 They married, and began life on the lowest 
 possible scale, living in lodgings without any 
 servant ; but on a scale which, though devoid 
 of ambitious views, was not devoid of beauty 
 and charity. Mr. Vaughan could not live 
 without bestowing ; in his plan of life a 
 bestowing was calculated on as necessary, 
 and his wife was like him. Charity, large 
 for their means, was made a part of their
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 87 
 
 daily life, and for this charity there was suf- 
 ficient. Mr. Vaughan was also a man who 
 could not live without order, neatness, and 
 beauty — the beauty that comes from neatness 
 and order ; and his wife was like him. What 
 they had, lowly and humble as its scale 
 might be, was perfect in its kind. 
 
 Even when, in four years, two children 
 came, there was no great change in this 
 respect. There was more self-denial, there 
 was more care, there was more planning ; 
 but the same peace and charity and order 
 and beauty still characterized their home. 
 There followed a short sad time, when Mrs. 
 Vaughan began to lose her health. The 
 cares which had been delights became pains. 
 She struggled bravely, but man's body, 
 though it will do much at the command of 
 man's mind, will not do all things. Courage 
 and energy can do much, but for his good 
 man must know that he is dust, and there 
 are times when the frail body will not obey 
 the will. That time came to Mrs. Vaughan.
 
 bb OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 She had not strength to put a crooked thing 
 straight, to fill a glass with flowers, to see 
 hat the humble dinner was proudly served. 
 She was not stricken down, but she was in- 
 capable of exertion, and the change was 
 sadly and bitterly felt. 
 
 But both husband and wife did what they 
 could. They submitted, and submitted with 
 cheerful submission ; and that cheerful 
 submission bore them through. Something 
 of order and beauty vanished ; some deeper 
 cares of poverty were felt, but peace and 
 hope remained in their minds and in their 
 home, and that peace brought a holier 
 beauty to the abode than before. 
 
 The time was short ; for suddenly and un- 
 expectedly, while his wife was still passing 
 her sad day in prostrate weakness, a beam 
 of sunshine fell. A gentleman who had a 
 livinoj vacant, met Mr. Vausrhan at some 
 public meeting, sat near him, made his 
 acquaintance, was struck by the singular 
 mixture of ardour and quietness, of enthu-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 89 
 
 siasm and sense, which characterized him, 
 and the very day after his acquaintance 
 offered him the living on the borders of 
 Herefordshire and Wales, where he now 
 resided. 
 
 Thither they removed, and there they led 
 a happy life for several years. Mrs. Vaugh- 
 an never regained her early strength — there 
 was the drawback ; but when she saw that 
 weak health was to be her fate in life, she 
 contemplated the fact, and arranged accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 The plans which had guided their first 
 outset in life guided them still. Self- 
 denial and carefulness in the plan of 
 living ; but order and beauty in what that 
 plan allowed. A tenth set apart for 
 charity, as sacredly as if it was a divine 
 ordinance, and as much liberality and 
 charity besides as two willing hearts could 
 give. From the first year of their marriage, 
 a small sum had been put away for educa- 
 tion ; and this rule —though it was a larger
 
 90 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 or smaller sum, according to circumstances 
 — was never infringed. But with this ex- 
 ception, the income received was cheerfully 
 spent ; and a large trust in God was exer- 
 cised regarding the future. 
 
 After the removal to Glenowen, one other 
 child only was born, and of the three child- 
 ren two were girls. This made the plan of 
 life easier than it would have been with a 
 large family; and although the health of 
 Mrs. Vaughan was a source of expense, her 
 mental qualities, and her cheerful abstinence 
 from pleasures and luxuries that some might 
 have thought necessary, counterbalanced 
 this trouble. Her husband, indeed — a man 
 who would have sacrificed a finger to save a 
 stranger's pain — grieved inwardly over the 
 self-denials she was forced to exercise ; but 
 luckily he did not fully know what they 
 were. A man, strong and healthy, has no 
 power to feel like an invalid woman ; and 
 she took care that he should never know 
 the vain longings for change of air and
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 91 
 
 scene, and luxuries beyond their means, 
 which at times possessed her. 
 
 In briglitness, order, peace, and joy, the 
 children grew up in their quiet home, until 
 Rosamond, the eldest, was twelve years old. 
 When she was twelve years old, her mother 
 suddenly faded and died. It had been the 
 prayer of Mrs. Vaughan's life that she might 
 live until Rosamond was fit to take her 
 place, and that when she died, her death, 
 not for her own sake, but for the sake of 
 that home which she had so loved to keep 
 orderly and bright, might be peaceful and 
 calm. 
 
 Both prayers were granted — Rosamond 
 was fit to follow her steps ; and her illness 
 lasted but for a week. Beyond the fact 
 that it was illness, and to be followed by 
 death, it was a painless and peaceful one. 
 She simply faded — her mind clear, her 
 spirit happy — day by day, till the frail thread 
 snapped, and she dropped asleep. 
 
 One day — a day or two before her death
 
 92 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 — she spoke to Rosamond about her hus- 
 band. She did not suffer his welfare to be 
 a care, but she made provision for him as 
 she could. 
 
 " Do not grieve for me overmuch," she 
 said. " Remember that I have had a happy 
 life, and that now I go with hope and trust 
 to Him who has led me all my life-long. I 
 know you will miss me, and I would stay 
 with you all if I might ; but as I must not, 
 I know it is best so ; and I leave you, with 
 hope and thankfulness, in His hands." 
 
 Rosamond did not answer. It was the 
 approach of her first grief, and though she 
 did not in the least realize what was about 
 to happen, what it would be to be without 
 her mother, there was the horror of a great 
 dread upon her. She was scared more than 
 sorrowful ; her nerves were frozen rather 
 than shaken. She gazed with a look that 
 spoke, and yet knew not what it said. Her 
 mother understood it, however, and waiting 
 a moment for some sound of reply,went on ;
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 93 
 
 " I know you will miss me, my darling 
 child. I do not wish you not to do so, nor 
 ask you not to do so. We have all been 
 very happy together, and now, for a time, 
 that happiness will be disturbed. The happy 
 past is gone. Thank God that it was so 
 happy ! But now, dearest, a new life will 
 begin ; and I wish it to be happy also — 
 God grant it may be so ! " 
 
 Still Rosamond did not speak. Her 
 mother's words were, as has been a phrase 
 since Shakespere's time, " Greek to her." 
 She could not put herself forward into the 
 time to come, or understand what it was 
 her mother said. Yet Rosamond was a 
 girl whose mind and character were beyond 
 her years. It was excess of thought and 
 feeling that made her now stupid and dumb. 
 
 Her mother looked into her eyes, which 
 were fixed on her with a piteous gaze, and 
 gently touched her hand. The touch of 
 those thin, wan fingers pressing upon her 
 startled Rosamond. She sprang up.
 
 94 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 '' What is it, mamma ?" 
 
 ** Nothing, darling. Sit down again, I 
 have more to say ; but I want your mind, 
 Rosamond — I want to speak to you of your 
 father. When I am gone, you must be to 
 him wife and child both. Do you under- 
 stand ?" 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" and Rosamond shivered. 
 A gleam of light, of dreary light, fell on the 
 future, and she shrank from it. But Mrs. 
 Vaughan saw that understanding was coming 
 to her. 
 
 " What I mean to say, my dearest, is this : 
 Happiness is in the hands of God. He 
 may please to withhold it altogether; but 
 much more is in our power than we think. 
 Often God blesses, and man makes misery. 
 It has been the joy of my life to make 
 others happy, as far as in ray power lay, 
 and, above all, to make your father happy. 
 He could not live — I do not think he could 
 live in a gloomy home. I do not know how 
 it would be " She paused, and her
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 95 
 
 eyes gazed vacantly and wistfully before 
 her ; then she recollected herself, and said, 
 " I do not know how it would be ; it is not 
 for me to think ; but I do not think he 
 could be what he is, if all was not bright 
 and orderly and peaceful about him. Hap- 
 piness is not in our hands, but peace is. Do 
 you at all understand nie, Rosamond ?" she 
 said, pausing abruptly, and with a gasp. 
 
 She had spoken rapidly, almost volubly, 
 on a subject that lay near her heart, but it 
 had exhausted her ; her cheek became more 
 wan, and her eyes fixed for a moment. 
 
 Suddenly Rosamond saw and felt all that 
 was coming upon her. There are many 
 definite moments of conversion and change, 
 and this moment converted the child into a 
 woman. She had hitherto been cared for 
 and cherished by her mother ; suddenly she 
 became as a mother to her mother. Softly 
 and calmly she stooped over her, and kissed 
 her, saying, 
 
 " I think I do understand. Do not speak
 
 96 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 more, mamma ; I will think of it all, and I 
 will try to be as like you as ever I can." 
 
 The livid shade passed from Mrs. Vaugh- 
 an's face, and she looked up at her daughter 
 and smiled. It was not the words that 
 affected her and gave her a sense of peace ; 
 it was the change in Rosamond. She felt 
 her protecting power in every sensitive fibre 
 of her failing body, and yielded to it. She 
 knew that, as far as in her lay, Rosamond 
 was to be trusted with the care of the loved 
 home she had to leave. She laid her hand 
 on hers, and presently said, 
 
 *' I have written down, at many times, 
 looking to this hour, bits of advice. You 
 will find them in my work-box. Do not 
 look for them now, for they will make you 
 smile. They are little things — homely 
 things ; but life is made of little things, and 
 they are the small joys, dearest, that make a 
 happy life." 
 
 There was not much more said, for Mrs. 
 Vaughan, feeling that this blessing had been
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 97 
 
 added — that her daughter understood her 
 — rolled this care also from her mind, and 
 breathed her last in perfect peace. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 98 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 TTTHEN Oliver Beaumont first saw Rosa- 
 ^ * mond Vaughan, he was a boy of 
 
 fifteen — the most boyish, not to say childish, 
 of boys. When Rosamond first saw Oliver, 
 she was a girl of past sixteen — a girl more 
 mature in mind and manner than most 
 women of twenty-five. Between the two 
 there was an enormous gulf. 
 
 Rosamond Vaughan was a singular per- 
 son — singular in this, that she had so many 
 gifts and so many charms, and that there 
 was so little to counterbalance the charm. 
 It was impossible not to feel that she was 
 that much-disliked thing — a superior being ; 
 it was difficult not to feel that her amiable 
 character approached towards that much- 
 
 i
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 99 
 
 dreaded word, perfection ; yet the sensation 
 produced was one that was altogether 
 soothing and charming, and not at all over- 
 powering. 
 
 She was singular also in another point. 
 She had as much work on her hands as an 
 emperor, and yet she never seemed over- 
 busy — had always leisure for the concerns 
 of others, however small. 
 
 She was most singular of all perhaps in 
 the fact that nothing seemed small in her 
 eyes. Perhaps her mother'swords, "They are 
 the small joys that make a happy life," had 
 eaten themselves into her soul ; for she 
 would give as much zeal and heart to the 
 making of a good cake for her sister's birth- 
 day as to the sending out of a missionary. 
 Not that she had anything to do with mis- 
 sionaries, or that, if she had, there was any 
 want of perception in her mind of the differ- 
 ence between converting a heathen man 
 and making a child for an hour happy ; but 
 only that in its place and degree one was as
 
 100 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 important as the other — not one small and 
 the other large, but both in their place equal. 
 Rosamond Vaughan's business was great. 
 It was all confined to one small parish and 
 one small home ; yet her works were many. 
 Her first duty was the care of the house. 
 To arrange all things with economy, and 
 yet with that neatness and order and beauty 
 and liberality which had been so dear to her 
 mother's heart. To do this requires exceed- 
 incr thouorht and care. Some do not think 
 it worth the trouble. The Yaughans thought 
 otherwise. Her second duty was the edu- 
 cation of her sister. Laura was nine years 
 old ; and with the help of her father, and 
 of occasional persons sought out and found 
 by careful watching, Rosamond was her 
 governess. But the education of her sister 
 assisted Rosamond in her third duty to her- 
 self. Her principles could not allow her 
 brain to lie fallow ; nor could she, with a 
 quiet conscience, neglect the intellectual 
 gifts that were in her. For heart and mind 
 
 1
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 101 
 
 and soul she was always striving after per- 
 fection, and could not be content to neglect 
 the talents that had been entrusted to her 
 care. 
 
 Her duties to her father and brother were 
 more simple. They consisted in dutiful 
 love and reverend sympathy to the one, 
 and love and hearty sympathy to the other. 
 Her father consulted her in all points ; and 
 Frank called her a jolly girl, because no 
 concern of his, whether of sport or stud}^, 
 failed to awake her whole interest. 
 
 Besides the cares of home, there were the 
 cares of the parish. She put her home 
 first — that was where she was placed, and 
 her first duty was there. But on her hands 
 also lay all tlie joys and sorrows of those 
 around her. She was the friend of the 
 prosperous ; the consoler and visitor of the 
 sick ; a ,kind of young mother to all the 
 boys and girls of the place ; encouraging by 
 a smile of praise, controlling by a sad grave 
 look. She was the principal dispenser of
 
 102 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 her father's large and wise charity. This 
 was a charity not entirely confined to his 
 own parish, but which strove to bring his 
 parish into connexion with the world, as 
 occasion occurred, stirring up his people and 
 himself to make an offering to a world's 
 needs. 
 
 On Rosamond, also, lay not entirely, but 
 in a great degree, the musical instruction of 
 the children who formed the choir. Mr. 
 Vaughan had great taste, and even in his 
 earliest curacy had endeavoured to raise the 
 tone of the services in which he took part. 
 As time went on, his views and taste im- 
 proved, and the public worship of his parish 
 was conducted with the order, and beauty, 
 and reverence which belongs, where it is 
 possible to have it, to sacred things. But 
 he had no musical knowledge — that is to 
 say, he had not had it, and found it at his 
 date of life uphill work. He procured the 
 occasional assistance of a good organist, who 
 came from a distance, to instruct Rosamond,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMQNT. 103 
 
 to instruct the choir, and to endeavour to 
 instruct a young schoohnaster ; but on Rosa- 
 mond fell the government of the whole — 
 she had the responsibility. It was on her 
 that the sympathising eyes of the whole 
 congregation turned if there was a failure. 
 
 Nor were these all Rosamond's duties. 
 Among the homely bits of advice left by 
 her mother had been two special charges. 
 The one was, by a careful culture of the 
 garden, to have flowers constantly on the 
 tables ; and the other was that she and her 
 sister should always be neatly dressed. The 
 care of the garden had been one very dear 
 to Mrs. Vaughan. She looked at it, as, in- 
 deed, she did all things, religiously ; she 
 said the beauty of flowers was a gift of God, 
 which reason and philosophy would not have 
 supposed necessary. The trees might have 
 had leaves for shelter, and fruit for man's 
 use, without tha'i radiant glory and beauty 
 which flowers give to the world. She said 
 they were such a visible emblem of the
 
 104 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 goodness of God that she could hardly un- 
 derstand a despairing soul considering them 
 and retaining his despair. It was from 
 them she drew all those lessons regarding 
 the duty of neatness, and order, and refine- 
 ment, and cheerfulness which made a por- 
 tion of her relimon. 
 
 In her early days she had herself worked, 
 even toiled, in her garden. She had done, 
 as it is related that Queen Charlotte had 
 done in her girlhood — she had devoted it 
 to the poor. She had had little money to 
 give, but she had worked hard, and with 
 her vegetables and flowers had gladdened 
 many an invalid's heart. After her mar- 
 riage, other cares and failing health had 
 prevented this employment ; but when the 
 new home, where there was an excellent 
 garden, was made, she began to instil her 
 own peculiar thoughts into those about her. 
 
 Rosamond had never ta'iJen much to the 
 garden-work. To see the flowers was a de- 
 light ; to help others in working or arranging
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 105 
 
 was a pleasure ; but her natural taste did not 
 lead her to a garden, and as a child she 
 had never wished to have one. It was 
 otherwise with her father and the younger 
 ones. Mr. Vaughan, and Frank, and Laura 
 worked, not like amateurs, but with real 
 labour — with minds and bodies assisting the 
 man who assisted them. 
 
 Frank and Laura had large portions 
 allotted to them, and they managed their 
 allotments as the villagers managed theirs 
 — indeed, with the success usually attending 
 young gardeners, even more successfully. 
 They were often the first in the neighbour- 
 hood with their peas and potatoes, and sent 
 their produce to market, as others did. 
 Half their gains were set apart for charity, 
 the other half they retained, not for them- 
 selves, for they inherited the liberal disposi- 
 tion of their parents, but for the wants of 
 the passing hour. While Frank was at 
 school, Laura, with the assistance of some 
 favoured, boy from the choir, managed his
 
 106 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 garden. When he came home, he worked 
 for himself, and for her, and his father, and 
 often for the villagers also ; he was strong 
 and expert, and an hour from Mr. Frank 
 was looked on as a great boon by the women 
 and children around. 
 
 After her mother's death, Rosamond gave 
 her attention to the garden as a duty. The 
 attention of her mind, not of her body ; for 
 though healthy she was not strong, and the 
 manual labour, which was a delight to the 
 others, tired her. But she learned the times 
 and seasons for flowers, the simple rules for 
 successful culture, and, by a little attention, 
 the plants most fitted to the soil. It 
 flourished as much under her care as under 
 her mother's, and there were few times in 
 the year when the vases and flower-pots 
 were empty. 
 
 The other charge regarding dress was 
 more to Rosamond's taste. It might have 
 been too much so. She had an aunt, a 
 widow-lady, whose mind had been early
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 107 
 
 saddened, who failed to take that cheerful 
 view of life and godliness which charac- 
 terized her brother's family. This aunt 
 occasionall}' visited at Glenowen, and the 
 neatness and prettiness of the establishment, 
 and especially of Rosamond's dress, was a 
 bitter pang to her. She did penance for it 
 with many secret tears. Many pieces of 
 advice she gave to Rosamond on the subject, 
 and althouofh she could not bring: her over 
 to her views, her advice was useful to her 
 niece. It made her watchful — it set her on 
 her guard ; it perhaps prevented the touch 
 of evil on thoughts that were in their origin 
 altogether good. 
 
 But, in truth, although the care of her 
 own and her sister's dress took a good deal 
 of time, and although the anxiety to have 
 it always neat, and as pretty as circum- 
 stances permitted, took a little thought, the 
 ceaseless self-denial required by the opposi- 
 tion of Rosamond's taste to her principles 
 and circumstances, gave her a practical help
 
 108 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 in disciplining herself which was very valu- 
 able. In her father and mother the love of 
 beauty had been developed only in its 
 simplest forms ; but the taste of Rosamond 
 seemed to have been born cultivated. In art, 
 in architecture, in music, in dress, in whatso- 
 ever requires knowledge, as well as love, 
 she seemed to be born with it ; born with 
 the knowledge as well as the love. Although, 
 therefore, she lived happily and contentedly 
 in her quiet home, it was the contentment of 
 a sweet disposition and a resolved will, not 
 the contentment of satisfaction. She longed 
 to adorn her father's church ; she longed for 
 the rich harmonies she heard in her dreams, 
 to be floating about it ; she longed for money 
 to carry out the aspiring thoughts and 
 visions she had. In a degree, also, she 
 longed for more of art and beauty in her 
 home, and though perhaps it will be thought 
 a touch of weakness in her character, she 
 sometimes longed for more of beauty in her 
 dress.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 109 
 
 But she had the care of her father's 
 money, and she was the dispenser of his 
 charities, and not her rigid aunt herself 
 could have excluded more rigidly every 
 thought of self-indulgence than Rosamond 
 did from her mind. 
 
 Some characters best introduce them- 
 selves — some can be described in two words ; 
 but some seem to require an introduction, 
 and it has been so with Rosamond Vaughan. 
 And there is one thing more to be said 
 about her, as it is of importance in the story. 
 She was a dreamer — she had dreams, espe- 
 cially one dream of charity, so strong and so 
 defined that, in a less sensible person, it 
 might have been supposed to show a dis- 
 turbance in the intellect. 
 
 When a very little girl, she saw her father 
 and mother watch over a child, a cripple. 
 He did not belong to her father's parish, but 
 the melancholy nature of the case had excited 
 his attention. The family was large, and the 
 family was poor, and this one child, maimed
 
 110 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 in limbs and delicate in health, was tossed 
 about among the various members. Not 
 without love, but without the care and 
 gentleness he so greatly needed. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan had been deeply touched 
 with the case, and often spoke of it before 
 her little girl, encouraging the child to give 
 up her toys for the boy's sake. 
 
 *' Oh, mamma," Rosamond said one day, 
 when she was eight years old, " if ever I 
 am rich I shall build a home for little cripple 
 boys." 
 
 She spoke with her whole heart, and Mrs. 
 Yaughau, instead of saying as some would 
 have done, " I am afraid you will never be 
 rich enough for that," entered into the fancy 
 as a possible thing, though with a smile on 
 her face, and talked it over with her. 
 
 " I believe," she said in the course of 
 their talk, " that children do have con- 
 solations grown-up people do not have ; 
 they see Heaven more clearly, and trust 
 more in a Father's love. But still when I
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. Ill 
 
 see a child suffer, I feel more than at other 
 times what it was Adam brought into the 
 world, and what it was our Lord came down 
 to help." 
 
 She often spoke like this to the child, 
 whose earnest eyes drank in all she said ; on 
 this occasion her words became engraven on 
 Rosamond's soul. 
 
 During the years of happy childhood they 
 took root, but did not shoot. But after her 
 mother's death, Rosamond had many lonely 
 hours. Frank went to school ; Laura was 
 young ; her father was busy. As she sat at 
 work she dreamed dreams, not of castles of 
 happiness, but a particular castle of charity, 
 which, recurring again and again, became a 
 tangible occupant of her mind. 
 
 After a time, as she sat with her father, 
 she spoke to him of her plan. He, feeling 
 that it was good for a young mind to soar 
 out of the small sphere which it was destined 
 to inhabit, entered into the dreamy thought, 
 and directed her to studies which harmonized
 
 112 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 with the fancies that occupied her. And 
 thus it was she had a dream, a waking dream, 
 a tangible fancy, of which hereafter more will 
 be said. 
 
 She and Laura were standing in the 
 garden, awaiting the arrival of Frank and 
 Oliver. It was a fine, but not a Summer-like 
 Easter. Laura was a pretty little girl of 
 nine ; she had only the common prettiness of 
 a child — fresh colour, bright chestnut hair, 
 and blue eyes ; but though only a common 
 prettiness, it was striking from its sunny 
 glow. Rosamond was different. If Laura 
 was sunny, Rosamond had a kind of twilight 
 softness about her. Her skin was soft, the 
 colour in her cheeks was soft, her grey eyes 
 were large and soft and gentle ; her brown 
 hair, though with plenty of light and shade, 
 had a soft look — no touch of the chestnut 
 that was in Frank and Laura. Yet though 
 her beauty was all of this subdued and 
 gentle kind, her slight figure was dignified, 
 and her head was put on her shoulders with
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 113 
 
 that peculiar air that is called the look of a 
 Queen. It was the union of softness and 
 dignity that made her appearance so 
 peculiarly attractive. She and Laura were 
 dressed alike; gowns and jackets of a kind 
 of blue serge, with little straw hats orna- 
 mented with one blue bow. The gowns 
 had seen a good deal of wear, and had been 
 uncostly in the beginning; but they were 
 beautifully made by herself, and had been, 
 and were still, tasteful and becoming. 
 
 " What do you expect Beaumont to be 
 like ?" Laura asked, speaking of her brother's 
 friend, although a young gentleman of fif- 
 teen, in the familiar style with which young 
 ladies speak of their brother's friends. 
 
 *' I expect him to be unlike anything we 
 ever saw before," Rosamond replied, mys- 
 teriously. 
 
 " Do you indeed ? Why ?" and Laura 
 opened wide her eyes. 
 
