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 FROM MOOR ISLES 
 
 A LOVE STORY. 
 
 JESSIE FOTHERGILL, 
 
 author of 
 "the first violin," "kith and kin," etc. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 ^uijlisl)crs \\\ ©rtinarg to f^cr fflajrstg tfje ©ufcn. 
 
 {All }-i£^hts resei-i<ed.')
 
 M
 
 < 
 
 823 ^ 
 
 V. I 
 
 S CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 i — 
 
 C\j PART L 
 
 Q~) CHAPTER 
 
 '^ I. "Then Good-night, Alas!" ... -? 
 
 ^- 11. Alice Ormerod .., ... 17 
 
 III. Brian's Antecedents ... ... 54 
 
 IV. What Alice saw ... ... 68 
 
 V. How THE Day ended ... ... loi 
 
 I'AliK 
 
 V VI. Back into the Town ... .,, 133 
 
 PART XL 
 
 ^ I. Ines writes ... ... ... 151 
 
 •^ II. I go for a Holiday ... ... 18s 
 
 ^ III. With Lisa ... ... ... 213 
 
 V' IV. Festival ... ... ... 236 
 
 V. In the Wood ... ... ... 271 
 
 SI
 
 PART I, 
 
 VOL.
 
 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " 
 
 One night, late in October, when it was 
 pitch dark, moonless, starless, and black, 
 a soft, moist westerly wind, with just a 
 slant of south in it, was playing a wild 
 but melodious symphony over the great 
 stretches of moorland, and across miles of 
 bleak northern"" country, as it came with a 
 soft but tremendous rush up a rough, uphill 
 road, and rising ever into a deeper roar, 
 seemed to give a leap as it reached the 
 summit of the long brow, and encountered
 
 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a wild, upland sweep, over which it could 
 and did tear rejoicingly, whistling, calling, 
 and crying from hill to hill, till it struck 
 the great blunt, square head of Ravenside, 
 the huge buttress which at that point shuts 
 off Lancashire from Yorkshire. Smiting 
 this mighty hill-top, it ruffled the heather, 
 and laid low the forests of bracken, which 
 thickly clothed his mighty sides, and tried 
 to soften the grim outline of his dark head, 
 and then it tore lustily onwards. There 
 was joy and hope and life in it, for all its 
 boisterous roughness. 
 
 In the course of its career upwards and 
 onwards, towards Ravenside, and along 
 the rough lane just mentioned, it only 
 encountered one human figure, and that 
 figure it did not succeed in knocking down. 
 The time was half-past twelve, midnight ; 
 the lane was two miles from Hollowley 
 station, and the solitary who was plodding
 
 '' THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " 5 
 
 along, from the town and towards the 
 country, was a young man, one Brian 
 Holgate, who went regularly every week, 
 during the autumn and winter months, to 
 the concerts held in the great manufacturing 
 city some twenty-five miles distant from 
 Hollowley, and walked at midnight from 
 that enterprising town to the hamlet of 
 Thornton-in-Ravenside, or Thornton, as it 
 was always called — a good three and a 
 half miles, mostly uphill, and, after the 
 borough of Hollowley itself was passed, 
 unlighted by art of man. Whoso wished 
 for light along that road must carry his 
 own lantern, but Brian never had recourse 
 to this assistance. His home, the old 
 house which belonged to him, and in which 
 he lived alone. Moor Isles by name, was 
 at the end of this three and a half miles, 
 just on the outskirts of the village of 
 Thornton-in-Ravenside.
 
 O FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 He had accomplished more than two 
 miles of his three and a half, and he 
 seemed to be in no hurry to get to the 
 end of his journey. Brian was young — 
 only just over three and twenty ; it mattered 
 little to his robust health and untried 
 nerves, nourished by the keen moorland 
 air and simple country fare which had all 
 his life been his portion, if they missed a 
 night's rest, or half of it, once a week. 
 Had that one night's exertion been all the 
 strain which he put upon his youth and 
 strength, there would have been nothing 
 in his condition to call for either surprise 
 or commiseration. 
 
 He plodded on, his hands in his pockets, 
 his long light overcoat flung open at the 
 chest — for the encounter with the mild 
 autumn tempest left him warm, not cold. 
 He knew the way by long experience, 
 dark as it was ; and it was more uncon-
 
 "THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " 7 
 
 sciously than consciously that he turned 
 now to this side and now to that, to avoid 
 the InequaHtles, or rough and stony bits 
 of which he was aware. In the road ; pur- 
 suing the easiest, if most irregular, way, 
 feeling nothing but pleasure and exhilara- 
 tion in the roughness of the wind, the 
 darkness and loneliness of the night. 
 
 As he climbed thus homewards, his 
 voice sounded out on the wings of the 
 wind ; snatched away sometimes, almost 
 before it had left his lips ; at others, driven 
 back into his throat by some capricious 
 gust. The snatches of melody which this 
 voice sent forth on an errand to the top 
 of Ravenslde had certainly never sounded 
 there before. Ravenslde summit, bald, 
 square, and bleak, had long ago been a 
 favourite resort of the unholy community 
 of wizards, witches, imps, and elves of evil 
 nature, and of their black master himself —
 
 8 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 SO the legend ran, and it was a legend 
 
 which no one in Ravenside Forest ever 
 
 thought of questioning — it was not told as 
 
 a legend, but as a matter of fact, in many 
 
 a farmhouse all over that country side. 
 
 Details might be had by any ingle, of the 
 
 Walpttrgis-nacht orgies and revels of which 
 
 that mountain top had been the scene. 
 
 Witches had assuredly existed there once ; 
 
 had not a waxen image, stuck over with 
 
 pins, tumbled one day out of a nook in 
 
 the great chimney of Rough Launde, one 
 
 of the oldest farms in the vicinity showing 
 
 what black arts had been practised there ? 
 
 And the strains which now rolled, in a 
 
 rich, if not highly cultivated baritone 
 
 voice, must, if they ever succeeded in 
 
 reaching the summit of the hill, have been 
 
 potent to arouse any lingering shades of 
 
 olden times which might still hover, or 
 
 sleep, or weep there — for they were bound
 
 " THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " 9 
 
 Up in a tale connected more or less with 
 these very revels — just now Brian lifted 
 his head, and sang with all his might, and 
 with a swing of intense, almost rapturous 
 enjoyment — 
 
 " ' Towns with their high battlements. 
 Tower and wall — 
 Fair maids with their haughty thoughts, 
 Scorning us all — 
 
 To glory they call us. 
 
 Soon they both shall fall, shall fall — 
 
 Soon they both shall fall.' 
 
 " H'm — m ! " the voice sank deeper, 
 and hummed away softly — then took up 
 snatches. " 'Jam nox stell-a-a-a-ta, velamina 
 pandit; nunc bibendum et amandum est! 
 . . . h'm — m — m ! " Then, in a loud, 
 triumphant swell, *' ' Gaudeamtis igitur.gau- 
 deamus / . . . Cesares dicamus, veni, vidi, 
 vici. Gatideamus igitur ! ' 
 
 ''Grand!" he muttered to himself; 
 "grand, by Jove! Why does it ever
 
 lO FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 come to an end ? There dwelt a king 
 once In Thule " — his voice sank into 
 melting accents — " pah ! I hate women's 
 songs in men's voices. She sang it 
 superbly, though. . . . But, after all, I'm 
 not sentimental. Felix has it. What a 
 voice ! what an artist, and — ay, what a 
 man, surely ! " 
 
 And his head swayed to and fro in 
 remembrance of a wildly rocking measure, 
 while he sang : — 
 
 " ' Dear Kath'rine, why 
 To the door of thy lover 
 Drawest thou nigh ? 
 Why there timidly hover ? 
 
 " ' Ah, sweet maiden beware ! 
 Come away, do not enter ! 
 It were folly to venture — 
 It were folly to venture — 
 Come away, nor enter there.' 
 
 "It's a maddening thing, when it once 
 gets into your head — if I could sing it like
 
 " THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " II 
 
 that ! It's mortally sad, though. How 
 does it go ? 
 
 " ' Ah, heed thee well, fair lass. 
 Lest thy lover betray thee — 
 Thy lover — thy lover betray thee. 
 
 " ' Then good-night, alas ! 
 
 From ill-hap what shall stay thee ? 
 Then good-night, then good-night, then good- 
 night ! ' " 
 
 he shouted, giving his voice full swing, 
 and sending it loose upon the wind. He 
 sang no more connected phrases, but, as 
 he plunged along through the darkness, 
 kept shooting out disjointed notes, the 
 burden of it all being still the same — 
 
 " ' Then good-night, alas ! 
 
 From ill-hap what shall stay thee ? 
 Then good-night, then good-night, then good- 
 night ! ' " 
 
 It came with a lingering, reluctant, and 
 long-drawn note, as he glanced aside to 
 where a small steady light shone through
 
 12 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a window close to the road, and the dim 
 solid mass of a house seemed to make 
 Itself almost more felt than seen In the 
 Inky darkness. He made no mistakes, 
 but with unerring touch laid his hand on 
 the latch of a wooden gate, at one side of 
 the house, and went along a walk shaded 
 by trees to the front ; for this old house, 
 like many another built at the same period, 
 had Its back to the high road, while Its 
 front rooms looked far away over woods 
 and fields to the smoky town In the vale, 
 Hollowley, justly so called, and, beyond 
 the smoke, to where there stood another 
 circle of blue sentinel moors. 
 
 Brian had a key to his own front door. 
 As he fitted it Into the lock, a joyful 
 whimpering greeted him from within, and, 
 when he pushed the door open, there 
 emerged from a parlour on the right hand 
 a superb silky collie, fawning, waving his
 
 THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! 
 
 tail, welcoming, with shining eyes and 
 affectionate curves of his beautiful body, 
 his careless, but never unkind lord and 
 master. 
 
 " Hey, Ferran ! " said Brian, kindly, as 
 he patted the creature's head for a moment, 
 then shut the door, and followed it into 
 the room, where a red fire burnt low — 
 where a table was spread with some simple 
 eatables, and where a lamp was shining 
 steadily. An old-fashioned, wooden-bot- 
 tomed chair with a rounded back stood 
 near the fire, and on the chair lay a fiddle- 
 case. The collie went up to this chair 
 and sat down before it, and looked at 
 Brian, with a wag of his tail and a shrewd 
 smile, as if to say, '' Here I've been ever 
 since you left, and it's all safe and sound. 
 You can look and see." 
 
 " Good lad ! " said the young man, 
 absently, as he turned the lamp a little
 
 14 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 higher, cut a slice off the piece of cheese, 
 and a junk from the loaf, and, seizing a 
 bottle, poured some brandy into a tumbler, 
 and added cold water to it. And still he 
 seemed unable to rid himself of the air 
 and of the words which haunted him ; still 
 he kept softly singing : — 
 
 " 'Then good-night, alas ! 
 
 From ill-hap what shall stay thee ? 
 
 Then good-night, then good-night, then good-night ! ' " 
 
 He be^an to eat, but did not make 
 much progress with it — lifted the tumbler 
 to his lips, then set it down again. 
 
 " Nay," he murmured to himself. He 
 had something of a habit of talking to 
 himself, as solitaries have, now and then. 
 '' That doesn't go down after this night's 
 music. How I wish I always felt like 
 this ! " 
 
 And, leaving the table, he drew forward 
 a music-stand, and opened a score, and
 
 " THEN GOOD-NIGHT, ALAS ! " I 5 
 
 with loving hands drew the fiddle from its 
 case, and laid it affectionately against his 
 breast. But before beginning to play, he 
 went to the window, and opened it wide, 
 and then, seating himself once more, drew 
 the bow across the strings, and with that 
 one action, and the sound that resulted, 
 proved, to any that might have had ears 
 to hear, the touch and the soul of a born 
 musician. 
 
 For a very long time Ferran and he and 
 the fiddle had it all to themselves. It was 
 after three when at last, with a reluctant 
 sigh, he replaced the noble old instrument 
 in its case, shut the window, turned out the 
 lamp, and with the violin case in his hand, 
 and Ferran at his heels, cHmbed up the 
 narrow stair of his old house, to his room 
 and to his bed. Scarcely had he laid his 
 head upon his pillow, after hearing Ferran, 
 with a long, satisfied sigh compose himself
 
 1 6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 on the mat outside, than he fell asleep, of 
 course, but even as he lost consciousness 
 the words still lingered on his lips — 
 
 " From ill-hap what shall stay thee ? 
 Then good-night, then good-night, then good-night!"
 
 ( 17 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 
 
 Long before Brian tlolgate awoke on the 
 morning after his concert, his neighbours 
 at the farm, and Sarah Stott, his old 
 retainer and housekeeper and his soHtary 
 indoor servant, were up and doing. A 
 lovely autumn morning had followed on 
 the gusty damp night — only enough of the 
 late gale remained to blow away the mist 
 and fogs from about the ridges and tops of 
 the moors and hills. 
 
 At half-past ten in the forenoon life and 
 the business of the day were In full swing 
 at '* Ormerod's farm," occupied by Farmer 
 John Ormerod, his daughter Alice, his 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 l8 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 cripple son Andrew, and their helps and 
 retainers, consisting of a stalwart, rosy- 
 cheeked country lass of twenty, in the 
 house ; and sundry men and boys without : 
 herds, hinds, helps, and such as pertain to 
 the outdoor workings of a moderately-sized, 
 and prosperous grazing farm, for little 
 grain flourished anywhere in that bleak 
 country. 
 
 Travelling over the high road along 
 which Brian had last night trudged so late, 
 one arrived first at the back door of Moor 
 Isles, his own house. At one side, a gate 
 opened into a walk, with the house side on 
 the left, and on the right a high stone wall 
 with trees of a very fair growth for that 
 part of the country, hanging in a pleasantly 
 shaded manner above the walk, and making 
 an arch overhead. Turning to the left 
 one came to the front of the house, with 
 Its door in the middle, its window on
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 1 9 
 
 either side ; three windows above, and 
 three small arched ones higher again. It 
 was built of gray stone, this little unpre- 
 tentious old country mansion ; the door 
 and windows were painted a spotless white, 
 there was a gleaming brass knocker, and 
 a little flight of worn stone steps, always 
 washed very clean, and with the edges 
 skilfully whitened by the careful hand of 
 Sarah Stott. No one was stirring about 
 the front at this hour. The house looked 
 due south, and there was a Dijon rose 
 climbing round one of the windows, with 
 still a few belated blossoms left. Some 
 asters of different colours were in the 
 borders just beneath the windows. The 
 garden sloped rather steeply from this 
 little terrace in front of the house. First 
 came strawberry beds, then a level of grass 
 with a walk all round it, and one across 
 the middle. In each oblong of grass stood
 
 20 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a tall, spindly old rhododendron bush, and 
 another flight of steps led to the last and 
 largest portion of the garden, which was 
 well stocked with such fruit trees as will 
 yield produce in so northern and bleak 
 a climate — raspberries, gooseberries, and 
 currants chiefly, and a few hardy apple 
 trees dotted here and there. It was all 
 very small, very homely and unpretending, 
 but It had a eenlal look in all weathers — it 
 bore the aspect of a home, and it shared, 
 with one human being, the deepest and 
 intensest afTection of Brian Holgate's heart. 
 There was a great view from the front 
 of the house, of the smoky town of 
 Hollowley, with its endless forest of tall 
 chimneys, and beyond them more ridges 
 of moor. Moor Isles (probably a corruption 
 of Moor Hoyles, or Holes) had descended 
 from father to son of the Holgates for 
 generations, and before it another and a
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 21 
 
 smaller dwelling had stood on the same 
 site, and had belonged to the family for 
 several hundred years. 
 
 But to return to the high road. Close 
 beside the gate leading into Brian's garden 
 — beneath the wall of his garden, in fact — 
 ran a deep, rough lane — a *' cow-lane " 
 leading to the pastures where Ormerod's 
 cattle lived and moved, and had their 
 being, and serving as their road when they 
 came up to the farmyard to be milked. 
 The farm itself was just on the other side 
 of this lane, on a level with Brian's house 
 and garden. A high wall divided the 
 farmyard also from the lane, and it too 
 was a pleasant, genial spot, with its deep 
 stone porch leading into a grand country 
 kitchen, from which access was obtained 
 to a staircase and a parlour, the latter 
 seldom used, but not quite so ghastly in 
 appearance as most parlours of that class.
 
 22 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 But with the parlour we have nothing to 
 do. Here, in this huge raftered kitchen, 
 with its stone floor, its vast cavernous fire- 
 place and ingle ; its adjuncts of dally use, 
 harmoniously blended into a homely beauty ; 
 its cosy nooks, its broad, low windows and 
 deep window-seats — here are the objects 
 of interest for us. 
 
 A young woman and a youth were the 
 only occupants of the warm, cosy place. 
 Fine though the day was, there were dark, 
 shadowy corners in this great kitchen, and 
 the firelight flickered gaily in them^, though 
 It was but eleven o' the clock before mid- 
 day. 
 
 Alice Ormerod, the ruler and mistress of 
 the farm, was standing at a dresser which 
 was in front of one of the windows, and 
 she was busy with flour and butter and 
 milk ; a baking-board and a rolling-pin 
 were in constant requisition, and an array
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 23 
 
 of pie-dishes before her were piled up with 
 fine damsons, all glittering from the bowl 
 of water in which she had been stirring 
 them round to cleanse their skins. Andrew, 
 her brother, sat at a little round table in 
 another of the windows looking south, and 
 nearer to the fireplace. He looked small 
 and crumpled up ; his crutch was beside 
 him — a book and papers, pen and ink 
 before him on the table. And at the 
 moment they were silent. 
 
 No greater contrast could well have . 
 been imagined than that offered by this 
 brother and sister. Alice was twenty- 
 three, and Andrew was twenty years of 
 age. She was tall, strong, and perfectly 
 made ; she possessed a frame so justly 
 proportioned and so harmoniously finished, 
 that one did not realize at first that she 
 was what might be called a big woman. 
 Upright as a dart, and without any stiff-
 
 24 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ness of carriage, her movements were free 
 and graceful. Her lilac print gown was 
 made with great simplicity, but had some 
 pretensions to shape and cut, and fitted 
 closely over the nobly sweeping shoulders 
 and beautiful bust. Her figure was more 
 that of a Diana than of a Hebe, Venus, 
 or Juno — spare, though not lean ; with 
 admirable, strong muscles playing beneath 
 her fair, healthy skin, and firm, not too 
 abundant flesh. And the face that went 
 with this figure was the face of a brune, 
 with rich subdued red glowing through the 
 clear olive skin, tanned nut-brown by the 
 busy out-of-doors life of the summer and 
 harvest time ; dark, straight eyebrows, 
 over eyes of a deep fine gray, and long 
 black lashes ; a mass of straight, glossy 
 hair, brown, not black — a most distinct, 
 decided brown, silky and smooth, with 
 here and there a tawny reflection where it
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 25 
 
 caught the sunlight ; and a noble, steady, 
 kindly mouth, with capacity for sternness, 
 for pathos, for invective or persuasion — for 
 everything except lies or meanness. A 
 chin, strong but not coarse, finished off 
 this face well, and the whole head was set 
 on a round, firm throat, which just now 
 was browned by the sun and air. 
 
 The details are the details of a beauty's 
 appearance, but Alice Ormerod did not 
 strike one as being a beauty, though hand- 
 some she undoubtedly was. Perhaps it . 
 was the spirit within, which, being nobler 
 than its frame, caused one to think less of 
 her beautiful face and form in particular 
 than of the general effect of health and 
 strength, rightheadedness, steady daylight 
 of mind and spirit. Be that as it may, she 
 had certainly all the beauty, all the health 
 and strength for both of them. Poor 
 Andrew had been a cripple from his birth,
 
 26 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and suffered sadly from an infirmity of the 
 spine which, while not amounting to an 
 acute disease, was sufficient to keep him 
 in such pain for hours, and even days and 
 nights at a time, as quite to incapacitate 
 him for active work of any kind. 
 
 Perhaps one should except active mental 
 work. The lad's brain was quick enough ; 
 and he could never be kept too busy with 
 books and studies. He was deep now in 
 some zoological work of a popular kind, 
 busily making notes, and trying to answer 
 questions for an examination paper, and 
 happily unconscious for the time that he 
 had a weak back and a short leg, and that 
 he could not move without a crutch. 
 
 So they kept one another company — 
 silent, but in the best of harmony and 
 sympathy — the fire crinkled and sparkled ; 
 the great clock ticked ceaselessly. Andrew 
 studied the characteristics of the somewhat
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 27 
 
 Insipid protozoa, and Alice deftly mixed 
 and rolled paste, tucked It over one pie- 
 dish after another, and now and then tried 
 to hum a tune — not very successfully, and 
 yet, perhaps, a highly sympathetic ear 
 might have detected a resemblance in her 
 somewhat tuneless murmur to Brian's 
 stave of the night before — 
 " Then good-night, then good-night, then good-night 1" 
 
 The murmur suddenly died Into silence 
 as footsteps became audible on the flags 
 of the yard outside ; then a figure stopped 
 before the window and smiled at her, and 
 Brian^s voice wished her good morning. 
 
 " Good day, Brian," said she, in a clear 
 loud voice. *' Don't stand in my light, 
 but find your way in, if you've anything 
 to say." 
 
 *' I have so," he answered, in an em- 
 phatic tone, as he passed to the door. 
 
 In the momentary interval Alice drew
 
 2 8 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a deep breath, and exhaled a prolonged, 
 noiseless sigh. Her fingers manipulated 
 one particular piece of pie-crust with great 
 vigour, and then — the door was opened, 
 and Brian, with his frank, handsome face, 
 his blue eyes, and his sunny hair and 
 moustache, " fresh as paint " — to use his 
 own expression — and looking no whit the 
 worse for his late hours, lifted the latch 
 and walked in. Andrew roused from his 
 absorbing interest in his study, and looked 
 up, his face brightening. 
 
 " Eh, good morning ! " said he. 
 
 " Good morning, Andrew. How are 
 you, old chap ? Hard at work over your 
 learned books ! I never did see such a 
 fellow as you are. Good morning, Alice," 
 — with a very pleasant smile upon the 
 young woman. " Do I interrupt ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of, if you'll mind 
 what you're doing," she said, in rather a
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 29 
 
 crisp tone. '' Sit you down there in th' 
 rocker, and let's hear what it's all about." 
 
 ''Oh, I can't tell you from all that 
 distance off!" he said, disdaining the 
 proffered rocking-chair, and drawing near 
 to the dresser. He seated himself, wrong 
 way about, on one of the wooden-bottomed 
 chairs, clasped his hands over the top rail 
 of its back, and looking up at her, with 
 an expression composed of mirth, dismay, 
 and doubt, remarked tersely — ■ 
 
 '' Eh, I am in a fix, Alice. I'm fairly at . 
 my wits' end." 
 
 '' Why, what now ? " she asked with 
 seeming indifference. " Whatever have 
 you been doing ? Not " 
 
 She paused, looking at him, the rolling- 
 pin in her hands, arrested on its way to 
 the layer of paste on the baking board. 
 
 " Nay," he answered her, with a smile, 
 as he looked straight into her eyes ;
 
 30 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 "nothing o' the sort this time. I didn't 
 even drink a drop of brandy-and-water 
 before I went to bed. And I was up late, 
 too." 
 
 *' Ay, you were so," she repHed. " I heard 
 your fiddle at after one in the morning." 
 
 -Why " 
 
 " Yes ; you always throw open the 
 window, and I always sleep with mine 
 open, you know, and I woke up," she went 
 on, a little more quickly, " I woke up, and 
 thought It must be getting on for morning, 
 and then all at once I heard your fiddle 
 going, and you were playing, too." 
 
 *' To be sure ! " he cried, waving his 
 hand, and trolling forth — 
 
 "'Towns with their high battlements, 
 Tower and wall ! 
 Fair maids with their haughty thoughts 
 Scorning us all ! 
 
 To glory they call us, 
 Soon they both shall fall' "
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 3 I 
 
 You hear that, AHce Ormerod ? ' Soon 
 they bo-oth shall fall.' By George ! what 
 a concert It was last night ! " 
 
 *' If that's a song you heard, It sounds 
 heathenish enough. Pray, Is that In one 
 of your operas ? " 
 
 '' Not an opera — no. That comes from 
 a piece called ' The Damnation of Faust,' 
 by a Frenchman, Hector Berlioz ! Ay, 
 that's music ! " 
 
 ''Well, that was what I heard you at, 
 I suppose ; and I then heard the clock on . 
 the stairs strike two In the morning, and 
 then I went to sleep again." 
 
 *' That was a sensible thing to do. But 
 you haven't heard what trouble Fm in. 
 'Ja7n nox stellata — stell-a-a-ta! " 
 
 *' You sound as If you were," she re- 
 torted. '' I haven't any time to waste. 
 What Is it that's wrong ? " 
 
 "In this wonderful piece of music you
 
 32 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 must know there are four principal singers 
 — a lady and three gentlemen. The lady 
 sings soprano, the gentlemen tenor, bari- 
 tone, and bass. Well, you know, I've 
 heard it before, and I've heard them in it 
 before. I know two or three of the 
 musicians In Mr. Warburton's band — a 
 little, not much," he went on, modestly. 
 " They are very kind to me. They give 
 me hints about my voice sometimes, and 
 about my fiddle too." 
 
 '* They call your voice a baritone, too, 
 don't they ? " asked Alice, striving not to 
 look excessively pleased and Interested. 
 
 "Yes, they do. And this man who 
 sings the baritone part in ' Faust ' — the 
 wicked spirit's part — Mephlstopheles, he's 
 called, If you want to know " 
 
 " Meph-Is-toph-eles. I shall try to 
 remember that. Well, what of him ? " 
 
 *' What of him ? " echoed the young
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 5-^ 
 
 man, pausing ; and then, with a face eager 
 with excitement, and with the ready tears 
 of his emotional temperament rushing to 
 his eyes, though they did not overflow — 
 " why, he's simply splendid. There never 
 was such a man as Felix — his real name 
 is Felix Arkwright — but, you know, they 
 often twist their names about a little for 
 public purposes ; but that doesn't matter," 
 he added, finishing his rapid parenthesis 
 — " that's nothing to do with it ; ' he's 
 simply the rarest man in the world ! ' 
 That's Shakespeare — you haven't read 
 Shakespeare ? But that's what he is. 
 The greatest artist, and the finest gentle- 
 man, and young, quite young. Why do 
 you cast your eyes down in that way, and 
 look displeased ? You know nothing 
 about it — how can you ? " he concluded, 
 pettishly, falling from his rhapsody into a 
 huff. 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 *' I'm not displeased," she said, but there 
 was gravity In her tones. " He must be 
 a very wonderful man. If he's all that. 
 But what does It all lead to ? " 
 
 " What does It all lead to ? Why, to 
 this. Last night I was Introduced to him 
 — in the interval between the two parts of 
 the concert — and he shook hands with me, 
 and said he'd heard about my voice — and 
 my violin — from Brown, you know, one of 
 the second violins, who knows him. He 
 has been very kind to Brown." 
 
 '' And is that a trouble to you ? " 
 
 " Nay ; I never was so proud and pleased 
 in my life. I tell you, when he looked at 
 me with those eyes of his, and spoke to 
 me so open and so kind, I fairly trembled. 
 I felt so small beside him. And yet, 
 before we parted, I had — what do you 
 suppose, now, Alice and Andrew, that I 
 had done ? "
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 35 
 
 *' Offered to sing to him, perhaps ? " 
 suggested Andrew, while Alice smiled. 
 
 '* Andy, I'll give you something to 
 remember me by, if you don't mind. 
 Offered to sing to him, indeed! I'm not 
 quite made up of self-conceit. No, but I 
 had invited him to come out here and see 
 me." 
 
 This news, when at last it came, had its 
 full effect. His auditors were silent In 
 awe and astonishment. Though belonging 
 to a musical and music-loving race, neither 
 Alice nor her brother had the musical 
 faculty, and their sole ideas on the subject 
 were derived from what they had heard at 
 local musical gatherings. Brian, with his 
 wild enthusiasm on the subject, his fiddle, 
 his voice, his persevering attendance at 
 the great Irkford concerts through all 
 weathers and at all times, was a great 
 mystery to them. But he was their friend,
 
 2fi FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 their delight, and their admiration ; their 
 gallant young neighbour, who was a 
 favourite In spheres of which they knew 
 nothing, and who yet was always to 
 them the same genuine, simple, brotherly 
 creature ; and they received his dictum on 
 all such matters as a final one. If Brian 
 had said this or that about anything re- 
 lating to music. It was so. There was no 
 appeal. He had said that this Felix was 
 the rarest man In the world — the greatest 
 artist, the finest gentleman. 
 
 Of course he knew all about It, and if 
 he had Invited this admirable Crichton to 
 come and see him, of course that was an 
 Important matter. It was Alice who first 
 recovered presence of mind enough to 
 say — 
 
 " Eh, did you though ? And what did 
 he say ? " 
 
 " He said he would come to-morrow."
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 37 
 
 *^Well, that's all right." 
 
 *' He doesn't often have the time for 
 such things. He's singing again to-night, 
 at Bolton, or somewhere there, but 
 nowhere on Saturday — not because he 
 hadn't been asked, you may be sure, but 
 because he didn't choose. He preferred 
 to take a holiday. And sometimes he 
 likes to go off quietly to out-of-the-way 
 places, where no one knows him, and he 
 heard that Moor Isles was such a place, 
 and I told him it would be the proudest 
 day of my life if he would come. And he 
 said, ' It's exceedingly kind of you. I will 
 come with pleasure.' And he asked me 
 not to ask any one to meet him." 
 
 '' And of course it was easy enough to 
 agree to that," said Alice. 
 
 '' Ay. But that isn't all ; for when we'd 
 arranged it all, he stopped and thought a 
 minute, and then he said, ' Would it be
 
 38 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 an abuse of your hospitality'" — Brian raised 
 himself up, and put on a commanding air, 
 which impressed them very much — '' ' if I 
 were to bring two ladies with me ? ' " 
 
 '' Eh, my sakes ! Lasses ! That's a 
 different story," cried Andrew, intensely 
 interested. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, lad. It's only a con- 
 tinuation of the same story. I said, ' Sir, 
 as many of your friends as you choose to 
 bring shall be welcome in my house as 
 flowers in May.' He smiled most kindly, 
 and said, * Oh, I am not altogether un- 
 conscionable. But I know it would be a 
 very great pleasure to these ladies if I 
 might bring them with me.' And, of 
 course, I said that my pleasure in seeing 
 them would be beyond description. So 
 they're coming." 
 
 *' I wonder if they're singers, too," 
 speculated Andrew, while Alice was silent.
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 39 
 
 not looking quite so brilliantly pleased as 
 she had been a moment ago. *' Them 
 singing ladies, I've heard," pursued the 
 youth reflectively, "are that full of airs 
 and graces, there's no holding them, and 
 wherever they go, they must have porter 
 and cream mixed, to drink." 
 
 ** I know nothing about that. If they 
 want porter, there's plenty at my house ; 
 and if they want cream, I suppose there's 
 some here that won't be grudged me." 
 
 ''Well, but," interposed Alice, rather 
 abruptly, " It seems to me like as if we 
 were a long while in getting to the point, 
 if there is any. If you've asked them, and 
 they're coming, and you think so much of 
 them, where's your trouble ? " 
 
 " Oh, Alice ! it isn't me," said the young 
 man, his voice suddenly changing, and a 
 shade of something like despair settling on 
 his face—" it isn't me. It's Sarah Stott."
 
 40 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 There was a pause, and then Alice, 
 laying down her rolling-pin, leaned against 
 the lintel of the window and laughed — 
 laughed till the tears ran down her face. 
 Andrew joined in a more moderate manner 
 in the mirth, and Brian, his arms still 
 folded on the back of the chair, looked 
 from one to the other, with a gloom 
 of expression which nothing seemed to 
 lighten. 
 
 " It's all very well, Alice," said he, " for 
 you, that are young and strong, and 
 mistress of all around you, to laugh. But 
 what would Andy do, I'd like to know, 
 if he wanted to have his friends, and he'd 
 a Sarah Stott, that sat down in the kitchen 
 rocking-chair, and told him it couldn't be 
 done ? " 
 
 " Couldn't be done ! " repeated Alice, 
 her laughter suddenly ceasing. ''What 
 couldn't be done ? "
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 4 1 
 
 ** I'd totally forgotten her when I gave 
 the invitation ; and when I told her this 
 morning, instead of rising to the occasion, 
 and trying to think what could be done, 
 she just gets into a temper, and, as I tell 
 you, she sat herself down in the rocking- 
 chair, and she says, 'You've gone and 
 invited all these folk at a moment's notice, 
 without asking me a word about it — people 
 as it'll take a week to prepare for properly. 
 It can't be done,' she says. 'You may as 
 well send 'em word at once as it can't be 
 done. / shall none be ready for 'em.' 
 And she'll be as good as her word. You 
 know Sarah Stott, Alice ;. you know what 
 she can be, when she takes it into her 
 head," he added piteously. 
 
 " Ay, I do so," Alice assented. " Sarah 
 is a good servant, but a bad master. 
 You've let her get the mastery, Mr. Brian, 
 and she makes you feel it. In her proper
 
 42 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 place she's all right, but she can be as 
 spiteful as any one I know. Are they 
 coming just for the day, these people ? " 
 
 ''That's all. I said I could find them 
 bed and board If they liked, but Mr. Felix 
 said they were all engaged on the Sunday. 
 So they'll be here about one — not before, 
 and I guess they can't stay much after six, 
 if they want to get back in decent time. 
 And I did think as that could have been 
 managed. Mr. Felix has seen a deal of 
 grand doings and fine folk, but he's so 
 simple and nice — he'll not turn up his nose 
 at anything. And I'm sure the ladles will 
 be equal to him, whoever they may be. 
 But you might as well say so to that pie- 
 dish as to Sarah, when once she's made 
 up her mind against a thing. I don't 
 know what in the world I'm to do," he 
 added dejectedly ; and he presented the 
 spectacle of a strong man in bondage to a
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 43 
 
 female yoke — the sad, but not uncommon 
 sight — a master the slave of an ancient 
 retainer. " I never thought, till she took 
 it in that way, but what it could have been 
 managed," he said sorrowfully. 
 
 Where were now the war-like ditties 
 and the mystic serenades ? Where the 
 pride of his youth and his manhood ? 
 Prostrate and paralyzed before the ulti- 
 matum of Sarah Stott ! 
 
 "And it can and shall be managed," 
 said Alice, suddenly and decisively. She* 
 pushed her baking-board aside, and sat 
 down in a chair opposite to him. Her 
 face was flushed ; her eyes bright ; her 
 breath came quickly. She looked the 
 embodiment of strength, resolution, and 
 the capacity to carry out her designs. 
 ** Put Sarah Stott out of your head. You 
 shall have your friends over, and they 
 shall want for nothing."
 
 44 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 *' Eh, Alice ! " exclaimed her brother ; 
 while Brian looked at her in wonder and 
 gradually dawning delight, with parted lips 
 and dilating eyes. 
 
 " Alice — what do you mean ? You can't 
 make her do it. You can't make her set 
 to, and cook things, however few — and I 
 don't hold with making a great display, 
 beyond what you can justly afford. You 
 can't make her get out the best silver and 
 polish it up a bit, and the glasses and 
 things, and those old Indian dinner things, 
 and all that ; and you can't make her clean 
 herself up a bit, and put the things on the 
 table and hand them round civilly — and 
 that's all I ask, and all that's necessary. 
 But you can't make her do it," concluded 
 the young man, in a tone which showed 
 that the iron had entered into his soul. 
 
 " No," said Alice, in a voice of sup- 
 pressed excitement. " I know that. No
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 45 
 
 power on earth can move an obstinate old 
 woman as wants to vex you. I can't 
 make her do it. But I can do it myself." 
 
 '' Bi' the mass, Alice, thou art a rare 
 un ! " cried Andrew, in an ecstasy of 
 delight, as he thumped his crutch on the 
 floor, and looked with rapture at his strong, 
 handsome sister. 
 
 Brian's face flushed as he looked at her. 
 He stammered out, " I never thought of 
 such a thing — never ! You may take my 
 word for it. And I don't see how that- 
 can be, Alice. You're my friend, not my 
 servant." 
 
 ''And what's a friend good for, if they 
 can't do a deal better than a servant, if 
 needs be ? " she retorted. '' I tell you, 
 I'm going to do it. If Sarah Stott thinks 
 her crabbed temper is going to succeed in 
 making you look inhospitable — sending 
 word to people not to come, when you've
 
 46 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 invited them ! " she cried, in great excite- 
 ment — '* if she thinks that, she's just mis- 
 taken, that's all. That's not our way at 
 Thornton — to ask people to see us, and 
 then tell 'em we find we can't do with 
 them. How could you ever look this 
 great singing gentleman in the face again ? 
 And, besides, I'm fain to see them. It'll 
 be something quite new for us, won't it, 
 Andy ? Nay, nay ! They shall come, 
 and, as far as country fashion goes, they 
 shall find nothing wanting. Trust me ! " 
 
 And, indeed, she looked as if she were 
 to be trusted. Brian jumped from his 
 chair, and seized her hand and squeezed it. 
 
 " You are a true friend, Alice — you are 
 so. Till you promised this, I didn't know 
 how much I'd set my heart on having 
 them. I'll never forget your goodness." 
 
 '' Oh, there's nothing so much to re- 
 member, as I can see ! Now, just listen,
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 47 
 
 and then you must be off, for I shall have 
 plenty to do. They will come at one, you 
 say. Well, I reckon by half-past they'll 
 be ready for their dinner " 
 
 ** I fancy they call it lunch," he suggested 
 deferentially. 
 
 *' They may call It what they please, so 
 long as it's there for them. They shall 
 have a leg of roast mutton — small — one as 
 has hung for nearly a week, as would give 
 a dying man an appetite. Then they shall 
 have some partridges — I know how to 
 cook partridges — and a plum pie, and a 
 custard, and an ^gg pudding — yes, they'll 
 get no better anywhere, though I say it. 
 And then some apples and nuts, and some 
 preserved ginger, and some other things 
 that I know of — and a cake. And you 
 have wine — very good wine. What should 
 they want better than that, I'd like to 
 know } "
 
 48 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Nothing," said he fervently ; " and I 
 tell you, they'll like It just as well as if It 
 was at the Prince of Wales's own table. 
 And, Alice, there's just one thing I'd ask 
 you as a favour, for I'm not going to 
 pretend that I won't let you do this for me 
 — just one." 
 
 " And what's that?" she asked graciously. 
 
 *' If they may have some coffee the 
 minute they've done. I know they like 
 that. I happened once to overhear " 
 
 " Coffee and cream they shall have," 
 said Alice. '* There's your mother's silver 
 coffee service, and there's the old thin red 
 and white china. That's all right. Then, 
 before they go, some tea, with some jam, 
 and eggs, and tea-bread. That's quite 
 simple. Now, you go back to your house, 
 and, if Sarah says anything to you, just 
 don't answer her. Don't for the world tell 
 her of this. I'll look In upon her after
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 49 
 
 I've cleared our dinner out of the way. 
 And you'd better come and take some 
 dinner with us to-day, Brian. Sarah shall 
 never have It to say that there wasn't a 
 clear field for preparing for them.. And 
 leave the rest to me." 
 
 '' You are good," he repeated ; and then; 
 with an uneasy look, '' But, Alice, I can't 
 abide the Idea of your setting things on 
 the table, and handing them round. I 
 shall just feel " 
 
 *' All that you've got any call to feel Is, 
 that when I say I'll do a thing, I mean to 
 do It myself, and to do It well. You must 
 leave everything to me, and it'll be all 
 right." 
 
 '' It will, Mr. Brian — It will, indeed," 
 Andrew assured him earnestly. 
 
 '' I know It will," said Brian, in a slow, 
 solemn voice of deep conviction. '' And I 
 shall be thankful to her for ever." 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ** Well, now I must clear these pies out 
 of the way. And you slip In here at half- 
 past twelve for some dinner. My word ! 
 see how times flying. It's nearly twelve 
 now. Sarah Stott, indeed ! " she concluded, 
 seizing a cloth and wrenching open the 
 oven door. 
 
 Brian, grateful, but still embarrassed, 
 moved towards the door. 
 
 "Then I'll say nothing about It to 
 her?" 
 
 " Nothlnof In the world. Leave It to 
 me," seemed to come from the depths of 
 the oven. 
 
 And Brian, with a nod to Andrew 
 and a " See you again soon, lad," went 
 out. 
 