 Rosamond smiled, then exclaimed, 
 
 *' Here they are !" as a trot was heard. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Mr. Vaughan did not keep a carriage. 
 An enterprising man in the village saved his 
 neighbours all such troubles by keeping 
 two vehicles which were called chays — one 
 open and one shut — and two strong little 
 ponies, which appeared to consider pace and 
 distance a matter of no importance, and 
 were equally docile with all drivers. Frank 
 was now rattling along with Oliver, and the 
 boxes of both, in the open chay. 
 
 He sprang out, and brought Oliver into 
 the garden to his sisters. 
 
 " Papa is obliged to be out," Rosamond 
 said to Oliver. " He was very sorry not to 
 be able to be at home to meet you." 
 
 She held out her hand to him, and it was 
 like the greeting of a princess to a child, so 
 stately, yet so courteous. Not from any 
 assumption on Rosamond's part, but because 
 of the enormous distance there chanced to 
 be between this girl of sixteen and the boy 
 a year younger.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 115 
 
 Oliver felt it, and blushed with the intense 
 blush of boyish shyness. He was not in 
 general shy. So beloved at home, so popu- 
 lar at school, the one who was always the 
 king of his company, Oliver had never 
 thought of being shy, nor ever yet had 
 thought of his manners. Nor indeed had he 
 much considered what he should meet at 
 Frank's home, beyond the fact that there 
 would be a jolly girl, whom he might per- 
 haps get on with, but never could like. But 
 suddenly he felt a demand upon his man- 
 ners, and a doubt whether he had any. He 
 blushed, and stammered, and said he was 
 sure he had not expected to see Mr. 
 Vaughan. 
 
 " But papa would have wished to meet 
 you," Rosamond said, " for he is so glad you 
 are come. He would be glad to see any 
 friend of Frank's ; but he is particularly 
 glad to have you here, because, you see, he 
 finds you are a real relation ; and we have 
 
 i2
 
 116 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 not very many. Did you know of this?" 
 
 "Yes," blushing and stammering still — 
 *' Vaughan told me." 
 
 " Do you call Frank, Vaughan ?" Rosa- 
 mond asked, laughing. She was sorry for 
 the boy, who seemed uneasy. 
 
 " Of course he does," Frank said, with a 
 little impatience, not quite liking to see 
 Oliver blush before his sisters; "just as I 
 call him Beaumont." 
 
 " But indeed you must not call him 
 Vaughan here," she continued, addressing 
 herself in the same kindly manner to Oliver. 
 " It would not do at all — it would sound so 
 stranger-like. You must call him Frank 
 here." 
 
 " I will," Oliver said, beginning to re- 
 cover himself, and feeling a desire to gratify 
 the beautiful young lady who stood before 
 him, " if you will call me Oliver." 
 
 " I certainly will, if you like it." 
 
 " I should like it particularly," said Oliver. 
 
 If he had been told the evening before
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 117 
 
 that he would " particularly like " a girl of 
 sixteen to call him Oliver, he would have 
 scoffed at the idea. But so it was now. 
 Rosamond Vaughan had cast a spell over 
 him. 
 
 As they w^alked in the garden, Rosamond 
 asked him if Frank had told him how it was 
 the fact of their relationship had been dis- 
 covered ? 
 
 '' I did not know," Frank replied. *' How 
 was it ?" 
 
 " A poor woman asked papa to try to get 
 the register of her baptism. He found she 
 belonged to the place where his grand- 
 mother lived, and where, though she did 
 not grow up, his mother was* born. It is 
 only thirty miles from here ; and you know, 
 Frank, papa has been always meaning to go, 
 and never finding the time. However, he 
 did go for this purpose, and there he found 
 your name," turning to Oliver. " On his 
 grandmother's tomb he saw that she was the 
 daughter of Oliver Beaumont, of Bloom-
 
 118 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 fields. When he came home, he asked for a 
 letter of Frank's, in which he had said a 
 good deal about you, and found that you 
 were Oliver Beaumont, of Bloomfields, also. 
 I daresay it is countrified," she added, 
 smiling, " to think about a distant relation- 
 ship ; but we have few relations." 
 
 *' Hardly any," observed Laura, ruefully, 
 speaking for the first time. It was a sub- 
 ject near her heart. She was very happy at 
 home ; but when she read stories about 
 large families, and multitudes of cousins, she 
 did wish to herself that in that respect her 
 lot had been different. 
 
 The melancholy tone made all laugh, and 
 Rosamond went on — 
 
 ** Yes, hardly any ; and so we were ex- 
 cited at the idea of a new cousin coming to 
 see us, however distant he might be." 
 
 '^How distant is it?" Oliver said. He 
 also liked the idea of being cousin to Rosa- 
 mond Vaughan. 
 
 " I believe in Scotland it would be called
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 119 
 
 very near," she replied, laughing. " In 
 Wales I suppose it has something to do 
 with uncles and aunts ; but whether you are 
 our great-great Welsh uncle, or we are your 
 great Welsh aunts, my brain has not been 
 able to calculate." 
 
 '* I think it is very odd we did not know 
 before," Oliver observed, becoming more at 
 his ease. '' My mother and father are very 
 busy, and almost always live at home ; I 
 suppose that is the reason." 
 
 ** And that has been the reason with us ; 
 and with us there was another reason, for 
 my great-grandmother died when papa's 
 mother was a baby, and she lived with some 
 relations of her father's. I don't think 
 anything was ever said or done to connect 
 her with the Beaumonts. I fancy," and she 
 turned her kindly, gracious smile on Oliver, 
 " that this is the first meeting of the fami- 
 lies that has taken place in a hundred years ; 
 and so no wonder papa was distressed that 
 he could not meet you."
 
 120 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 When Frank followed Oliver to his room 
 at night, he said, 
 
 *' How do you like thera ? She is a jolly 
 girl, isn't she ?" 
 
 " I should never think of using such a 
 word," Oliver said, with warmth. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't mean jolly in that sort of 
 way. I only mean jolly." 
 
 This first meeting of Oliver and Rosamond 
 Vaughan left an impression on his mind that 
 never was effaced. He had seen various types 
 of women, and had early chosen that quiet, 
 pensive type which his mother and sister re- 
 presented ; but hitherto he had never seen a 
 woman of the princess order — those fewer 
 and rarer specimens of human nature — and he 
 was dazzled by the one he now saw. There 
 came into his nature a totally new feeling — 
 the feeling that looks up, putting itself en- 
 tirely aside ; conscious of inferiority, yet ex- 
 alted rather than humiliated by the con- 
 sciousness. Perhaps adoration is the only 
 word that describes the kind of sensation ;
 
 OLIVEE BEAUMONT. 121 
 
 but the word would be too strong for any- 
 thing, at that time, in Oliver's nature. She 
 awed him in a degree, and made him think 
 of his manners, and his tidiness, and some 
 things that had hitherto taken care of them- 
 selves ; but it was a pleasure to be in her 
 presence. His eyes followed her ; his ears 
 waited to hear her speak.
 
 122 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A S soon as Easter was fully come, the 
 -*-^ Vaughan family devoted their energies 
 to amuse Oliver. Nor was it a difficult task. 
 There was a fine river in the neighbourhood, 
 and there were fine hills to clamber over, 
 and the two boys, with Laura occasionally 
 for a companion, amused themselves to their 
 heart's content. They returned home in 
 time to devote one or two hours to working 
 in the gardens, which at this moment re- 
 quired the care of all the owners, and Oliver 
 enjoyed this part of the day almost more 
 than all the rest. Laura, and sometimes 
 Mr. Vaughan, worked, but Rosamond only 
 sat by. Frank had made a kind of bower 
 for her, looking west, where, even in this
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 123 
 
 early time of the year, she might sit, pro- 
 tected from the cold winds, and catching 
 such sun as was to be had. There she had 
 often before sat and knitted while they 
 worked, and there she sat now ; and the 
 conversation was often merry, and if con- 
 versation flagged, there was music to en- 
 liven them. For Rosamond had had too 
 much practice in teaching the young villagers 
 not to be able to impart some knowledge 
 to her brother and sister, and the open-air 
 part-singing of the family was, for its humble 
 kind, very good. Oliver had a strong voice, 
 which promised some day to be a fine one, 
 and in the evenings Rosamond instructed 
 him to bear a part in their garden concerts. 
 His failures and his successes alike caused 
 merriment, and altogether Oliver enjoyed 
 his afternoons and evenings with all his 
 heart. There was something of heart in it 
 — a very boyish, but very true sentiment. 
 
 On this visit of Oliver's there is no need 
 to dwell. Only two conversations of any
 
 124 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 importance took place — one was with Mr. 
 Vaughan, and will be spoken of; the other 
 was with Rosamond. 
 
 Oliver was one morninor awaitinpj Frank, 
 who had some business on hand before they 
 set oif together on their excursion. He sat 
 in the drawing-room with Rosamond ; she 
 was occupied with a great book of accounts, 
 but with her pen in her hand, good-natured- 
 ly suspended her occupations to listen to 
 him. 
 
 Rosamond had not failed to see the boy- 
 ish sentiment of admiration she had excited, 
 and was infinitely amused by it. There was 
 something so uncommonly unsentimental, 
 so extremely like a schoolboy, in Oliver's 
 manner, and in his broad, good-tempered 
 face, that amusement could be the only 
 feeling excited. At the same time, the 
 heart of most people leap kindly back to 
 kindness, and she felt very kindly, in an 
 amused, motherly way, towards him. 
 
 " Oh ! you have got all Miss Edge worth's
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 125 
 
 books, I see," he said, passing his hand 
 along the backs of a row of well-bound 
 books in a little shelf near which he sat. 
 
 "Yes, almost all. Have you read any?" 
 
 ** All the Franks I have read. We have 
 not many books at home, but we have a 
 good many of hers ; mamma likes them." 
 
 " So does papa, very particularly, and so 
 do we all." 
 
 " I have often meant to ask. Were you 
 all named after Miss Edgeworth ? It is so 
 odd !" 
 
 " So it is," Rosamond said, smiling ; " but 
 it was not on purpose, except Frank. My 
 god-mother begged that I might be called 
 Rosamond ; then, when Frank was born, 
 papa said he would have a Frank also. 
 Laura again was named by her god-mother." 
 
 "I like Frank," Oliver observed. "I 
 don't like Rosamond." 
 
 "I am sorry for that. My poor name !" 
 
 " I did not mean that !" Oliver cried, 
 colouring up to his temples. "I like the
 
 126 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 name — I mean to say, if I did not I do now. 
 But what I meant was, that I like Frank 
 the boy — I mean the book — but I don't like 
 Rosamond." 
 
 *^ Rosamond the girl, or Rosamond the 
 book ? I like the stories about Rosamond. 
 Laura and I are reading one now — *The 
 Bracelet of Memory.' I wonder whether 
 you remember it ? We had a great deal of 
 discussion about it yesterday." 
 
 " I remember. Dorothy was reading it 
 one day, and I took the book out of her 
 hand and read it all, * Blind Kate ' and all. 
 I suppose you were talking about the three 
 choices Rosamond had ?" 
 
 *' Yes. Which should you have chosen ?" 
 
 '' Oh ! / should have chosen the money 
 for the horse, of course ; but you would not ?" 
 
 " Yes, I should. That was what I said 
 to Laura, and she was angry with me." 
 
 " But you are so fond of pretty things," 
 Oliver said, bending forward in his chair ; 
 " and I know you don't like riding."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 127 
 
 " But then, you know, I need not have 
 spent the money on the horse." 
 
 " But you are not fond of money ?" 
 
 " Fond of money !" Rosamond repeated, 
 and here she laid down her pen and looked 
 at Oliver. " Do you call it being fond of 
 money to like to have sixty pounds ?" 
 
 " But I mean to say, I should have thought 
 you were such a contented person that you 
 would not wish for money to spend ; and I 
 should have thought that you would like to 
 have a pretty thing." 
 
 He spoke in a kind of apologizing tone, 
 as if he was laying before Rosamond what 
 he thought of her, and his hope that he was 
 not going to be disappointed. 
 
 "I don't think I am very contented," 
 Rosamond replied ; " for I certainly should 
 like to have some money to spend; and, 
 though I like pretty things, I am very sure 
 I should think it dreadful waste to spend 
 sixty pounds on any ornament whatever. 
 When I read about ladies and their dia-
 
 128 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 monds, worth thousands and thousands," 
 she added, laughing, " it puts me into such 
 a state of frenzy, that I become quite a 
 Radical, which I am not in general, as you 
 know." 
 
 Though laughingly, she spoke so earnestly 
 that Oliver looked at her in some surprise. 
 The very few words she had said had made 
 a little change in the form of that ideal 
 princess he had been venerating. He did 
 not quite know what it was that upset him, 
 but he felt put out. 
 
 Rosamond took up her pen again, but 
 not to use it; her mind had gone from 
 Oliver himself to his question, " But you 
 are not fond of money ?" She was looking 
 into herself. 
 
 There was a silence, till Oliver, as if he 
 had arrived at a satisfactory conclusion, said, 
 
 " I suppose, like Rosamond, you want 
 the money for charity ?" 
 
 Rosamond looked up again ; she was sur- 
 prised at his persistency.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 129 
 
 " I certainly should like to have some 
 money for charity — thousands and thou- 
 sands ; for I have got some very large 
 plans ; only in my head," she explained, to 
 his wondering face. " But if this particular 
 sixty pounds were given me, I do not think 
 I should spend it all in charity — not unless 
 you insisted upon it," she added, smiling. 
 
 " I wonder what you would spend it on ? 
 I never should have thought you wished for 
 money ; I thought you were so very con- 
 tented." 
 
 *' I am afraid not, then," and she shook 
 her head. " I wish dreadfully." 
 
 " Do vou ? I wonder what vou wish for ?" 
 
 '' I will tell you one thing that I think I 
 should do with this sixty pounds — I should 
 make that window behind you into a glass 
 door." 
 
 Oliver looked round and stared, then 
 said, " But that is such a little thing. Why 
 don't you do it ?" 
 
 "Because, though a little thing, there 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 never is any money to do it with. You see, 
 it is a luxury. Papa would like it, and we 
 should all like it, but we can't say that we 
 don't do very well without it ; so then other 
 things have to be thought of first. Luxuries 
 ought only to come when there is really and 
 truly money to spare. I mean when we 
 have done all we ought to do with our 
 money. Don't you think so ?" 
 
 Oliver looked grave. He was beginning 
 to understand her a little better. 
 
 "And have you a great many wishes?" 
 he asked, bending forward again, for during 
 the conversation he was swinging himself on 
 a chair — no great blessing to the chair that 
 supported him. 
 
 " I am afraid I have. Is it wrong, do 
 you think ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no ; for I am sure they are all 
 good." 
 
 " Perhaps not very good," as if she was 
 bent on destroying any too favourable im- 
 pression in his mind. " I don't know what
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 131 
 
 you will say when I tell you that I wish 
 Laura and I could dress better than we do 
 — have prettier things, I mean." 
 
 " Oh ! but you look so very nice always ! 
 Don't wish that." 
 
 "Thank you," and she smiled. " Then I 
 won't wish much. I only confess that some- 
 times I do. Do you think it is wrong, being 
 discontented, or liking money, to have such 
 wishes ?" 
 
 " Not wrong ; because I am sure you 
 would not wish if it was. I was surprised, 
 because I thought you were so very con- 
 tented ; but now I think you must be some- 
 thing better than contented, because you 
 have the wishes, and never show them." 
 
 Oliver spoke out his flattering words as 
 simply as possible. He had no idea that he 
 made a princess of Rosamond, and that it 
 was a pleasure to him to offer up his 
 homage. 
 
 But Rosamond was touched. She even 
 blushed a little as she said, 
 
 k2
 
 132 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " You must not think so very well of me, 
 for I don't think I deserve it ; and it makes 
 me uncomfortable." 
 
 " I am sure I only say what I think. I 
 never saw anybody like you." 
 
 And there the conversation came to an 
 end, by Frank's bursting into the room. It 
 left a certain impression on both minds. 
 With Rosamond it was the conversation. 
 The question often and often returned, 
 " Was she fond of money ?" Was it to be 
 fond of money to wish, as she was conscious 
 of doing, for many things? She was only 
 sixteen, and the question only flitted about 
 her. She could not make any decision ; but 
 it .certainly kept a sort of guard over her. 
 
 On Oliver the impression made may besi 
 be stated in words which he once framed in 
 his mind, " If all that money comes to me 
 that poor Bun told me about, somehow or 
 other I will give a good lot to Miss Vaughan." 
 
 It may be mentioned here that Bun was 
 dead. She died when Oliver was ten. She
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 133 
 
 had never said any more on the subject of 
 their conference. At first the having told 
 what she had overheard had caused a pang 
 to her conscience, and this withheld her 
 from further mention of it. But as time 
 passed on, the pang had been effaced by 
 indignation. Every time that her mistress, 
 whether laughingly or seriously, alluded to 
 what Mr. Oliver would be, she felt a virtu- 
 ous sense of triumph in the consciousness 
 that she was no party to the deception. 
 
 And Oliver had asked no questions. For 
 the most part, he forgot the confidence 
 which interested him but little. He could 
 think of whether it would rain or be fine 
 the next day or week, but the great future 
 had hitherto been wrapped up in such ques- 
 tions as that. Until after that conversation 
 with Rosamond Vaughan, he had very sel- 
 dom consciously said " lots of money," nor 
 did he often think of such words now.
 
 134 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " T SAY, Marion," said Mr. Beaumont to 
 -■- his wife, '* that young man of yours 
 must learn to know his own mind — you 
 must look sharp, I say, and make him know 
 it. 
 
 It was the common habit of Mr. Beaumont 
 to ignore the relationship between himself 
 and his children — that is to say, to ignore it 
 on certain occasions. He was willing to be 
 a Summer-weather father, but if his children 
 were either ill or naughty, they were Mrs. 
 Beaumont's children. In all the anxieties 
 regarding Oliver's profession, he was his 
 mother's, not his father's son. 
 
 "It is certainly very vexing of Oliver," 
 replied Mrs. Beaumont, pathetically.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 135 
 
 " But don't stand his vexation — that's 
 what I mean. Tell your son he must look 
 sharp, and know his own mind — tell him 
 you won't stand his nonsense any longer." 
 
 " I don't think he means to have any 
 nonsense. Of course, poor boy, he cannot 
 know why we are anxious." 
 
 " No matter for that ; you want him to 
 decide, and that ought to be enough for 
 him." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be best if you were 
 to say a word to him yourself before he 
 goes back ; he would think more of your 
 words." 
 
 " No, no — no, no. I have no fault to 
 find with the boy ; he's doing well enough ; 
 but time slips on. You say he will be six- 
 teen in November? He must look sharp. 
 Tell him you insist upon knowing what he 
 means to do in life ; he must know his own 
 mind — that's all." 
 
 Mr. Beaumont spoke very emphatically. 
 If he had spoken for another hour, he
 
 136 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 would only have repeated the one phrase, 
 that Oliver must look sharp. Perhaps he 
 was aware of some poverty in his power of 
 speech, and, therefore, threw all his elo- 
 quence into his looks and emphasis. Mrs. 
 Beaumont saw how much he was in earnest, 
 and so, indeed, was she ; her anxiety equalled 
 his. 
 
 This conference took place just at the 
 close of the Summer holidays. Oliver had 
 not been at home at Easter ; he had passed 
 all the holidays with Frank. But he had 
 now been nearly seven weeks at home, and 
 yet during all that time Mrs. Beaumont had 
 never found the proper moment to speak to 
 him seriously. She had used the word 
 vexing, and that was what she felt ; yet she 
 had no reason to suppose that Oliver really 
 wished to batfle her or avoid her. Nor did 
 he do so ; he had, indeed, a boy's natural 
 indisposition to serious conversations, and 
 was apt to slip away if he saw one coming. 
 But if he had had the least idea that his
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 137 
 
 mother was anxious — really anxious — to 
 speak to him, he would have submitted. 
 
 During these Summer weeks he had never 
 been still. His amusements were very 
 simple ; so that there was amusement, and 
 it was out of doors, he did not much care 
 what the sport was. He was as happy in 
 teaching his little twin-brothers a kind of 
 infantine football as he was when seriously 
 occupied with his own cricket ; but he never 
 was still, and he had collected a series of 
 articles of dress so impervious to wet that 
 his mother exercised no kind of authority 
 regarding weather. 
 
 He had one day accompanied his father 
 when he went to speak to a neigh- 
 bouring squire on some matter connected 
 with the farm. The Squire, a good-natured 
 man, was taken with the boy's good-tem- 
 pered face, and invited him to attend him in 
 his shooting-parties. 
 
 "I don't ask you to shoot, young sir," 
 Mr. Fraser said, " because I have only just
 
 138 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 sport enough to amuse my own friends ; but 
 I have a lad of my own about your age, who 
 likes to come with us and see the fun ; and 
 you may do so if it would give you plea- 
 sure." 
 
 Some young gentlemen of the advanced 
 age of fifteen or sixteen would have called 
 this a flat proposal ; but to Oliver it was 
 welcome. He accepted it with hearty grati- 
 tude, and many long days from this time 
 forward was absent with his new friends. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont had seen the weeks slip- 
 ping by with despair ; and yet there were 
 moments which she might have used, had 
 she pleased ; which she sometimes reproach- 
 ed herself for not doing, and yet which 
 again and again she neglected to use. 
 
 These were the short half hours on Sun- 
 day when Oliver said his catechism. He 
 had not yet been confirmed, and being a boy 
 without any airs of manhood, he continued 
 to say his catechism with Dorothy — and 
 even with the little twins, who were begin-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 139 
 
 ning to learn it, without objection. On 
 these occasions, he was not only willing to 
 learn, but he was quiet and reverent ; and 
 when Mrs. Beaumont would detain him for 
 a few moments, to speak on the subject of 
 his confirmation, and all it would bring, he 
 sat to hear her with a docility that was 
 touching, from the contrast to his usual 
 habits. 
 
 On these occasions it need not have been 
 out of place to talk to him of the responsi- 
 bilities of his future life, and among them 
 to impress upon him that all men are bound 
 to work in some way or other. But feeling 
 what she did, Mrs. Beaumont could not 
 drag the subject on which she was anxious 
 into these most precious moments. Her 
 inner sense, her unconscious, not her con- 
 scious conscience, revolted from it. 
 
 So it was that the weeks flew by, and she 
 never said what she wished to say. 
 
 On this day, after her husband left her, 
 she sat in deep thought. She was not a
 
 140 OLIVER BE AMOUNT. 
 
 clever woman, nor a quick woman, nor had 
 she that gift most common to women — 
 fertility of resource ; and the earnestness 
 with which she endeavoured to frame her 
 words, with a strict res^ard to truth, ham- 
 pered her in her plans. Although there 
 was a certain degree of uncertainty in 
 Oliver's prospects, still she could not bring 
 herself to say to him that his father was not 
 rich, and must provide for all his children, 
 and that Oliver must try and do something 
 for himself. 
 
 After a long and perplexed musing, a 
 thought occurred to her, and she suddenly 
 put her head outside the door, and called 
 ^' Dorothy !" 
 
 Dorothy was in the garden, helping to 
 look after the twins, who were always in 
 mischief. But she rushed in at the call. 
 
 " Take off your bonnet, dear — I have 
 some work for you to do," said her mother ; 
 and they sat down together. 
 
 Dorothy was not much quicker in Intel-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 141 
 
 lect than her father or her mother ; but she 
 was a valuable little thing. Without any- 
 special tastes or fancies of her own, she 
 lived in the life of others — the most com- 
 fortable of daughters to her parents ; the 
 most unselfish of sisters to Oliver ; a second 
 little mother to the twins. She inherited 
 her mother's keen sense of duty, and added 
 to it a kind of imperturbable resolution in 
 doing it, which made her, and would always 
 make her, a true help to all who wanted 
 assistance. 
 
 This was the thought that had suddenly 
 struck Mrs. Beaumont. Perhaps Dorothy 
 could do what she had failed to do. 
 
 After they had worked at a rough dress 
 that was preparing for a twin for some time 
 in silence, Mrs. Beaumont suddenly said, 
 
 *' Do you know, Dorothy, what Oliver 
 means to be ?" 
 
 The question was asked quietly, and 
 Dorothy quietly answered, " No, mamma," 
 which was not encouraging.
 
 142 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Most boys talk of their wishes," she 
 began again, " especially when they speak 
 freely to their companions." 
 
 " But, mamma, Oliver is so happy, I 
 don't think he has any wishes." 
 
 Dorothy looked up from her work as she 
 stated this fact, as if it was a satisfactory 
 answer. Mrs. Beaumont smiled. 
 
 " It is pleasant to think of that, dear, but, 
 you know, there is a future coming." 
 
 " Yes, mamma," and both mother and 
 dauo;hter looked serious over their truism. 
 
 Dorothy was not quick, and having no 
 idea that anything but common conversation 
 was going forward, gave her mother no 
 help. She was putting in a sleeve, and 
 her thoudits were with the sleeve. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Beaumont felt baffled. She 
 had not wished to excite curiosity, or any 
 other feeling, in Dorothy's mind ; she had 
 wished only for her help in making a dis- 
 covery ; but finding that Dorothy knew no-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 143 
 
 thing, and guessed nothing, she was obliged 
 to be more in earnest. 
 
 " Your papa is very anxious to know 
 Oliver's wishes, Dorothy," she said at last, 
 simply — " so, indeed, am I. Do you think 
 you could find out what they are ?" 
 
 " I would try, mamma. But, mamma," 
 she added, putting down her sleeve, "Oliver 
 hardly ever talks about the future." 
 
 It was just what Mrs. Beaumont felt — it 
 was what had baffled her. She was annoyed 
 to hear Dorothy make the same observation. 
 
 "That maybe so," she replied at last; 
 " but his not talking of it does not alter the 
 case. If dear Oliver lives and thrives, there 
 is the future, and he must go into it. I 
 want him to think about it, and to choose 
 what he will be." 
 
 " Poor Oliver !" Dorothy said, a smile 
 brightening her face. "It must not be any- 
 thing very hard or learned for him." 
 
 " I don't know about that, Dorothy.
 
 144 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Oliver is doing tolerably well at school." 
 
 " Oh, yes, mamma," said her little girl, 
 with docility, for Dorothy never argued. 
 
 " But we do not mind what he chooses, 
 only we should like him to express some 
 wish that may help us in beginning to think 
 about it. Your papa is very anxious on the 
 subject, and I thought perhaps you might 
 manage to talk a little to Oliver, and find 
 out what he would like best." 
 
 *' I will try, mamma — I think I can," and 
 no more was said. 
 
 When Dorothy was asked, or told to do 
 anything, it was sure to be done, if possible. 
 She set herself to consider how to find 
 Oliver in a conversable humour. There 
 were but two more days, and one of these, 
 the following, was to be a shooting-day 
 with his new friends. 
 
 Her first attempt was very early — be- 
 fore he was up. The hours at Bloomfields 
 were extremely early; but the appointed 
 time for breakfast was not till half-past
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 145 
 
 eight, when Mr. Beaumont returned from 
 his first inspection of his farm ; and though 
 Oliver was occasionally one of the earliest, 
 he sometimes took his schoolboy's privilege 
 of being late. 
 
 On this morning he was not up when the 
 twins had their breakfast, and Dorothy, 
 carrying, as she had sometimes done before, 
 a cup of hot coffee from the nursery, sat 
 down upon his bed to converse. But though 
 Oliver condescendingly drank the coffee, 
 he made known, by ways common to men 
 and women without speech, that he was not 
 in a talking humour; and Dorothy wisely 
 understood him, and gave it up. 
 
 The reason of his uncommunicative hu- 
 mour was the fact that he had thrust a 
 little book under the clothes as she en- 
 tered. The little book was "Early Les- 
 sons," by Miss Edgeworth ; and he was 
 reading the early days of Rosamond. He 
 had opened the book the night before, his 
 eyes dwelling on the name of Rosamond 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 with some satisfaction ; and, being amused, 
 had put the book under his pillow. But, 
 unaware of the fact that even statesmen 
 have read Miss Edgeworth's childish stories 
 with pleasure, he had no intention that 
 Dorothy should see how he was occupied. 
 
 He appeared at breakfast, and lingered 
 over it with insatiable appetite; but when he 
 rose, began to hurry. 
 
 " May I walk with you ?" Dorothy said, 
 pursuing him. 
 
 "You certainly may, if you have got 
 seven-leagued boots," he replied ; " other- 
 wise, I am afraid it will be useless. I must 
 be at Mr. Fraser's at half-past nine." 
 
 She said nothing, but looked disappointed, 
 and he observed it. 
 
 " If you like to come to the turnstile, to 
 meet me, Dolly, you may. 1 want to be 
 home early, to finish mamma's garden-stool ; 
 and I will come home that way." 
 
 " I shall like it," she said eagerly. "At 
 what time ?"
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 147 
 
 " Somewhere between four and six," with 
 a magnificent disregard of Dorothy's time 
 — " one can't be sure." 
 
 Dorothy, set on her object, went at four, 
 and was only kept an hour and a half wait- 
 ing. It was one of the most oppressive 
 Autumn days ; and when Oliver at last 
 came, even he was tired. After sitting a 
 few minutes on the turnstile, he began to 
 walk very leisurely home, with his hat in 
 his hand. Dorothy listened while he talked 
 for a little while. She was not very clever 
 in planning, but she instinctively felt that 
 she must let him talk for a time. At last, 
 in answer to a remark of hers, " It must 
 have been very good fun," he said. 
 
 " Yes — awfully jolly ; and now it's all 
 over — what a bore !" 
 
 And she felt her opportunity was come. 
 
 " And when you come back, Oliver, you 
 will be sixteen." She made the observation 
 with a little gasp, such as people give when 
 
 l2
 
 148 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 conscious they are plunging into something 
 beyond their usual depth. 
 
 '^ Yes, I shall be sixteen. How very re- 
 markable ! Why do you look so solemn ? 
 Do you think I shall eat you when I am 
 sixteen?" And he imitated the voice and 
 looks of the ogre of old. 
 
 " No, Oliver. But I am thinking of you. 
 Sixteen is getting on — getting old ; and you 
 must begin, you know, to think of doing 
 something in life." 
 
 '' Doing something in life ! Did one ever 
 hear such a bookish expression? Where 
 did you learn it ? Doing something in life !" 
 And he gave a sort of yell. 
 
 *'! know it is," said poor Dorothy, "but 
 I don't know how to say what I want to 
 say better. Never mind my words. I do 
 want you to think, Oliver, about doing 
 something ; and you know what I mean." 
 
 " But I don't know what you mean. It 
 seems to me I do a pretty good deal in life. 
 An hour ago I was shooting ; now I am
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 149 
 
 talking; in a few minutes I shall be car- 
 pentering, then I shall be eating, then " 
 
 " Oh ! Oliver, stop. I don't want to talk 
 nonsense. Really, Oliver, I think mamma 
 and papa are anxious about your beginning 
 to work a little. I mean to say," as she saw 
 astonishment in his eyes, " begin to think 
 about work ; in the future, you know. You 
 know 3^ou must be something, Oliver; you 
 must know that." 
 
 Dorothy had put her own interpretation 
 on Mrs. Beaumont's words. Mrs. Beau- 
 mont had not said a w^ord about work, or 
 the necessity of the case ; but Dorothy had 
 read in many stories of this necessity for 
 all men, and she supposed it to be Oliver's 
 moral welfare that was the cause of anxiety. 
 It was to this she had addressed herself 
 
 " Did papa and mamma tell you to 
 bother — to speak to me ?" he said correcting 
 himself 
 
 *'They did not tell me ; but mamma did 
 say she wished I could find out what you
 
 150 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 would like to do. Mamma is very anxious 
 about it, I think." And she looked patheti- 
 cally at Oliver. 
 
 Oliver made no immediate answer. He 
 was not angry, but he felt puzzled. He 
 was not conscious of the way in which he 
 always slipped out of the subject, and could 
 not understand why Dorothy had been told 
 to press him. It made him think there 
 must be a mystery. After walking for some 
 little time in silence, he said, 
 
 "' I tell you what, Dorothy, 3^ou and 
 mamma and papa are all in much too great 
 a hurry. I was talking, and very seriously, 
 I can tell you, to Mr. Vaughan about it one 
 day — I don't mean about myself, but about 
 education, and professions, and all that — 
 and he gave it as his opinion that a good 
 education is the first thing — 1 mean a good 
 general education — and that it is much bet- 
 ter to have that, and then be fit for anything, 
 than to educate yourself only to be fit for 
 one thing. Do you understand what I say ?"
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 151 
 
 *' I think I do," Dorothy said, awed ; for 
 Oliver, in repeating as well as he could 
 what Mr. Vaughan had said, assumed a 
 statesmanlike manner. 
 
 '' And I agree with him, Dolly. And so 
 now I will run home and get to my carpen- 
 tering ; though I don't think I mean to do 
 carpentering in the future." 
 
 And, dropping the statesman, he ran off, 
 with Dorothy pursuing behind. 
 
 Dorothy repeated Oliver's opinion to her 
 mother. Mrs. Beaumont was struck by it ; 
 and, the subject having been broached, no 
 longer feeling a difficulty in speaking, she 
 followed him up to bed and questioned him 
 about it. 
 
 "Yes, mamma," he replied, "that is what 
 Mr. Vaughan said ; and besides Mr. Vaughan, 
 there came this Summer to Shrewsbury Dr. 
 
 ," and he named a man whose opinion 
 
 on such subjects all hold in veneration, 
 " and I happened to hear him talking to a 
 lady about this very thing, and he said,
 
 152 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 unless when circumstances made it neces- 
 sary, he would never hurry to take a boy 
 from school for the purpose of cramming 
 him for a profession ; he would leave him 
 till seventeen or eighteen, to get a good 
 general education. He said he was no 
 enemy to cramming, when it was to refresh 
 what had been learnt, or to begin things 
 that would be wanted ; but he thought, if 
 people took to educating for particular 
 things only, we should have a race of nar- 
 row men. I listened to what he said be- 
 cause I liked it." 
 
 Not that Oliver had formed any very 
 philosophical opinions on the subject, but 
 he wished to stay at Shrewsbury in peace, 
 and, therefore, the opinion commended itself 
 to his good pleasure. It must also be owned 
 that it commended itself to his good sense, 
 and he repeated what he had overheard, 
 condensing and selecting with the warmth 
 of conviction. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont was as awed as Dorothy
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 153 
 
 had been, and when she went downstairs, 
 and the words were repeated over again to 
 Mr. Beaumont, he was awed likewise. They 
 were all simple-minded people, who thought 
 no great things of themselves, and were dis- 
 posed, therefore, to listen to counsel when 
 it came from a respected quarter. The re- 
 sult was that Oliver was allowed to return 
 to Shrewsbury unmolested, and that, cheer- 
 fully submitting themselves to anxiety, the 
 subject was left in abeyance for many months 
 to come. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont contented himself with ob- 
 serving to Oliver, when he wished him 
 good-bye, that he must look sharp, or the 
 little fellows would be tripping up his heels.
 
 154 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " T S Frank's room ready?" said Mr. Vaughan, 
 -■- putting his head into the drawing- 
 room, where his two daughters were at 
 work. 
 
 This was about two years and a half after 
 the date of the last chapter. As Frank was 
 not expected for three weeks or a month, 
 the question was not a fair question to ask ; 
 but Rosamond, looking up into her father's 
 face, saw the answer she was to make. 
 " It can be ready, papa, in ten minutes." 
 *'Then go, my dear, and get it ready, 
 and we will come in here." And in explana- 
 tion of the word " we," he moved a step, 
 and a man's arm was visible on his arm.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 155 
 
 " There has been a little accident — not 
 much, I hope — make haste." 
 
 Before " make haste " couM be said, the 
 two girls had vanished by another door, and 
 Mr. Vaughan entered, a young man clinging 
 to his arm for support. 
 
 " There," he said, putting him tenderly 
 down on the sofa, ^' just lie there, and keep 
 quiet till the room is ready. I will go 
 and find somebody to help us up the stairs. 
 I daresay it will be half an hour before 
 Morgan is here ; but I am a pretty good 
 doctor myself. Shall I help you' with your 
 boot, or will you keep it on till we get up ?" 
 
 "I will keep it on, thank you." The 
 young man looked very pale; but more 
 scared than in pain. " I wonder what mis- 
 chief there is ?" he added. 
 
 *' No great mischief, I hope," Mr. Vaughan 
 said, cheerfully. " Your nerves are shaken. 
 Lie still, and I will get you some wine." 
 And he left him. 
 
 Having made him drink a glass of wine,
 
 156 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Mr. Vaughan went up to his daughters. The 
 room was almost ready ; and while Rosa- 
 mond and La»ra put the sheets on the bed, 
 he told them what had happened. A young 
 gentleman, driving a kind of dog-cart, had 
 passed him in the village, and had not 
 got far beyond him when the horse fell down. 
 There was a heap of stones just on the spot, 
 and somehow, what with the fall of the 
 horse and the jerk against the stones, the 
 shafts had broken, and the dog-cart went 
 over. When Mr. Vaughan and a labourer 
 ran to the- spot, the young man was on the 
 ground and stunned. As soon as he came 
 to himself, ^Ir. Vaughan had proposed to 
 take him home, which proposal had been 
 gratefully accepted. The labourer was gone 
 for the doctor, but another old man had 
 helped him along. 
 
 " And who is he, papa ?" asked Laura. 
 
 " That 1 cannot tell you. The poor fel- 
 low seems in pain, and I have made no 
 inquiries. There, that will do, will it not ?
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 157 
 
 Jones and I will carry him up ; and you 
 shall stay, Mabel, and help me to examine 
 the leg before Morgan comes." 
 
 Mabel was the presiding body of the 
 household, and had been so ever since Mr. 
 Vaughan's marriage. A young girl assisted 
 her occasionally ; and Rosamond ordered 
 and guided all. 
 
 Mabel stayed, and the girls departed. 
 But when the young man had been carried 
 in, and laid on Frank's bed, Rosamond re- 
 turned, and entered the room for a moment. 
 
 " I hope you will be comfortable," she 
 said, gravely and kindly, approaching him ; 
 *' but if you feel anything wanting, will you 
 be so good as to ask for it ?" 
 
 The young man, who still looked scared 
 and pale, coloured a little as he raised his 
 eyes to the young lady, who stood beside 
 him. He tried to recall his wits. 
 
 " I am sure I shall want nothing," he 
 said, with politeness — " the room is perfect." 
 
 " We all have our fancies," Rosamond
 
 158 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 said, smiling. " You will make us all feel 
 happier if you will freely mention yours." 
 
 " You are very kind. I will certainly do 
 so." 
 
 And Rosamond left the room. She went 
 down to the drawing-room, where Laura had 
 flown to see what secrets the empty place 
 of the stranger could reveal. As Rosamond 
 began to fold up the work that was lying 
 about, she said, in a disappointed tone, 
 
 "Are we not going to work any more? 
 I thought we could have a talk." 
 
 " I am going into the kitchen. We must 
 see about some beef-tea, and other things. 
 Will you come with me ?" 
 
 The young ladies established themselves 
 in the kitchen. Rosamond was a first-rate 
 cook, especially in all the little things that 
 take the fancy of an invalid. In very early 
 days she had devoted herself to this em- 
 ployment, for her mother's sake. Jenny, 
 the little maid, was dispatched on divers 
 errands ; and Laura assisted her — chiefly
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 159 
 
 by her presence and her conversation. 
 
 '^ What does he look like ?" she asked, as 
 soon as she thought a convenient time for 
 this question was come. 
 
 '* He looks like a person who has been 
 very much shocked and frightened, I think," 
 was Rosamond's answer. 
 
 " Oh ! Do you think him a coward, 
 then ?" 
 
 " A coward, my dear Laura ! — what a 
 very hard word ! I only mean to say he 
 looks very pale, and rather wild. People 
 do, I should fancy, when they have been 
 thrown on their heads ; but I suppose you 
 meant, is he good-looking ? I should think 
 he was, but I am not sure." 
 
 " Is he like anybody ?" 
 
 " Not very different from some people, but 
 I don't know who in particular. He is very 
 dark, and he was excessively pale. I can't 
 tell you much besides this." 
 
 "I am afraid you don't like him, Rosa- 
 mond."
 
 160 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Rosamond smiled. Laura was of a sin- 
 gularly inquisitive and inquiring nature, and 
 by dint of this quality, was much better 
 informed in small things than Rosamond 
 was. But it was an amusement in the family 
 to baffle her. On this occasion she had 
 shown some acuteness, for Rosamond had 
 not taken a fancy to the stranger. She had 
 not taken any dislike, but she had not fancied 
 him. 
 
 " You are as clever as usual, Laura. I 
 really have not sufficient acquaintance to 
 say whether I like him or not. He has not 
 a face like Oliver Beaumont's — that sort 
 of face one knows at once that one must 
 like." 
 
 '' Yes. I wish he had had an accident 
 instead !" 
 
 " Frank must hear that kind wish," Rosa- 
 mond said, laughing, and then called Laura 
 to help her in some preparation she was 
 engaged upon. 
 
 As soon as the small aifair was settled.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 161 
 
 Laura stood again idly by the table, and 
 then began to think. After a short period 
 of reflection, she said, 
 
 " I wonder why papa said Frank's room ? 
 It only just struck me as odd — but I do 
 wonder. Why not in the spare room ?" 
 
 ^' I don't know. Papa had some good 
 reason, I guess." 
 
 " Yes, people always have good reasons 
 when they do odd things, and that is why I 
 like to know them. I wonder why?" 
 
 " I don't know," Rosamond said, " but I 
 guess it was because he wishes Aunt Anna 
 to come here while Aunt Laura is away. 
 He said something about it yesterday, but I 
 don't know that he has settled to ask her." 
 
 Laura looked grave. After a short con- 
 sideration, she said, 
 
 " If I were you, Rosamond, I should not 
 like Aunt Anna to come here." 
 
 " But I do like it, Laura." 
 
 " Well, I should not ; she is always find- 
 ing fault with what you do." 
 
 VOL. T. M
 
 162 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 '' Perhaps she does," Rosamond agreed, 
 after a moment's thought ; " but then she 
 finds fault with all her heart, and I don't 
 mind that." 
 
 ^' How do you mean?" Laura asked, open- 
 ing her eyes. " I should think that made 
 it worse." 
 
 " No, not if you really think. To be 
 found fault with by captious, peevish people 
 would be dreadful; but Aunt Anna is never 
 cross — she only tells me what she thinks 
 right, and it really does me good." 
 
 *' Does it, Rosamond ? I don't think you 
 ever change, whatever she says." 
 
 " Not, perhaps, in most things ; but that 
 is because another person is my guide. 
 Some of the things she disapproves of are 
 what papa wishes me to do." She paused a 
 moment, and then added, in a lower voice, 
 "And mamma wished." 
 
 Rosamond had so loved her mother that 
 it was an effort to her to mention her in 
 common conversation ; but she sometimes
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 163 
 
 did so, for Laura's sake, who had never 
 known her. 
 
 "Yes, I see," Laura said, softl}^; and the 
 conversation ceased for a moment. Ob- 
 serving, however, that her sister was now 
 beginning to make some thin, hard biscuits, 
 in which art she was a proficient, she re- 
 lieved her mind by another question. 
 
 " Do you think, Rosamond — I have often 
 wished to asked — do you think we ought to 
 like our relations, and be glad to have them, 
 whatever they may be?" 
 
 Laura did not like Aunt Anna — that was 
 the cause of the ferment in her mind. 
 
 " Well, Laura," Rosamond replied, smiling, 
 " I almost think I do." 
 
 ** However disagreeable ?" 
 
 " Yes, I almost think I do." 
 
 " Or however wicked ?" Laura added, en- 
 deavouring to get the right on her side. 
 
 " I am not sure. I could not answer that 
 question in a hurry. It would need," she 
 added, thoughtfully, " so much guarding 
 
 M 2
 
 164 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 and considering. However, Laura, perhaps 
 we need not think of that part of the sub- 
 ject. You would not call a person wicked 
 because you do not agree with her, would 
 you ?" 
 
 '^ No." 
 
 " I thought you were somehow thinking 
 of poor Aunt Anna." 
 
 " No, not at all, as to the word wicked. 
 But do you know, Rosamond, she sometimes 
 makes me feel wicked ? Of course I would 
 not be wicked for the whole world ; but if 
 anything could make me so, I have some- 
 times felt she would." 
 
 " I know what you mean," Rosamond 
 said, gently and gravely, for she never 
 assumed authority over Laura. '' But per- 
 haps it would be better for us not to say 
 such things of papa's sister. And, besides, 
 it is not kind in itself. She has been very 
 unhappy ; and no one can know what the 
 effects of very great trials may be — might be 
 on ourselves."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 165 
 
 *' Do you mean her losing her only little 
 boy? Bat then, Rosamond, other people 
 have lost . . . ." she stopped. 
 
 '' No, I don't mean that only. She was 
 not happy with her husband. He was not 
 kind to her ; and she was very miserable 
 till her little boy was born. Then, when 
 all seemed to be better, and her husband to 
 be growing fond of his home, he went 
 abroad on some business, and died there ; 
 and then the little boy died. If she comes, 
 Laura, do think of this, and you will feel 
 pity for her." 
 
 " I shall indeed — I am sure I do ; but 
 only this one thing more I should like to 
 say. Don't you think if she had been more 
 cheerful, like papa, her husband might have 
 liked her better?" 
 
 " We cannot tell what she was, Laura. 
 How can we ? I should say, from her 
 picture, that she was very different when 
 she was young. But there is a ring. It
 
 166 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 must be Mr. Morgan. Now we shall hear 
 about the accident." 
 
 " And I hope we shall hear who he is," 
 Laura observed.
 
 167 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 fTlHE name of the young gentleman to 
 -*- whom the accident had happened was 
 Mr. Philip Dashwood. 
 
 It may be remembered that Captain 
 Delaford had consulted Messrs. Borodaile 
 and Dashwood about his property, and had 
 left them as trustees of the will during 
 Oliver's minority. Philip Dashwood was 
 the son of Mr. Dashwood, the partner in the 
 house. 
 
 He was taking a walking-tour in Wales, 
 walking ostensibly, but driving whenever it 
 suited his pleasure, or, rather, whenever he 
 could suit his pleasure by finding anything 
 he liked to drive. He was at present only
 
 168 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 a clerk in his fathers office, but he was 
 eventually to be a partner, and meanwhile 
 he was a clerk on a very liberal scale, hav- 
 ing, indeed, as much money as he liked to 
 ask for. But this was from his father. 
 
 Mr. Dashwood had made a good deal of 
 money, aud he hoped that Philip would fol- 
 low in his steps, and make a good deal also ; 
 that it should be so, he kept him pretty 
 hard at work in the office business. But his 
 son had not been well during the Spring, 
 and, although at a very busy time, his father 
 had given him three weeks' holiday and a 
 good sum of money to amuse himself with. 
 In search of health and amusement, he 
 was makincr a tour in Wales when his acci- 
 
 o 
 
 dent happened. 
 
 The accident was not very serious. His 
 leg had taken an awkward position as he 
 fell, and there were sundry contusions, and 
 sprains, and strains, and bruises, besides a 
 hurt to the head ; but there was no real in- 
 jury, and after four or five days of quiet, he
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 169 
 
 was pronounced, and felt himself to be, con- 
 valescent. 
 