 Left alone, the brother and sister were 
 silent for a little while, till Alice again said 
 In emphatic tones, '' Those old servants 
 get beyond all bounds. I'll Sarah Stott
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 5 I 
 
 her ! The idea o' setting herself up in 
 that way. Brian's far too indulgent to 
 her." 
 
 "Well," observed Andrew, in an im- 
 partial tone, *' there's no doubt but he'd 
 have been poorly off without thee, Alice, 
 this time. But 1 tell thee one thing, lass. 
 I hope he'll keep, or be kept from going 
 near Barracloughs' between now and to- 
 morrow." 
 
 '' I don't think he'll go near Barracloughs, 
 if Barracloughs don't come near him," 
 Alice decided, after a pause of considera- 
 tion. ''Anyhow, I'm not going to fash 
 myself about that. My business is to 
 make up for Sarah Stott's bad behaviour, 
 and I mean to, I tell you, I do so ! " 
 
 As she made this announcement, she 
 raised herself from a slightly stooping 
 position over the oven, the heat of which 
 had perhaps given an extra brightness to 
 
 UBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINCIS
 
 52 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 the red In her cheeks. Be that as It may, 
 she happened to meet Andrew's eyes fixed 
 upon her, as he Hstened, with great ap- 
 proval, and. It would seem, with something 
 else as well, for there was a queer, 
 humorous look in his eyes, and a shrewd 
 smile upon his big, not Ill-natured mouth ; 
 and as Alice's colour rose still higher 
 under his scrutinizing gaze, he observed, 
 speculatively — 
 
 '' Poor Sarah Stott ! She's getting to 
 be an old woman now. I guess she 
 couldn't have been so young, even when 
 you were a baby, Alice. I wonder If she 
 ever had a lover." 
 
 *' Lover ! " retorted his sister, In an In- 
 describable tone. " Thou's sat too long 
 over thy books. What's lovers got to do 
 with It, In the name of goodness ? " 
 
 And with that, without waiting for a 
 reply, she went out of the kitchen, and
 
 ALICE ORMEROD. 53 
 
 imperatively summoned some distant in- 
 visible " Lizzy " to her aid. 
 
 Andrew smiled, and turned again to the 
 books, over which, she said, he had sat too 
 long.
 
 54 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Brian's antecedents. 
 
 It boots not here to relate how the pacifi- 
 cation of Sarah Stott was accompHshed in 
 one single encounter between herself and 
 Alice Ormerod. Suffice it to say that the 
 said pacification was effected, and that 
 thoroughly ; that the crabbed ancient 
 retainer, who had been Brian's mother's 
 servant during the first years of her 
 married life, and her mistress during the 
 last years of that life, and who of course 
 felt, in consequence, that she might do or 
 not do exactly as she pleased in the son's 
 house — this rebellious vassal was subdued 
 from rank insubordination into a kind of
 
 BRIANS ANTECEDENTS. 55 
 
 ungracious submission, and while assisting 
 Alice to the best of her power in the 
 preparations for the morrow, had to 
 content herself with a continuous under- 
 current of grumbling at the changed con- 
 ditions of things since the old days, and of 
 despairing wonderings as to what would or 
 would not *' happen next." As to Brian, 
 with the cowardice characteristic of his sex 
 in such emergencies, he fulfilled Alice's 
 behest to the letter, and said nothing to 
 Mrs. Stott. His whole mind was set on- 
 the promised visit of these strangers — he 
 was quite conscious that probably, after it 
 was all over, his henchwoman would make 
 him pay somehow for having carried his 
 point in the present, but that was a matter 
 for future consideration and suffering. Just 
 now, he had the comfortable conviction 
 that his friend Alice was a host in herself, 
 and that under her direction all would go
 
 56 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 well. He offered to make himself useful 
 in any way that might be thought desirable, 
 but he took care never to be left alone 
 with Sarah. For all her conquered state 
 there was a rebellious glare In her eye now 
 and then, which made him thankful for 
 the protection of Alice's presence. That, 
 however, would be withdrawn when she 
 had to return to the farm in the evening, 
 but she had provided for this contingency 
 also, and invited him to go back with her, 
 and sup with them. 
 
 '' Why, I'm fairly living at your house ! '' 
 he cried. " I think I'd better go some- 
 where else. I'd thought of calling in to 
 
 see Jim Barraclough, and " 
 
 "Now, dont !'' Alice said to him, in a 
 sweet persuasive voice, and she laid her 
 hand, shapely, if roughened and reddened 
 by its daily toil, upon his arm, and looked 
 at him.
 
 BRIAN S ANTECEDENTS. 5 7 
 
 As they stood thus, it might well have 
 occurred to an observant mind, with a 
 turn for analogies, that the young man was 
 a vacillating, tempted human soul, and 
 that the young woman who looked at him 
 with her clear, steady eyes was his good 
 angel, drawing him back from some 
 danger. So strong she looked, so hand- 
 some, and so winning in her panoply of 
 maiden modesty and daring combined, that 
 the idea, " Surely he must love her," could 
 hardly have failed to occur to any well- 
 regulated mind. 
 
 " Don't go there — for this one night," 
 she said pleadingly. In quite a different tone 
 from any she ever used to him when others 
 were by. '' Come to us, and stay with us." 
 
 ** You never like me to go to Barra- 
 cloughsV he said restively. " You are 
 never yourself about them, Alice, and I 
 can't imagine why."
 
 58 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 "Well, we'll say I'm not," she replied, 
 but with no look of intending to relinquish 
 her purpose. '' Never mind that. Barra- 
 cloughs are always here, and so am I. 
 You can see them, or we can talk about 
 them, any time. Your friends are coming 
 to-morrow — this gentleman that you think 
 so much of, and two ladies. Now, Brian, 
 don't 2:0 to BarraclouQ^hs'. You know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " I do know, Alice," he said suddenly ; 
 " and you're right, as you generally are. I 
 won't go to them. I'll go with you, because 
 you're good to me, and, what's more, it 
 makes me feel good myself to be with you." 
 
 " Now, that's good of yoti-/' she said, 
 with a little, almost imperceptible, shake in 
 her voice. " But I thought you would. 
 Bring your fiddle and give us a tune. 
 Andy and father will be fain to listen. 
 You know they always are."
 
 BRIAN S ANTECEDENTS. 59 
 
 He nodded. '' I'll get it," he said, and 
 went off upstairs to seek it. 
 
 Alice seized the opportunity to say to 
 Sarah Stott, in a rapid undertone — 
 
 "If any o' those Barracloughs come, 
 Sarah, and ask for him, he's out, but you 
 can't tell them where. Do you under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 On this point the old woman and the 
 girl were one and undivided. 
 
 '' Ay, I understand fast enough, and 
 they'll none get to know from me whero> 
 he is," she said ; and then Brian returned 
 with his fiddle, and he and Alice stepped 
 across to the farm, where a glorious fire 
 filled the great kitchen with a ruddy, 
 dancing light, and where Andrew was 
 waiting for them with a joyful greeting. 
 
 They all passed a sociable, happy even- 
 ing, talking, listening to Brian's music, and 
 his accounts of the fine things he heard
 
 6o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and saw and did when he visited the great 
 city to the south-west, and of many other 
 things, and at eleven o'clock he went 
 home decently enough, never even asked 
 if any Barracloughs had been near, and 
 after playing to himself for a short time, 
 went to his bed, and fell asleep, filled with 
 great anticipations for the morrow. 
 
 " Eh, but yon's a decent lad enough, 
 when he gets into the reet company," said 
 Farmer Ormerod, when Brian had gone. 
 '' It's a real pity as he has nothing to do — 
 no bit of work as he needs must attend to. 
 It would be th' savin' on him if he had — 
 keep him out o' bad company, and o' the 
 rest on't." 
 
 The reflective silence of his son and 
 daughter gave consent to this statement. 
 
 Brian Holgate had been left an orphan 
 some five or six years ago. He had been 
 the only child of his parents, who were of
 
 Brian's antecedents. 6i 
 
 that class of which a few remnants linger, 
 scattered here and there over the land — 
 people who had once been more consider- 
 able both as to property and position, but 
 who had contrived to retain their old 
 family dwelling-house, and enough property 
 in land, farms, and sound investments to 
 brinof in an income more than enoueh to 
 absolve them from the necessity of working 
 for their bread. Brian had inherited from 
 them the old house itself, the only home 
 he had ever known, and property to the 
 amount of something over three hundred a 
 year. He and his people were strictly 
 provincial, strictly rural, and rural Lanca- 
 shire, at that, in all their ways and habits. 
 They had never been in the habit of 
 gadding about. His father had never 
 been farther afield than to Irkford and 
 Blackpool — to the first of which he had 
 been known once or twice to repair on the
 
 62 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 occasion of some great and solemn public 
 festivity, while to the latter he had gone 
 several times for the benefit of the sea air 
 — a briny atmosphere matching In strength 
 that which played about the bleak moors 
 amongst which he usually lived. Mrs. 
 Holgate had been rather more of a traveller. 
 In her young days (so the record ran) she 
 had spent some three months In London, 
 drinking as deeply of the cup of amuse- 
 ment and dissipation as was commensurate 
 with visiting a very proper and steady- 
 going family of dissenting relatives. She 
 had also, at different times, visited different 
 parts of her native country, and had even 
 taken a jaunt to the Lakes once with 
 Brian, when he was a very little boy. But 
 even that can scarcely be said In these 
 days to constitute extensive travel. 
 
 And, so far as was known, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Holgate both took very much after their
 
 Brian's antecedents. 63 
 
 respective forefathers, who, though in 
 nowise blood connections, had Hved near 
 together, always on the same spot, had 
 done the same things, thought the same 
 thoughts, and steadily vegetated on, in 
 exactly similar lines, for many generations. 
 . It may perhaps be credited that to such 
 a couple their own son Brian came as a 
 great, and not always agreeable surprise, 
 with his mercurial temperament, his extra- 
 ordinary love for music, his sudden furies, 
 and equally sudden meltings back into 
 sweetness — his picturesque beauty of face 
 and figure, and his general instability of 
 purpose as regarded the keeping of the 
 conventionalities as practised in Ravenside 
 Forest. Where had he come from, this 
 anomalous creature ? How had he ever 
 come from them — that was the thing 1 
 Was he intended as a cross, or as a bless- 
 ing in disguise — very much in disguise ^
 
 64 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 And how was he to be brought up ? 
 Obviously, there was but one answer to 
 that — as his father before him had been 
 brought up. It never occurred to them to 
 try and find out whether treatment a Httle 
 different from what had been given them 
 might not be better suited to this so 
 obviously different child of theirs. On the 
 contrary, with the rigidity peculiar to that 
 mould of mind, they saw quite clearly that 
 the same kind of treatment, intensified, 
 might have the desirable effect of making 
 their black swan into a white one. Sarah 
 Stott, who was an oracle to both of them, 
 had also pronounced strongly in favour of 
 this line of treatment, and accordingly, the 
 eager,, excitable lad, with his head full of 
 dreams and fancies, and his throat full of 
 melody, had been sent to the rough 
 Hollowley grammar school, and kept there, 
 amongst the rudest of the rude, the hardest.
 
 Brian's antecedents. 65 
 
 toughest, and most unsympathetic of sur- 
 roundings, until a serious illness, brought 
 on by exposure one day when he had 
 played truant to read poetry in the woods, 
 had aroused his parents to the stern con- 
 viction that in thus persisting they were 
 only — throwing their money away, A 
 council of war was held, in a somewhat 
 aggrieved spirit, which ended in his being 
 allowed to go to the vicar of Thornton-in- 
 Ravenside to read with him, daily. They 
 all shook their heads over this innovation, 
 and were not too well pleased when, in 
 direct contradiction to their croaking pro- 
 phecies, a distinct improvement soon 
 became visible in the lad's spirits, health, 
 and whole appearance. The vicar was a 
 lonely man, and an ardent musician him- 
 self, and when he died, which happened 
 when Brian was about seventeen, he left 
 him his violin, which, so his will stated, 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 was a genuine Amatl. Brian alone had 
 any appreciation of the value of the legacy ; 
 his parents thought a fiddle an odd kind of 
 thing to leave to any one. 
 
 Since his nineteenth year he had been 
 left pretty much to his own devices, which, 
 as we have seen, led him into the vicinity 
 of as much music as he could convenientl}^ 
 or inconveniently, manage to hear. He 
 had gradually become acquainted, through 
 faithful and persevering attendance at the 
 concerts, with some few members of the 
 orchestra, and for a short time he had 
 taken lessons from '' Brown, of the second 
 violins," of whom he had spoken to Alice, 
 with the results already made known, and 
 perhaps with some others, potential, if not 
 actual ; aspirations, vague wishes and 
 longings for a kind of life which he had 
 hardly pictured with any distinctness to 
 himself, but the idea of which loomed
 
 Brian's antecedents. 67 
 
 vaguely and grandly in his heart. He 
 had great thoughts anent the promised 
 visit of Felix, the noted singer — thoughts 
 which none knew of but himself, though 
 Alice Ormerod, without knowing exactly 
 what they were, perhaps guessed that there 
 were thoughts there, and wondered wist- 
 fully about them. 
 
 And so dawned the Saturday morning, 
 the day which was, he had said, to be the 
 proudest one of his life.
 
 68 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 
 
 Shortly before noon Brian set off into 
 Hollowley to meet his distinguished 
 visitors. He had a gig of his own, but 
 that was, of course, useless on an occasion 
 like this. There would be four of them 
 to return, and the road to Thornton was 
 a steep and toilsome one. Brian had 
 ordered a large cab and a pair of horses 
 to meet them. 
 
 The two women were left to complete 
 the preparations, spreading of the table, 
 and so forth. 
 
 " You look after the things being ready
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 69 
 
 for the table, and I'll do the waiting," said 
 Alice to Sarah. The younger woman was 
 looking wonderfully handsome and attrac- 
 tive in the gown which, either with innate 
 good taste or by some lucky accident, she 
 had chosen to put on for the occasion — 
 a fine gingham of a rather light, dull blue 
 shade, made very plainly and simply ; it 
 was one of her ordinary working dresses, 
 got at the beginning of the season, but 
 never before worn. In its style it was as 
 simple as the plainest housemaid's gar- 
 ment, so as to be useful for the purpose 
 for which it was intended ; but in quality, 
 cut, and finish it was of superior nature. 
 Despite its simplicity, and despite the 
 delicate lawn apron with little frills, meant 
 to give an air of humble domesticity to 
 this toilet, Alice had not succeeded in 
 looking like any one's waiting-maid, or, 
 indeed, like anything but the beautiful and
 
 70 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 independent young woman that she was. 
 And the finishing touch — the cap — she 
 had not been able to make up her mind 
 to, but wore her own splendid hair, in its 
 usual style, drawn back not quite tightly, 
 and plaited in thick plaits at the back of 
 her head. 
 
 And so prepared, she sat down with 
 Sarah Stott in the kitchen, and awaited 
 the arrival of Brian and his visitors. 
 
 '' There they are, for certain sure ! " cried 
 Sarah excitedly, as at last, after half a 
 dozen false alarms, a cab did really pass 
 the window, and then clattered over the 
 stones near the gate. 
 
 " Ay, there they are, sure enough," Alice 
 repeated tranquilly. And then, through 
 the open window came the sounds of 
 laughter in voices of a calibre they did 
 not often hear in Thornton — a man's voice, 
 women's voices, and a sort of parley, in
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 7 1 
 
 which Brian's voice also made itself heard, 
 and the words, '' Oh, not till seven, if you 
 will keep us so long ! " and then a silence 
 while they came round to the front of the 
 house, and then a fresh bustle as Brian's 
 voice said — 
 
 **Walk in, pray, and I will call my 
 servant." 
 
 '' You stay where you are, Sarah, and 
 never trouble yourself," said Alice, rising, 
 and feeling just a single flutter at her 
 heart, in spite of her composed bearing. 
 These friends of Brian's, whom for love 
 of him, and that he might not be put to 
 shame before them, she was going to wait 
 upon — what manner of persons might they 
 be ? Well, in another moment she was 
 going to see. She heard them go into the 
 larger parlour, a kind of drawing-room ; 
 she heard a woman's voice, in tones of 
 rapture, '' Oh, what a lovely doggie ! Will
 
 72 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 you speak to me ? What Is your name, 
 you beauty ? " 
 
 And then Brian called out, '* Sarah ! " 
 Alice walked straight along the passage 
 to the parlour door, where Brian was 
 standing, expecting his aged retainer. He 
 had not understood how thoroughly Alice 
 meant to do what she had undertaken. 
 When he saw her advancing, his face 
 flushed violently, a look, half laughter, half 
 vexation, came into his eyes, and he paused. 
 ''You called, Mr. Brian .^" said Alice 
 simply ; and at the sound of her voice the 
 guests looked in her direction, and, Brian 
 standing a little inside, she saw them also. 
 i: There were three of them, as expected. 
 A tall man, with something in his look and 
 bearing such as she had never seen before. 
 It struck her instantly, and impressed her, 
 and she wondered what it was. Then two 
 ladies ; one tall and mature, though still
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. "] 2) 
 
 young, with a beautifully-formed figure, 
 and a piquant, attractive, plain face, full of 
 life and intelligence ; the second, tall, too, 
 but much younger than either of her com- 
 panions — a mere slip of a girl, not more 
 than seventeen ; slight, but very graceful, 
 and with the loveliest face, or, perhaps, the 
 promise of the loveliest face Alice had 
 ever dreamed of. 
 
 They stood and looked at her, all three, 
 in silence, with arrested attention and 
 well-disguised surprise. Brian, as usual 
 with men in such cases, was quite beneath 
 the occasion. Alice, however, was fully 
 capable of dealing with it. 
 
 '' Was it to take the ladies to get c T 
 their things ? " she asked tranquilly, as he 
 did not speak. 
 
 '* Yes, please," he said hurriedly, " if you 
 will be so good." 
 
 *' Would you please come this way ? "
 
 74 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 she said to them, and stepped without 
 further ado up the narrow, low stairs, and 
 led them into the " best bedroom," where 
 she had prepared everything for their 
 comfort. 
 
 ** What a delightful, scented, country 
 room, Ines, isn't it ? " said the elder lady 
 to the girl, who looked smilingly, and per- 
 haps a little dreamily around, and assented 
 in a low, sweet voice. 
 
 *' Can I help you at all ? " asked Alice, 
 feeling for the first time one moment's 
 uneasiness in the presence of their beau- 
 tiful soft frilly garments, their mantles of 
 lace and velvet, their curious dainty gloves, 
 and the faint Indefinable perfume that 
 seemed to be wafted from them at every 
 moment. 
 
 '' Nothing, thank you — unless it was a 
 little hot water," said the elder one. " My 
 face is covered with smuts, I know ; and
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 75 
 
 there Is a little one on the tip of even your 
 nose, Ines, my child. Verily, one does 
 not travel In ' the manufacturing districts ' 
 without getting traces of It." 
 
 "The hot water Is there," said Alice, 
 pointing to a jug of It ; '' and dinner Is at 
 half-past one ; and If I could be of any 
 help to you, would you please ring that 
 bell ? " — and she pointed to the bell-rope. 
 
 '' Oh, thank you ! " they both exclaimed, 
 In what seemed to her straightforward 
 simplicity an unnecessarily emphatic and 
 grateful manner ; *' you are so kind ; but 
 we will find our way downstairs again as 
 soon as we are ready." 
 
 But, despite this emphasis (she was not 
 acquainted with the expression *'gush"), 
 Alice did not dislike either of these ladies. 
 They were quite different from anything 
 she had ever seen before, totally unlike 
 any of the moneyed dames of Hollowley
 
 T^ FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and its vicinity ; but she quite understood 
 that they meant well, and really did think 
 her kind when they said so. 
 
 " Then I will leave you," she said, with 
 a smile, and went away, followed by another 
 *' Thank you so much ! There is every- 
 thing we want." 
 
 Down into the kitchen again, to the 
 assistance of Sarah Stott, who, now ab- 
 sorbed in the business of the feast, had 
 forgotten her disapproval of the whole 
 entertainment, and had so flung herself 
 heart and soul into the culinary prepara- 
 tions as to forget even to ask what "th' 
 strange folk " were like. 
 
 Then there was another sound of light 
 laughing voices, as the ladles came down- 
 stairs. 
 
 '* Eh, how .they do mince ! " observed 
 Sarah Stott abstractedly. 
 
 *' It sounds like it, but they don't mean
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 77 
 
 to. It's just the way they've got used 
 to," Alice hastened to explain. ''Now I 
 reckon I can carry in this mutton, and tell 
 them to come to dinner." 
 