 The day before he was brought down- 
 stairs, Mrs. Evelyn — Aunt Anna — arrived. 
 Mr. Vaughan had begun to write "My dear 
 Anna " on the day when, m the course of 
 his walks, he was the spectator of Philip's 
 accident. He finished the letter, which 
 might otherwise have been some days in 
 hand, immediately after that occurrence, 
 and instead of asking his sister to come to 
 them while they were alone, he asked her to 
 come, and be of use. And this argument 
 was more to Mrs. Evelyn's mind than the 
 first. She had no opinion of doing any- 
 thing to please either herself or others, but 
 she was an excellent woman, always ready 
 to help. There are some persons who so 
 educate themselves to consider only the ills 
 of life that one almost wonders what they 
 hope to do in a land of peace, and she was 
 of this class. 
 
 It would be hard to say that there was a
 
 170 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 shade of disappointment when, on arriving, 
 she found that the vouns: man was recover- 
 ing, and needed neither nursing nor care. 
 She was of course glad, since to soothe the 
 ills of life was her appointed duty ; yet she 
 certainly had thought with as much pleasure 
 as she ever allowed to herself of healing a 
 body and administering advice to a mind. 
 
 Philip Dashwood had not, indeed, re- 
 ceived permission to leave his room ; but 
 Mr. Vaughan, putting himself into the young 
 man's place, offered no encouragement to his 
 sister to visit him. The use he had intend- 
 ed to make of her was still to come — to be 
 with his daughters during the recovery, 
 which might prove tedious. 
 
 On the morning after her arrival, Mrs. 
 Evelyn, who had been for a walk — on a 
 voyage of discovery as to whether there 
 were any patients near who required her 
 care — looked into the drawing-room. To 
 her surprise, she saw Rosamond and Laura 
 on the floor, sitting beside a white cloth,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 171 
 
 on which were large bunches of lilac and 
 laburnum. 
 
 ^' What are you doing ?'' she asked. 
 
 " We are making nosegays for those 
 vases," Rosamond said. '^ Papa said Mr. 
 Dashwood was to come down this morning, 
 and I thought we should like to have the 
 house bright and fresh for him." 
 
 " I thought you told me you were going 
 to read to Mary Thomson ? " Mrs. Evelyn 
 observed, in a dry voice. 
 
 *' I was ; but when papa came down and 
 told us, I put it off — gave it up, I mean, for 
 this morning. I wanted to beautify the 
 house a little," and she smiled pleadingly to 
 her aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn said nothing, but went on 
 with creaking boots, and creaked upstairs. 
 Laura looked at Rosamond, but met no re- 
 sponsive glance ; she continued to make her 
 bunch of mingled flowers, but slowly and 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn quickly returned, with a
 
 172 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 piece of knitting, and Rosamond's counten- 
 ance then brightened, and she proceeded 
 faster with her occupation. Rosamond 
 could not do anything without a little art. 
 Making a bunch of flowers took time, be- 
 cause everything had to be placed in its 
 very best place. Some people are thus 
 born ; they cannot but always do their best. 
 Mrs. Evelyn watched her for a few minutes, 
 then she said, 
 
 " You amaze me, Rosamond ! Is it pos- 
 sible that you can think it right to minister 
 rather to the pleasure of a pampered young 
 man — I do not speak personally : I mean 
 one of the pampered classes — than to minis- 
 ter to the necessity of a poor cripple ?" 
 
 Rosamond coloured, and looked deeply 
 wounded, Laura burst out indignantly — 
 
 " Mary would be the first to wish it, Aunt 
 Anna. She often helps us with our flowers 
 — she always helps us when we decorate the 
 church."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 173 
 
 " Very possibly," Mrs. Evelyn said. "I 
 was not thinking of Mary." 
 
 '' I see what you mean, Aunt Anna," 
 Rosamond replied, gently; "but, you know, 
 we go whenever we can to Mary. She is 
 as well cared-for, and as happy, poor girl, 
 as a cripple can be, and she was not expect- 
 ing me. I am very sorry you think I was 
 wrong." 
 
 Her aunt made no reply, and Rosamond 
 now rose with her two bunches, and placed 
 one in each large vase. One she put at the 
 end of the drawing-room, and the other she 
 carried into a little hall or large passage, 
 which was outside. She then came and sat 
 down by her aunt, and said, 
 
 " It is only because he is an invalid ; I 
 think — indeed, I know — such things give 
 pleasure to those who have been shut up." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, my dear," said her 
 aunt kindly. *' But what is pleasure ? Is 
 the gratification of the senses a proper sub-
 
 174 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ject of study — a proper employment of time?" 
 
 " Here they come," Laura observed — '' I 
 hear papa." 
 
 A good deal of noise was indeed heard as 
 Mr. Dashwood made his way downstairs, 
 supported by Mr. Vaughan. He came along 
 very slowly, heavily leaning on him, and 
 supported by a crutch. As they passed 
 through the outer passage, his voice was 
 heard. 
 
 *' Your house is like a garden, Mr. Vaughan 
 — one breathes health in it — I shall be an- 
 other man to-morrow." 
 
 Laura stole a mischievous glance at her 
 aunt and Rosamond ; but no response was 
 made by either. 
 
 Mx. Vaughan placed the young man on 
 the sofa, and then said, 
 
 " That is my sister ; these are my daugh- 
 ters — one you already know." 
 
 Rosamond went up, and shook hands with 
 him, saying, '^ I am very glad to see you 
 better."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 175 
 
 " Thank you. I am sure I am glad to be 
 better ; and I am glad also to be able at last 
 to thank you personally for all your kind- 
 ness. I have begged your father to do it." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," Rosamond said, smiling, " he 
 has done all you wished." 
 
 Philip Dashwood was, as Rosamond had 
 said, like a good many people — he was 
 handsome, dark, and with good, regular 
 features ; but it was one of those faces that 
 one feels one knows, and which only after ac- 
 quaintance come to possess individuality. 
 
 "Now, are you comfortable?" asked Mr. 
 Vaughan. "I am obliged to go out for 
 some hours ; and my advice to you is — 
 don't move — be quite quiet for this day. 
 Morgan said ' a little movement ;' but the 
 coming down has been more than a little. 
 I advise care for to-day." 
 
 "Thank you — I will obey." 
 
 Mr. Vaughan left the room. 
 
 " Does your leg hurt you, sir ?" Mrs. 
 Evelyn asked, with old-fashioned politeness.
 
 176 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Just a little." He winced as he replied. 
 " The coming downstairs probably has made 
 it throb." 
 
 Rosamond looked at him for a moment, 
 then got up and took a small cushion from 
 a chair. 
 
 *' Will you let me put this under your 
 knee? There — I think that will make all 
 the difference." 
 
 ^' All the difference, indeed ! You have 
 hit — what is it they say? — the nail on the 
 right head. Thank you very much." 
 
 When she sat down again, he said, "You 
 must not be angry if I return to the theme. 
 That invaluable person, who is called Mabel, 
 has given me an account of all you do — she 
 made me ashamed indeed to think how 
 many of my comforts I owed to you." 
 
 " My cooking, do you mean ?" Rosamond 
 said, smiling. " I have been in practice for 
 many years." 
 
 Philip Dashwood would have preferred 
 that the beautiful face should have blushed
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 177 
 
 at his thanks; but there was no trace of 
 blushes. 
 
 *'How pretty your room is!" he said, 
 looking about him with interest. " It is 
 odd that I should not have the least recol- 
 lection of it. I could not have passed any 
 examination upon it. I was thoroughly be- 
 wildered the other day." 
 
 " You looked so," Rosamond said, smiling ; 
 "and I suppose if we fall on our heads, 
 that is what we must be expected to do." 
 
 "But I don't think I did fall on my head. 
 I was thoroughly stunned, however, by the 
 shock. Were you ever stunned ? I hope 
 not. It is a most disagreeable sensation. 
 I am very sure it is like being dead, and 
 comino; to life asjain." 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn looked up from her knitting. 
 
 "Then, sir, if you will excuse me for 
 saying so, you have had a lesson we all 
 might be glad to have. A real death and a 
 new life might come just as suddenly." 
 
 " That is true," he replied, civilly. " I 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 am sure, as far as I am concerned, nothing 
 could have been more unexpected." 
 
 But, though he spoke civilly, there was a 
 twinkle of amusement in his eye, and he 
 glanced at the other occupants of the room, 
 to inquire their sentiments. On the face of 
 the younger girl he fancied he read some- 
 thing of response, but on the face of Rosa- 
 mond not so ; and, though he had looked 
 to find it, he was better pleased when he 
 did not find it. 
 
 Phihp Dashwood was not irreligious, if 
 irreligion consists in any wilful enmity to, or 
 settled disbelief in, religion ; but if to live 
 without definite faith, definite hope, and 
 definite principle be irreligion, then he was 
 irreligious. He was like the poor Gallio 
 too often quoted, careful for none of these 
 things, and yet, as with n:any others, not 
 without admiration for anything real. 
 
 Unwilling to prolong the conversation, he, 
 however, added quickly, 
 
 " But now I hope to be well in a day or
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 179 
 
 two, and I hope I shall not much longer 
 usurp your brother's room. When do you 
 expect him?" 
 
 "Not just yet; and, even if he should 
 wish to come, we have another room that 
 he sometimes uses. It would not have done 
 for an invalid, but he likes it." 
 
 " Then I wish he would come. I should 
 like to make his acquaintance." 
 
 *' Here is Frank," Rosamond said, risiuiZ, 
 and taking a photograph from a shelf near 
 the sofa, she put it into Philip's hands. 
 " This has been lately done, and it is very 
 like. I think if you ever meet him you 
 may know him from this." 
 
 " A pleasant photograph, and a good 
 position. Where was it done ? Edinburgh ! 
 Why, how came your brother to be there ? 
 I beg your pardon if I am asking impertinent 
 questions." 
 
 " Frank only went to Oxford at Easter ; 
 all the Autumn and Winter he was reading 
 in Scotland." 
 
 n2
 
 180 OLIVEK BEAUMONT. 
 
 " And is he a very learned man?" 
 
 " He hopes to be so." 
 
 " And to devote his learning to the 
 Church ?" 
 
 "Oh ! yes, I hope so." 
 
 ''And who is that?" Philip said, as he 
 resigned the photograph, and his eye 
 glanced along the shelf to another. 
 
 "That is a friend of Frank's." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Rosamond 
 gave him the one to which he pointed. 
 
 " How curious ! I saw this photograph 
 the other day. Who is it ?" 
 
 " His name is Oliver Beaumont. He is a 
 g^reat friend of Frank's, and was at school 
 with him." 
 
 "Oliver Beaumont!" musinglysaid. "Why, 
 I saw this photograph the other day in my 
 father's library. He has a pleasant face — 
 this young gentleman, I mean — and it struck 
 me. But why should my father have 
 OHver Beaumont? I never heard of him. 
 Who is he ?"
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 181 
 
 " I am afraid I can only repeat what I 
 said before," Rosamond said, laughing. 
 " Laura, you shall answer this time." 
 
 Philip Dashwood looked at Laura, and 
 she blushed and said, 
 
 *' If I must not say a friend of Frank's, I 
 don't know what to say." 
 
 " My dear, you told me he was a relation 
 of yours," Mrs. Evelyn said, for she liked 
 the truth, and the whole truth. 
 
 ^' Yes, Aunt Anna, but so distant we did 
 not know it till we knew him." 
 
 *' I cannot understand why my father 
 should have had this very photograph on 
 his table," Philip said again. " Edinburgh, 
 I see." 
 
 " It was done when Frank's was done — 
 Frank sent us both together. Oliver Beau- 
 mont went to Scotland with Frank." 
 
 This was Rosamond's explanation. 
 
 '^Has he a father?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes. Mr. Beaumont lives in Che- 
 shire, at a place called Bloomfields. But
 
 182 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 we only know Oliver. I don't know any- 
 thing about Mr. Beaumont." 
 
 '' Well, it does not matter," Philip said, 
 putting down the photograph ; " only I must 
 repeat, I cannot understand how he got into 
 my father's library. I am afraid I am a 
 great incumbrance down here, am I not ? — 
 in plain words, a terrible bore ?" 
 Rosamond smiled. 
 " What can I say ?" she said. 
 '^I assure you I am not asking for a 
 comphment. My mother does not scruple 
 to say that a gentleman in the drawing-room 
 is one of the worst afflictions woman can be 
 subject to." 
 
 •'We have not had much experience. 
 Papa is always out ; and Frank, when he is 
 at home, is either out, or reading in his 
 room. But if it will make you happier, 
 Laura and I will go to the school for half an 
 hour, as we ought to do." 
 
 It was not at all what he wished ; but he
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 183 
 
 was obliged to beg they would do as they 
 usually did. 
 
 *^ Is it for instruction ? Have you to give 
 severe lessons ?" 
 
 " Sometimes we do ; but at this hour we 
 usually go for singing. It cheers the child- 
 ren to have a singing-lesson in the middle of 
 the day." 
 
 " And your sister," making a sign towards 
 Laura, " is a great singer, I know. I have 
 heard her in the garden. Mrs. Mabel told 
 me who was the performer. I wish I could 
 come and give a singing-lesson too — I mean 
 to say, receive one." 
 
 " Miss Vaughan is a wonderful person," 
 he observed to Mrs. Evelyn, when they had 
 left the room. 
 
 " Rosamond has certainly many gifts," 
 she replied — *' so many that it makes me 
 tremble for her." 
 
 " In what way ?" he asked, with curiosity. 
 
 " Lest they should interfere with the one
 
 184 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 thing on which her eyes ought to be set." 
 PhiHp Dashwood was a member of a 
 family who were like himself — very well- 
 meaning and respectable, in a certain sense ; 
 but, as well-meaning and respectable people 
 may be, not much occupied with religious 
 thought. It had never happened to him to 
 meet with a character like Mrs. Evelyn's. 
 He had heard of and laughed about " seri- 
 ous people," but he had never thought of 
 them as anything real. There was about 
 this new acquaintance a kind of gentle and 
 grave austerity which carried a conviction 
 of genuineness. His mind was lively and 
 quick, and he contemplated her with inte- 
 rest and curiosity. 
 
 '^ If I am any judge of countenances," he 
 replied, after a moment, " I should say there 
 was no fear — Miss Vaughan might sit to a 
 painter for a Madonna or an angel." 
 
 ^'That is a mere phrase," Mrs. Evelyn 
 replied. *' I am not afraid of Rosamond 
 becoming unamiable. She has a character,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 185 
 
 and she has gifts which ought to be ex- 
 clusively devoted to the highest interest. 
 What I fear for her is that she should use 
 them for interests which are solely of this 
 world." 
 
 "Would you have her retire to a con- 
 vent, then ?" he asked, in the light manner 
 in which such subjects are dealt with by the 
 thoughtless. 
 
 " No, sir — far from it. Not that the idea 
 of a convent affrights me. There are cha- 
 racters and there are circumstances which 
 might find in something of convent life their 
 best sphere of usefulness ; but it is not so 
 with Rosamond. She miorht do much in 
 the world ; it is for the world I would have 
 her act." 
 
 " I wonder what special fears you have 
 for Miss Vaughan ?" Philip asked, with in- 
 terest, after a short silence. Later in the 
 day he smiled to himself as he thought of 
 himself, the gay Philip Dashwood, in serious 
 talk with an elderly woman, and interested
 
 186 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 by the talk. But there was no cause for 
 wonder in the subject. The young man's 
 fancy had been caught by a vision, and we 
 are always willing to hear and to speak 
 where our fancies are concerned. Little" as 
 he had noticed the form of the girl who 
 had stood beside him for a moment on the 
 day of his accident, she had afterwards 
 haunted his imagination. The soft, calm 
 face, with its gentle kindness, the graceful 
 yet self-possessed and dignified air, had 
 made an impression upon him — not upon 
 heart or affections, but upon a lively fancy. 
 He had asked questions concerning her, had 
 sketched a character, and when he saw her 
 again, found her more interesting than his 
 visions. It was with real curiosity that he 
 asked the question of Mrs. Evelyn regarding 
 her. 
 
 " Can you look round this room, sir, and 
 fail to see the evils I fear ? Is not the love 
 of beauty — of mere worldly beauty — stamp- 
 ed upon it? — can you not see that every
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 187 
 
 arrangement has been made with thought 
 and with art, by time and by care ?" 
 
 Philip stared, and looked round the 
 room ; he had said, ^' How pretty your room 
 is !" and had spoken as he felt ; but it was 
 the unexpected prettiness of a country par- 
 sonage, the sweetness, freshness, and sim- 
 plicity that had pleased him. Accustomed 
 to the glitter and luxuriance of modern 
 drawing-rooms, the thought that there was 
 self-indulgence here amazed him. 
 
 " Would you have us live in bare cells ?" 
 he asked. • 
 
 *'It might be the best extreijie of the 
 two," she answered ; " but I am not an 
 advocate for extremes, nor would I impose 
 universal rules. There are persons who re- 
 quire — who need to be incited to some sort 
 of care for externals ; if they were not, we 
 might be barbarians. But we were speak- 
 ing of Rosamond. Characters have their 
 special dangers ; on Rosamond this world, 
 and ambition, and the love of beauty, and
 
 188 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 the love of pleasing, have too strong a hold. 
 They may lead her astray." 
 
 *' Ambition !" he repeated, still more sur- 
 prised. " I should never have guessed it 
 from her countenance." 
 
 " We may mean different things by the 
 word — words are very vague describers. I 
 have watched her with interest from her 
 childhood, and I have seen the growing up 
 of that ingredient which I call ambition in 
 her character. But we have spoken of her 
 enough. I do not know how I was led on 
 to speak thus to a stranger." 
 
 " I suppose because I led you on," he 
 said, " and I beg 3^our pardon if it was im- 
 pertinent curiosity on my part. You must 
 understand, I never was in a parsonage, nor 
 among good people of this sort, before. 
 Naturally I feel curious." 
 
 " It should excite something besides curi- 
 osity," she observed, gravely contemplating 
 him. 
 
 " I suppose it should," he said candidly — 
 " I think it may."
 
 189 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " TTTELL, Marion, have you got that 
 ^ * young gentleman of yours to know 
 his own mind ?" asked Mr. Beaumont of his 
 wife. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, with alacrity — 
 " that is, in a degree. Oliver has some 
 thoughts of being a lawyer." 
 
 Mr. Beaumont was accustomed to joke 
 with his workmen, and sometimes to laugh 
 as long and as loud as they. At this speech 
 of his wife's, one of his violent laughing fits 
 came on. 
 
 *'If I was going to be hanged," he 
 gasped, " I must laugh, if Oliver was my 
 judge." 
 
 And again he laughed — so heartily that
 
 190 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont laughed ; and Dorothy, who 
 was sitting by, went nearly into hysterics. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont's question had been asked 
 in the Autumn of the preceding year, when 
 Oliver had finally left Shrewsbury. By dint 
 of begging and praying, by dint of quoting 
 sentiments, and setting forth arguments 
 which neither father nor mother could 
 gainsay, and lastly by an almost dogged 
 resolution to stay at Shrewsbury as long as 
 Frank Vaughan, who was a year his junior, 
 stayed, Oliver had had his own way. But 
 when Frank Vaughan went, he had no 
 longer that excuse, nor the same wish. He 
 was nearly eighteen, and he could be a boy 
 no longer. 
 
 Almost immediately on his return home, 
 Mrs. Beaumont, determined to allow no 
 constraint on the subject to grow up again 
 between them, addressed herself to find out 
 his wishes. Now, Oliver had a wish — not at 
 all as regarded his profession — that he looked 
 on as a plaything which, for some hidden
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 191 
 
 reason, his parents chose to dance before 
 his eyes, and to which it was hardly worth 
 his while to give either a wish or a thought ; 
 but he had a wish as to how he should 
 spend the next six months. Frank Vaughan 
 was going to Edinburgh, to read under the 
 supervision of a person of whom his father 
 had a high opinion. Oliver wished to go 
 with him. When, therefore, Mrs. Beaumont 
 began to question, she found him ready for 
 conversation. 
 
 He had considered for what professions 
 hard study, or what was to be by way of 
 hard study, would be most necessary. Frank 
 Vaughan had early destined himself for the 
 Church. Oliver was too naturally reverent 
 to suggest even for a moment that the 
 Church might be the fancy profession he 
 had to choose ; but the Bar was a high- 
 sounding thing, and he had heard it ob- 
 served that no man was the worse, but 
 perhaps a good deal the better, for having 
 a knowledge of the law. He therefore
 
 192 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 determined to mention the law as the pos- 
 sible object of his choice, and did so mention 
 it when his mother spoke to him. 
 
 She was surprised for a moment. She 
 had always supposed that Oliver, in the end, 
 intended to choose the Army ; but she had 
 a high opinion of him and his abilities — and 
 indeed, as all things are by comparison, he 
 was in that simple family undoubtedly clever 
 and well-informed. She only said, 
 
 " I supposeyou know, Oliver, that it will re- 
 quire very hard reading. I am told that it 
 is a very difficult thing to understand the 
 laws of the country." 
 
 *' Of course it is, to understand them all 
 thoroughly ; but that would be looking for- 
 ward for a great many years to come. I 
 suppose, motherams, you won't wish me to 
 be Lord Chancellor ?" 
 
 He looked curiously and archly at her, 
 but she so little supposed he had any mean- 
 ing, that she only smiled, and said, 
 
 "At any rate, Oliver, I shall not much
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 193 
 
 expect it of you." After a moment she 
 -went on — "Your father will be very much 
 pleased that you have made up your mind. 
 We can now think what will be the best 
 steps to take." 
 
 " But I have not quite made up my mind ; 
 and I will tell you what I think will be best 
 
 for the present. Frank Vaughan " And 
 
 he then sat down by her side and told her 
 his plan of going to study with Frank 
 Vaughan for six months ; he should after- 
 wards, he said, be able to decide whether 
 he was up to the law, or to any other hard 
 study. He put forth his plan ably and 
 coaxingly, as is customary with people 
 where their wishes are concerned, and he 
 made his mother a convert to his opinion, 
 as, indeed, was usually the case with 
 him. 
 
 When, therefore, Mr. Beaumont recovered 
 from his laughing-fit, and inquired where 
 the future judge intended to prepare himself 
 for his vocation, she put before him, in 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Oliver's words, Oliver's plans, and, picturing 
 them with equal warmth — for, indeed, be- 
 sides pleasing Oliver, she thought the plan 
 good — soon obtained from Mr. Beaumont 
 his approval and consent. 
 
 " Only," he said, shaking his head and 
 looking solemn and wise, " Oliver must look 
 sharp." 
 
 Thus it was settled, and Oliver went to 
 study at Edinburgh. He did read in a de- 
 gree ; it could hardly be called study. But 
 he satisfied a conscience — not very acute on 
 that point, though a good conscience, on the 
 whole — by a certain amount of reading. 
 His mind was not without curiosity, and he 
 was at times interested by the discovery of 
 the meanings of our laws and customs — by 
 the first rudiments, that is, of the study of 
 law. But here the reading stopped. When 
 he felt bored, he saw no great necessity for 
 being bored, and he allowed himself a good 
 deal of the recreation that he felt to be, on 
 the other hand, necessary to his welfare. It
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 195 
 
 was hardly in human nature that it should 
 have been otherwise. 
 
 " It is all for fun," his mind was perpetu- 
 ally /^^/^?2^, even when the words were not 
 said. It required a taste for study to over- 
 come the feeling of the moment, and that 
 he had not. 
 
 During his childhood and boyhood he 
 had thought but little of his future prospects, 
 but they began to occupy him now. He 
 often went over that memorable conversa- 
 tion with his nurse ; and as the scene with 
 more and more vividness pictured itself be- 
 fore him, he said, 
 
 "It must be true. I am sure Bun meant 
 what she said — I am sure she knew. I 
 suppose they will tell me some day ; and I 
 can wait." 
 
 And day by day the conviction deepened, 
 and as it deepened his indifference regarding 
 the fancy profession increased. 
 
 Oliver Beaumont had been a popular 
 bo}^, and he was now a popular youth. It 
 
 o2
 
 196 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 was impossible not to like him. He made, 
 therefore, many friends wherever he went ; 
 and so it happened that, when Frank 
 Vaughan at Easter returned home, before 
 going to Oxford, Oliver had some invitations 
 to remain in Scotland. Among other invita- 
 tions, he had one to go far north in May for 
 fishing. 
 
 He wrote one of his persuasive letters to 
 his mother, coaxing where he addressed her 
 feelings, and adding sound arguments for 
 the intellect. As he was in Scotland — as 
 he might never have such a chance again — 
 as, if he was a lawyer, he should have 
 in future to keep pretty tight, and so 
 on. 
 
 Although the dash under the word " if " 
 threw some little vagueness upon the future 
 profession, both Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont 
 were satisfied that all was going to be pro- 
 perly settled, and very readily agreed to 
 Oliver's request. Mr. Beaumont did, in- 
 deed, beg that his own peculiar and sound
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 197 
 
 advice might be added in a postscript to the 
 letter, as, "Your father begs me to add 
 that, when you come back, you must really 
 look sharp ;" but the permission was cordial 
 and complete. 
 
 Oliver was very much gratified. He 
 passed two or three months of great enjoy- 
 ment, and when he came home, sunburnt, 
 healthy, and happy, he brought such joy, 
 and brightness, and amusement into the 
 house that all were content to bask for a 
 short time in the pleasantness of the return, 
 without introducing topics of discussion or 
 cares of the world. But all careless times 
 must come to an end, and even before she 
 was urged to do so by Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. 
 Beaumont spoke to Oliver. 
 
 " You will be nineteen in a few weeks, 
 my dear boy," she said, one rainy morning, 
 having found him for once reading in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 She spoke in that somewhat oracular tone 
 in which people speak when they have made
 
 198 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 up their minds to say a thing. Oliver look- 
 ed up from his book. 
 
 ''Well, yes, mother, so I shall ; but it is 
 not my fault. I assure you I would help it 
 if I could." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont smiled. 
 
 " I believe I would help it too, Oliver, if 
 I could. I am very sorry to lose my hoy. 
 But," she added, composing her face again 
 to seriousness, " this is a foolish way of 
 speaking. I want to have some talk with 
 you. We must settle about this future, you 
 know." 
 
 After a short pause, and a look of some- 
 thing like reflection, Oliver put aside his 
 book, rose up from his chair, and said, 
 " Yes, I suppose we must." He then came 
 and stood near her, not with his back to the 
 fire, for it was Summer, and there was no 
 fire, but leaning against the marble chimney- 
 piece, with his hands in his pockets. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont had often wished to find 
 her son in a mood for serious conversation,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 199 
 
 but somehow or other, now the mood was 
 come, she did not know what to do with it. 
 This determined attitude of attention daunt- 
 ed her — put out of her head all the wise 
 and good things she had intended to say. 
 It was quite a relief when Robin, the eldest 
 twin, came in and said, 
 
 ^* Mamma, Mr. Saunders wants a new 
 pen." 
 
 She got up and went with him, but, to 
 her dismay, on returning, found Oliver in 
 exactly the same attitude awaiting her. 
 
 "Well, mother," he said, after a moment, 
 " you said you wanted to have a talk with 
 me. 
 
 " Yes, Oliver, about this future, you 
 know," she replied, while she endeavoured 
 to collect her scattered thoughts. 
 
 " Yes — what about it?" He remarked — 
 he had before now remarked — the signs of 
 trepidation when she spoke to him on this 
 subject, and he laid them all to a cause. 
 It had quite suddenly entered his brain
 
 200 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 that he would make her speak. Hence his 
 attitude of attention. 
 
 "Why, the time is getting on, Oliver; 
 and then 3^our father wishes to have the 
 matter settled. You must be something, 
 you know. It is time for you to settle 
 what." 
 
 " Why must I be something ?" he asked. 
 
 " My dear Oliver," she replied, surprised 
 by the question, but not alarmed by it — she 
 only thought he was fighting off, " almost 
 all people must. Why should you not ?" 
 
 "Lord Nantwich's eldest son need not." 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont was still more surprised, 
 but still only thought it was Oliver's fighting 
 off a settlement of the question. She an- 
 swered with a warmth that she felt, 
 
 "He need not for his livelihood, cer- 
 tainly ; but I think it is a great pity he does 
 not. I hear he is a very good-tempered, 
 but a very idle young man ; and it might 
 save him from a great deal of ill if he was 
 forced to work, like others."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 201 
 
 This was not quite the answer Oliver had 
 wished to have. He thought over it for a 
 moment, then he said, 
 
 " But he need not." 
 
 "No, he need not, certainly." 
 
 " But you say I must." 
 
 " Yes, you must," she answered readily, 
 but still without facing what he meant. 
 
 He looked perplexed ; but then again 
 returned to the charge. 
 
 "Now look here, mother — I sometimes 
 fancy that there is a reason why I need not 
 choose. Will you answer me truly — is 
 there none ?" 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont's very pulses stood still 
 with shock and dismay; but great powers 
 come to the very simplest on great occasions. 
 There was no pause, there was no outward 
 sign of emotion on her cheek as she slowly 
 and steadily answered him, 
 
 " If I answer you, Oliver, it must be to 
 tell you there is none." 
 
 How the phrase so came into her head,
 
 202 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 she could not tell. It seemed afterwards 
 almost like a miracle to her. Oliver looked 
 at her fixedly, and with dismay very visibly 
 painted on his face. 
 
 "What makes you ask?" Mrs. Beaumont 
 asked, still preternaturally composed. 
 
 "Never mind, mother. Now you have 
 answered me, of course I believe you ; and 
 I will do whatever you and my father wish. 
 As I have begun this law business, I think I 
 may as well stick to it ; so settle for me just 
 whatever you like. And where's Dorothy, 
 for I must have a game of battle-door, to 
 wipe off unpleasant thoughts." 
 
 He threw down his book, and ran out of 
 the room ; and Mrs. Beaumont went up to 
 her room, and took a few drops of sal- 
 volatile, for now that it was over, she found 
 herself shaking and trembling like an aspen 
 leaf. 
 
 What could Oliver mean ? What had she 
 ever said or done to put a suspicion into his 
 head ? She was a humble woman, and she
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 203 
 
 accused herself, feeling she must somehow 
 or other have treated him in a way that had 
 led him to imagine he was a greater person 
 than his natural positon warranted. 
 
 She told her husband what had passed in 
 some trepidation, expecting an accusation of 
 this kind from him — " I always told you so. 
 You treat your son as if he was Prince of 
 Wales," which indeed was a phrase he had 
 used when she was lately gaining his per- 
 mission for Oliver to remain in Scotland. 
 But on this occasion Mr. Beaumont was so 
 lost in wonder at, and admiration of, his 
 wife's readiness of speech that he had no 
 room for any other feeling. 
 
 " If I had thought for a thousand years," 
 he very truly said, " I should never have 
 thought of that way of putting it. I hope 
 I should not have told a lie, but if I did not 
 it must all have come out." 
 
 The danger seemed now to be safely 
 tided over. If Oliver was disappointed — 
 and he was — he did not show it. A week's
 
 204 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 fine weather followed, and he threw himself 
 into the enjoyment of cricket and haymaking, 
 and whatever amusement was to be had, in 
 the same way as Oliver the boy had done ; 
 and, with respect to the business in hand, 
 he begged his father to settle for him, and 
 he would do his best. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont suggested that it would 
 be as well to write to Mr. Dashwood and 
 ask his advice. This was done, and Mr. 
 Dashwood replied that he thought Oliver 
 could not do better than come to learn his 
 business in his office for a time. He had, 
 he said, one vacancy, and would be glad to 
 see him, but must postpone the pleasure for 
 a month or six weeks, as he had been seri- 
 ously ill. 
 
 Thus far the matter was happily settled, 
 and Oliver was allowed to please himself 
 during the respite.
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PHILIP DASHWOOD was left at Glen- 
 owen Parsonage, recoverinp; from his 
 accident. This recovery was rapid. He 
 had received a great shock, but slight in- 
 juries, and after the day of his first coining 
 down there was no drawback. It must al- 
 ways be pleasant to have the use of a limb 
 restored, yet Philip saw the approach to 
 perfect recovery with dismay. He would 
 soon have no excuse to linger at Glenowen, 
 yet there he desired to linger ; for he had 
 lost his heart, or was in a fair way to lose 
 it, to Rosamond Vaughan. 
 
 For Philip to lose his heart was not a new 
 thing ; he was near twenty-four years old, 
 and he had lost his heart once in every year
 
 206 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 since he was a schoolboy. But he had 
 not hitherto lost his heart in a serious way 
 — never to one who awed as well as at- 
 tracted. That was the case now ; and there 
 were other symptoms on this occasion more 
 serious than was usual. 
 
 Rosamond piqued him — her ease, her 
 almost matronly kindness to him, piqued 
 him. She seemed so perfectly unconscious 
 that he was Philip Dashwood — one gene- 
 rally considered a dangerous person. He 
 could not make her blush by any of his 
 speeches — either his warm, open thanks or 
 his insinuated compliments. He could not 
 make her out, and he endeavoured to make 
 her out, and when the study of character 
 begins there is no saying what the end will 
 be. 
 
 The whole family were very kind to him 
 — as indeed was their custom to all who 
 came under their roof Mr. Vaughan hired 
 the open chay, with one of the strong little 
 ponies, and drove him daily about the
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 207 
 
 country. Laura got over her shyness, and 
 talked to him, and sang to him, and amused 
 him, and was much amused herself; and 
 Rosamond was undeviatingly careful for his 
 health, and attentive to his wants. But, as 
 may be imagined, this attentive kindness 
 was not what he wanted. He had begun to 
 lose his heart, and what he required and 
 desired was that she should in some degree 
 show symptoms of the same — should at the 
 least melt towards him. But the circum- 
 stances of the house made a real acquaint- 
 ance with her difficult. He wished to draw 
 near, to discover what were her thoughts 
 and opinions ; but he could not do this in 
 public, and he never found her alone and 
 disengaged. 
 
 What Mrs. Evelyn had said about her 
 ambition was a subject of great curiosity. 
 The more he became attracted by her, the 
 more did he think with pleasure of this 
 feature in her character ; but he could not 
 at all times believe the truth of the state-
 
 208 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ment. There was such an absence of what 
 he called ambition in her words and ways. 
 She seemed so utterly indifferent to grandeur, 
 or the shows of things ; so simply honest in 
 allowing her ignorance of the world and its 
 doings ; so satisfied — as it seemed, at least 
 — with her obscure position in life — in 
 short, she puzzled him. 
 
 He was one day talking to Mrs. Evelyn 
 about a young man of a neighbouring 
 county whose name was familiar to him, 
 and whose estates were close to her home. 
 This young man had been, in his early days, 
 more than usually promising, but as he 
 advanced in life, he not only disappointed 
 the hopes formed, but became unusually 
 ill-spoken of, engaging in pursuits ruinous 
 alike to his fair character and opening pro- 
 spects. 
 
 Philip inquired of Mrs. Evelyn whether 
 there had been any cause for such a trans- 
 formation — any special temptation. 
 
 *' Yes, sir — money," she replied, with
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 209 
 
 warmth — *' money, which is the cause of all 
 the evil in this world." 
 
 Laura was present at this conversation. 
 Between her and Mrs. Evelyn there was not 
 at any time much sympathy ; and at this 
 sweeping statement her blood boiled. 
 
 '^ And yet, Aunt Anna,^' she burst out, 
 *' Rosamond wishes, of all things, for money ; 
 I don't think, therefore, it can be so very 
 bad a thing." 
 
 Philip looked at her quickly and curious- 
 ly. Mrs. Evelyn, slowly, and with some 
 dismay. 
 
 " I have often feared that Rosamond 
 wished for money," she said at last, gravely ; 
 " but I am sorry to hear you say it." 
 
 "Why, Aunt Anna? — why be sorry? 
 She only wishes to have it to do good with 
 it." 
 
 " Of course, my dear. I should never 
 suspect Rosamond of wishing for anything 
 but good, or — what seems like good ; but it 
 is very sad that she should wish, neverthe- 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 less. If God had intended her to have 
 money, He would have given it to her. 
 She must be content to use well what she 
 has.'^ 
 
 " And so she does, I am sure," Laura 
 said, angrily ; ^' and anybody may see that 
 she is the most contented person in the 
 world. She is much more contented than 
 I am." 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn smiled a little, and said, 
 
 ^' You are not perfect, Laura." 
 
 " I know I am not — I did not mean I 
 was ; but I think you are very hard on 
 Rosamond. Is she not ?" appealing eagerly 
 to Philip. 
 
 " I think so — as far as I understand, at 
 least," he replied. 
 
 " What have I said harsh or hard, Laura? 
 You say Rosamond wishes of all things for 
 money. I only say I grieve to hear it, 
 knowing better than you or she can do how 
 dangerous money is." 
 
 ^' But it would not be dangerous to her.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 211 
 
 To do things people mmt have money — you 
 know they must — and Rosamond has a thing 
 she wants very particularly to do. How 
 can she do it without money?" 
 
 " Probably not at all. But then she 
 ought not to think of it. If it pleased God 
 that she should do great things, He would 
 give her the money. Money is the cause of 
 all evil, and it is very dangerous to wish for 
 it." 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn spoke so calmly, so without 
 a trace of anger or irritation, repeating her 
 austere statements indeed, without qualifi- 
 cation, but with such quietness that she 
 lashed the poor little girl into a frenzy. 
 She launched into a violent defence both 
 of Rosamond and money, saying she should 
 have thought, when excellent plans were 
 put into people's heads, it was a sign they 
 were to work them out, and that anybody 
 could see Rosamond was not a common 
 person, who would be vain and conceited if 
 she did anything good, and she was sure 
 
 p2
 
 212 OLIVEK BEAUMONT. 
 
 she hoped Rosamond looidd have money, be- 
 cause she kneiv it would be good for people 
 that she should have it. 
 
 She was in the midst of her excited 
 speech, saying many things Rosamond would 
 not have wished her to say, Philip listen- 
 ing with amusement and interest, when 
 Rosamond came in. At the sight of her 
 sister, Laura paused, and became crimson ; 
 then, as Rosamond looked surprised, said, 
 
 " I didn't mean to be cross, Rosamond ; 
 but x\unt Anna said money was wicked, or 
 almost that, and I said it could not be, be- 
 cause you wished so much to have it." 
 
 Rosamond blushed more deeply than 
 Philip had ever seen her blush before, and 
 for a moment, as the six curious eyes were 
 fastened on her face, looked annoyed. She 
 guessed that Laura might have been saying 
 indiscreet things, but she was not going to 
 desert her faithful advocate. She smiled at 
 her and said — 
 
 " Of course I don't know what you have
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 213 
 
 said, Laura, but 1 agree with you that I 
 don't like to hear money abused. Money is 
 a good thing in its way — is it not, Aunt 
 Anna ?" 
 
 " I don't know, my dear," Mrs. Evelyn 
 replied gravely. " If Laura quarrels with 
 me for saying money is the root of all evil, 
 I am afraid it is not I that say it." 
 
 '^ The love of money, is it not ?" Rosa- 
 mond said gently. "That is different." 
 
 " The love of money — yes, you are right. 
 But to loish for money is to love it. But 
 we will argue no more ; we will speak of it 
 another time." 
 
 Philip had felt curious about Rosamond's 
 ambition ; he now felt curious about this 
 desire for money, and watched and watched 
 for an opportunity to ask about it. Two 
 days after the conversation he found this 
 opportunity. It was a bright June evening, 
 and Mr. Vaughan, before he and Laura and 
 Mrs. Evelyn began some hard work that 
 had to be done in the garden, helped Philip
 
 214 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 to a long sofa-seat which had been placed 
 for him near Rosamond's bower. There he 
 sat and read while the others worked — that 
 is, he was by way of reading, but his eyes 
 perpetually strayed to the house ; for what 
 was the use of placing him by Rosamond's 
 bower, if she was not there ? 
 
 Presently she came, carrying a large 
 basket of green twigs, and, sitting down in 
 her bower, began to twine the little branches 
 into wreaths and garlands. 
 
 Philip curiously inquired what she w^as 
 doing, and she explained that they were go- 
 ing to have a feast for the children of the 
 choir on the Tuesday following. 
 
 *' As we have no place but a shed to hold 
 it in," she said, "we make the shed pretty 
 with our own devices." 
 
 Anything and everything of country life 
 was so new to Philip that he made many 
 inquiries regarding this feast, and the large- 
 ness of his ideas on the subject amused 
 Rosamond. Evidently turtle, as a provision
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 215 
 
 for school-children's appetites, would hardl}^ 
 have surprised him. But Rosamond en- 
 lightened him on this point. She said that, 
 although some little novelty was always 
 provided, if possible, yet that novelty was 
 not required, not that which was most 
 successful. 
 
 " Bread and butter, and plenty of it," she 
 said. "• Make sure of that for country 
 children, and you are safe." 
 
 " Well," he said, '^ the children are wise. 
 But I did not think children were wise. We 
 all wish for novelty, do we not?" 
 
 " I suppose so," she replied ; and, as was 
 her habit, she began to think instead of say- 
 ing more. She had so few opportunities of 
 conversation that things carelessly said were 
 often apt to engross her. She paused now 
 upon this question whether or not novelty 
 in itself was pleasure. 
 
 Philip watched her for a moment, and 
 then said, 
 
 " You are going off, I am sure, on some
 
 216 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 abstruse point. Do not debate it now, for I 
 want to talk." 
 
 " I was," she said, laughing — " I was 
 thinking to myself whether or not I like 
 novelty." 
 
 "And you settled you did not," he ob- 
 served, mischievously, feeling pretty sure of 
 the contrary. 
 
 *' I had not time to settle. At a glance, 
 I think I felt I did like novelty." 
 
 " So I imagined ; and, do you know, I see 
 no particular reason why you should not, 
 or why I should not. Where is the merit 
 of being humdrum ?" 
 
 " Nowhere, I think," she said, laughing 
 again. 
 
 " Well, but those who hate all kinds of 
 novelty — who set themselves against every- 
 thing merely because it is new — are sure to 
 be either humdrum, or, what is worse, 
 bigots. For myself, I own I do like people 
 to have views beyond our everyday life and 
 wishes, even though they may be large ones."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 217 
 
 " Now, I know what you are thinking of," 
 Rosamond said, and she blushed, 
 
 "Perhaps you do. I was interested by 
 what passed on Tuesday between your aunt 
 and Laura. I see that you and your aunt 
 do not agree." 
 
 "My aunt has thought much, and had 
 great experience. I have thought little, and 
 had no experience of life. It would not do, 
 therefore, for me to say I do not agree with 
 her. She may see things in life that I have 
 no notion of." 
 
 " I understand that, of course ; but still, 
 so far as you do see, you do not agree." 
 
 " I hardly know : 1 think I do agree in 
 her principle. She has been very unhappy, 
 and life has lost every charm in her eyes. 
 This makes her, I think, express herself 
 severely ; and yet she is not really severe." 
 
 "How about money, then? It seemed 
 to me that she wished for a great broom to 
 sweep all money away, as worse than dross. 
 But you did not seem to look at it in that 
 light at all."
 
 218 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ''No/' and she slightly blushed again. 
 " I think to have money must be a great 
 blessing. But then, of course, I see all the 
 dangers she sees." 
 
 Philip saw the blush, which no efforts of 
 his could excite except on this subject of 
 money. His curiosity impelled him no 
 longer to beat about the bush, but to ask 
 the question he wished to have answered. 
 
 "Your sister excited my curiosity a 
 good deal the other day. She spoke in her 
 warmth about your dreams, and wishes, and 
 plans. May I ask you what she meant ?" 
 
 Rosamond blushed more deeply, and hesi- 
 tated for a moment before she replied. 
 Then she said, 
 
 " I will tell you, if you like, but you will 
 be ver}'- much disappointed. It is only that 
 all my life — as long as I can remember, at 
 least — I have had in my head a wish to 
 build a home for cripple children. The 
 idea occupies me more, I daresay, than such 
 a fancy ought ; and I have often talked of it
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 219 
 
 to Laura. Such a thing requires money, 
 and a great deal of money. I don't allow 
 myself to wish, but often, when I read of 
 foolish extravagance, Laura hears me say 
 how I wish the wasted money was given to 
 me. That was all she meant." 
 
 '' A home for cripple children !" Philip 
 certainly did feel blank and disappointed 
 when the words came from Rosamond's lips. 
 
 " A home for cripple children," he re- 
 peated slowly. " I am so stupid, so ignorant 
 on such subjects that I hardly take in what 
 you mean. Do you mean to say that the 
 building of such a concern occupies your 
 mind ? — is your castle in the air ? — your 
 romance, in short?" 
 
 " Perhaps it is," and she smiled and 
 blushed, and looked so lovely as she thus 
 smiled and blushed, that Philip suddenly 
 felt himself borne into her dreams and 
 animated by them. No longer amazed and 
 musing, but with warmth he said, 
 
 "Do tell me about this plan. I am
 
 220 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ignorant, but not uninterested in such 
 things. If you have thought on the subject, 
 no doubt you have a settled plan." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I have indeed. There is no 
 part of the plan that I have not looked into 
 and arranged, whether outward or inward. 
 I know it must seem a little insane, but 
 when I was young, papa did not discourage 
 my thinking of it ; and now it has become 
 rooted. Even now he does not discourage 
 me, because he says, if I can do nothing, I 
 may help some one else, perhaps." 
 
 " But I do not see why it should require 
 so much money." 
 
 '''My plan would. But you are quite 
 right, something might be done with even a 
 very little. I do think of that ; but I own 
 that what occupies my mind is my own 
 large plan." 
 
 " And what is that ? Do tell me." 
 
 Rosamond began to speak in a quiet, 
 sober way, but she was not used to have so 
 eager a listener as Philip had now become —
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 221 
 
 nor indeed on this subject any listener but 
 Laura ; and she herself, in depicting her 
 plan to this eager hearer, became so ani- 
 mated with her dream that the dream for a 
 moment seemed a reality. 
 
 She described her Home as a kind of 
 hospital of the Middle Ages, with a garden 
 and a chapel attached to it. The Home 
 was to be for fifty or sixty children afflicted 
 with incurable diseases, who were to be in- 
 structed and attended and nursed by twelve 
 widows or unmarried women. Everything, 
 she said, in the establishment was to be on 
 the simplest possible scale, as it would have 
 been in the Middle Ages, except the chapel 
 and the garden. Those two things were to 
 be cared for and made beautiful, so that the 
 children might know there was beauty and 
 gladness on earth. 
 
 ''Perfect!" Philip said, warmly. "But 
 what," he added, smiling, "do you know 
 about the Middle Ages ?" 
 
 " Not much, perhaps. But papa has lent
 
 222 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 me books about the old institutions, and I 
 have thought the arrangements perfect 
 almost — much more perfect than the costly 
 plans of the present day. They make me 
 angry." 
 
 *' I see you do not call your Home a con- 
 vent, and yet perhaps you mean something 
 of the kind. Do you mean your twelve 
 women to be nuns." 
 
 ^' Oh, no ! Why did you think of it ?" 
 
 " I have heard say we are going to have 
 nuns and convents again. I am glad you 
 do not fancy them." 
 
 " I am sure I did not say that," Rosa- 
 mond said. " I only said my women were 
 not nuns. 1 meant it to be a refuge for 
 poor and lonely women, who liked to work ; 
 but I did not intend to tie them to it more 
 than was necessary." 
 
 " Still I fancy that, if you had liked nuns, 
 you would have made your women nuns," 
 he persisted. 
 
 " Perhaps. Well, yes, I think for myself
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 223 
 
 I like a service that is always free and 
 voluntary better than one that is tied. But 
 characters are very different ; one person 
 must not and cannot decide for another." 
 
 They talked on. Later in the evening 
 Philip smiled to himself as he remembered 
 how he had entered into the minutest de- 
 tails, but at the time he even forced them 
 from Rosamond in the eagerness of his 
 curiositv.
 