 Which thing she did, with the comfort- 
 able consciousness that her colleague was 
 now bent on her work, and that all would 
 go well. 
 
 When they were all assembled round 
 the table, and delightedly admiring the 
 dish of Dijon roses and richly-tinted 
 autumn leaves which she had placed in ' 
 the middle of the table, and while she 
 stood beside Brian while he carved, and 
 took the plates from him, she had ample 
 opportunity to '' take stock " of the visitors, 
 and she did so. 
 
 It was a round table, and the tall man, 
 the ''great singing gentleman," as Alice 
 called him, had seated himself opposite to 
 Brian. Alice took but two looks at him ;
 
 yS FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 with the first she measured his outward 
 appearance, his stature, features, and bear- 
 ing, and said to herself, '' Thirty-four or 
 Hyq, I should say ; and eh, he is splendid- 
 looking ! Brian was right ; he's a picture 
 of a man." 
 
 With the second and longer look, she 
 studied his expression, at the same moment 
 taking notice of the sound of his voice, as 
 he turned towards the young girl, with a 
 half-smile, saying — 
 
 '' Well, Ines. how about the Sanskrit 
 roots now ? " 
 
 This, of course, zaas Sanskrit roots to 
 Alice, who, however, decided within her- 
 self, '' He'll do ; Tm certain he'll do. I 
 could trust that man, for all he's such a 
 fine gentleman. Brian was right again. 
 He's simple and he's nice." 
 
 And at the same time, her quick eyes 
 took note of the slight blush which covered
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 79 
 
 the cheeks of the young lady whom they 
 both called '' Ines," as she replied, with a 
 laugh, half embarrassed, half audacious — 
 
 " Oh, you think you can vex me with 
 my Sanskrit roots ! But It Is useless for 
 you to try. I don't mind." 
 
 " Mr. Holgate's beautiful village and 
 delightful old house, not to mention his 
 lovely dog, ought to banish all recollections 
 of such tough, dry things," said the lady 
 with the plain face and dark eyes. 
 
 '' I'm very glad If you like them ; and 
 I'm sure you are most welcome here," said 
 Brian, simply. " It's only country fare 
 and a country place that I can show you ; 
 but I often think that though it's such a 
 toil to get into Irkford and back for any 
 little bit of amusement, yet I would not 
 change this old place for the finest house 
 there." 
 
 '* No, indeed, I should think not!" she
 
 8o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 cried, with emphasis. " Change your own 
 old home for a brand-new Irkford palace ! 
 I hope not, Indeed ! " 
 
 '' I agree with Mr. Holgate," said Felix ; 
 " but as for you, Lisa, you would be utterly 
 wretched away from the 'cinder heap,' 
 as your friend Reedley calls it — utterly 
 wretched. You put on a lot of sentiment 
 about the country, and rocks, and moun- 
 tains, and so forth ; but the paradise of 
 your heart is lOo, Queen Street, and to be 
 within a threepenny 'bus-fare of the Concert 
 Hall." 
 
 "So it is, for a permanency," the lady 
 owned candidly. " It's what I have been 
 accustomed to all my life ; just as Mr. 
 Holgate has to his old country-house. 
 We are both well suited in our surround- 
 ings, I consider." 
 
 '' Mrs. Reichardt Is as faithful an at- 
 tendant at the concerts as yourself," said
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 8 1 
 
 Felix, turning to Brian. " I should be 
 afraid to say how many years it is since 
 she has missed one of them." 
 
 "Why afraid, pray?" she asked, half 
 laughing. 
 
 '* Because it might reveal how advancing 
 years are telling upon you." 
 
 " Pooh ! I'm not afraid of advancing 
 years. They may come. I shall never 
 give in to them. I think it is the greatest 
 mistake ever to stop being young. Don't 
 you agree with me, Mr. Holgate ?" 
 
 ''Well," said Brian, diffidently, and with 
 a blush, '' I haven't thought about it for 
 myself, yet ; and I should think you have 
 no need to do so either, however many 
 years, as Mr. Felix says, you may have 
 been going to the concerts." 
 
 '* There I " said she, turning a laughing 
 and delighted face towards the artist ; 
 "there, Felix, your words are powerless 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 now to Sting me in the slightest degree. 
 I never had anything nicer said to me in 
 my life — never ! " 
 
 ** I have heard the same kind of thing 
 before now from you, when I've happened 
 to say something that pleased your fancy," 
 he retorted. " I do seriously think I ought 
 to have warned Mr. Holgate of your 
 determined propensity for making yourself 
 agreeable — literally — to every one, no 
 matter what their opinions may be." 
 
 She merely laughed. 
 
 " Do not try ; it is of no use." And 
 Brian, looking at her, added, '' I don't 
 suppose you can ever have seen me, 
 because I sit in the gallery ; but I have 
 often noticed you at the concerts. Your 
 places are in the twelfth row, and you 
 never fail. At the last one, I saw Miss 
 Grey with you. Of course I didn't know 
 who you were ; but I recognized you both
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 83 
 
 the moment I saw you at the Hollowley 
 station." 
 
 " Yes ; I was there on Thursday, too," 
 said the young girl, who, it appeared, was 
 called Ines Grey. She spoke almost for 
 the first time, and looked with a smile and 
 a half-deprecating glance at Felix, who 
 also smiled as he returned her glance, but 
 with something in his expression which 
 Alice's observant eyes saw, but which she 
 could not interpret to her own satisfaction. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you were there," he said, 
 shaking his head. *' That was Elisabeth's 
 doing, not mine." 
 
 Ines smiled again, and nodded her head, 
 as if to say, '' It matters not whose doing 
 it was. I was there ; " while Mrs. Reichardt 
 observed, in the tone of one who feels that 
 she has reason and common sense on her 
 side — 
 
 '' There was no harm in it, Felix. The
 
 84 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 child must hear some music of some kind, 
 and it is quite natural that she should wish 
 particularly to hear yours. I think some- 
 times that you are rather crotchety in that 
 respect." 
 
 Felix laughed aloud ; while the young 
 lady, going very red, said, in tones of 
 something like defiance — 
 
 " M. Felix is never crotchety, Mrs. 
 Reichardt." 
 
 Elisabeth smiled a good-natured, tolerant 
 kind of smile ; but Felix himself looked 
 rather surprised, and Ines, turning to Mrs. 
 Reichardt, with a sudden change of tone, 
 said quickly — 
 
 " Please forgive me." 
 
 " I am not offended, dear child," said 
 Elisabeth, with so generous and kind an 
 inflection in her voice, that Alice took her 
 more than ever into her heart, and was 
 deeply interested in observing how, after
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 85 
 
 this little episode, they all three smiled 
 pleasant, genial smiles, as if they were 
 accustomed to be on very good terms with 
 one another, and were relieved when even 
 the semblance of a cloud was quickly dis- 
 persed. 
 
 What did it all mean ? Alice speculated, 
 feeling that she had never witnessed any- 
 thing half so interestino-. A mang^led 
 version of '' The Corsican Brothers " at the 
 Hollowley theatre, which had constituted 
 her only experience of play-going, was 
 nothing, nowhere, in comparison with this 
 real play going on under her eyes here 
 around this table. What she felt about 
 them, though she would hardly have known 
 how to put it into words, was that they 
 each and all lived their lives, and lived 
 them to the full ; that they drank the cup 
 of experience, of whatsoever flavour it 
 might be, which was presented to them, at
 
 86 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a full draught, and not in sips — to the last 
 drop they drank it. They had a firm 
 grasp of their lives and of what happened 
 in them, and did not vegetate in a mere 
 existence. Keenly she felt this, as the 
 shape of her own daily life flashed into her 
 mind — not with a sense of disparagement, 
 but with one of contrast. Then, who 
 were they? In what way were they re- 
 lated to one another ? She would have to 
 ask Brian afterwards, though perhaps he 
 himself would not know. She had never 
 felt so much interest in, or curiosity about, 
 strangers before. And if they had in any 
 way repelled her, she would not have felt 
 it now ; she would have let them, and all 
 connected with them, glide from her mind 
 once and for all, after they had disappeared 
 from her actual sight. But they did not 
 repel her. Though so utterly outside any- 
 thing in her previous experience, she was
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. ^y 
 
 conscious of liking them all three heartily, 
 and of liking each one in a different way. 
 She felt as if she should never tire of look- 
 ing at Felix, with his face so strong, frank, 
 and handsome, and his clear eyes. Once, 
 when hers happened to encounter them, 
 she felt pleasantly thrilled. It was a good 
 spirit that looked at her ; she only just 
 checked herself in time from smiling back 
 a greeting to this spirit, in which perhaps 
 there was something akin to her own. 
 
 She Hked Mrs. Reichardt— '' Elisabeth " 
 — for somewhat similar reasons, setting 
 apart the fact that, instead of being re- 
 markably handsome, she was what is called 
 plain in feature. But she had so true a 
 smile, such shrewd, kindly eyes, so honest 
 a ring in her voice, that she inspired 
 confidence and liking in every way. Like 
 many plain-featured women, she had the 
 beauty of a tall, admirably proportioned
 
 88 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 figure, and possessed also a fine natural 
 taste In dress. Everything she wore, she 
 wore well, with Individual style and dis- 
 tinction, and made It look as If It were 
 hers alone, and could by no possibility 
 belong to any one else. She had superb 
 dark hair, colled all about her head ; and 
 finely shaped white hands, on which were 
 one or two very handsome rings. 
 
 Miss Grey puzzled Alice a little. She 
 called the lady " Mrs. Reichardt," and the 
 gentleman '* Monsieur Felix," which had 
 an odd, foreign sound about it. Yet she 
 seemed on the most Intimate terms with 
 them, and they called her '' Ines," ^' Child," 
 or *' Dear child," Indifferently. She was 
 beautiful, though so young, and she would 
 become more beautiful. With all her 
 extreme youth and even artlessness, there 
 was a certain still, stately pride about this 
 young girl, which Alice detected at once ;
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 89 
 
 not a disagreeable pride, but a quiet aloof- 
 ness and composure, which was evidently 
 inborn and inseparable from her. Her 
 face was pale, her eyes grey and dark, her 
 hair of a bronze-brown hue, and the outline 
 of her face and figure, long, fine, and, 
 though graceful, proud — like herself. 
 
 When the dinner, or '' lunch," as she 
 noticed that they called it, was over, Alice 
 said to Brian in an undertone — 
 
 " Mr. Brian, if you'll go into the parlour, 
 I'll set you your coffee there directly." 
 
 Brian rose at once. He was trying to 
 carry out his part of the bargain, but he 
 did not succeed in getting rid of a con- 
 scious look, which amused his friend Alice. 
 This young woman had remarkably keen 
 eyes. Little that took place escaped her. 
 But, being perfectly comfortable as to her 
 own doings, nothing that passed embar- 
 rassed her. She had been aware for some
 
 90 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 little time that Elisabeth was observing 
 her, though she managed very creditably to 
 control and almost to conceal her curiosity. 
 And now she saw that Felix also had 
 begun to remark upon her ; and he, being 
 a man, did not so thoroughly succeed in 
 disguising his interest. Miss Grey alone 
 seemed so occupied with her own thoughts 
 as not to heed much that went on around 
 her. 
 
 But when Brian rose from the table, 
 they all did the same, and followed him 
 into the parlour ; and when, after an in- 
 terval of a few minutes, Alice went in, 
 carrying the coffee on a tray, she found 
 that they had grouped themselves in a 
 manner which struck her with surprise, 
 and made her wonder more than ever in 
 what way they were connected one with 
 the other. 
 
 Mrs. Reichardt was standing a little
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 9I 
 
 forward, with her back to the window, 
 Brian's cherished vioHn in her hands, and 
 she was just drawing the bow across the 
 strings in a long, loving note, which made 
 Alice think, " Why, it's like when Brian 
 plays ; it speaks for her when she touches 
 it!" 
 
 Brian himself was standing almost 
 directly opposite to her, looking on with 
 the intensest eagerness and interest. No 
 wonder, thought Alice, who knew that he 
 loved that little fiddle as if it had been his 
 own child, or his sweetheart. 
 
 Though the day was mild, a fire was 
 burning briskly in the grate — a fire of 
 wood and peat, giving forth a delicious, 
 pungent odour. Felix had thrown himself 
 into a deep armchair at one side of the 
 fireplace, facing the window and Elisabeth, 
 and Alice gave another glance at him. 
 She had expected — she knew not why — •
 
 92 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 that he would have long hair and wear a 
 velvet coat ; and, on the contrary, he was 
 attired just like any other gentleman whom 
 one might meet In the streets. At this 
 moment he, too, was looking at Elisabeth ; 
 while Ines Grey, having drawn a low stool 
 up to the side of his chair, had seated 
 herself upon It, quite close to him, and 
 leaned forward, her chin In her hand and 
 her great serious eyes also fixed Intently 
 upon Elisabeth. When the latter saw 
 Alice come In with the coffee, she laid the 
 violin down, remarking, "Ah, when I've 
 had my coffee, then I will treat myself to a 
 tune on that lovely old fiddle." 
 
 ''Will you pour it out, or shall I?" 
 asked Alice, with a smile, as she set it 
 down upon a small table. 
 
 " Oh, will you be so kind, please ? " said 
 Elisabeth, pausing and looking at her 
 keenly and quickly. Then, glancing with
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 93 
 
 an odd, amused expression towards the 
 other two, she said briskly — 
 
 '' Come, Ines, here's a fine opportunity 
 for waiting upon him ! Take him his cup 
 of coffee." 
 
 *' Do not interrupt Ines," said FeHx, 
 with a smile. *' Havino^ been draofored 
 away from her severer studies, she is 
 taking a real holiday, bucolic in its absence 
 of thought. She Is like the Boston young 
 lady who went to visit In New York, in 
 order that she might enjoy a complete In- 
 tellectual rest." 
 
 *' Now, why do they all laugh at that ? 
 What does it mean ? " Alice speculated, 
 with eager interest, as she heard the light, 
 amused laughter which went round after 
 Felix had made this remark. But the 
 only answer made by Ines to the mirth at 
 her expense (or at that of the Boston 
 young lady) was a slow, contented smile,
 
 94 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 as she rose from her little footstool, and 
 going up to where Alice stood, asked her 
 in a gentle voice — 
 
 *' Will you please pour out a cup of 
 coffee for me to take to Monsieur Felix ? " 
 
 " She speaks his name differently from 
 the others," Alice noted, while she poured 
 out her coffee, which Ines took from her 
 hand, and thanking her, carried it to Felix, 
 with undisturbed gravity and sedateness, 
 and gave it to him. 
 
 "Thank you, Ines," said he. "Aren't 
 you going to have some yourself ? " 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 "Aeainst Madame Prenat's rules?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Really, I wonder what kind of a dragon 
 you think Madame Prenat is ? " said the 
 young lady, with some animation. " You 
 have said such odd things about her in the 
 last few days ! " And with that, she again
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 95 
 
 placed herself on her little stool, and 
 added, in a decisive voice, *' I don't think 
 this is a proper time for coffee." 
 
 Alice quite sympathized with her In this 
 opinion. She could not Imagine what they 
 wanted with It now. But, pausing a 
 moment, to see if they all had what they 
 wished for, her quick eyes noted that as 
 Ines seated herself beside Felix, with this 
 remark, and her heavy plaits almost 
 touched his knee, he, without moving, or 
 looking at her, or seeming In the least* 
 degree surprised or embarrassed, lifted his 
 eyes to Elisabeth's face and met hers fixed 
 reflectively upon him — and upon Ines. 
 They exchanged a look — Felix and Elisa- 
 beth — the meaning of which was a mystery 
 to Alice, and then Elisabeth, having quickly 
 drunk her coffee, took up the fiddle again, 
 saying — 
 
 " So this is your AmatI, Mr. Holgate ?
 
 96 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Worth Its weight In gold ; " and she turned 
 it round and round with loving hands, and 
 examined it with the eye of a connoisseur. 
 " A little eem ! You have been In luck's 
 way. Felix, you lazy fellow, are you not 
 comino- to look at this fiddle ? " 
 
 " No ; but I am most willing to listen 
 while you play It for my edification." 
 
 '' Always the same,'' said she, shrugging 
 her shoulders with a half-laugh ; and Alice, 
 having no excuse for remaining longer, 
 reluctantly left the room, just as the first 
 note sounded. 
 
 She had not occasion to go In again very 
 soon. The fiddling continued for some 
 little time, together with the sounds of 
 laughter and talking. To Alice it sounded 
 just the same as when Brian played it ; 
 but a musician would have known at once 
 that whereas Brian produced a very sweet, 
 untrained tone — a sort of '' warbling native
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 97 
 
 woodnotes wild," which was spontaneous 
 and deHghtful enough — Mrs. Reichardt 
 was a profoundly cultivated musician, and 
 a rare and accomplished artist. Every 
 note that she played betrayed the handling 
 of a past-mistress of the instrument. If 
 Alice knew nothing about this, Brian did ; 
 and he sat and listened in a kind of rapture, 
 and also with a feeling of despair. '* I 
 shall never do anything like that — never ; 
 no amount of practice could ever bring 
 me to that," he said to himself, and won- 
 dered when she had begun ; where she 
 had studied, and under whom ; and with 
 what severity of exertion she had attained 
 to that consummate ease and mastery of 
 the wonderful instrument. But this he 
 confided to Alice on a later occasion ; at 
 present, she only heard the sounds, and, in 
 her ignorance, wondered why Brian did 
 not take the opportunity, and give them 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a sample of his own powers in the same 
 direction. 
 
 After some time, it seemed as If they 
 resolved to go out for a stroll, for the two 
 ladles ran lightly upstairs, and presently 
 returned with their things on. Just as 
 they were going out, Alice took the oppor- 
 tunity of stepping forward and asking 
 Brian at what time she should serve tea. 
 It was not consistent with the due obser- 
 vance of etiquette or of hospitality in 
 Ravenside Forest to let visitors leave 
 without tea, whatever else they might 
 have consumed during their stay. Mrs. 
 Reichardt expostulated. 
 
 '' Indeed, you will kill us with kindness ! 
 I am sure we do not need any tea. Our 
 train leaves at seven, and we shall be 
 home in time for dinner at half-past eight. 
 At what time must we leave here, Mr. 
 Holgate ? "
 
 WHAT ALICE SAW. 99 
 
 " I'm very sorry to say that If you must 
 go by the seven train, you will have to 
 leave here by a quarter past six at the 
 latest. It Is a long way, and for two miles 
 there are no lamps on the road." 
 
 Despite expostulations. It was arranged 
 that they should partake of a cup of tea 
 about half-past five, and this agreed upon, 
 they went out. Brian said he would show 
 them the great view of Ravenslde, which 
 was obtained after climbing a rough uphill 
 lane for some quarter of an hour. It was 
 already after four when they left the 
 house, and the crimson sun was declining, 
 and in the air there was the sharp, crisp 
 feel of an autumn afternoon — voices rang 
 out distinctly, and footfalls could be heard 
 for a long distance. Watching them as 
 they went up the high road towards the 
 lane, Alice remembered that from the spot 
 to which they were going they would see
 
 lOO FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 not only Ravenside, but the whole of the 
 gorgeous flaming sunset, which was already 
 beginning, coming naturally after the wild 
 and stormy days and nights which had 
 gone before.
 
 ( loi ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 
 
 Brian and his euests were not out of 
 doors very long. They presently came 
 back, talking, laughing, and apparently in 
 the highest good-humour. They all went 
 into the large parlour, and Alice, passing 
 to and fro between the kitchen and the 
 dining-room, where she was setting the 
 tea-things, could hear — for the drawing- 
 room door was a little ajar — first, some 
 isolated notes of music, now on the piano, 
 now on the violin ; and then the piano 
 ceased, and the violin had it all to itself. 
 It was Mrs. Reichardt who was playing, 
 and Alice seemed almost to feel the still-
 
 I02 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ness with which they all listened to her. 
 The girl herself, though she could not 
 understand how beautiful It was, nor how 
 wonderful, still realized that It was some- 
 thing quite unusual. Those wild, luscious, 
 long-drawn strains did not appeal to her 
 as they did to those within, but she moved 
 sofdy, and placed the cups and saucers 
 very gently, so as to make no bustle or 
 disturbance. Interrupting their pleasure. 
 The violin went on for a long time, as it 
 seemed to Alice, unbrokenly — now up, 
 now down ; now in long-drawn, piercing 
 strains, now in short, sobbing ones, or v/hat 
 Alice called jerks — so they appeared to 
 her. Then, with one long, sweet note, it 
 stopped, and she could hear a faint, low- 
 voiced murmur, of thanks and satisfaction 
 probably. She smiled to herself as she 
 went round the table, critically examining 
 the position of everything on it. She was
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. IO3 
 
 glad that music had been played. Brian 
 had given of his very best to entertain 
 these guests, and she knew that they could 
 offer nothing In return so purely delightful 
 to him as this music. '* Food for the 
 gods," he would call It. Alice smiled 
 brightly again to herself, all alone ; threw 
 her head back, and gave a little silent 
 laugh. She knew that expression of his, 
 though she was not very sure what food 
 for the gods was — something of this kind, 
 however. 
 