 224 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 nnHE morning after this conversation, Mr. 
 -■- Morgan, Philip's medical adviser, told 
 him he was fit to travel. He would have 
 been glad enough to detain his rich patient, 
 but his work was done, and he said so. 
 
 Philip had been dreading to hear the 
 fact ; thus plainly told, he could not but act 
 upon the intelligence. When he went to 
 luncheon, he announced his departure for 
 the following day. 
 
 Mr. Vaughan most cordially pressed him 
 to stay longer, if a longer stay would be 
 either for his pleasure or his convenience ; 
 but Philip resisted, until Laura observed 
 that he had said he should like to see the 
 school tea. He owned he had done so,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 225 
 
 and being again invited to prolong his visit, 
 a stay of two or three days longer was de- 
 cided on. 
 
 Philip was pleased at his reprieve, but he 
 was not pleased with Rosamond. She had 
 joined her voice to her father's in inviting 
 him to stay, but that blush — the blush on 
 his account, for which he so anxiously 
 waited — had not appeared, neither when he 
 spoke of his departure, nor when he deter- 
 mined to relent. In his vexation, he could 
 not help observing, while standing by her 
 for a moment after luncheon, 
 
 " After all, I think you w^ould be better 
 pleased if I went." 
 
 The blush which he had wished to excite 
 now appeared, but it was of surprise, of an- 
 noyance, not of sentiment. 
 
 "What can you mean?" she said, with 
 simple truth. " Indeed I am very glad you 
 should stay." 
 
 And then Philip, annoyed with himself, 
 passed off his vexation on another plea. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 ''• I feel I shall be so horribly in the way 
 — a stranger always is on such occasions." 
 
 And with a ready belief in his plea, which 
 annoyed him still more, she assured him 
 that, if he did not mind their forgetting he 
 was a stranger, his presence — the presence 
 of any stranger — would greatly add to the 
 pleasures of the day. But it so chanced 
 that something more of feeling characterized 
 their parting. 
 
 Philip did not remain to see the rural 
 feast. On the Monday morning there came 
 a telegraph message to Mr. Vaughan, an- 
 nouncing the serious illness of Mr. Dash- 
 wood. Mr. Vaughan was gone out for 
 some hours, and the message was brought 
 to Rosamond. She felt there was nothing 
 to be done but to take it to Phihp, and to 
 help him in his arrangements for departure, 
 and she went to him herself Mrs. Evelyn 
 offered her assistance on the occasion, but 
 Eosamond felt too much for Philip to de- 
 prive him of the encouragement which she
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 227 
 
 was able to give, but which Mrs. Evelyn, 
 with sadder views of life, refused to see. 
 The message was in these words : 
 
 " Mr. Dashwood is seriously ill ; let his son 
 return home as soon as possible y 
 
 Mrs. Evelyn saw nothing but death in the 
 words. Rosamond, dwelling on the word 
 *' seriously," and the expression " as soon as 
 possible," allowed danger, but saw hope in 
 every part. And the hope she felt she 
 communicated to him, and her kindness and 
 gentleness could not fail to touch a heart 
 already deeply touched. Although he said 
 no words, he could not, in his hurried, soft- 
 ened, and excited state, wholly govern his 
 feelings, and she became partly enlightened 
 in those last moments as to his sentiments 
 for her. While he held her hand, and 
 poured into her ear his murmured thanks — 
 she and Laura standing with him on the 
 threshold before his departure — the strength 
 of the pressure, and the fervour of the grati- 
 tude, brought into her cheeks that blush 
 
 q2
 
 228 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 which he had so pined to call forth, and 
 Avhich even in that moment caused a glad- 
 ness in his heart. 
 
 "Well, I never .thought of such an end 
 as this," Laura said sadly, as they returned 
 to the drawing-room. " How dreadful it 
 is !" and she shuddered. 
 
 Most persons would have felt pity and 
 sympathy for a young mind thus suddenly, 
 and for the first time, brought in contact 
 with the uncertainty of life and earthly 
 peace ; and in her heart Mrs. Evelyn had 
 sympathy, but she would have thought it 
 wrong not to seize the opportunity offered 
 for impressing a wholesome truth. 
 
 *' We never do think of what the end of 
 any one hour may be," she said, with her 
 calm gravity, " and yet there is no day, nor 
 hour, nor moment in which we are safe 
 from the hand of death." 
 
 " Oh, don't speak so !" Laura said, pite- 
 ously. "How could one live and think it?" 
 
 " We must live and think it, because it is
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 229 
 
 truth ; and I could almost be thankful, 
 Laura, deeply as I regret Mr. Dashwood's 
 sorrow, for any occasion that carries the 
 truth home to my mind and to your mind." 
 
 ^* Thankful !" and Laura repeated the 
 word with a kind of passionate indignation. 
 
 " Yes, for we are all of us earthly, and 
 apt to forget." 
 
 " I think it is almost time for papa 
 to come home," Rosamond said suddenly, 
 speaking for the first time. " Will you go 
 and meet him, Laura, and tell him what 
 has happened? And be sure you tell him," 
 she added, " that I think there is good hope 
 about it all?" 
 
 Laura looked at her with grateful thanks, 
 and sprang out of the room. 
 
 " Laura is very young," Rosamond then 
 said, turning to her aunt, " and she is not 
 like me ; she has never known what sorrow 
 is. Do you think it is good to sadden 
 her?" 
 
 "What do you think yourself, Rosa-
 
 230 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 raond ? Has it not been good for you to be 
 troubled ?" 
 
 " For me — yes," she said, after a pause of 
 thought. " So great a sorrow would not 
 have been sent unless it had been good for 
 us ; and I know it was good for me. But 
 Laura is different. It was not for her ; and 
 perhaps not for her because she did not need 
 to be so early subdued. Must she have 
 her mind troubled by fears while still so 
 young ?" 
 
 '' It is to spare her from being overmuch 
 troubled that I would speak," Mrs. Evelyn 
 said, gently. " Let her early learn what 
 she must learn later — how frail all earthly 
 happiness is." 
 
 *' Can that be taught? I mean, can we 
 learn not to shrink? When that message 
 was brought me, I thought it was about 
 Frank. It was a dreadful moment !" and 
 her colour rose at the mere remembrance of 
 what she had felt. " Do you think the 
 having such fears makes one suffer less ? "
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 231 
 
 "What I think, my dear Rosamond, is 
 that we are all very earthly, and that we 
 should bless the Hand that in every accident 
 of life is saying to us, * This is not your 
 home.' And the more free from care a home 
 is, and the more," and she glanced round 
 the room, "the sins and miseries of the 
 world are kept out of sight, the more we 
 should be thankful for the warnings which 
 bid us never rest. In this home," and again 
 her eye glanced round, " I think there is a 
 tendency to build tabernacles, as St. Peter 
 wished to do ; and I warn you against it." 
 
 Rosamond sat thoughtful ; but it was not 
 her aunt's last words that occupied her 
 thoughts. There are minds, and good and 
 holy minds, too, who, when happy on earth, 
 are so radiantly happy and satisfied that 
 they would build tabernacles here below if 
 they could. But it was not so with Rosa- 
 mond. Dangers there might indeed be in 
 her disposition, but a resting in earth was 
 not a danger. In her the instincts of
 
 232 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 even a natural immortality were so strong 
 that, had she been a heathen, she would have 
 said confidingly, 
 
 " Can the mind of man, the immortal soul, 
 Which on earth seems bounding from earth's control — 
 Can that spirit by death to flesh be linked, 
 All its ardour quenched, and its hope extinct ? 
 Ah ! no, there's a bright and blissful sphere. 
 Where it soars when freed from its bondage here." 
 
 And to that blissful sphere her thoughts 
 were for ever straying. 
 
 She was thoughtful, because agitated. 
 The shock of the coming of the message, 
 the having to break it to Philip, and the 
 discovery she had made at his departure, 
 had excited her mind, and she was one of 
 those for whom excitement was not good — 
 not good, speaking of things on the surface. 
 Some have sluggish temperaments, and for 
 them almost any excitement is good ; but 
 there are others who have too much life in 
 their hearts ; a mere touch makes every 
 nerve to throb ; and when this is the case, 
 excitement, even when healthful, is not —
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 233 
 
 still speaking on the surface of things — the 
 atmosphere in which they thrive. 
 
 Rosamond had this sensitive nature. She 
 was thoughtful, because her vision of life, of 
 what earth might be, was disturbed. A 
 cloud had come upon the mirror. She 
 could not feel clear, as she generally did, 
 that there was something not only too severe 
 in her aunt's views, but something untruth- 
 ful at the root of those views. At last she 
 looked up, and said, 
 
 ** Do you remember, Aunt Anna, that it 
 is somewhere said, in one of the prophets, 
 * And have made the hearts of the righteous 
 sad, whom I have not made sad.' You 
 know I don't for one moment think this is 
 meant for children, but I sometimes think 
 we may apply it to children." She stopped 
 for a moment, and then, with a colour 
 slightly rising, went on, " Mamma used to 
 say that children and flowers were the two 
 things she thought of for comfort, when the 
 sins and sorrows of the world made her too
 
 234 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 unhappy ; and that the thought of them al- 
 ways comforted her. She then saw what it 
 was that was meant Flowers are sometimes 
 blighted, and children sometimes suffer, but 
 for the most part children are happy ; and 
 should we sadden them when it was not what 
 was meant ? " 
 
 It was the excitement in Rosamond's 
 mind that made her speak, for many words 
 with her was a rare thing, especially to 
 Mrs. Evelyn, and ^Irs. Evelyn looked sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " You wish me to say no more to Laura," 
 she said. 
 
 " It is what I wish, certainly. Aunt Anna. 
 Laura is peculiar; not at all like me. I 
 can believe sad thoughts are good for me, 
 but they might make Laura bitter ; unless 
 they are sent to her. That would be dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 " I may not agree with you, Rosamond," 
 Mrs. Evelyn replied, *' but I will do as you 
 wish. Indeed, I myself should not have
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 235. 
 
 isaid more on this occasion. Let it do its 
 own work." 
 
 Rosamond's sanguine views regarding Mr. 
 Dasliwood's illness proved in the end to be 
 correct. On the next morning the gentle- 
 man who had sent the telegraph wrote to 
 Mr. Yaughan, saying that, in case Philip had 
 not been able to start immediately, he still 
 wished him to come, if possible, although 
 the illness in the last few hours had taken a 
 more hopeful turn. 
 
 This account relieved their minds, and 
 Laura, who, after having much enjoyed 
 Philip's visit, had been unusually depressed, 
 cheered up to conduct the settled feast. 
 
 But, although Mr. Dashwood's illness had 
 taken a good turn, he was seriously ill ; and 
 he himself took a desponding view of his 
 state. Three days after Philip's return, he 
 sent for him and begged him to bring divers 
 boxes and papers to his bedside. His illness 
 had not affected his mind, nor had it yet 
 greatly weakened him ; and, although exer-
 
 236 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 tion and excitement were forbidden, he was 
 such a man of business that, to forbid all 
 thought, was to attempt an impossibility. 
 
 " They tell me I shall get well," he said, 
 as his son obeyed his orders, and placed the 
 boxes he had brought on a table near the 
 bed, " but I am not so sure as they are ; and 
 better to do my business while my mind is 
 clear." 
 
 " They have no doubt, father, that you 
 will get well," Philip said, confidently. 
 
 "I don't know. There are ugly symp- 
 toms," and he shook his head. " But I am 
 better, thank God ! and Chambers will pull 
 me through, if man can do it. Meanwhile, 
 let me do my business, as I said, while my 
 mind is clear. I shall be the easier and get 
 on the better." 
 
 " Yes, sir, all right. I will attend as w^ell 
 as I can." 
 
 Mr. Dashwood was the possessor of 
 various family secrets. Some of these 
 weighed on his mind ; more especially as
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 237 
 
 Mr. Borodaile, the other possessor of the 
 secrets, was in infirm health. As it was a 
 settled thing that Philip was to be a partner 
 in the house, Mr. Dashwood determined to 
 make them over to him at once, in case of 
 accidents, although he had not as yet shown 
 any remarkable qualities for business of this, 
 or indeed of any, kind. 
 
 He took various packets of letters into his 
 hand, and, selecting a few letters, put them 
 into his son s hands, desiring him to read 
 them. When each letter was read, he made 
 some observations. 
 
 Philip, anxious to attend to and quiet his 
 father — for he was an affectionate son — read 
 and listened patiently, but there was no- 
 thing that greatly excited his interest ; and, 
 after a few things had been discussed, he said, 
 
 "Surely, father, you have done enough 
 for to-day?" 
 
 " I have — I feel that. But I still want 
 to put you au fait of Oliver Beaumont's 
 business."
 
 238 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Oliver Beaumont !" Philip cried. "What! 
 that boy !" and he turned to look for a pho- 
 tograph, which, however, was not in the 
 room. 
 
 "What do you know of Oliver Beau- 
 mont ?" asked his father, surprised. 
 
 " I met with him lately — I mean to say, I 
 met with his photograph. He has a pleasant 
 face. I had been struck with it in your 
 study, sir, and I saw it again at the 
 Vaughans'." 
 
 " At the Vaughans', did you ! I did not 
 know they were acquainted." 
 
 " Wh}^, father, what do you know about 
 them ?" Philip said, with eager interest. 
 
 "I am going to tell you what I know. 
 Now listen," and he concisely stated the 
 history of the will, so far as Oliver and its 
 condition was concerned. He then went 
 on : " Now all I have to say to you, 
 Philip, is that, should anything happen to 
 me, you must see that the condition is pro- 
 perly carried out — fairly carried out. We
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 239 
 
 will speak on the subject again, but I was 
 anxious to tell you the facts now." 
 
 *' Yes, sir ; and supposing this Oliver to 
 fail in the condition, to whom would the 
 property go ?" 
 
 '' To an acquaintance of yours — Rosamond 
 Vaughan, and to her without any condition." 
 
 *^To Rosamond Vaughan !" and Philip al- 
 most screamed in his surprise. 
 
 His father nodded. Philip sat staring. 
 
 "Well, Philip, what is the matter?" 
 
 " It is so strange, sir ! If you knew her, 
 you would say so too. She is poor, but she 
 is born to be rich. She even longs for 
 riches." 
 
 " I daresay she does," observed Mr. Dash- 
 wood drily — " so do many people." 
 
 " Ah ! but her wishes are not like most 
 people's. They are the wishes of a saint." 
 
 "Well, Philip, this I will tell you, to set 
 your mind at rest on that point — there is 
 barely a chance for her. As far as I hear, 
 Oliver Beaumont is likelv to live a thousand
 
 240 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 years — in fact, you have only to look in his 
 face and see long life, and health and pros- 
 perity in it. A chance," he added, sud- 
 denly becoming grave, for in his illness he 
 had had a few serious reflections, *' of course, 
 there is, poor frail mortals as we are, one 
 and all of us." 
 
 " x\nd she knows nothing of this ?" 
 
 " Knows ! — she ! Why, are you dream- 
 ing, boy ? This secret must be double- 
 locked in your breast. Do you under- 
 stand ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, father, perfectly. I only 
 asked the question as regarded her. It 
 seemed strange. And the secret has been 
 kept from Oliver Beaumont till now ?" 
 
 " I fancy so, of course." 
 
 " And the condition ?" 
 
 " Depend upon it, the parents will take 
 good care the condition is kept. Put it out 
 of your head. It is to be nothing but a 
 matter of business to you." 
 
 On that day no more was said. Mr.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 241 
 
 Dashwood became more ill, and then, after 
 some alternations, recovered. During his 
 illness and the recovery business was en- 
 tirely forbidden, and having set his mind at 
 rest regarding a few things which interested 
 him, he obeyed the restrictions laid upon 
 him. 
 
 It was when he was nearly well again, 
 that the letter from Mrs. Beaumont regard- 
 ing Oliver's choice came, and the answer 
 which has been mentioned was returned. 
 On that day he said to his son, as he put 
 the letter into his hand — 
 
 "The condition is kept, you see." 
 
 Philip read the letter, and said, " Yes, I 
 see." 
 
 " Young Beaumont will come into the 
 office, and you must do your best with him. 
 His face " — Mr. Dashwood looked about on 
 the table at which he was writing, and after 
 a search found the photograph of Oliver — 
 " is not, strictly speaking, intellectual, but it 
 is a good face, not without intelligence. I 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 OLIVER BEAUMONT, 
 
 have known those broad British faces make 
 good men of business." 
 
 " I should say," Philip said, with a smile, 
 ^' that it would make a good cricketer." 
 
 ^* Ah, well, yes," and Mr. Dashwood 
 laughed. " But a good cricketer need not 
 be a bad man of business. We must do the 
 best we can for the young fellow. Make 
 him work." 
 
 " It is of no great importance, I suppose," 
 said his son, who felt at the moment a 
 grudge against Oliver for being alive and 
 well, and able to choose a profession ; " the 
 condition is kept, and there the matter 
 ends." 
 
 '* In one sense, certainly, but not morally. 
 What that poor fellow. Captain Delaford, 
 was anxious to secure was a successor who 
 could understand his business and do his 
 duty. Don't talk like a foolish young man, 
 as if property had no duties. In these days, 
 I can tell you — speaking not morally, but 
 for self-interest's sake — it is a matter of
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 243 
 
 great importance that the duties of property 
 should be known and remembered." 
 
 " I am not so foolish a fellow, sir, as to 
 doubt it ; and what I think is that Captain 
 Delaford's will would be much better 
 carried out if Miss Vaughan had the 
 property." 
 
 " Miss Vaughan 1" and Mr. Dash wood 
 frowned. " Miss Vaughan has nothing 
 whatever to say to Oliver Beaumont's pro- 
 perty. Don't make me regret that I have 
 made you a partner to my secrets, Philip." 
 
 " Not if I can help it, father. But it is 
 impossible for a man not to think. I only 
 said what I thought." 
 
 " In these matters of business it is best 
 not to think. Let the subject rest." 
 
 b2
 
 244 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT was made happy 
 in the month of August by receiving 
 an invitation from Frank Vaughan to visit 
 the Parsonage at Glenowen. In Frank's 
 letter was an enclosure from Rosamond. 
 
 " My dear Oliver, — If you accept and 
 come to see us, do you think you might be 
 allowed to bring your sister with you ? Papa 
 and Laura and I will all be very glad to 
 make acquaintance with her, and will take 
 great care of her. 
 
 '' Ever yours, 
 
 ^' Rosamond Vaughan." 
 
 Oliver was pleased with this enclosure, 
 so far as his sister was concerned, and Doro-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 245 
 
 thy was in ecstatic delight ; but he felt a 
 twinge of discomfort, and for this reason. 
 She began, " My dear Oliver," and he was 
 beginning to feel important enough not to 
 be pleased with the freedom of an appella- 
 tion which he had once '^ particularly liked." 
 After recalling, however, the time when he 
 had asked to be called Oliver as a favour, 
 he recovered his serenity, and felt nothing 
 but pleasure in the prospect before him. 
 
 Oliver had once seen Rosamond since the 
 visit which had left such impressions on his 
 memory. A year and a half later he had 
 gone to Glenowen at the beginning of the 
 holidays, but only for three days, as he was 
 wanted at home. On that occasion the im- 
 pression had been confirmed and deepened, 
 but no excitement of mind had followed ; 
 he was full of other things — of divers plans 
 of amusement — and had scarcely thought at 
 all. Now, however, her image rising up in 
 memory, he did feel excitement. He won- 
 dered whether she was changed ; he won-
 
 246 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 dered whether he was changed ; he won- 
 dered what she would think of him, and 
 threw back his shoulders and surveyed him- 
 self with a kind of pleased consciousness 
 that he was fit to be seen. He was a modest 
 youth, and did not go further, nor was there 
 a shadow of conceit as the consciousness 
 arose, nor did that self-satisfaction last more 
 than a moment. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont were not rich 
 enough to indulge in many excursions, but 
 Dorothy was a good girl, and both were 
 anxious to give her the rare pleasure of 
 visiting with Oliver. The brother and sister 
 therefore set forth together. 
 
 As they went in the fly from the station 
 to Glenowen, both were thoughtful. Doro- 
 thy was occupied only with the shy thoughts 
 of a girl who had never left home before ; 
 but Oliver, more advanced, with the shy 
 thoughts of a youth who was about to meet 
 the lady on whom he had fixed his fancy. 
 Although a few days before he had satisfied
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 247 
 
 his mind that he was fit to be seen, now 
 that the moment of inspection was approach- 
 ing, the favourable impression vanished ; he 
 feared lest she should think him only a 
 "lout of a boy." The ''my dear Oliver" 
 was recalled, and a second time with a sen- 
 sation of discomfort. 
 
 " Is she alarming ?" Dorothy asked at 
 last, with a kind of sigh. 
 
 No name was named ; but Oliver was 
 thinking of the same person, and did not 
 notice this. 
 
 " No," he replied, encouragingly — " not 
 alarming. Besides, if she was, Doll}', you 
 will have most to do with Laura." 
 
 "Oh! shall I? I don't think I shall 
 mind her ; but I should like Miss Vaughan 
 to like me." 
 
 " She's sure to like you if you behave 
 yourself," Oliver said, recovering himself, to 
 tease Dorothy. 
 
 " Mamma says she is sure Miss Vaughan 
 is not a common person."
 
 248 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Oliver could scarcely restrain an undue 
 warmth of manner in replying to this obser- 
 vation. But as he was not going to allow 
 Dorothy to have any insight into his feelings, 
 he did restrain himself, and only said, se- 
 dately, " I think she is uncommonly good- 
 natured ; and you need not fuss yourself, 
 Dolly, for, as I said, she is sure to like you, 
 if you do but behave yourself decently." 
 
 Dorothy said no more. Not that being 
 told that all depends on one's proper be- 
 haviour is exactly comforting, but she had 
 relieved her mind by expressing her tremors, 
 and was satisfied. 
 
 No sooner had they arrived at Glenowen 
 than the trepidation of both brother and 
 sister vanished into thin air. The cordial 
 welcome, the minute sympathy, the bright- 
 ness, peace, and harmony, drove every 
 sensation away ; every sensation of discom- 
 fort, of strangeness, most of all, of self. 
 And that is the charm of charms. There 
 are societies, and those not devoid of
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 249 
 
 kindness and the desire to please, in which 
 self, one's own body and soul, remains, or 
 becomes, the one predominant object — a 
 lumbersome appendage, which is not to be 
 shaken off. And there are others in which, 
 from some cause, self flies away on wings, 
 or melts into perfect harmony with the 
 bodies and souls of others. And this was 
 the case at Glenowen. 
 
 Oliver totally forgot, for the first few days 
 of his stay, to consider whether or not he 
 was a lout of a boy. All things were so 
 exactly as they had been that he fell back 
 insensibly into the being a boy, without an- 
 noyance or consideration. Frank was the 
 most changed of the party. His few months 
 at Oxford had already given him age. His 
 mind was full of thought, full of question- 
 ings, full of care ; yet even he, feeling in- 
 sensibly the influence of home ; a home in 
 which — which is rarely the case — there was 
 monotony without dulness, and self-restraint 
 without strictness, fell back into boyhood.
 
 250 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 and seemed content to enjoy himself for 
 awhile without fear. 
 
 A week had almost passed before Oliver 
 began to have uncomfortable sensations ; 
 and the feeling that roused him from his 
 tranquillity was a momentary jealousy of 
 Dorothy. He called her one evening into 
 his room, to mend some buttons and button- 
 holes. Oliver was, as an Irish maid had 
 once said of him, " very 'cute in getting off 
 his buttons ;" and Dorothy was often em- 
 ployed on this particular job. While she 
 sewed she talked, and from the excitement 
 of her visit talked freely, which was unusual 
 with her. She spoke of all the family, 
 praising each with warmth ; but the burden 
 of the song was always Miss Yaughan. 
 Rosamond had exercised over Dorothy the 
 same fascination which Oliver had early felt. 
 
 "Last night she was so very good- 
 natured," Dorothy said ; " and told me all 
 about her plan." 
 
 " What plan ?" Oliver asked, curiously.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 251 
 
 "Oh! don't you know? I thought of 
 course you knew, as Laura said it was a real 
 plan. She wants to build a hospital." 
 
 Dorothy said the words with deep awe. 
 She was a good little humdrum thing, 
 brought up in a good humdrum home, and 
 she had felt as great a surprise and awe at 
 the idea of Rosamond's wish as most would 
 have felt in its fulfilment. 
 
 " No, I never heard," Oliver said, coldly. 
 He could not help a sharp pang of jealousy 
 that it should have been Dorothy who told 
 him of anything to do with Rosamond. 
 
 Dorothy did not exactly remark the cold- 
 ness of the tone ; but girls attached to their 
 brothers have quick instincts, and she began 
 to explain. 
 
 " This was how it was. Laura and I were 
 talking of wishes — what we should wish for, 
 and if anyone gave us ten pounds what we 
 should do with it. I could not think; but 
 Laura said she did wish for a gold cross to 
 hang round her neck. But then she said
 
 252 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 that, even if she had teu pounds, she should 
 not buy the cross ; she thought she should 
 give it to Rosamond to begin her plan. So 
 then she told me about that ; and it was so 
 very strange, and so interesting, that I asked 
 Miss Vaughan, and she told me all about it. 
 It is to be a hospital for unhealthy children — 
 a thing I never should have thought of. 
 But then, she says, there is not much chance, 
 because it will cost ever so much money ; 
 only she keeps it in her head. It is really 
 a wonderful plan, Oliver!" and Dorothy 
 opened wide her eyes, and looked excited. 
 
 " Don't stare about — get on with my but- 
 tons," Oliver said, not crossly, but authorita- 
 tively. 
 
 He felt extremely put out ; and he kicked 
 off a shoe, and opened a drawer with 
 violence. Why was Dorothy to have told 
 him all this ? Did Rosamond think him no- 
 thing but a lout of a boy ? Then he sud- 
 denly became calm, stately, and dignified, 
 and, sitting down on his bed, said, carelessly,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 253 
 
 "It sounds a good idea. Unhealthy 
 children ! Poor things ! I suppose there are 
 some. But, do get on, Dolly, or you will 
 never be ready for dinner." 
 
 From this moment Oliver lost his peace 
 of mind. He began to remark, as Philip 
 Dashwood had done, how seldom he could 
 talk to Rosamond ; but instead of seeing, as 
 Philip, a man of experience, had seen, that 
 it was owing to circumstances, Oliver vexed 
 himself by thinking that she did not think 
 him worth speaking to. And, in his vexa- 
 tion, he kept on repeating, " And she need 
 not think me so little worthy; for if my 
 dreams had been true — and perhaps they 
 are true, after all — she would find that 1 
 could help her in her best plans. And I am 
 sure I should be glad to help her." 
 
 For Oliver, although fully believing his 
 mother, and acknowledging that he must 
 not be too sure, still, in his innermost 
 heart, clung to the notion that there 
 must have been something in Bun's story —
 
 254 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 something that would turn up some day. 
 
 Oliver was not much used to vexation. 
 The greatest he had yet suffered from had 
 been when an unintermitting rain had set in 
 on a day when, as it seemed to him, life de- 
 pended on sunshine. One day, indeed, of 
 disappointment he had endured a few weeks 
 before, when his mother had damped his 
 dreams, as he for one day thought, for ever ; 
 but partly the return of hope, which topk 
 place on the following morning, and partly 
 the fact that his was not the mind that, as 
 yet, at least, could fret much about a future 
 of any kind, had prevented even that dis- 
 appointment from being severe. 
 
 Hfe was vexed now, without knowing 
 why ; and this kind of trouble was new to 
 him, for it had feeling in it. The fear that 
 Rosamond thought but little of him had 
 made his feeling for her assume a more 
 definite form. He lost his boyish content- 
 ment, and was even sometimes morose. 
 This latter mood did not last many minutes
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 255 
 
 together, but the variableness of temper was 
 more striking in him than a constant depres- 
 sion would have been. 
 
 When she had remarked these changes 
 for two or three days without notice, Rosa- 
 mond said to Frank, 
 
 " Oliver is changed since he last came 
 here. At first I thought he was not ; but 
 he is." 
 
 " He is older," Frank said. 
 
 " Don't you think there is something the 
 matter with him ?" 
 
 " Not in particular. It is not so easy, as 
 one grows older, to be always merry. There 
 are a great many things to think about." 
 
 Frank had not made any very special ob- 
 servations on Oliver's moods. He was him- 
 self full of thought, not free from care ; and 
 although to the chief part of his thoughts — 
 the intellectual ones — he found no response 
 in Oliver, to some he did. Oliver, in his 
 way, was quite as anxious to keep straight 
 as Frank was, and the friendship of the
 
 256 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 young men was an assistance to both. He 
 thought it quite natural for Oliver to be 
 older. 
 
 Rosamond had, however, that peculiar 
 disposition of sympathy which actually feels 
 the troubles, light or large, of others, and 
 she felt certain Oliver had something on his 
 mind. 
 
 Going into the drawing-room on the same 
 day that she had asked this question of 
 Frank, she found Oliver there alone. He 
 was sitting in the window with a book. As 
 he was interested in this book, which, in- 
 deed, Rosamond had recommended, there 
 was nothing remarkable in his occupation ; 
 but he had shortly before started to walk 
 with Frank, Laura, and Dorothy, and Rosa- 
 mond was therefore surprised to find him 
 thus engaged. 
 
 The fact was, he had turned back in the 
 faint hope of finding Rosamond alone. Of 
 this he was conscious. What he wanted to 
 say to her, he did not know ; but he wanted
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 257 
 
 some conversation — something which should 
 relieve his mind of the fear that she thought 
 nothing of him, or lightly of him, or still 
 looked on him as a lout of a boy. He 
 wished to establish himself in her eyes as a 
 real person. If this was done, then he felt 
 he should be happy again. 
 
 In his early boyish days, Rosamond had 
 been conscious of his admiration for herself 
 — amused at it, and pleased with it. 
 Since those days Oliver had not been de- 
 monstrative, and the idea that Oliver, the 
 youth with the " broad British face," as Mr. 
 Dashwood had characterized it, was trou- 
 bled with sentimental troubles, would not 
 have presented itself to any fancy. 
 
 " I thought you were out walking, Oliver," 
 she said, pausing a moment to speak. 
 
 " So I was, but I turned back. Are you 
 busy ?" 
 
 "Not at all. Do vou want me?" and 
 she closed the door, took up some knitting 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 that lay on the table, and sat down near 
 him. 
 
 " I don't want anything in particular, but 
 I was rather — rather offended at something. 
 Why have you never told me about your 
 plan?" 
 
 " About my plan ! About my hospital, 
 do you mean ?" and Rosamond looked at 
 him surprised. 
 
 "Yes — Dorothy told me." Oliver paused 
 a moment, for he would have given the 
 world not to say what he was going to say 
 next ; but do what he would, the words 
 seemed to say themselves. " I cannot think 
 why you should have told Dorothy, who is 
 only a new friend, and that I, who have 
 known you for years, should never have 
 heard of it." 
 
 " But, Oliver, it is only an idea." 
 
 " I know — Dorothy told me — but that 
 makes no difference. You wish it?" 
 
 " Yes, I wish it ; but don't you think I 
 should be very unwise to speak much of a
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 259 
 
 thing that is only a fancy, and that there 
 does not seem any, not the most remote, 
 possibility of accomplishing?" 
 
 " I don't see that. You might speak to 
 your friends, and perhaps they might help." 
 
 " I sometimes think," Rosamond said, 
 speaking half to herself, " that it is hardly 
 right to think as much about it as I have 
 done. I once asked papa the question, and 
 he said he had often read of people who 
 had had strong wishes, who were at some 
 time able to do, if not what they wished, 
 yet, either by themselves or others, some 
 part of what they wished ; and therefore, 
 as I had so early had this fancy, he would 
 not at all advise me to put it aside." 
 
 " No," Oliver said. He was not exactly 
 examining into and assenting to Mr. Vaugh- 
 an's principle, but he liked to hear Rosa- 
 mond speak, and was encouraging her. 
 
 " But then he did not advise me to talk 
 about it. He said such a work ought to be 
 a very good work — a sacred thing, and it 
 
 s2
 
 260 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 would not do to have it lightly discussed. 
 Do you see what I mean ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite ; and I am very much 
 obliged to you for explaining." 
 
 Oliver felt satisfied now. Rosamond had 
 spoken very seriously ; she could not, there- 
 fore, consider him only a boy. 
 
 '' But besides that, Oliver," Rosamond 
 went on smilingly, " you must remenjber 
 that it was Laura who told Dorothy. It 
 seems Laura had an imaginary ten pounds, 
 which she was kind enough to give me for 
 this purpose. In making her decision on 
 the point, she told Dorothy what I wished, 
 and then Dorothy came to me." 
 
 " Yes, Dorothy told me that. But still 
 I must say I thought I might have heard." 
 
 "There is still another besides," Rosa- 
 mond continued. " Do you know, Oliver, 
 I think I should very soon have told Doro- 
 thy myself, for she is just the sort of person 
 who could really help in such a plan." 
 
 " Poor Dolly ! could she help ?"
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 261 
 
 " Yes, that she could. If ever the day 
 came when the plan could be real, she is 
 just the sort of person whom I should like 
 to have to help me. She would be perfect 
 with children, either to nurse or to teach 
 them." 
 
 " I am glad you like Dolly." 
 
 " I like her very much. We all like her, 
 and we are so much obliged to you for 
 bringing her." 
 
 " Poor Dolly ! she was very glad to come. 
 Our home is very nice, and I am very fond 
 of it, but there is nothing very lively. I 
 was afraid you would think Dorothy dull." 
 
 " Not at all dull," Rosamond said, 
 heartily. 
 
 " But she is not clever ?" 
 
 ** No, I should not suppose she was ; but 
 then dulness does not quite depend on that. 
 To be dull is to have no thoughts, no curi- 
 osity, no interest in anything. Now, you 
 know that is very unlike Dorothy ; there 
 is always plenty to say to a mind like hers."
 
 262 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 "I am very glad to hear you say that. 
 I was afraid you liked only clever people." 
 
 " Why should you think so ?" Rosamond 
 asked, smiling. 
 
 " Because you are clever yourself — you 
 know you are. I am sure living with you 
 gives one quite a new sense ; I don't know 
 what it is, but it makes the world seem a 
 most amusing place. Now tell me, don't 
 you like clever people ?" 
 
 " I think I like what you have so kindly 
 expressed about me. I like to meet people 
 who give me a new sense. It is not because 
 I am clever, but because I want to know. 
 The world is full of great things and beau- 
 tiful things, and I long to know all its 
 secrets. Perhaps by my inquiries I make 
 other people think ; for that reason I like, 
 not so much clever people as people who 
 have their eyes open, and can tell what 
 they meet with in life. Some day I shall 
 be coming to you," she added, smiling,
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 263 
 
 *^ with some hard questions. Frank tells us 
 you are to be a lawyer." 
 
 " I am afraid I shall not tell you much," 
 Oliver replied, smiling, yet pleased at her 
 words. " I wish I could hope I should." 
 
 " But of course you will. There are a 
 number of things about the laws and old 
 customs of England which I am curious 
 about, and I quite look forward to having 
 my questions answered by you some day. 
 Papa was very glad when he heard you had 
 chosen the law ; he always had a great fancy 
 for lawyers, and if he had time would like 
 to study himself." 
 
 " He was talking to me about it," Oliver 
 said. " But do you know," he added, 
 gravely, " you make me ashamed. I had 
 never thought about the law as anything ; 
 I chose it more for fun than for any real 
 reason." 
 
 "For fun I" and Rosamond laughed. 
 " From things I have heard, I should have
 
 264 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 thought the study of the law was not exactly 
 fun." 
 
 " I suppose not, if one thinks. But I 
 don't think much, unless you make me. Do 
 you think it is right to be ambitious ?" 
 
 " Ambitious to excel — oh ! yes, certainly. 
 ' Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it 
 with thy might.' Do you remember?" 
 
 "Then do you think I ought to work 
 hard if I begin to be a lawyer ?" Having 
 accomplished this interview with Rosamond, 
 Oliver was determined to make the most of 
 it. He kept driving on, hardly knowing 
 what he was saying. 
 
 " Oh I yes, certainly." 
 
 " What, try to get on, and make money ?" 
 
 " Well, Oliver, yes, I do think so. You 
 put it very hardly and coldly, but I think 
 labouring and earning is a very high calling, 
 and what a man is especially appointed to 
 do." 
 
 " But it makes people selfish, don't it ?" 
 
 *' It ought not ; or it would not be what
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 265 
 
 they are appointed to do. Do you mind if 
 I quote some more words from the Bible to 
 you ? I always think that what St. Paul 
 says, sanctifies all earning. ' Let him labour, 
 working with his hands the thing which is 
 good, that he may have to give to him that 
 needeth.' You see what a motive he puts for 
 earning — for making money. If people 
 would but think of this while they were 
 making it, and when they had got it, what a 
 different world this might be." 
 
 " What thoughts you have !" Oliver said, 
 gazing at her. " I never knew anyone like 
 
 you." 
 
 "If I have any good thoughts, papa 
 taught me. I do not think there are many 
 people like him — that I must own." 
 
 " I like Mr. Vaughan, and admire him, 
 and I like you all ; and my acquaintance 
 here has been like a new life in me. But, 
 
 Miss Vaughan " Oliver paused, and a 
 
 glow came into his cheek. 
 
 "But what?" Rosamond did not even
 
 266 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 feel uncomfortable. Never had he been 
 more boyish in his talk than on this day, 
 
 "What I should like to say — only that 
 really I hardly dare — but it will make no 
 difference, for whether I say it or not, I 
 feel it — what I want to tell you is, that what 
 I like and admire most in the world is you." 
 
 *' Oh ! Oliver !" she said, hardly uncom- 
 fortable, though certainly annoyed, " don't 
 say such things. It does not do. It would 
 spoil all our pleasure." 
 
 " I see you scorn me," he said, his cheek 
 becoming purple with the manly effort to 
 suppress his agitation ; " and I knew you 
 would. But I felt I must say it once — and 
 now you know." 
 
 " My dear Oliver," and she laid her hand 
 soothingly on his arm, bending towards him 
 with a motherly grace, ''you must not use 
 such a word as scorn ; and you must not 
 talk as you do. I am" very glad you like 
 me, and I am sure I like you ; but that is a 
 different thing. I don't quite know about our
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 267 
 
 ages, but I know that I feel years and years 
 older than you — like your aunt, or elder 
 sister — or your mother, almost. And I 
 think this is really what you mean ; and 
 if I can be in any way your friend, or 
 adviser, or comforter even, in the troubles of 
 life, it would be my greatest happiness to be 
 so." 
 
 Her beautiful face beamed with its kindly 
 feeling as she spoke ; and Oliver sat with 
 his eyes riveted upon her. 
 
 Though kind her words, however, and 
 though warmed by gentleness and sympathy, 
 no lover — even the youngest — could feel 
 them anything but flat. They laid a soft 
 yet cold hand on all aspirations and ex- 
 pectations. Oliver felt this, and for two or 
 three moments was paralysed with mortifica- 
 tion. 
 
 But this mortification was only the insen- 
 sible instinctive sensation of the instant ; the 
 moment he recovered to think, thought re- 
 vived him. He had not expected any other
 
 268 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 result. What could he have expected — he, 
 unworthy youth as he was — of her who 
 had attained the perfection of womanhood ? 
 His cheek became for a second crimson, and 
 then pale, and he pressed his lips tightly 
 together, and then he recovered himself, 
 and spoke. 
 
 " You are very kind, but that is not what 
 I meant. I do know what I mean. . Of 
 course I am asking nothing, nor expecting 
 anything of you ; but I know what I feel. 
 I know that it is now my wish, and I know 
 that it will be my wish, to — to — to lay down 
 my life at your feet ; and I know, also, that, 
 though it is not, I suppose, likely that I 
 should have much to offer, whatever I do 
 have I would lay at your feet also, for 
 you to work all your will with." 
 
 He sat a little forward, speaking out of 
 his earnest heart his earnest words. He 
 did not throw into them much passion ; he 
 was restrained, respectful, but thoroughly 
 in earnest — every word stamped with the
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 269 
 
 simple expression of the young chivalrous 
 mind and heart within. 
 
 Rosamond was deeply touched, not in 
 any sense of being won — that was not like- 
 ly ; he was nothing but a boy to her — but 
 the intensity of his words, and the feeling 
 towards her which he exhibited, touched 
 and softened her. She drew a little back- 
 ward, and became graver. She felt how 
 carefully she must speak, lest her kindly 
 feeling should cause future ill. Oliver had 
 certainly accomplished this for himself; he 
 could never be only a lout of a boy, never 
 a boy at all, again in her eyes. 
 
 " I hardly know how to speak to you," 
 she said at last. "Thanks and gratitude 
 are such poor words to give in return for 
 what you have said to me. But I don't 
 know what else to say, Oliver. Thanks 
 are all that I have got to give. You have 
 made me unhappy, for I should have been 
 so glad to be a real friend to you ; and now 
 it cannot be."
 
 270 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " Do not say unhappy — I cannot bear 
 that." 
 
 " I will try not, then. If you would let 
 me, I should like to forget it all. In one 
 sense I cannot forsjet. I cannot forget that 
 you would have liked to help me, and I do 
 not think I need. I shall be so glad of 
 help, and prayers, and thoughts from any- 
 one. But if I might, I would forget, all 
 that could prevent our being friends here- 
 after." 
 
 " Then pray do forget it — I would rather 
 you did. It has been on my mind that I 
 must tell you what I feel, but I do not want 
 anything from you. You shall see it need 
 make no difference." 
 
 " Then it shall not." She got up, and 
 went and laid down her knitting. She was 
 longing to hold out her hand to him, there- 
 by to express all the kindliness she could 
 not say in words ; but she thought it best 
 not to do it. She hungj a moment over the 
 knitting while she was thinking, and Oliver
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 271 
 
 watched her. He was not disappointed at 
 her not making a scene. He was perfectly 
 satisfied with her ; but he wondered of what 
 she was thinking now. 
 
 Presently she turned back to him, and 
 said, and there was a slight flush on her 
 cheek, 
 
 " I must tell papa what you have said, 
 Oliver, because I always tell him everything. 
 But you need not mind." 
 
 " I don't mind at all. I am very glad 
 for Mr. Vaughan to know." 
 
 " Thank you. Then everything will be 
 quite comfortable again." She hesitated a 
 moment, then added — " If I put on my 
 bonnet, will you go with me to meet Doro- 
 thy and Laura ?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you — I should like it very 
 much." And so this conference ended. 
 
 Poor Rosamond, who was not stoically 
 made, was trembling and nervous as she 
 left him, and as she rejoined him ; but she 
 was satisfied this was the best way to sepa-
 
 272 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 rate herself from his dreams while remain- 
 ing his friend, and she went through her 
 task with composure. And Oliver's tran- 
 quillity soon re-assured her. He was happy, 
 and he was satisfied. He felt he had raised 
 himself in her eyes, and had placed himself 
 in that position in which he wished to stand. 
 Not in the position he aspired to, but in the 
 position which at present was the one he 
 wished to occupy.
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A T the appointed time Oliver Beaumont 
 -^-^ presented himself before Mr. Dash- 
 wood, to take his place in his office. 
 
 " I should have known you, Beaumont, if 
 I had met you in the street," was Mr. Dash- 
 wood's greeting, when Oliver was shown 
 into his study. " From your photograph, I 
 mean." 
 
 Oliver laughed. 
 
 <_ 
 
 " My face is one of those that is always 
 like," he said. 
 
 There was not much grammar in his 
 speech, but' great good-humour, and Mr. 
 Dashwood examined him kindly. 
 
 " It is an honest face," he observed, *'and 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 OLIVER BE AMOUNT. 
 
 I hope will prove a faithful likeness of the 
 man within." 
 
 Oliver made no reply. Such questions 
 did not interest him. Of course he was 
 honest — what else should he be ? 
 
 " But now tell me, Beaumont ?" he con- 
 tinued, " what made you think of being a 
 lawyer ?" 
 
 "Do you think I look unfit, sir?" 
 
 ''That is answering my question by an-' 
 other. I have not thought about fitness. I 
 only wished to know your motives for com- 
 ing to us." 
 
 "My greatest friend is going to be a 
 clergyman." 
 
 " Well ! excuse me for asking questions 
 when I have no particular right to do so ; I 
 only ask from interest, and from wishing to 
 understand those who come to me. I can- 
 not quite see the application of what you 
 say. You are not going to college, are 
 you?" 
 
 " No, sir ; but my friend reads hard, and
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 275 
 
 I wished to do as he did. I had no fancy, 
 and I am sure I have no calhng, to make me 
 think of being a parson, so I took the law." 
 
 " And have you read hard ?" 
 
 ^' I have read a good deal of Blackstone, 
 and some of it I thought very amusing. I 
 don't suppose I read very hard, but I don't 
 dislike what I read." 
 
 Mr. Dashwood could not help smiling. 
 He was not a man to unbend, with either 
 the young men in his office or any common 
 acquaintance ; he was a dry and worldly 
 man — a man whose natural character is 
 dried by the world's cares ; but Oliver's face 
 reminded him of his youth, and he felt a 
 liking for him, and an interest in him. 
 
 " You will not have to read hard in our 
 office, but you will have to work hard, and 
 to pay attention, too. You will be of no 
 use to us, and the being here will be of no 
 use to you, unless you take an interest in the 
 details of the work." 
 
 T 2
 
 276 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " I daresay I shall, sir. But, whether I 
 do or not, I mean to work hard." 
 
 " You wish to get on." 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 Mr. Dashwood scrutinized him asjain. He 
 had said of his photograph that those broad 
 British faces sometimes made good men of 
 business ; but Oliver's natural man was less 
 like business than even the photograph.* He 
 was puzzled by his hearty way of speaking 
 of work. 
 
 "Are you ambitious?" he said, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I hardly know, sir. A short tim-e ago 
 I should have said I was not ; but now I 
 certainly do intend to do whatever I do 
 well." 
 
 " And what made the change ?" A very 
 slight colour, or rather addition of colour, 
 came to Oliver's brown cheek, and Mr. 
 Dashwood added, quickly, "Don't answer 
 me ; I spoke hastily. I have no business to 
 ask questions."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 277 
 
 " I don't mind answering," Oliver as 
 quickly replied. " My friend and his fami- 
 ly think a great deal about work. I mean 
 they think a man ought to work ; and I 
 think so too." 
 
 " They must be very estimable people," 
 Mr. Dashwood observed, more to himself 
 than to Oliver. He was moralising on the 
 power of influence ; this influence seemed so 
 strong. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about that," was 
 Oliver's reply. *' My friend is Frank 
 Vaughan, the son of Mr. Vaughan down at 
 Glenowen.'* 
 
 " Indeed ! — where they were so kind to 
 my son. Yes, there can be no doubt they 
 are estimable people." 
 
 He looked keenly at Oliver for a moment, 
 but said no more on that subject. 
 
 " Have you ever been in London be- 
 fore?" he asked, as he sat down and took 
 up a pen, for he had risen while he spoke 
 to Oliver.
 
 278 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 " I have passed through it ; I have never 
 stayed long." 
 
 " Would you like a few days to see the 
 sights before you set to work ?" 
 
 Oliver considered for an instant. 
 
 *'No, thank you, sir, though I am very 
 much obliged to you for offering it. I do 
 not know many people in London, and I 
 do not much care for seeing things by 
 myself." 
 