 " I reckon," said Alice to herself, " that 
 they can do with some food from the 
 Moor Isles kitchen as well." 
 
 But the music was not all over ; there 
 was some more talking, some stray notes 
 on the piano, some more decided chords, 
 and then a man's voice singing — a voice 
 at the sound of which Alice suddenly stood 
 stock-still, and then, as If drawn Irresistibly
 
 I04 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 forward, moved into the passage, and 
 
 listened. She could hear the difference 
 
 between this singing and Brian's singing 
 
 much more plainly than between Brian's 
 
 playing and the playing of Mrs. Reichardt ; 
 
 and perhaps that was not surprising. 
 
 She strenuously tried to catch the words 
 
 of the song, but failed — they were in a 
 
 foreign tongue ; so much she understood ; 
 
 and the music of them was so penetratingly, 
 
 so divinely beautiful, that it made her 
 
 heart ache with a delicious pain. As a 
 
 matter of fact, Felix was singing, to 
 
 Mrs. Reichardt's accompaniment, Ruckert's 
 
 beautiful words, to the still more beautiful 
 
 music of Schubert, the " Greisengesang." 
 
 In solemn, noble sweetness it sounded 
 
 forth : — 
 
 " Der Ernst hat mir bereifet des Hauses Dach ; 
 Doch warm ist's mir geblieben im Wohngemach. 
 Der Winter hat die Scheitel mir weiss gedeckt ; 
 Doch fliesst das Blut, das Rothe, durch^s Herz- 
 gemach
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. IO5 
 
 " Der Jugendflor der Wangen, die Rosen sind 
 gegangen 
 All gegangen einander nach. 
 Wo sind sie hingegangen ? Ins Herz hinab. 
 Da bliihn sie nach verlangen, wie vor so nach. 
 
 " Sind alle Freudenstrome der Welt versiegt, 
 Noch fliesst mir durch den Busen ein stiller Bach. 
 Sind alle Nachtigallen der Flur verstummt ? 
 Noch ist bei mir im Stillen hier eine wach. 
 Sie singet, Herr des Hauses, verschleuss das Thor. 
 Dass nicht die Welt die Alte dring ins Gemach. 
 Schleuss aus den rauhen Odem der Wirklichkeit, 
 Und nur dem Duft der Traume gib' Dach und Fach." 
 
 Alice knew not why tears rushed to her 
 eyes as she Hstened to the deep, pathetic 
 notes, sweet, strong-, and thrilHng to her 
 very heart. It was as if all strength had 
 left her in the presence of something more 
 beautiful than before she had ever even 
 imagined. And opening her eyes as the 
 notes were coming to an end, she saw 
 Sarah Stott standing beside her, looking 
 almost awestruck — not a common expres- 
 sion on her face.
 
 I06 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 '' Eh, lass, but that's fine ! " she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 '' Ay," assented AHce ; " It's finest sort 
 of thing as we've ever heard, Sarah ; you 
 may take my word for that." 
 
 ** Perhaps he'll sing again. I wish he 
 woujd," said the old woman. 
 
 And In fact, after a brief pause, the 
 piano was struck again, the voice uplifted 
 once more in something quite different. 
 
 *' I guess Mr. Brian will like thaty' said 
 Alice, with great penetration. 
 
 " Si les filles d'Arles sont reines 
 Quand la plaisir les rassemble aux arenes, 
 
 Les bouviers aussi, je crois, 
 
 Dans la lande en feu sont rois, 
 
 Oui, la-bas, ils sont rois. 
 Et s'ils veulent prendre femme, 
 La plus fiere au fond de Tame 
 
 Se soumet a leur choix." 
 
 And In fact It would have been odd if 
 Mr. Brian, or Indeed any one with ears to 
 hear, had not liked It exceedingly ; but
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. IO7 
 
 Alice knew the kind of ditties, of a proud 
 and masterful kind, which were most con- 
 genial to Brian, and oftenest on his lips, 
 and she recognized this as one of them. 
 
 While they listened with ever-increasing 
 delight and wonder, and as the song was 
 drawing to an end, Alices quick ear 
 suddenly distinguished footsteps close 
 behind them. She turned rapidly, and in 
 the dim light, which was every moment 
 growing more into darkness, she beheld 
 two figures — those of a rather tall man, 
 and of a small, slim, lightly-poised woman. 
 They were coming from the kitchen, 
 towards the two listeners to the music. 
 Sarah Stott also turned and saw them. 
 She uttered a curious little sound, between 
 a snarl and a snap. 
 
 " Eh, what a fond thing o' me, to have 
 left th' dur open ! " she said uncere- 
 moniously, and openly scowling upon the
 
 I08 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 visitors, while she set her arms akimbo 
 and glared at them ; merely saying after 
 a pause, in far from encouraging tones — 
 
 ''Well, Misther Barraclough ?" 
 
 " Thanks for your usual warm welcome, 
 Sally," replied the man — he was a young 
 man, too, with a face which it would per- 
 haps have been carping to call ill-favoured. 
 
 "Is Mr. Holgate in?" he asked, as 
 Mrs. Stott made no reply to him, and at 
 the same time he cast a meaning glance at 
 Alice Ormerod — a glance which at once 
 made him positively, not negatively, ugly. 
 
 For Alice herself, she had become per- 
 fectly rigid, both in expression and attitude ; 
 all the happy geniality and contentment 
 had gone from her face and manner. Her 
 eyes and lips were cold as stones, and as 
 hard ; there was no compromise in her 
 aspect of intense aversion to the intruders. 
 
 Before Sarah had time to answer the
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. IO9 
 
 question about Brian, the young woman 
 who accompanied " Misther Barraclough " 
 had put in her word. She was so short 
 that she hardly reached to Ahce Ormerod's 
 shoulder, and so slender and small in every 
 way that probably Alice, if she had put 
 forth her physical strength with a physical 
 purpose, could easily have picked her up 
 and flung her to some distance away from 
 her — upon a heap of stones, for instance, 
 or over a precipice, or into a pond — without 
 being any the worse for the exertion. She . 
 knew it, and many a time as she had sat 
 with a sad heart by her kitchen fire, think- 
 ing of Lucy Barraclough, she had looked 
 down at her own strong hands, and power- 
 ful, flexible wrists — had felt the sap of life 
 and strength so abounding within her, and 
 had whispered to herself with a bitter 
 sigh— 
 
 " Ay, if that was all that's wanted ! "
 
 no FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Some thought of the same kind troubled 
 her now, as she fixed her eyes, grown 
 suddenly sombre, upon the brother and 
 sister. 
 
 " There's no need to bar the way against 
 us, though we may not be as good as some 
 people," said this little creature, smiling as 
 she unwound a white knitted " cloud " from 
 about her throat, though she did not take 
 it off her head. '' We aren't going to 
 detain him a minute. Good evening. Miss 
 Ormerod ; I see you are neighbourly ; it's 
 but a step across here from the farm, 
 is it ? " 
 
 Alice merely looked at her in silence ; 
 she was not eloquent as to words — her 
 strength did not lie in that direction. 
 What she felt now, sweeping over her 
 with a sense of fiery desolation, was that 
 the beautiful dream of a day was about to 
 end in black clouds, storm, and ugliness,
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. I I I 
 
 and that all her strength could not prevent 
 it. She could subdue Sarah Stott, she 
 could serve the man she loved, and be quite 
 happy in his pleasure ; she was powerless 
 in the presence of Lucy Barraclough. 
 
 " Has Brian got a party, or what's going 
 on with all that singing ? " asked the young 
 man impatiently. '' For mercy's sake don't, 
 let's have such a lot of mystery about it ; 
 we're old friends. I suppose he can see 
 us?" 
 
 Alice clutched at the last straw of a* 
 hope, and spoke. 
 
 " He's got visitors — yes," she said ; 
 " very particular visitors they are, and he's 
 not done with them yet ; but I dare say 
 he'll be able to speak to you a minute. 
 Wait here while I tell him." 
 
 And she stepped into the room just as 
 Felix was singing the last phrases of his 
 song.
 
 1 I 2 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Scarcely had she moved to the door 
 than the young man, muttering some- 
 thing which sounded very Hke " D d 
 
 humbug ! " also stepped forward, saying — 
 
 ''Come along, Lucy ; this is all a lot of 
 infernal nonsense ! " and pushed into the 
 room, followed by his sister. 
 
 They confronted the whole party. Felix, 
 who had just ceased to sing, was standing 
 near the piano, at which Mrs. Reichardt, 
 who had been playing his accompaniment, 
 was still seated ; Brian, at the other end of 
 the room, was leaning on the back of a 
 chair, his face filled with the delight he 
 had experienced in the music ; and Ines 
 Grey, in an obscure corner of the room, 
 leaned back in her chair, shading her face 
 with her hand. 
 
 Alice had only just entered ; she hesitated 
 before crossing the whole space of the 
 room to Brian. With the entrance, im-
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. I I 3 
 
 mediately behind her, of the other two, 
 the eyes of all In the room were turned 
 upon them. Alice, when she perceived 
 what had happened, drew herself up Into 
 an attitude, perfectly natural and uncon- 
 strained, of superb disdain ; she paused a 
 moment, looking from one to the other. 
 She saw Brian start up, a crimson flush on 
 his face ; he was not looking at her at all. 
 
 ''Jim — Lucy," he almost stammered. 
 
 "If we Interrupt, pray say so, and we 
 will go," said Jim, with a painfully expan- 
 sive smile, and mock politeness In his 
 voice ; '' we wouldn't for the world intrude ! 
 We came in a friendly way, with a little 
 invitation, not knowing you were engaged 
 — did we, Lucy ? " 
 
 ** No, indeed, or we wouldn't have come 
 In," said Lucy, throwing the white cloud 
 off her head, and glancing with quick, bird- 
 like glances round upon the company ; she 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 also smiled, and her smile bore a powerful 
 resemblance to that of her brother, though 
 he was a big and decidedly ugly young 
 man, and she was a very small and 
 decidedly pretty young woman. 
 
 She stood revealed — a tiny, dark, fragile 
 creature, exquisitely trim and neat in 
 every line of her figure and point of her 
 costume, which consisted of a rather bright 
 crimson satin gown, a grand collar and 
 cuffs of lace and embroidery, and a spark- 
 line chain of some kind round her neck. 
 She did not exactly lose her presence of 
 mind, but she glanced quickly round upon 
 the company with eager, interested glances ; 
 none of them escaped her observation — 
 Felix and Mrs. Reichardt, Ines in her 
 corner — she saw them all ; and lastly, the 
 smile became more marked, and she 
 looked at Brian. 
 
 '* We've seen nothing of you for days,"
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. II5 
 
 said Jim, in an ingratiating voice. '' We 
 came to fetch you back to supper. No 
 offence. We'll go." 
 
 '' There's no need to go," said Brian, in 
 a slightly tremulous voice, as he came for- 
 ward and walked straight up to Lucy, 
 looking at her all the time with eyes which 
 told their tale in a language which he 
 might read who ran ; '^you just come in 
 time to see my guests before they leave. 
 Sit you down, Lucy ; we are just going to 
 have some tea before Mr. Arkwright and" 
 the ladies go. Jim, sit down." 
 
 But there was no need to sit down. 
 Alice had left the room ; but it was not 
 she who came to announce tea at that 
 moment ; it was Mrs. Stott, and she per- 
 formed her office with a marked sourness 
 of mien, patent to all beholders. Brian 
 performed a hasty kind of introduction, 
 and they all went into the other room.
 
 Il6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Lucy, indeed, did whisper something to 
 Jim, who shook his head, and muttered, 
 *' Not I !" in response to her words ; and, 
 despite his repeated protestation that they 
 would go, they did nothing of the kind. 
 Brian placed a chair at the tea-table for 
 Lucy, who seated herself in it in silence, 
 casting repeated looks at the visitors — 
 openly at the ladies and their attire — more 
 furtively at Felix, who, as they were not 
 doomed to spend the evening in this new 
 company, found himself highly interested 
 and entertained with the whole affair. 
 
 Brian made one or two rather incoherent 
 attempts to explain to Lucy the nature of 
 the day's entertainment. She listened to 
 him almost in silence, saying *' Yes " and 
 " No" now and then. Her brother, think- 
 ing perhaps that a little amiable chat might 
 improve the occasion, turned to Ines Grey, 
 who sat next to him, and, with the family
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. I I 7 
 
 smile illuminating his features also, made 
 some observation, to which, after a pause, 
 she replied coldly and discouragingly. But 
 the Barraclough brother, at any rate, did 
 not appear to suffer from nervousness. 
 Brian was sensible of Jim's far from polished 
 behaviour, and he suffered, and yet was 
 delighted, and showed his delight every 
 time his eyes rested upon Lucy. Mrs, 
 Reichardt, perceiving his embarrassment, 
 came to the rescue by rising after they had 
 drunk each a cup of tea, and saying that 
 they must on no account be late for their 
 train, and she thought they had better now 
 go and get ready. The kindly manner 
 and the pleasant voice in which she spoke 
 to the young fellow became absolute icy 
 vacancy as, in moving, her eyes swept the 
 face of Lucy Barraclough. 
 
 Brian jumped up, ran to the door and 
 opened it, and called to Sarah to bring a
 
 Il8 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 candle for them. His behest was answered 
 by Alice, with a little shaded lamp in her 
 hand. She led the way upstairs ; Brian 
 avoided looking at her, and returned to 
 the dining-room. How different were her 
 feelings now from those with which, in the 
 morning, she had attended these ladies 
 upstairs ! She was about to retire and 
 leave them ; but Elisabeth, turning to her, 
 said — 
 
 *' Do please forgive me ; I want to tell 
 you that we have had such a delightful 
 day ! We never remember to have enjoyed 
 ourselves more. It has been so peaceful 
 and bright and pleasant. And when we 
 were out with Mr. Holgate, we learnt how 
 much we were indebted to you for our 
 great pleasure and " 
 
 " He promised me he'd say nothing 
 about it," said Alice, her face, which, since 
 the arrival of the Barraclough contingent.
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. II9 
 
 had looked pale and tired, now suddenly 
 flushing crimson. But she did not with- 
 draw her hand from that of Mrs. Reichardt, 
 which had clasped it. 
 
 '* And he did not ; he did not say one 
 word till we asked him. And we had no 
 business to do so, you think," she added, 
 smiling into the girl's proud, embarrassed 
 face. " You must forgive us. I'm afraid 
 we are just a little bit off-hand in our ways 
 sometimes, and you know we could not 
 help looking at you — as soon as ever we' 
 saw you. You should not be so — well, 
 what you are, if you don't want people to 
 notice you. And I'm afraid w^e asked Mr. 
 Holgate about you, and he became quite 
 enthusiastic, and said what a friend of his 
 you were. And we thought it so nice of 
 you. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing — nothing ! " said Alice, 
 her face turning pale again, as some painful
 
 I20 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 emotion crossed her mind. And just then 
 she raised her troubled eyes and met those 
 of Elisabeth. The glance seemed suddenly 
 to loosen her tongue, and she said — 
 
 ** You're welcome as welcome can be ; 
 and I was downright glad to do it. It was 
 just like a fairy tale — you and the young 
 lady, and that gentleman's beautiful sing- 
 ing, such as / never heard the like of 
 before. But it's all spoilt now," she added, 
 with passionate bitterness and disappoint- 
 ment. '' All the good's gone, and all the 
 pleasure. And they will be the ruin of him 
 in the end — those two downstairs. And 
 it's cruel — oh, it's cruel and hard ! " 
 
 '* That man and that girl ? " Elisabeth 
 asked, in a low voice. " I didn't much 
 like their looks, I must confess." 
 
 " Like them ! Eh, ma'am, there's not 
 one good thing about them, and he's fair 
 mad after them ! I did think they'd have
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 121 
 
 let him alone, when they knew he had 
 company as they hadn't been asked to." 
 
 *' But they did not know " 
 
 *' Didn't they ? They perhaps said they 
 didn't. They're not so particular as all 
 that about telling- the truth, aren't Barra- 
 cloughs. But there," she added suddenly, 
 " I've no call to be troubling you with 
 such things ! We mun all carry our own 
 burdens. I'm rightdown glad if any of his 
 friends have enjoyed themselves at his 
 house ; and when you've gone, I shall go« 
 home. There's nothing to keep me now." 
 
 Elisabeth looked at her with kindly, 
 sympathetic eyes. " Do you ever come to 
 Irkford ? " she asked. 
 
 " Very seldom — once a year, maybe. 
 We get the most of what we want in 
 Hollowley." 
 
 '* But you do come sometimes. This is 
 my card, with my address on It. Will you
 
 122 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 promise that, whenever you do come, you 
 will come and see me ? I should look 
 upon It as a favour — a very great favour. 
 I shall never forget you. Will you come ? " 
 
 " I'm sure you mean It," said Alice, 
 looking at her. "Ay, I'll come. Even if 
 I was in misery, I'll come." 
 
 " Even In misery ! Yes, I should appre- 
 ciate that. I should know you believed in 
 me. Remember, I fully expect a visit 
 from you soon." 
 
 '* I don't know about soon. But I'll 
 come. I will do that." 
 
 " Thank you. Good-night. Don't wait 
 for us to go, If you want to go home. 
 Please shake hands with me." 
 
 Alice put her hand within that of Elisa- 
 beth, and tears rushed to her eyes. 
 
 *' Eh," said she, '' I do like you. I could 
 never have thought I could like any one 
 so much, first time o' seein' them. Good
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 1 23 
 
 night. I think I'll just slip across now. 
 There's nothing more that I can do — 
 nothing." 
 
 She followed them downstairs, and went 
 into the kitchen. No one noticed her. 
 
 '' Good night, Sarah Stott," said she, in 
 a muffled voice. " We can do no more. 
 We mun leave them to it. I'll come in 
 to-morrow morning and help you to side 
 away th' glass and silver." 
 
 She cast a shawl about her and stepped 
 out into the darkness, with bowed head 
 and stooping shoulders — this proud Alice. 
 
 Within half an hour of her departure, 
 Felix and the two ladies had driven off to 
 the Hollowley station, and Brian Holgate 
 had left his own house, and was walking 
 in company with his two latest visitors up 
 the lane towards the ugly, staring red-brick 
 house, built out of the profits of a railway- 
 grease manufactory, which house had been
 
 124 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 christened by its owners, " Jessamine 
 Lawn," but which was known to the entire 
 neighbourhood as *' Barraclough's" — neither 
 more nor less. 
 
 Jim Barraclough, continuing in the dark- 
 ness to smile his somewhat portentous 
 smile, maintained a judicious silence. He 
 left the palaver, as he called it, to Lucy, 
 who knew better than he did how to con- 
 duct that part of the business. 
 
 " We shall soon be afraid to come near 
 you," she said, with a laugh, "if you are 
 going about with such grand folk as those 
 people that we're not good enough to be 
 invited to meet ! " 
 
 " You know that wasn't the reason, 
 Lucy," he said, humbly and apologetically. 
 " I couldn't help it. You know I should 
 have liked to have you there all the time. 
 But it was quite a sudden thing, my asking 
 him. He's a great man — I never hoped
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 1 25 
 
 he would come at all. He sees more 
 people than he can remember, and he's 
 sometimes thankful for a bit of quietness. 
 So, when he asked me to let them come 
 quite alone, of course I said I wished him 
 to come in the way that would please him 
 best. It isn't pride in him, whatever you 
 may think. He's quite beyond all that 
 sort of nonsense." 
 
 '' Oh, all very well ! But he brought 
 those two women along with him, and 
 never troubled to know if you had a lady 
 to entertain them," said Lucy, in whose 
 mind the occurrence seemed to rankle. 
 
 '' Nay ; he knew I was a bachelor, like 
 himself." 
 
 " A bachelor ! And pray what were the 
 ladies, then — relations ? " 
 
 "The elder one, Mrs. Reichardt " 
 
 " She had as ugly a face as ever I saw," 
 said pretty Lucy, spitefully; ''with that
 
 126 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 great bulging forehead and turned-up 
 nose ! 
 
 He replied gravely, " It's a pity if you 
 could only see that her features were not 
 handsome, and nothing else. She is a 
 great friend of his — his oldest friend. She 
 lives at Irkford, with her father-in-law, an 
 old Mr. Reichardt. He's a German, but 
 she is an Englishwoman. She's a widow ; 
 her husband died after they had been 
 married only a few years. She's a lady 
 every inch, Lucy, say what you like, and 
 fiddles like an angel from heaven." 
 
 Lucy laughed ; she had not much interest 
 in either fiddling or ang'els. 
 
 *' And the girl ? " she asked. 
 
 ''Miss Grey, Miss Ines Grey, is her 
 name. She is a ward of his, and goes to 
 school ; but she's with them on a holiday 
 just now." 
 
 '' Humph ! Well, I thought them very
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 1 27 
 
 set-up, conceited people. And if he didn't 
 want any one to meet him, what was AHce 
 Ormerod doing there ? " 
 
 Slowly and reluctantly he answered, 
 *' Alice was very kind. She had been 
 helping us. Sarah Stott is getting old 
 now ; she loses her temper, and finds 
 things troublesome. But Alice " 
 
 "Alice doesn't. No, I dare say!" 
 remarked Miss Barraclough, with the same 
 light laugh which she had uttered once or 
 twice before. " Here we are ! " she added, . 
 as they turned in at a brand-new iron 
 gateway, and began to make their way up 
 a new gravel drive, towards a house which 
 showed itself dimly as standing on an emi- 
 nence. " You shall have a social evening 
 with us, and forget all about your singing 
 people and their grand ladies. I can't see 
 what you want with them, when you have 
 your own old friends close at hand."
 
 [28 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 At this juncture Jim walked on ahead, 
 saying that he would open the door for 
 them. Brian at once slackened his pace, 
 and came to a pause, taking Lucy's hand, 
 and saying persuasively — 
 
 " You aren't cross with me, Lucy ? You 
 know very well I'd rather have half an 
 hour of your company than a whole day 
 of any one else's." 
 
 " So you show it by neglecting us, and 
 asking a whole lot of strangers, and having 
 Alice Ormerod in and out, making eyes at 
 you, and " 
 
 '' Lucy, it's a lie ! " said he, violently, as 
 he almost tossed her hand away from him. 
 ''You know it's a lie. Why do you say 
 that of Alice Ormerod ? How dare you, 
 when you know it's false ! " 
 
 '' Oh, dear, dear ! If that's the state of 
 affairs, you'd better go back. I see I am 
 nowhere now. Go back to her, sir — go ! "
 
 now THE DAY ENDED. 1 29 
 
 "You know that your little finger is 
 dearer to me than her whole body," he 
 said savagely ; " but you've no call to tell 
 lies about her. You can be so cruel ; I 
 think sometimes that you are a devil 
 leading me to destruction ! " 
 
 She burst out laughing; and if there 
 was a nervous ring in her merriment, he 
 was far too much excited to notice it. 
 
 " Well, I never wanted to be taken for 
 a ninny ; but a devil — there's a good deal 
 of difference between the two ! I thought 
 I was your friend, and that's neither one 
 nor the other." 
 
 "You're the only woman in the world 
 for me," he whispered hoarsely and indis- 
 tinctly. '' Lucy, I haven't seen you for 
 three days. Just one kiss ! " 
 
 " No," said she, in a clear, cold voice, as 
 she drew a little to one side. " Not one, 
 till you've earned it." 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ** Well, and how am I to do that ? " he 
 asked, trying to curb his impatience under 
 a tone of resignation. 
 
 " Don't make yourself disagreeable to- 
 night, upsetting the whole party. They 
 are going to play cards, and you must join 
 in pleasantly." 
 
 '' I don't care for cards," he said re- 
 luctantly. " It's you I want to see, not 
 the cards." 
 
 '' Well," said she, indifferently, " all I can 
 say is, Jim and Richard Law care for 
 nothing else ; and if you can't give way to 
 them, they won't ask you to come. And 
 I can't, you know, of course." 
 
 " Well," said he, '' anything to please 
 you, or be near you. I'll play, though 
 I don't see the sense of it. And the 
 kiss " 
 
 *'We can talk about that when you've 
 shown that you meant what you say."
 
 HOW THE DAY ENDED. 13I 
 
 *' You're a precious long time In walking 
 up the drive," jeered Jim, as they ascended 
 the steps and went into the vestibule. 
 
 '' Mind your own business, Jim," his 
 sister ordered him ; "and, Brian, come In." 
 
 Brian followed them Into a lighted hall. 
 The frank, contented expression had dis- 
 appeared from his face, and had given way 
 to one of uneasiness and indecision. It 
 was quite clear that he was not a free 
 'agent. His eyes followed Lucy about 
 with sombre persistency, with the looks 
 of a lover, but not of a happy lover. 
 Though it was not publicly known, he had 
 been In a sort of way betrothed to her for 
 nearly a year. But there had never been 
 any sense of security or certainty about it, 
 and he had deteriorated in more ways 
 than one since the conditional engagement 
 had been made. Lucy had made the con- 
 ditions ; they were — that her father was
 
 1^2 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 not to know anything about it, nor any 
 outsiders ; and that If he comphed with 
 these stipulations, she would marry him — 
 some time.
 
 ( ^33 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 
 
 Felix and his two ladles were not at all 
 too early for their train. They had not 
 waited two minutes on the dreary and 
 grimy platform of the Hollowley station 
 before it came. Then they found them- 
 selves with a first-class compartment to 
 themselves, a lamp dimly burning in it, 
 and outside, what had been twilight before, 
 transformed into darkness. 
 
 *' Well," said Mrs. Reichardt, leaning 
 her head back and drawing her hand 
 across her eyes, " I don't think I ever spent 
 quite such a day before. In some ways 
 it has been unique."
 
 J 34 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " But not disappointing, I hope ? " said 
 Felix, solicitously . 
 
 '' Not in any one way. No ; I have 
 been interested, amused, and thoroughly 
 well entertained from beginning to end. 
 And I have been touched too. I have 
 caught sudden and unexpected glimpses 
 into little tracts and islands, as it were, of 
 pathos and romance ; I have indeed." 
 
 '' You always do, you know, wherever 
 you go," said he, with cheerful scepticism 
 and a smile which helped to make it com- 
 prehensible why, apart from his gift of 
 song, he was so great a favourite with his 
 public. " It is a failing of yours. You 
 can no more help finding pathos and 
 romance in everybody you see, than some 
 other people can help finding out the flaws 
 and blemishes. It's all subjective, you 
 know — most of it, at any rate." 
 
 " Ah, yes, you always talk in that way !
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 35 
 
 But I know that what I say is true. 
 Ines" — she turned to the girl who sat 
 beside her, and laid her hand upon hers — 
 " did you hear what passed between me 
 and that beautiful Alice Ormerod in the 
 bedroom upstairs, or were you ponder- 
 ing over your ' roots ' so that you lost it 
 all ? " 
 
 " Oh, I heard — and saw," said Ines 
 Grey, smiling. " Yes, Monsieur Felix," 
 she added, turning to him, " it is quite true. 
 It was very pathetic and romantic, and 
 very sad, too, I think." 
 
 " Don't tell me what was pathetic and 
 romantic," cried he ; ''I will tell you ! I 
 will reveal to you what I saw, and then 
 we can see whether it agrees with what 
 you saw. In the first place, I thought, 
 after observing them for some time, that 
 that beautiful and most modest and well- 
 behaved young woman was disposed to
 
 I';6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 O 
 
 feel not altogether unkindly towards our 
 host, and " 
 
 *' He thottght, after observing them for 
 some time ! " ejaculated she. '' Oh, men ! 
 what extraordinary creatures they are ! I 
 saw that within ten minutes of our having 
 sat down to lunch " 
 
 " Now, Lisa, that's a little too much ! 
 You may consider my words wrapped up 
 in any amount of polite and roundabout 
 phrases, but — I don't believe It ; I don't 
 believe you saw anything of the kind." 
 
 " How you spoil yourself, and what In- 
 justice you do yourself, Felix, by persis- 
 tently wearing this mask of cold, unfeeling 
 cynicism ! " she cried warmly, at which 
 both her companions laughed heartily ; 
 and then he, with sudden seriousness, 
 added — 
 
 " You are mistaken as to my cynicism. 
 I think your Idea Is more of that nature —
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 37 
 
 your idea that a girl as proud as that 
 girl evidently is, would under any circum- 
 stances allow such feelings to become 
 evident in ten minutes. I'm sure she did 
 not. Anything more dignified, modest, 
 and irreproachably '* 
 
 ** Pshaw ! of course I didn't suppose you 
 saw it, or Mr. Holgate either, for that 
 matter. But I did, and I'm sure Ines 
 did ; now, didn't you, Ines ? " 
 
 '' Not in ten minutes," said Ines, her 
 fair face crimsoning. " I — wasn't think- 
 ing about it." 
 
 Felix looked half vexed, and half 
 amused ; an expression which the young 
 girl was quick enough to observe, but 
 which escaped Mrs. Reichardt, absorbed 
 as she was in reflections upon her dis- 
 coveries in the regions of romance as 
 found at Moor Isles. 
 
 *' I'm perfectly certain it is so. And
 
 138 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 those creatures who came In afterwards, 
 that man and that girl — what odious 
 people ! " 
 
 '' A very pretty girl," said Felix, exas- 
 peratlngly. 
 
 '' A little vulgar chit, with such a bad 
 expression ! Ines, you must have seen 
 what a bad expression she had." 
 
 '' I did not like her ; she looked In- 
 sincere," said Ines. 
 
 Elisabeth nodded triumphantly at Felix, 
 who merely shook his head, and observed 
 gravely — 
 
 " Whether sincere or insincere, she 
 looked to me very fragile ; so slight and 
 delicate, as If she could not stand much. 
 And whatever may be the case with the 
 other girl, It Is at that little Lucy's feet 
 that our friend Brian lies. She can do 
 what she pleases with him." 
 
 '' I wouldn't go so far as that," said
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 39 
 
 Elisabeth, whose wishes were often father 
 to her thought. She wished well to Alice 
 Ormerod, to whom she had taken an 
 extraordinary liking, and she had not seen 
 any of the day's events so clearly as Felix 
 had. " That he was very much attracted 
 
 by her, I do not deny, but " 
 
 '' I do go so far as that," said Felix ; 
 " and I hold to It and repeat it ! There's 
 a drama going on in that quiet little 
 hamlet, of which we have just had a 
 glimpse, and which has excited and in- 
 terested even us, strangers as we are." 
 He spoke with gravity and apparent sin- 
 cerity ; but kept a watchful eye, with 
 something like a smile In It, upon Elisa- 
 beth's face the while. " Even we have 
 been excited and interested," he went on 
 reflectively, as he leaned forward, with his 
 elbow on his knee, and pulled his mous- 
 tache thoughtfully. '' What must It be to
 
 140 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 them, living each so near to the other, in 
 that quiet httle rustic place, with no out- 
 side things to distract their attention — 
 able to give almost as much time as they 
 please to studying their own and each 
 other's hearts ? " 
 
 "In that quaint old house, so homely and 
 pleasant," Elisabeth eagerly joined In, in 
 a kind of chorus, " with all those wild, 
 grand moors on every side, and that great 
 hill — Ravenside — what did they call It ? 
 That sunset — was It not wild and grand ? " 
 
 '' And the farm close by, with the friend 
 of his childhood," pursued Felix, the smile, 
 which she was now much too enthusiastic 
 to notice, becoming more marked, " doing 
 all she can for his good, and the other 
 little " 
 
 " You may say it," said Mrs. Reichardt, 
 as he paused ; '' it's just what I think 
 myself."
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. I4I 
 
 ''Yes, and the other Httle — witch, we 
 will say — It's a witches' country, you know, 
 and I suppose some Mother Demdike or 
 Mother Chattox has allowed her mantle 
 to descend, altered to suit modern views, 
 upon Miss Barraclough's shoulders ! — this 
 little witch skipping in and out, and every 
 time poor Alice thinks she has got a little 
 hold of him, tripping up and touching him 
 with her little finger, or lifting her hand, 
 whereupon he instantly comes tumbling 
 down from any little pinnacle of common 
 sense to which he may have clambered, 
 and it is all to begin over again — each 
 time more difficult to manage than the last." 
 
 Elisabeth shook her head in gloomy, 
 earnest assent to this picture, and sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I fear you have seen only 
 too truly ! I wonder how It will all end ? 
 But," she added sharply, and suddenly
 
 142 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 looking Up at him, '' I thought these little 
 islands and oases of pathos and romance 
 were a nonsensical dream of mine ! " 
 
 *' I never said they were not. But I 
 have, I think, skilfully filled In an Imaginary 
 outline to please you. I like to please 
 you. One wishes to gratify one's friends, 
 even at the " 
 
 *' Expense of truth, I do believe he 
 was going to say. Well, all I can say Is, 
 mark my words. We shall hear more of 
 these people. I shall make It In my way 
 to hear more of them I am profoundly 
 Interested In them, and In everything re- 
 lating to them. I do not mean to lose' 
 sight of them, or " 
 
 '* Till the next nine days' wonder 
 appears," said he, laughing and leaning 
 back ; '' till the next claim on your Interest 
 and benevolence starts up, In the shape 
 of the most beautiful, talented, and un-
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 43 
 
 fortunate girl that ever lived ; or a mis- 
 understood youth who " 
 
 " Felix," she exclaimed, turning upon 
 him with a flush of real vexation upon her 
 face, and even stamping her foot a little, 
 '' when you persist in that sneering, horrid 
 tone, I could almost hate you, sometimes ! 
 It is unworthy of you, and you do not in 
 the least understand how deeply my feel- 
 ings are engaged in this matter." 
 
 As he still continued to look at her with 
 the same good-natured, tolerant smile, she 
 suddenly changed her tone to one of 
 defiance, and proceeded with animation — 
 
 '' People who live in glass houses should 
 not throw stones. Vozi' are the last person 
 in the world to take that tone. Who, I 
 should like to know, is more quixotic 
 than " 
 
 " Spare me ! " he besought her, extend- 
 ing his hands with a look of genuine alarm.
 
 144 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Oh, spare me, and remember your 
 promise ! " 
 
 " You exasperate me till I forget all my 
 promises," she began, when Ines, who had 
 been watching Felix closely during the 
 whole of the conversation, leaned close to 
 Elisabeth's ear, and half whispered — 
 
 " He is putting it on more than ever — 
 I saw him do It. Its too bad of him ! 
 He thinks you won't notice." 
 
 " Wise little girl ! " exclaimed the elder 
 lady, her vexed expression suddenly dis- 
 appearing, while sunshine beamed over 
 her face once more. '' There, Felix, shake 
 hands. You are an Incorrigible cynic ; 
 you were born so ; you have lived so. 
 You will never be anything else. I shall 
 have to endure you as best I can." 
 
 He took the extended hand, bent over 
 it, and kissed it, with a smile. 
 
 *' Amen ! " he remarked. '' Your In-
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 45 
 
 stinctlve knowledge of character is nothing 
 less than profound." 
 
 Ines, still leaning against Elisabeth, 
 looked from one to the other of them, and 
 laughed a gentle little laugh. The dis- 
 pute, if dispute it had been, was over, but 
 for the rest of the time during which they 
 were journeying to Irkford, they still talked 
 with lively interest of Brian Holgate and 
 of his old home ; of the little grey moor- 
 land village of Thorn ton-in-Ravenside ; of 
 the rough, stony lane up which they had' 
 wandered, between banks of heather and 
 gorse, bracken and harebells, to look at 
 the sunset, crimson, wild, and glorious, and 
 at the huge dark form of Ravenside Moor, 
 looking like some couchant monster, black 
 against the golden sky. They talked of 
 beautiful Alice Ormerod, and of her inno- 
 cence, simplicity, and helpfulness. It was 
 all something which, on the outside, at 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 any rate, was, as it were, out of their beat. 
 They had looked Into another kind of Hfe, 
 and seen feehngs, common, of course, to 
 all humanity, expressed in a different way, 
 almost in another language, from those 
 they knew. That was why they were in- 
 terested. And the impression made upon 
 Elisabeth's mind by what she had heard 
 and seen was by no means so fleeting as 
 Felix would jestingly have made it appear. 
 
 When at last the train rolled into the 
 great lighted city station, and they had to 
 get out, Elisabeth heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " Back again into our civilisation ! " said 
 she. " To-morrow evening, Felix, will be 
 as great a contrast to this as it is possible 
 for one thing to be to another. With the 
 people still, but what a different people ' " 
 
 " You know all about it, I suppose," 
 said he. '' I don't. I trust myself blindly 
 in your hands. I hope you are not going
 
 BACK INTO THE TOWN. 1 47 
 
 to let me in for something quite too extra- 
 ordinary." 
 
 "I'm going to let you in for doing a real 
 kindness to those who sorely need it," she 
 said reproachfully. Then, kindling, even 
 as they threaded their way through the 
 bustling crowd, towards the outside, where 
 her carriage was to be waiting for them — 
 " Ah, yes ! If you knew what I know ; 
 if you knew the joy that one such action 
 on our parts, so easy and so simple for us, 
 can be to those hundreds of toilworn men 
 and women " 
 
 " Regardless, as usual, of time and place," 
 said Felix, drawing her hand through his 
 arm. '' Allow me to offer you my support 
 during your harangue. I've often thought, 
 Lisa, that you could, if you only had the 
 opportunities, emulate one of our greatest 
 and most copious orators, and do it well ; 
 and I know nothing about the toilworn
 
 148 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 men and women, but I do know that that 
 extraordinary little enthusiast, Reedley, 
 has struck a perfect mine of the same sort 
 of thing in you ; and I hope you won't 
 carry it too far, that's all." 
 
 " You never understand. Wait till to- 
 morrow comes, and you have seen for 
 yourself," said she ; and he laughed, and 
 said, *'Well, I will;" while Ines Grey, 
 walking close behind them, shook her 
 head, and smiled to herself.
 
 PART II.
 
 ( 151 ) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INKS WRITES. 
 
 It Is many years now since we spent that 
 autumn day at the old stone house amongst 
 the north-east Lancashire hills, and on look- 
 ing back, It seems to me as though that 
 day had been the first in a certain chaki 
 of circumstances In our lives — -I mean in 
 the lives of Elisabeth, Felix Arkwright, 
 and myself, Ines Grey ; as if it had been 
 the forerunner of the new set of thoughts 
 and feelings which began soon after to 
 distinguish my life, at any rate, from what 
 it had been before. Elisabeth has been 
 writing about it, and she asked me the 
 other day if I objected to contribute my
 
 152 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 share to the story. No, I did not — I do 
 not. Her request it was which sent me to 
 my writing-table, and to unlock a drawer 
 in it which for years has been closed, and 
 the contents thereof undisturbed. I drew 
 forth from it sundry volumes of MSS. — 
 the journals I kept many, many years ago, 
 while still a girl, and in many respects a 
 very childish girl. 
 
 I am not going to quote from them — no. 
 They are too crude, too raw and small, 
 those old journals containing the outpour- 
 ings of a girl's heart, to be presentable in 
 the pages of a connected, grown-up narra- 
 tive. They would be simply ridiculous, 
 and far from interesting, too. 
 