 " Then be here at ten to-morrow. If I 
 am not in the office, you will be expected, 
 but I will be there if I can." 
 
 *' An honest face, and not without intelli- 
 gence," Mr. Dashwood said to himself, as he 
 hastily resumed his interrupted writing. 
 " He may learn." 
 
 Oliver went to work in the office, and 
 fulfilled his intention of working, whether 
 he was interested or not. " Very fairly 
 intelligent," was the report given of him, 
 after about a week, by Mr. Bolton, the chief 
 clerk.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 279 
 
 Philip Dash wood still worked with the 
 other young men, but since he had been 
 put into possession of secrets he felt his posi- 
 tion changed ; he worked very regularly, 
 but he was, and showed himself to be, in- 
 dependent of rules. He had always been 
 civil to those w^ith whom he came in contact, 
 and he was civil still, but he was no more 
 than civil, not even to Oliver. 
 
 Mr. Dashwood had been taken by Oli- 
 vers face and manner. The softening 
 which a severe illness had given to his char- 
 acter had made him more liable to impres- 
 sions than had been the case with him during 
 many hard-working years ; and Oliver had 
 made an impression he hardly knew why. 
 There was a thoughtless charm about him, 
 and a downright frankness that pleased and 
 refreshed the man of business beginning to 
 feel the weight of years. What he felt 
 himself he had wished his son to feel ; he 
 would have liked that Philip should form a 
 friendship with the young man, and bring
 
 280 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 him occasionally to his house. He never 
 said this ; like a wise father, he never 
 thought friendships could be formed by 
 words ; but when he told his son that Oliver 
 was come, and would be in the ofSce the 
 following day, he added, " You will be 
 civil to him, Philip," meaning a good deal 
 more than he said. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir, of course," was Philip's 
 reply ; and no other word on the subject 
 ever passed between them. 
 
 But Mr. Dashwood soon saw that his 
 son's feelings and his own did not agree ; 
 and seeing this, he let the matter alone. 
 
 The fact was, there was no mutual attrac- 
 tion between Philip and Oliver, while there 
 was a something that tended to the contrary. 
 Philip was a good-looking, well-educated, 
 polished young man, very fond of society, 
 but fond also of poetry, and art, and litera- 
 ture. He belonged to a particular class of 
 young men who, having more in them, 
 and higher tastes than the generality, are
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 281 
 
 apt to look on themselves as a particular 
 class. Natural disposition and a good edu- 
 cation made Philip in manner civil to all, 
 but the mass of men were nothing to 
 him. 
 
 Oliver, with his broad, bright face, and 
 tendencies to a life of sport, belonged to the 
 mass of men. As young almost as he was, 
 Philip could not of course see the attraction 
 that hung about him as a picture of youth. 
 He saw he was not one of his sort, and, 
 satisfied with the discovery, contented him- 
 self with an acquaintance on the surface. 
 
 There was, however, another reason for a 
 something contrary to attraction. Without 
 a single bad or malicious thought on the 
 subject, it did vex Philip to see that Oliver 
 was alive. He could not help looking at 
 him as an intruder in the world. How 
 came he to be there, so strong and so 
 healthy, standing in Rosamond's way ? He 
 did not say this, nor did he know that he 
 felt a grudge against Oliver; but he did
 
 282 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 indulge a kind of righteous indignation 
 against him on the subject. 
 
 Late in the Autumn, Phihp took a holi- 
 day, and so made his arrangements that he 
 passed a week or two at a country house, 
 from whence a call at Glenowen, by rail- 
 way, was possible. He made two calls there, 
 and when he came back to London he 
 mentioned the fact to Oliver in a cursory 
 way. They were almost alone in the office 
 — he looked up from his writing, and said 
 to Oliver, who was also busy, ^'I saw your 
 friends the Vaughans, Beaumont." 
 
 *' When?" Oliver asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Last week. I went to call at Glen- 
 owen." 
 
 " Whom did you see? Frank is not there, 
 I think?" 
 
 " No — I saw only the two girls." 
 
 Oliver felt offended. The two girls ! 
 The idea of classing Rosamond and Laura 
 together as the two girls I He would not 
 ask any more questions.
 
 OLIVEK BEAUMONT. 283 
 
 "They inquired how you were getting 
 on. 
 
 "Who did?" Oliver was nettled, and 
 asked with a flush on his cheek. The idea 
 of Rosamond asking Philip how he was 
 behaving himself offended him as much for 
 himself as the expression of " the two 
 girls " for Rosamond. 
 
 "Laura did. She seemed very anxious 
 about it — she seemed to think it would be 
 rather good fun to see you working hard." 
 
 "Impertinent little thing!" Oliver said, 
 laughing. He was happy at finding Rosa- 
 mond had not inquired, and good-humoured- 
 ly said that a hard-worker was not the 
 aspect under which he had exhibited himself 
 at Glenowen. " I hope you gave a good 
 account of me," he added, gaily. 
 
 " Very. I said Mr. Bolton said you were 
 an intelligent, pains-taking young man, at 
 which, I am sorry to say, Laura laughed 
 
 agam. 
 
 " Does he say that ? " and a flush of
 
 284 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 pleasure passed over Oliver's boyish face. 
 
 Philip nodded ; and then twirled his pen 
 for a moment. Oliver had puzzled him — 
 he did not quite understand those changes 
 of mood, that speaking bo3ash face. The 
 genuine pleasure at Mr. Bolton's good 
 opinion amused him ; but why had he at 
 first seemed displeased at the inquiry that 
 had been made ? While he twirled his pen, 
 and reflected, and vague thoughts came into 
 his head, Oliver said, 
 
 " Did you hear any news?" 
 
 " No." After an instant Philip said, hesi- 
 tatingly, " There was a little talk about 
 Miss Vaughan's plan. You know her wish, 
 of course ?" 
 
 " Yes." And Oliver felt at the moment, 
 though surprised, thoroughly pleased that he 
 did know it. " But there is nothing about 
 it, I suppose?" 
 
 " Nothing ; nor, I should fancy, ever 
 could be." 
 
 '' I don't see that."
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 285 
 
 " Why, what would you propose ? To 
 me it seems the most extraordinary idea to 
 have taken hold of a sensible person, situ- 
 ated as she is. And yet," he added, and an 
 unexpected warmth came into his voice and 
 manner, " I cannot help admiring the idea, 
 and, whenever I am with her, being carried 
 away by the same philanthropy; or whatever 
 it may be called," he ended, carelessly, as if 
 to disguise the interest he had shown. 
 
 Oliver made no answer. He was sur- 
 prised at Philip's warmth, and meditated 
 upon it, only half consciously, but he forgot 
 to answer his question. 
 
 " Why, what should you propose ? " 
 Philip repeated, after waiting for a moment. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; I have nothing to 
 propose," Oliver replied, laughing. " Only 
 things happen." 
 
 '' Yes, things happen — sometimes, and in 
 books ; but I don't see what could happen 
 in this case. Perhaps you are thinking of 
 her marriage ?"
 
 286 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Oliver gave a kind of half-assent. 
 
 *' Well, that is a possibility, of course. 
 But I suppose £10,000 would be the very 
 smallest sum on which such a scheme could 
 be even set going ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. I never think 
 of sums." 
 
 *' Well, but I say, and I am sure I am 
 right, that £10,000 would be the smallest 
 sum required. And now ask yourself. 
 You have drawn some settlements here, I 
 think ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and curious things they were, I 
 thought, some of them." 
 
 " Curious or not, you must understand 
 them well enough to see how unlikely it 
 would be that a man would tie himself to 
 give £10,000, without knowing what chil- 
 dren he would have, or other contingencies. 
 It could not be expected. Even you your- 
 self in such a case would have scruples about 
 it." 
 
 Philip spoke in mere argument, and be-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT 287 
 
 cause Oliver would not see or confess the 
 difficulties ; no thought of his peculiar posi- 
 tion was, at the instant, in his head ; but a 
 faint glow that passed over Oliver's cheek 
 recalled it to his mind with the sudden 
 thought, " Does he know, then ?" But the 
 idea had hardly presented itself before 
 Oliver spoke, and his words gave another 
 meaning to the glow, and another turn to 
 the thoughts in Philip's brain. 
 
 " I don't care to argue it out. I was 
 thinking how very little Miss Vaughan would 
 like her plans or wishes made a talk of 
 here." 
 
 Now it happened that Philip had at this 
 moment a very good reason to know that 
 Oliver was right, but naturally he did not 
 choose to be called to order by him. 
 
 *' I think I know what is respectful or 
 not," he said, coldly, *' especially to a person 
 like Miss Vaughan." 
 
 " Of course," and Oliver raised his eyes 
 good-humouredly and apologizingly. " I
 
 288 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 was not thinking of you ; I was thinking of 
 m3^self, and how very much out of place it was 
 for me to be discussing her settlements — or 
 any one's, or anything," he added, laughing, 
 " for I have got a tough bit of writing here," 
 and he seized his pen and set to work, 
 leaving Philip uncomfortable. 
 
 Why had that boy Oliver been so jealous 
 of Miss Vaughan's — what should he call it ? 
 — delicacy ? Nothing but — nothing but — 
 what should he call it ? — admiration — could 
 have made him so — that boy with the broad 
 face — so susceptible. And admiration from 
 him ! It was ridiculous — ridiculous ! 
 
 Philip went over this kind of cogitation 
 two or three times before he began to write, 
 and at intervals afterwards ; but the last 
 sight he had of Oliver that afternoon, play- 
 ing some boyish trick to one of the clerks, 
 his face bursting with schoolboy merriment, 
 finally banished it. It was ridiculous indeed 
 to have had such a thought. 
 
 Philip had a very good reason for know-
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 289 
 
 ing that Rosamond did not wish to have her 
 fancy talked about ; for his visit to her had 
 been on a point connected with the subject, 
 and she had spoken plainly. He had said 
 what he did to Oliver from a mere sudden 
 impulse that seized him, he scarcely knew 
 why ; a desire to sound Oliver's relations 
 with the family. There had been no love 
 of gossiping, or intention to be indiscreet. 
 
 His business with Rosamond had been 
 this. He had made, before his acquaintance 
 with her, a bet that one of two sisters would 
 be married before the other. It was a fool- 
 ish bet, at the best, for he had no grounds 
 to argue from, and three hundred pounds, 
 the amount of the bet, would have been in- 
 convenient to him to lose. He was, how- 
 ever, as he often said, gifted with foreknow- 
 ledge on such subjects, and in August he 
 proved to have been right, and the bet was 
 won. 
 
 Philip had a kindly nature, and many 
 good impulses \ and, since his acquaintance 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 with Rosamond, the best parts of his nature 
 were coming forward — that is to say, his 
 eyes had opened to a sense of the enormous 
 duties laid upon the wealthy. Many rich 
 people are selfish and luxurious merely from 
 want of thought, and he had been so. In 
 earlier months of the year had he won the 
 bet, he would have spent his money on cer- 
 tain coveted art treasures, waiting in his 
 mind for a lucky day ; but his very first 
 thought in this August was, " It shall go to 
 Miss Vaughan's Cripples' Home." And not 
 only because he was in love. Chiefly, per- 
 haps, but not only. He had begun to 
 think of the world's miseries, and the rich 
 man's stewardship. To Rosamond, there- 
 fore, he carried his three hundred pounds ; 
 with genuine warmth and gratitude saying 
 it was a very poor expression of his thanks 
 for their kindness, but it was intended to 
 express it. 
 
 Rosamond was naturally much touched 
 by the attention, and though, for more
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 291 
 
 reasons than one, it was not possible for her 
 to accept the gift, her refusal was given in 
 terras so grateful and so warm that Philip 
 knew he had not offended, and left her with 
 his own feelings towards her considerably 
 increased. 
 
 She had, however, as was said, spoken 
 plainly. She did not, she could not wish 
 her cherished plan to be taken up in any 
 such manner. She had no right to collect 
 for any such purpose at the present moment, 
 and, if she had, she could not wish to make 
 a collection of vague sums that might be 
 given, come they whence they might. Her 
 idea was of a much more sacred and orderly 
 kind of charity. 
 
 With difficulty she made Philip under- 
 stand what she meant. But he did at last 
 both understand and acquiesce ; and it was 
 this understanding that had influenced what 
 he said to Oliver regarding the nature of 
 the money required. 
 
 u2
 
 292 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A LTHOUGH Oliver Beaumont had not 
 -^-^ been received on intimate terms in 
 Mr. Dashwood's family — to that gentleman's 
 regret — he made a few friends in London ; 
 sufficient, indeed, to make his time pass 
 pleasantly. The good-natured squire who 
 had noticed him in the country had a 
 brother and an elder son settled in London. 
 They were not rich people — the son, indeed, 
 was only a clerk in a public office — but they 
 were married, and fathers of famihes, and 
 kind and hospitable in their measure ; and 
 OUver having been recommended to their 
 notice, they noticed him first for the sake of 
 his recommender, and then for himself
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 293 
 
 Sometimes he dined with them ; sometimes 
 he went to the play with them ; in short, they 
 did to him such kind offices as came in their 
 power, and made him known to some friends 
 who were able to do more. 
 
 He thus got through the Autumn and 
 early Winter, which otherwise, to a country- 
 bred boy, might have been dreary enough ; 
 and all the while Oliver continued with 
 patient diligence to attend to his duties. 
 He could not stir himself up to much am- 
 bition, nor could he quite still the voice 
 that told him he was taking needless trou- 
 ble ; but something more powerful than 
 suggestions of ambition, or suggestions of 
 indolence, prompted him to do his work 
 with resolution. 
 
 And after a time he found, as others will 
 find who try it, that the power of work 
 grows on a man, and that something of the 
 pleasure of work comes to a man. It may 
 not in some natures be a pleasure of a light- 
 some kind ; work may never become that
 
 294 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 atmosphere in which they live and breathe 
 freely — it was not so with Oliver — but, 
 nevertheless, it does bring and leave a plea- 
 surable sensation — a feeling of the same 
 kind as that caused by order, or discipline, 
 or cleanliness. He was, however, thankful 
 enough when the time came for a holiday. 
 He was to go home before Christmas, and 
 to remain for a part of the month follow- 
 ing. 
 <^ 
 
 During the greater part of the holiday he 
 remained at home, and finding Robin, the 
 elder twin, growing up into a boy as hardy 
 and impervious to weather as he was him- 
 self, he made him his constant companion, 
 and instructed him in the divers singular 
 
 CD 
 
 pursuits and pastimes which had made the 
 charms of his own life. 
 
 In the middle of January, before Frank 
 Vaughan's return to Oxford, Oliver paid 
 him a visit. He walked to Shrewsbury, 
 passed a night with his old master, with 
 whom he had always been on friendly
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 295 
 
 terms, and then walked on to Glenowen ; 
 there he remained for three nights and two 
 days, and then walked home again, his ex- 
 cursion taking a week altogether, and being 
 altogether very much to his taste. 
 
 In this short visit he was so exactly like 
 his old self that Rosamond never felt a 
 moment's awkwardness. She saw that he 
 was become more of a man, and could 
 agree heartily with Laura when she said 
 how much his manners were improved ; but 
 he was improved, not changed. To her he 
 was the same boy Oliver that she had first 
 known, giving to her, indeed, a respectful, 
 adoring attention, but of a boyish kind, free 
 from sentiment, and free, also, from that 
 desire for notice which, during his last visit, 
 had unconsciously depressed him and dis- 
 tressed her. 
 
 Not that Oliver was the same, or was 
 free even from sentiment. He never looked 
 at Rosamond without yielding to her, both 
 consciously and unconsciously, the offering
 
 296 OLB^R BEAUMONT. 
 
 of himself. But though the offering was 
 entire, consisting of the present and the 
 future, there was nothing but the future in 
 his thoughts. So long as she was unmar- 
 ried, he should wait for her, and wait for 
 hope. He had nothing in the present, 
 either in himself or his circumstances, wor- 
 thy to lay before her. But both might 
 become better. She knew what he felt, for 
 he had told her, and he could wait. These 
 were his sentiments. His feeling was more 
 chivalrous than sentimental ; but it was true 
 feeling, and it was deep, and it was also 
 growing. 
 
 One morning during his short stay he 
 was sitting^ with her and Frank in the draw- 
 ing-room. Frank was reading ; Rosamond 
 was working ; Oliver was idle. Something 
 in the course of their talk had brought them 
 to Oliver's business, and he had told her, 
 and amused her by describing, some of the 
 things he had to copy. She had then asked 
 if he worked hard all day, or if they talked 
 in the office.
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 297 
 
 " Sometimes, of course ; but I do not 
 particularly care for anybody there. They 
 are very well, but their conversation is no 
 great temptation to me. I like Dashwood 
 the best." 
 
 Rosamond looked up ; she did not quite 
 know to whom the appellation applied. 
 
 *' I mean young Dashwood, of course — 
 Philip. I like him better than I think he 
 likes me. If he would talk, I should talk, 
 but he does not — not often. He is very 
 agreeable when he pleases." 
 
 " Yes," Rosamond said. She did not say 
 more, or ask more, but she felt curious to 
 know what Oliver would say about him, 
 and wished to ask questions, although she 
 did not exactly know what to ask. Laura 
 would have asked many and at once, but 
 she was not present. 
 
 " He told me he had been down here," 
 Oliver presently went on to say ; " and he 
 told me there had been some talk about — 
 your plan, you know," he stopped again.
 
 298 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 Rosamond looked up, startled, and with 
 actually a blush on her cheek. But it was 
 not the sort of blush Philip would have been 
 pleased to see. Rosamond was very rarely 
 ruffled, very rarely angry, but she was very 
 nearly being so at this moment. To think 
 of her private thoughts and words having 
 been talked over in Mr. Dashwood's office ! 
 There was something so nearly sharp on her 
 lips, that, being singularly versed in self- 
 government, she remained silent, till she 
 could speak gently. 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Miss Vaughan ?" 
 Oliver said, watching her ; and Frank now 
 looked up. For when people are studying, 
 they always manage to hear if anything 
 more interesting than common conversation 
 is going on. 
 
 ** I felt cross," Rosamond then said, 
 laughing. "I did not like to .think that 
 Mr. Dashwood had repeated what I had 
 said." 
 
 '' He did not," Oliver said, very honestly
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 299 
 
 and very earnestly. " I was not thinking 
 about Mr. Dashwood when I spoke — I was 
 thinking of the plan. All Dashwood said 
 was, when I asked him if there was any 
 news down here, or something of the sort, 
 that there had been some talk about your 
 plan. Not a word more — I mean not a 
 word more of anything that had passed 
 here." 
 
 He leaned forward, looking at her. 
 
 " Oh ! thank you ; then never mind." 
 
 "We did talk about it, though, Miss 
 Vaughan — just a few words, as to whether 
 it ever could be or not." 
 
 " I wish you would not. It is bad enough 
 my talking of it myself. I am sometimes 
 quite ashamed of having such a thought in 
 my head." 
 
 " I would never be ashamed of having a 
 good thought," Oliver said. He spoke so 
 simply, with such downright prosaic sense, 
 that Rosamond looked at him with a bright 
 smile of approbation and pleasure.
 
 300 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 *' You are quite right/' she said, warmly. 
 *' Thank you for saying that." 
 
 Poor Oliver's heart leapt with delight at 
 the smile and the words ; but he only said, 
 " I think it." 
 
 " What I meant was not, however, that I 
 am ashamed of the thought in itself, nor 
 even of having it myself, except just for a 
 moment now and then, when I am worried. 
 I meant more that I ought not to have 
 spoken of a thing which is, 1 fear, impos- 
 sible. The thought I could not help hav- 
 ing ; but I ought not to have spoken of a 
 plan." 
 
 " I don't think anything need be impos- 
 sible — things come." 
 
 " Yes," observed Frank. " People cannot 
 know what will happen in life ; and most 
 unexpected things do happen every day. 
 The only thing is to have patience. Now," 
 he continued, warming up, and rising from 
 his chair, " I heard a story the other day of 
 a lady who had planned to build a church
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 301 
 
 in some bad and out-of-the-way place ; but 
 she could not get money. Trouble after 
 trouble came, and the family were ruined. 
 But she had patience. Then suddenly some 
 odd old relation died, and left a very large 
 suni to her daughter ; and the daughter, 
 knowing her mother's wish, built the church 
 the very first thing. The mother was dead, 
 but what did that matter to the plan ?" 
 
 Rosamond could not help smiling at the 
 consolatory conclusion of Frank's tale — 
 more especially as Oliver looked at him with 
 staring, astonished eyes. Frank, the while, 
 quite unconscious of any defect in his conso- 
 lation, gravely resumed his seat and his 
 book. 
 
 "Frank is quite right," she said to Ohver; 
 " and if anybody dares to make a good plan, 
 he must be resolved to be glad to have it 
 done anyhow, and by anybody — so that it is 
 done in a good way," suddenly remembering 
 the bet. '' And 1 hope I shall be glad if 
 anybody should be ever stirred up to do it.
 
 302 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 But I would rather not talk about it now, 
 nor have it made a topic. Do you under- 
 stand my feeling?" 
 
 '' Quite, and I will take care. But I shall 
 not forget it," he added, after a moment — 
 "need I?" 
 
 Rosamond smiled, but made no answer, 
 for she did not know how to answer. 
 
 " Do you know the Miss Dashwoods ?" 
 she asked, suddenl}^, to turn the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes — a very little. I don't dishke 
 them." 
 
 " Why should you ?" asked Frank, again 
 revealing that his studies did not wholly 
 absorb him. 
 
 "I don't know," Oliver said, laughing. 
 " I suppose I expected I should ; but I don't. 
 I only made acquaintance with them lately. 
 It was at a small wedding-party, given for 
 some cousin or other, and I was asked. 
 They seemed very good-natured, and are 
 rather handsome — one is just like Dash-
 
 OLIYEK BEAUMONT.' 303 
 
 wood. But, you »kuow, at those sort of 
 places people have their own friends, and 
 they did not say much to me." 
 
 " What did you do, then?" Frank asked. 
 
 " I looked about. Old Dashwood came 
 and talked for a few minutes, and then he 
 introduced me to a nephew who is at Eton. 
 I think they thought I was not much better 
 than a school-boy myself. And I did not 
 mind. I would as soon talk to a school-boy 
 as anyone else. This one was very agree- 
 able." 
 
 " Did not Mr. Dashwood— our Mr. Dash- 
 wood — talk to you ?" Rosamond asked. 
 She was interested enough in Philip to feel 
 annoyed at the thought that he had not 
 been good-natured to Oliver. 
 
 " He was not there. He had been 
 dining out. He came in as I came away, 
 and he was very civil, and wanted me to go 
 upstairs again with him, but I had had 
 enough. He is always very civil. I like 
 him very much — don't you ?" addressing 
 himself to Rosamond.
 
 304 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 
 
 *' Yes, very much." 
 
 Rosamond was working, and working 
 hard ; she scarcely looked up as she replied. 
 Could it be possible that a faint, a very faint 
 tinge of pink came to her cheek as she re- 
 plied? Oliver was not sure, and, in his 
 curiosity and discomfort at the idea, gazed 
 at her so intently that she looked up. 
 
 " What are you thinking about ?" she 
 asked, smiling ; and Frank again put down 
 his book. 
 
 Oliver was immensely relieved. No, cer- 
 tainly, there was no pink, and he had made 
 a mistake. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon," he said, hastily, but 
 offered no explanation. 
 
 Frank stared for a moment, then returned 
 to his book. Rosamond felt a slight dis- 
 turbance. What was Oliver thinking of, she 
 wondered ? 
 
 Oliver himself, after a moment, continued 
 to talk as carelessly as he had done before ; 
 yet afterwards that one moment's discomfort
 
 OLIVER BEAUMONT. 305 
 
 recurred to him, and infused one drop, one 
 very little drop, of bitterness into his chival- 
 rous devotion. Just so much, however, as 
 was needed to turn the quiet feeling into a 
 dormant passion. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 UNIVERSITY of: ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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