 No, their poor little fancies I will not 
 drag out to the light of day. But yet, as 
 I turned them over, and came upon passage 
 after passage, all referring to one subject 
 or to things akin to it ; exaggerated in
 
 INES WRITES. 153 
 
 language if not In feeling, but always, as I 
 found, steeped through and through wath 
 one great feeling — one passion, as I now 
 see it was, of blended love and gratitude ; 
 when I read these extracts, and saw the 
 heart they half concealed and half revealed, 
 I knew that amidst all Its errors, hasty, 
 ill-considered Impulses, mistakes, Imper- 
 tinences, that heart was really ever, to use 
 the common old expression, " in the right 
 place." As I saw this more and more 
 clearly, while turning over these old leaves, 
 inscribed with the unformed callgraphy of 
 sixteen and seventeen, I covered my face 
 with my hands, and wept with joy and 
 pride and thankfulness. After all these 
 years I see it plainly spread before me — 
 the whole case ; all the murmurings, the 
 sorrowings, and repinlngs over my own 
 incapacity ; my wild, ardent wishes that I 
 could do more, be more — have something
 
 154 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 tangible to show ; all my aspirations after 
 fame and glory — not for my own sake — 
 how futile they were, how needless, and 
 how amply was the want of power to 
 become this something great and glorious 
 atoned for, covered, and made right and 
 successful in the midst of its unsuccess, by 
 this one great love, unwavering, unerring, 
 unshakeable. How it grew and developed, 
 I can see ; always the same feeling, in 
 different and succeeding stages — from the 
 outspoken admiration and confidence of 
 the child, rejoicing In a strong, kind pro- 
 tector, through the shy, embarrassed en- 
 thusiasm of the school-girl, deeper than 
 before, but afraid of obtruding itself by 
 speaking ; dim intimations of the existence, 
 as yet vaguely In the background, of 
 another kind of love, terrifying even in its 
 unrealized strength, up to the ever-deepen- 
 ing consciousness of the maiden — love
 
 INES WRITES. 155 
 
 Stronger than death ; making a giant of a 
 weak girl ; but hidden as deeply as possible 
 even from herself — well, it was hardly to 
 indulge in a rhapsody on my own feelings 
 that Elisabeth asked me to do my share in 
 the piecing together of her story. 
 
 So, having studied these old journals for 
 the record of events, and having unex- 
 pectedly extracted from them, running 
 alongside of this record, the faithful 
 chronicle of my own heart and mind, I 
 will here proceed to set down the facts, 
 together with some of the feelings which 
 sprang from them ; and when I have done 
 that I will burn my old journals. They 
 have done their duty — let them go ! 
 
 And, in order to make my story clear, I 
 shall have to go back, and as briefly as 
 possible relate how It happened that Ines 
 Grey ever came to be what she was, at 
 seventeen years of age — a happy, if rather
 
 156 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 dreamy girl, leading a life fuller and richer 
 than she knew, even though she might be 
 well aware of the extent of some portion 
 of her riches ; surrounded by all good and 
 beautiful Influences ; by love and gentle- 
 ness — and not a neglected waif, fighting 
 a bitter battle with a world that was too 
 strong for her, as it had been for her 
 mother before her. 
 
 When my father, a brilliant and fashion- 
 able young attache at a foreign court, with 
 nothing In the world but his official salary 
 and an allowance from his father (he was a 
 younger son), met my mother, who was 
 the English governess in a rich and well- 
 known noble family much about the court, 
 he was twenty-five and she was twenty- 
 two. To fall in love, go through a brief 
 courtship, and get themselves married, was 
 the delightfully simple and rapid work of 
 six weeks. To encounter, afterwards, the
 
 INKS WRITES. 157 
 
 fury of his family, who had had very 
 different views for him — their indignant 
 reproaches, and the punishment they meted 
 out to him, which took the form of stopping 
 his allowance and practically disowning 
 him — utter and complete refusal to counte- 
 nance or receive him and his impecunious 
 and Insignificant bride under any circum- 
 stances whatsoever — to stand face to face, 
 in fact, with the complete wreck of material 
 prosperity and hope for the future — this 
 was accomplished In a not much longer 
 time than that which had led to it. That 
 is, three months after his first meeting 
 Ines Marston, my father had made her 
 Ines Grey ; had gained a true and loving 
 wife, and lost every prospect of worldly 
 success. For a short time after her 
 marriage, my mother continued her duties 
 as governess in the family where she had 
 met my father. They were attached to
 
 158 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 her, and wishful for her to remain with 
 them. Then came the Inevitable break ; 
 the prospect of motherhood ; the temporarily 
 broken health, the cessation of employ- 
 ment ; no feeling of anger on her part, but 
 one of acquiescence in the fact that the 
 education of the little Grafs and Grafins 
 must go on without interruption, whatever 
 might become of Mrs Raymond Grey — 
 and then a long series of clouds and mis- 
 fortunes, varying in darkness, but never 
 really disappearing. The most terrible 
 and crushing of all came at last, the death 
 of my father, of typhoid, in Paris, when I, 
 her baby, was less than a year old. Then 
 began her fearful battle with the world ; 
 with poverty, failure, and adverse circum- 
 stances of all kinds. She had a brave 
 heart and a proud spirit, if an unforgiving 
 one In some respects. While to her it was 
 the crown and glory of her life ; the thing
 
 INES WRITES. 159 
 
 for which she had been born, to have been 
 my father's wife and the mother of his 
 child, she never ceased to resent, with un- 
 dying strength, the treatment of herself 
 and her husband by his family. Not even 
 for her child's sake would she in any way 
 introduce herself to their notice. She 
 calculated her prospects — success doubtful ; 
 poverty and wretchedness almost certain 
 ■ — her child her own ; no favours asked, 
 and none refused or grudgingly granted. 
 She resolved to face Paris, cruel, hard, and 
 utterly indifferent, like every other great 
 city, to such as she was, and there try to 
 make her livelihood. She was an accom- 
 plished musician in a light and graceful 
 style (a gift which she did not in any way 
 transmit to her child). She had still two 
 or three moderately influential friends, and 
 with infinite difficulty, and by the constant 
 practice of a heartrending and body-wast-
 
 l6o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ing economy, she contrived, with her child, 
 to exist, to keep aHve — It was hardly more. 
 She gave lessons In singing and piano- 
 playing, and occasionally she received a 
 commission to sing either at some evening 
 or afternoon at a private house, or to take 
 some small, secondary part in a public 
 concert or oratorio. It was on one of 
 these occasions, when I was seven years 
 old, and my mother was twenty-nine, that, 
 at the last moment, she was sent for to 
 sing a little solo part coming in between 
 the choruses in a new romantic composi- 
 tion which had just leapt into popularity. 
 Being by a German composer, it had of 
 course been heard everywhere else before 
 it penetrated to Paris ; but music-lovers 
 had begun to clamour for it, and at last it 
 was to be produced. The chief '' star " of 
 the occasion was a young English baritone, 
 one Felix Arkwrlght by name, then
 
 INES WRITES. l6l 
 
 between twenty-four and twenty-five years 
 of age, who had been making a furore for 
 eighteen months or more, in London and 
 the EngHsh provinces, and who was now 
 singing most gloriously in French to a 
 French and English audience, cool and 
 critical in the extreme. The idea of sing- 
 ing even her small part before them, and 
 in the presence of Felix, as he was called 
 there, somewhat unnerved my mother. 
 The life which she had now for six years 
 been leading, of incessant struggle, and 
 constant pressure of her whole slender 
 personality against the door, to keep the 
 wolf out, had not had the most bracing 
 effect upon her nerve, her courage, or 
 her health In general. Instead of being 
 inspired by the promotion so suddenly 
 extended to her, she was flurried by it. 
 Instead of arraying herself promptly in her 
 one smart evening costume, coming to the 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 front, and looking as if all were well with 
 her, and she without a care or a trouble, 
 which, as every sensible person knows, is 
 the way of ways in which to get on in the 
 world, she felt and looked shrinking and 
 timid, pitiably wanting in manner and 
 aplomb. As is well known, feelings like 
 these, if once indulged in, are apt to gain 
 upon their victims ; and it seems a pity 
 that when women are overtaken by poverty 
 and misfortune, and are forced to encounter 
 the strength of the world arrayed against 
 them, they cannot at the same time have 
 their nerves and sensibilities turned into 
 tempered steel. Science as yet has shown 
 us no way to such a consummation — it 
 certainly had not arrived in my mother's 
 case. She did not that evening distinguish 
 herself by any very brilliant success. In 
 fact, she sang out of tune more than once, 
 occasioning a slight hissing from some of
 
 INES WRITES. 163 
 
 the audience, which hissing had not the 
 effect of reassuring her. She was nervously 
 and intensely conscious of it all ; but that 
 which troubled and unnerved her more 
 than all the rest put together was the keen, 
 direct glance of the young Englishman in all 
 the pride of his youth, his popularity, and 
 his success. After each slip that she made 
 she was terribly aware of his eyes fixed 
 piercingly and (of course) angrily upon her. 
 Becoming more and more confused, and 
 with ever a stronger sense upon her of a 
 benumbing kind of headache, and of on- 
 coming illness, she at last lost her presence 
 of mind at a critical point, and in an agony 
 of nervousness took up the words of her 
 solo at a wrong place entirely. There was 
 quite a loud storm of hissing, there was 
 a wretched discord as the instruments, 
 triumphantly going on their way, did not 
 quite succeed in drowning her ill-timed
 
 164 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 contribution to the concert. She saw the 
 angry scowl of the conductor, and heard 
 his muttered '' Madame, que faites votes, 
 done f' It was all very terrible and over- 
 powering, and at this juncture '' Madame 
 Ines," as she was called in the bills and 
 programmes, took the opportunity of faint- 
 ing away. A certain amount of bustle and 
 commotion was inevitable ; for about five 
 minutes the concert was stopped ; but very 
 quickly the unconscious form of Madame 
 Ines was borne away to a dressing-room, 
 and there left with an attendant, a candle, 
 and a glass of cold water. A charming 
 little blondine, with blue eyes and a mouth 
 of iron, was beckoned forth from amongst 
 the first soprani, and with the greatest 
 success undertook the part in which 
 Madame Ines had failed. (This was the 
 beginning of a very brilliant career for the 
 young lady, who charmed every one by
 
 INES WRITES. 165 
 
 her presence of mind, and by the adequate 
 style in which, at less than a minute's 
 notice, she filled up the gap caused by the 
 other woman's stupidity.) So the first 
 part of the concert came to an end, and 
 orchestra, chorus, and soloists dispersed to 
 their different haunts, for a quarter of an 
 hour's pause. 
 
 A number of the admirers of M. Felix 
 were waiting for him, with congratulations, 
 and praises, and many other agreeable, if 
 transient results of a brilliant success. He 
 smiled upon them all, as he had the habit 
 of doing ; was courteous and kind, but 
 persisted, with the dogged perseverance 
 said to be so strongly developed in his 
 nation, in inquiring, until he got some sort 
 of an answer — 
 
 " Where is the lady who fainted ? — the 
 English lady — they told me she was Eng- 
 lish — Madame, what is her name ? Ines ?
 
 1 66 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Yes, Madame Ines. She looked 111. Where 
 is she?" 
 
 *' Oh, she's all right," said the prima 
 donna of the evenins:. *' She will be looked 
 after. Most likely she has gone home. 
 Stupid of her to make such a fuss, and 
 what a mercy that little Lucile should have 
 proved herself so useful and capable ! " 
 
 ''Yes — quite so, but " 
 
 ** Come, Monsieur," added the lady, who 
 was not accustomed to be thwarted, " I wish 
 to present you to a friend of mine." 
 
 '' Presently, Madame," he answered her, 
 with a gracious smile and bow, as he 
 turned his back upon her, still Inquiring 
 right and left for Madame Ines. 
 
 "What Interest can he possibly have in 
 that dowdy, stupid frump of a woman ? " 
 the pri7na donna asked angrily, her face 
 red with vexation at his want of gallantry. 
 
 But he had at last found Madame Ines
 
 INES WRITES. 167 
 
 in an obscure little dark room, in which 
 the candle was still burning dimly. She 
 had recovered consciousness, and the at- 
 tendant had left her and gone to seek 
 more amusing company. She sat limply 
 in a frowsy-looking armchair, and she 
 looked sick and sad and spiritless. She 
 had not gone home. She did not look as 
 if she were capable of getting home with- 
 out some assistance. 
 
 *' Madame," he began, pausing on the 
 threshold of the little den — for it was 
 nothing more. She looked up languidly, 
 and slowly recognized him. Then tears 
 rushed to her eyes, and over her face 
 spread a slow, painful blush. 
 
 '' Oh, Monsieur ! " she began, half rising, 
 " I cannot express my shame and mortifi- 
 cation at having sung falsely and put you 
 out. I have no excuse. I was not well 
 enough to undertake the part, and I knew
 
 1 68 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 it. I — I — it is so seldom such a chance 
 comes in my way — and I have my Httle 
 girl to think of. I felt as if I could 
 struggle through with it, but " 
 
 " I was very sorry to see how ill you 
 were," said Felix. '' The interruption was 
 nothing. I felt sure you were even more 
 indisposed than appeared, and I have come 
 to see if you are not going home." 
 
 '' Presently, Monsieur, since you are 
 ofood enough to ask — when I feel a little 
 more rested, and able to walk as far as the 
 omnibus." 
 
 ''You must not dream of walking any- 
 where," said he, quickly. 
 
 '' Oh yes ! " She tried to laugh. '' On 
 the contrary, I must not dream of driving. 
 Pray do not let me detain you. I shall 
 presently set out. I feel better already 
 from the kind way in which you have 
 received my stupid blunders."
 
 INES WRITES. 169 
 
 " You have your wraps here," he said, 
 looking round. ''Yes, I see — a shaw], a 
 hood ; permit me. Now " — when, with his 
 help, she had put them on — '' take my arm. 
 This way ! " 
 
 He led her round to a side entrance 
 which he knew of, sent a prowling gamin 
 skipping in search of a cab, which soon 
 appeared ; put her into it, with gentle, 
 but quite unquestioning decision, got her 
 address, and said a few words to the driver ; 
 then spoke to her through the window. 
 
 "■ He will drive you straight home. And 
 — pardon my freedom, but these Paris 
 drivers are such rascals, sometimes — I 
 have taken the precaution to pay him the 
 exact fare. May I call and inquire after 
 you to-morrow morning — about noon '^ 
 Thanks, and aic revoir.'" 
 
 In another second he had disappeared ; 
 and she, lost in thankfulness and astonish-
 
 170 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 ment, gave herself up to the long unknown 
 luxury of getting home so easily, and to 
 reflections of gratitude which for the time 
 belnof were stronsfer than her sensations of 
 physical illness. 
 
 Such was the manner in which my 
 mother made her first acquaintance with 
 Felix. Mine began on the following day, 
 
 I remember exceedingly well how she 
 was too ill to go out to any of her engage- 
 ments that morning, and had to send notes 
 to the pupils who were expecting her. 
 Also, how she said to me, caressing me, 
 that perhaps a gentleman might call — she 
 didn't think he would ; It was most unlikely 
 that he should remember ; still, one ought 
 to be prepared. And with that she roused 
 herself to fight against the ever-increasing 
 sensations of illness, which were rapidly 
 becoming too strong for her, and dressed 
 me in my poor little best frock, and herself
 
 INES WRITES. 1 71 
 
 put on that gown which was usually- 
 reserved for rather superior occasions. 
 Having accomplished this, it seemed as 
 if she could do no more, but sank down 
 in her easy-chair, and, when I placed 
 myself at her feet, laid her hot hand on 
 my head, and became strangely still, with 
 her eyes closed, so that I was frightened, 
 and became still more so when I heard 
 her say now and then, half to herself, as 
 if she did not know she was speaking 
 aloud, ** He won't come. He will forget. 
 Of course he will forget, and I am so ill." 
 
 But just before the little timepiece struck 
 the hour of noon, some one did knock 
 upon our door. 
 
 ** Run, darling, and open the door ! " 
 said my mother quickly to me ; and I 
 obeyed, turned the handle with both my 
 small hands, and confronted, with much 
 amazement, a visitor of an utterly unknown
 
 172 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 kind In my experience — a tall and hand- 
 some young gentleman, with bright, kind 
 eyes, and a pleasant smile which gradually 
 spread over his face when, after looking 
 far above my head for the person v/ho had 
 opened the door to him, his gaze travelled 
 gradually down till it encountered the top 
 of my head, just above his own knees, 
 though I was involuntarily standing on 
 tip-toe, the better to see what he was like. 
 
 '' May I come in, little lady ? " he asked, 
 laughing, as I made way for him ; and he 
 stepped forward, saw my mother, looked 
 at me again, and apparently took in the 
 whole situation. I found that he was 
 holding me by the hand, closing the door, 
 and then advancing towards my mother's 
 side. 
 
 " Good-morning, Madame. I hope you 
 have recovered from your faintness of last 
 night, and feel better to-day."
 
 INES WRITES. 173 
 
 She tried to smile, to rise, and to speak, 
 and succeeded in getting out something 
 about ''Your kindness — such trouble — not 
 much better, I fear. But I will take a few 
 days' rest, and then " 
 
 " And then " seemed to leave 
 
 volumes unsaid. I saw the smile on the 
 stranger's face give way to an expression 
 of much gravity, but the kindness and 
 goodwill never clouded over for one 
 moment. 
 
 " I fear you are very far from well," he 
 said seriously. " This, I suppose, is your 
 little daughter ? I see her likeness to you." 
 
 "Yes," said she, brightening up for a 
 moment. "This is Ines, my only child. 
 But I always think she has such a look of 
 her father" — proudly. " Ines, this gentle- 
 man is called Monsieur Felix. Shake hands 
 with him, my darling, and say, ' Good day. 
 Monsieur.' "
 
 1/4 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 I obediently did so. I felt at once the 
 most unbounded confidence in M. Felix. 
 He, probably to gain my mother's con- 
 fidence the more quickly, took me in his 
 arm, as he seated himself nearly opposite 
 to her, and, leaning forward a little, held 
 me encircled, and occasionally stroked my 
 head with his hand while he talked. 
 
 " Monsieur Felix, professionally, here in 
 Paris," he said, explaining. " My name, 
 my own private name, is Felix Arkwright 
 — which might be anybody's name, might 
 it not, Mrs. Grey ? " 
 
 She smiled a little. He was strong, 
 kind, and determined. She was weak, 
 lonely, and feeling every moment more 
 sick, ill, and stupefied. For the first time, 
 in all the years of struggle, a great terror 
 had come over her, a feeling of helpless, 
 naked impotence, such as sometimes is the 
 forerunner of an attack of severe illness.
 
 INES WRITES. 175 
 
 It took him but a short time to make her 
 tell him all her circumstances and history : 
 her scanty supply of friends — they had 
 been mostly of a migratory kind, and had 
 dropped off, one by one ; how, on her own 
 side, she did not possess a single relation, 
 and how the relations of her husband had 
 behaved at the time of his marriage. To 
 all of which he listened with a grave, 
 respectful interest, seeming in no hurry to 
 move or get the interview over, until she, 
 suddenly recollecting herself, made some 
 feeble kind of an apology for thus troubling 
 him with her private anxieties — having no 
 claim, and so on. 
 
 **You and I are of the same nation, 
 Mrs. Grey," he said. '' It seems to me 
 the most natural thing in the world that 
 you should tell your own countryman these 
 things. I can see several reasons why we 
 should have confidence in one another —
 
 176 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 first, as I say, because we are both English. 
 Then, you tell me your father was a 
 clergyman. Well, mine is not exactly a 
 clergyman " — he smiled — " but he is a very 
 learned man, and, until I was able to help 
 him, he was very poor too. He is a great 
 scholar, and he holds the post of librarian 
 to Lord Urmston, near Kirkfence, in 
 Yorkshire. I'm very proud of my father, 
 though I have bewildered him a good deal 
 by persisting in becoming what he can't 
 help thinking is a bit of a vagabond ; 
 instead of entering the Church, and re- 
 ceivino^ the livinof of Urmston " — he 
 smiled again. " So there are two points 
 In which our circumstances are very similar. 
 And we have both the same art — we serve 
 at one shrine, don't we ? " 
 
 '' Oh, pray don't laugh at me ! " she ex- 
 claimed, doubtless thinking of the fiasco 
 she had made the previous night.
 
 INKS WRITES. 177 
 
 " I am not laughing, Indeed. I am per- 
 fectly serious," he replied, and went on 
 Ingeniously finding other reasons why they 
 should experience a fellow-feeling on many 
 points. When he went away, It was with 
 the avowed Intention of sending a doctor 
 at once, and with the promise speedily to 
 call again, and hear that she was better. 
 That was what he said. My mother, one 
 of the proudest and most Independent of 
 women, submitted like a child to these 
 measures. She was too 111 to resist, In fact, 
 and her one idea was that by some means 
 or other she must get well enough to begin 
 to work again. 
 
 It is needless to go Into details of the 
 events which swiftly followed the advent 
 in our lives of this new friend. The mis- 
 takes, the languor, and the fainting fit of 
 the evening ; the headache, the oppression, 
 and the feeling of stupefaction of the fol- 
 
 voL. I. 12
 
 178 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 lowing morning, were the beginning of my 
 mother's last illness. When next Felix 
 Arkwrlght called she was delirious, and 
 did not know him, and ere long she 
 succumbed to the same fever which six 
 years earlier had carried off her husband. 
 Her illness was short and sharp ; there 
 was never any doubt from the first as to 
 how it would end. Her strength, both 
 physical and nervous, had been too much 
 and too long undermined by her life of 
 privation, solitude, and anxiety, for her to 
 be able to resist the ravages of the fever. 
 Its fiery breath extinguished her, literally, 
 and that very quickly. 
 
 To me, when I think of it, that period 
 is always heavy in the background of my 
 memory, like a terrible dream, or a great 
 black cloud, sweeping resistlessly up and 
 over all familiar things ; darkening the 
 whole landscape of life. Little did I know
 
 INES WRITES. 179 
 
 of It all, save of one terrible hour when I 
 saw a dying woman holding the hand of 
 that strong and gracious protector whose 
 suddenly begun friendship had never 
 wavered for an instant. She, as I say, 
 was holding his hand ; I — for some reason 
 not explained to me till afterwards, when 
 I learnt that she, feeling the end near, had 
 asked for me — was held by his other arm 
 on the bedside. She was trying with all 
 her failing strength to explain something 
 to him about her child and its father's 
 relations — how Ines was not to go to them ; 
 they would hate her and be unkind to 
 her, — anything rather than that — a con- 
 vent, a charity school. Better the coldness 
 of the world on which one has no claims, 
 than the hatred of kindred by whom one 
 is not wanted. The world, she seemed 
 trying to explain, will. In the last resort, 
 find you a grave In one of its rivers or
 
 l8o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 attics — the kindred will grudgingly compel 
 you to live in woe and torment. Unless 
 Ines could go to them with a welcome, she 
 must never go at all. 
 
 Dazed, frightened, and not comprehend- 
 ing, I heard all this, and heard the voice 
 in reply — 
 
 '' Have no fear for Ines, Mrs. Grey. 
 Your child shall not suffer any of those 
 things you fear for her. I promise you 
 this, ril swear it, if you like." 
 
 " No, no ! " said she, with a last effort at 
 a bitter kind of pleasantry, " you are a 
 stranger ; it is relatives who hate people. 
 Your word is as good as your bond. You 
 have proved it. Do not think it is more 
 than the body that dies," she added. '' I 
 shall see and know It all. Ines " 
 
 She stretched out her arms to me ; but, 
 before she could touch me, fell back. I 
 began to cry. Felix rose quickly, spoke
 
 INES WRITES. l8l 
 
 to the nurse, and carried me in his arms 
 into the other room. Nurse and doctor 
 went to the bedside. The door between 
 was closed. Fehx sat down in the parlour, 
 placed me on his knee, and caressed me 
 gently, while we both sat very still and 
 watched for, I knew not what. 
 
 I was not too young to know something 
 of what death meant. I understood one 
 thing very well — that I should never see 
 my beautiful mamma any more. That 
 was after the nurse had come in and said 
 a few words in a low tone to Felix, and he 
 had then, gathering me to him, said, after 
 a pause — 
 
 ''My little Ines, your dear mamma is 
 dead." 
 
 Who shall depict a child's terror and 
 grief — its anxious little heart and wild 
 forebodings — its awful sense that the one 
 who was always there is gone, and that it
 
 152 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 has nowhere to cfo ? Not I, for one. 
 Time has mercifully dimmed and erased 
 the acute feelings of that time. I have 
 only a general recollection of desolation, 
 of the nurse's pitying looks, the landlady's 
 apprehensive regards, the doctors quick 
 inquiry and shrug of the shoulders. I 
 remember, too, the smile of Felix, as he 
 said, in answer to all these doubtful ex- 
 pressions, " I undertake for the little one. 
 She will come with me." 
 
 He was as good as his word. This 
 young man, with his open countenance 
 and pliable and gracious manners, had a 
 fund of dogged resolution and determina- 
 tion in his character which one would 
 hardly have expected to find in a genuine 
 artist-temperament. Perhaps his was not 
 quite that kind of temperament, but of 
 that anon. He was not to be cajoled, 
 ridiculed, or argued out of his purpose.
 
 INES WRITES. 183 
 
 Openly and in the light of day he declared 
 his intentions. Convents and chanty 
 schools seemed to have no charms for 
 his mind. As a matter of duty he com- 
 municated with my father's people, who 
 wrote and grudgingly offered to defray my 
 expenses at a cheap school, where I could 
 be brought up with a view to eventually 
 earning my livelihood as a governess. 
 
 *' Governess, from seven years old ! " I 
 remember hearing him say, as he tossed 
 a letter which he had been reading on -to 
 a table, and looked at me, not gently and 
 smilingly, as usual, but with a red colour in 
 
 his face, and an angry frown. " D d 
 
 cold-hearted churls!" he observed aloud; 
 and then, in a lower voice, as he still con- 
 tinued to gaze at me — " Lisa will know. 
 Yes, that will be all right. Come here, 
 little one ; I'm not cross with you. Will 
 you come home with me, eh ? "
 
 184 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Oh yes," I said promptly, and he 
 laughed. 
 
 '' Too funny, to go to Paris * In 
 maiden meditation fancy free,' and return 
 a family man ! But Lisa will understand 
 — yes, Heaven be praised, she will under- 
 stand. Then you shall go with me, my 
 little girl. We'll see If there Isn't some- 
 thing better in store for you than an 
 inexpensive boarding-school where you 
 could soon begin to make yourself useful, 
 and then teach the young idea till you are 
 seventy or so. Bah ! " 
 
 He rang the bell, gave me into the 
 charge of a young woman who was tem- 
 porarily acting as my bonne, and with a 
 more contented expression on his face 
 went out, on his business or his pleasure, 
 with both of which he was abundantly 
 provided.
 
 ( ^S5 ) 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 
 
 When M. Felix, as I called him, because 
 every one else did so, returned to England, 
 after a triumphantly successful visit to 
 Paris, I and my nurse formed a part of the 
 impedimenta which accompanied him. I^e 
 must have written, I suppose, to Mrs. 
 Reichardt, telling her of his arrangements. 
 At any rate, his first engagement, after his 
 return, was to sing at a concert in the 
 great northern town. It was one of the 
 places which he most frequently visited, 
 and where he was most popular. When 
 he sang at Irkford he always stayed with 
 the Reichardts.
 
 1 86 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Elisabeth and he had known each other 
 all their lives. Their ages were almost 
 identical, and in their childhood her father 
 and his father had been next-door neigh- 
 bours and fast friends. Mr. Crompton, 
 EHsabeth's father, had been a surgeon in 
 extensive practice ; Mr. Arkwright had 
 been, by way of attempting to be a business 
 man, in the stock and sharebroking line, 
 but with his heart in literature and the 
 classics. At last his business had come 
 to an end. By the interest of some friends 
 he had received the post of which Felix 
 had spoken to my mother, and had gone, 
 with his boy, to the country. But the 
 brother-and-sister friendship between Felix 
 and Lisa had never been broken off, even 
 when he went to London, and then to 
 Italy, to see what he could do with his 
 voice, and she, at nineteen, married Max 
 Reichardt, the only son of a wealthy
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 87 
 
 German merchant at Irkford. At the time 
 I speak of, when he brought me with him 
 from Paris, EHsabeth had been married 
 five years. She was childless, and though 
 devoted to her husband, her enereies were 
 great, and she had many outside interests 
 to fill up her time. The house was a 
 resort of artists and musicians — of all such 
 who were to be found in that dingy manu- 
 facturing town. At twenty-four Elisabeth 
 was the same woman that she was at 
 thirty-four — genial, gifted, enthusiastic ; her 
 passion for music only rivalled by her 
 passion for humanity. Her husband, who 
 adored her, delighted in furthering all her 
 schemes for the improvement of mankind 
 in genera], and of the lower-class women 
 and child-kind of Irkford in particular. 
 Elisabeth was very loyal to her sex ; not 
 in any loud or obtrusive way, but deep 
 down in her heart, in all her principles, in
 
 l88 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 every action in which the question of 
 womankind arose at all, she was their 
 unflinching champion. 
 
 Even at that time, and young as she 
 was, she had a vast correspondence on all 
 kinds of social and philanthropic subjects, 
 and was hand in glove with the workers 
 of that day, who at that day were almost 
 universally considered maniacs, amiable, 
 doubtless, in intention, but often mis- 
 chievous in action. Hercrood works, done 
 for pure love, not for either glory or 
 praise ; her music, which was also a 
 passion, and a real one, with her ; her 
 great heart ; her quick and receptive if not 
 always perfectly judicious mind — these were 
 things as inseparable from the personality 
 of Elisabeth Reichardt as motion is in- 
 separable from the sea, or majesty from 
 the mountains, or beauty from trees and 
 flowers. They were her beauty ; they
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 89 
 
 and the spirit which animated her and 
 them gave loveliness of the highest kind 
 to her homely-featured face, and made her 
 what she was. 
 
 Felix told me about her before we 
 arrived there, describing a very good and 
 very kind lady who would be very glad to 
 see me. 
 
 ''Will she love me?" I asked. My 
 mother had so often told me, with shower- 
 ing kisses, '^ I love thee, my darling, I 
 love thee ! " — and my heart had ached after 
 both the words and the kisses. Lisette 
 was very kind, but she would not crumple 
 my new black frock by too demonstrative 
 an embrace. 
 
 " She will love you, little one — yes ! " he 
 assured me quickly ; and put his arm 
 round me, as if suddenly realizing that 
 perhaps I needed something of the kind. 
 
 He had not deceived me. It will easily
 
 igO FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 be understood that what Mr. Relchardt 
 good-naturedly called Felix's freak, com- 
 mended itself seriously and with delight to 
 his wife. With the greatest pleasure she 
 gave herself up to the question, What is 
 to become of the child ? and involved 
 Felix in endless consultations as to the 
 best course to be pursued. It ended in 
 his going away to London to fulfil an 
 engagement, and leaving me to pay a long 
 visit to his friend. But he often reappeared 
 on the scenes, and I, meantime, led a very 
 happy life — happy, in spite of the fact that 
 I did not cease to miss my sweet mother. 
 Nor did these people try to make me 
 forget her. Though Felix never spoke of 
 her to me, Elisabeth did ; she talked to 
 me of her, took me on her knee, and asked 
 me questions about her, told me I must do 
 this and that because my mother would 
 have wished it ; told me, too, beautiful
 
 I GO FOR A PIOLIDAY. I9I 
 
 things about mothers in heaven watching 
 over their Httle children on earth, and 
 loving them for being good. And Felix, 
 who was sometimes present during these 
 discourses, sat by and said nothing, but 
 never contradicted her. 
 
 I need not relate in detail what became 
 of me, little waif and stray that I practically 
 was. I know that I passed a happy child- 
 hood and young girlhood ; partly with 
 Elisabeth, and a great deal of it in the 
 quaint old house In a wood on the outskirts 
 of the great Yorkshire town of Kirkfence, 
 where Felix Arkwright's father lived ; and 
 I believe it was a real joy to the old man 
 to busy himself with the education of 
 Felix's adopted child. At any rate, he did 
 busy himself with it, and perhaps no child 
 was ever better educated, in the real sense 
 of the word — better trained to use the 
 intelligence she had been born with — than
 
 192 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 was I, by this old-fashioned gentleman, 
 with the somewhat timid manner, and 
 deep, innate goodness and purity of heart. 
 Felix always said that though his father 
 was utterly devoid of knowledge of the 
 world ; though he had failed pitiably to 
 accumulate money amongst the other 
 money-makers ; though he was devoid of 
 any ambition beyond the possession of 
 certain (to him) priceless books, and free 
 access to all the treasures of Lord Urms- 
 ton's library, yet that to know him was a 
 liberal education. And I am sure it was. 
 Chiefly with him I studied history, Latin 
 and Greek, and the classics — the severest 
 classics of English literature ; and ran 
 about the woods, and galloped over the 
 moors, and tore my frocks, and tanned my 
 face and my hands, and learnt to despise 
 the telling of lies and the pretending to be 
 or to know what I was not or did not
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 93 
 
 know. There, too, also I learnt a some- 
 what old-fashioned code of silence and 
 humility before my elders and my betters ; 
 the latter beino^ included in the former 
 always — learnt implicit obedience to my 
 kind instructor, and was perfectly happy 
 till, when I was fourteen years old, I was 
 removed from Lanehead, and placed in 
 London, under the charge of one Madame 
 Prenat, a friend of both Elisabeth and Felix. 
 Elisabeth meanwhile had become a 
 widow, and her father-in-law, old Mr. 
 Reichardt, had come to live with her. All 
 her happy life was darkened for many 
 months, clouded for years, by this loss, 
 but with time the impulses of a naturally 
 sane and healthy nature reasserted them- 
 selves. Much of the glory and the dream 
 had departed, but Elisabeth did good, and 
 fiddled in the after-days as in the former 
 ones, and continued to be the fast friend, 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and the most trusted one, of Felix Ark- 
 wright, her old companion, who, after 
 working hard for some years in obscurity 
 and silence, literally awoke one morning 
 and found himself famous, and from that 
 hour stood in the very front rank of his 
 profession. 
 
 But this is wandering somewhat from 
 the point. To Madame Pienat's charge I 
 was consigned, and well she did her duty 
 by me. She was the English widow of a 
 French professor of languages, who had 
 held a high post in a well-known London 
 college ; and she added to her income and 
 pleased her own love of giving instruction 
 by taking a certain number of young girls 
 under her charge, on the distinct under- 
 standing that she was to educate and form 
 them on the principles which she con- 
 sidered good. I will not here enter Into 
 a description of those principles, and of
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 95 
 
 what they practically led to. Suffice it to 
 say that with many parents they would 
 not have been popular, since a good deal 
 more attention was given by Madame to 
 inner realities than to outside polish, though 
 she had her views on the latter point, too. 
 
 Elisabeth was very enthusiastic for her. 
 Felix was perhaps not enthusiastic — per- 
 haps he did not understand or care enough 
 about it all to Investigate the subject very 
 deeply. But he believed in Elisabeth — in 
 her heart and her head ; and if she believed 
 in Madame Prenat — good ! Such probably 
 would have been his verdict on the matter. 
 
 Three years passed, during which I 
 studied hard and with eager avidity, imder 
 Madame Prenat's auspices. She it was who 
 discovered my one small talent, In the direc- 
 tion of philology, and especially In that of 
 the ancient and Oriental languages ; and 
 she it was who fostered this talent, and
 
 196 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 caused me to discard the pursuit of many 
 other things, usually considered component 
 parts of a "young lady's" education. 
 
 I was happy with Madame Prenat. I 
 was happier still In the holidays, with 
 Elisabeth, whose goodness to me never 
 failed or changed ; but I was In Paradise 
 on the occasions, few and far between, 
 always to be remembered, on which Elisa- 
 beth, Felix, and myself were all staying 
 together at his father's house — once for 
 a whole week this pleasure lasted. Who 
 shall describe the high happiness, the un- 
 broken harmony of those golden days ? 
 Not I — I felt it in every fibre of my being. 
 I could not, either then or now, analyse 
 it, and I have no wish to do so ; but, 
 looking back upon those days, it seems to 
 me that in them met together several 
 things which are perhaps not often found 
 so combined — friendship, relationship, pro-
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 97 
 
 tectorship, all good In themselves, and In 
 this case unflawed by any alloy of jealousy, 
 distrust, or littleness of any kind. Says 
 the poet of comradeship and democracy — 
 
 " The wonder is always and always how there can be 
 a mean man or an infidel." 
 
 And for those who should lead the life 
 that was mine In those days, the wonder 
 might well be perennial. 
 
 The one cross In my lot. If cross It 
 could be called, was that M. Felix, as 
 I had the habit of calling him still, nev^r 
 would, if he could help himself, allow 
 me to go and hear him sing in public. 
 I wondered why, then. I know now. I 
 learned It by degrees. I knew the 
 privilege to be mine which most people 
 would have given a great deal to possess ; 
 I could hear him sing specially for me, or 
 for his own immediate circle, almost as 
 often as I pleased. And I valued this
 
 198 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 privilege highly ; but that which I so 
 delighted in — to see him the hero of the 
 wildest applause and enthusiasm at great 
 concerts or festivals, he generally suc- 
 ceeded in preventing, nor would he ever 
 give any reasons for this prohibition — to 
 me, at any rate. 
 
 '' Ah, M. Felix, may I not go and hear 
 you sing to-night ? " 
 
 *' No, Ines. I'll sing for you at home, 
 if you like. Never mind the concert." 
 
 " But why — but " 
 
 " Because, my sweet child, I don't choose 
 it," was all I ever got by way of a reason ; 
 and though it was always said with a smile 
 and a kindly look, I knew perfectly well 
 that it was final. I might, and did com- 
 ment upon it frequently, and probably 
 very impertinently. The impertinence 
 never disturbed Felix, though it might 
 sometimes amuse him ; nor did the com-
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 1 99 
 
 merits, except on one or two very rare 
 occasions, chiefly through EHsabeth's in- 
 terference, ever gain me the privilege I 
 longed for. Through her agency I once 
 or twice knew him to break this rule, and 
 let her take me to some concert or oratorio 
 at which he might be singing. I only 
 dimly knew that he sang in opera also ; at 
 that time I had not, to tell the truth, a 
 very clear idea what opera was — I never 
 heard Felix in one ; and it was only after- 
 wards that I found he was not particularly 
 devoted to that branch of his profession. 
 I discovered it by accident once, overhear- 
 ing some one say he had heard him singing 
 in a certain opera, and what a pity it was, 
 that, with his voice, he should be, as an 
 actor, a mere stick. Speechless with in- 
 dignation, I looked up at Elisabeth, who 
 was with me, and who had also overheard 
 this candid expression of opinion. She
 
 200 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 laughed immoderately, and took an early 
 opportunity of relating the incident to him, 
 I being present. He laughed too, and 
 shrugged his shoulders. Then, seeing my 
 face, red with anger, he laughed again, 
 and observed that I seemed to regard it as 
 a personal insult. 
 
 " They might not think it perfect, but 
 they had no need to say — a stick ! " I 
 burst forth. 
 
 At which Felix and Elisabeth both 
 laughed again ; and he, speaking more 
 gently, told me — 
 
 ''When people have things to do that 
 they particularly hate, my child, they may 
 succeed in getting through them by force 
 of will ; but — especially in the regions of 
 the fine arts — they are not likely to be as 
 graceful or agreeable in their performances 
 as those who do the same things con amore. 
 Your unknown friends were quite right in
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 201 
 
 their remarks, whatever your sage head 
 may think on the subject." 
 
 I was silenced, but far from convinced. 
 I pondered the subject, and wondered 
 why, if he hated this thing, he did it. It 
 must be, I decided, because the music was 
 so glorious, and he loved it so, that in it 
 he forgot what he called the mummery 
 pertaining to it all ; perhaps there was a 
 grain of truth in this assumption. I was 
 very young, very ignorant and high-flown 
 in my ideas, and it never for a momeijt 
 occurred to me that my hero undertook 
 this distasteful part of his career in order 
 to secure the large sums of money which 
 he could so easily gain by it ; no, I only 
 wished he would let me see him in his 
 capacity of " stick ; " but that wish was 
 never gratified. 
 
 Thus, happily, easily, gladly, my life 
 progressed, till now in this October, just
 
 202 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 after I had passed my seventeenth birth- 
 day, and when I had been reminding my- 
 self, with a feehng of wonder, that it was 
 nearly three months since I had seen 
 either Elisabeth or M. Felix, I one morn- 
 ing got a note from him, dated from a 
 London hotel : — 
 
 " Dear Ines, 
 
 '' If Madame Prenat will allow 
 it, and if you can be ready for the 3.30 
 N.W. train to Irkford, this afternoon — do 
 not deceive yourself into thinking I mean 
 to-morrow — I mean to-day as ever is, — if 
 this can be managed, and you will have 
 your things on, and your traps packed up 
 ready for some two weeks' absence from 
 town, I will call for you in a cab about 
 three o'clock. If Madame will spare me 
 three minutes of her precious time, I will 
 explain to her the reason of this short
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 203 
 
 notice. We go to Mrs. Reichardt's, and 
 I have wired to her that you are coming 
 with me. 
 
 '' Yours ever, 
 
 " Felix Arkwright." 
 
 " Oh, Madame Prenat ! " cried I, rushing 
 to her, with this document in my hand ; 
 '' you will not object, will you ? A whole 
 fortnight ! What can be going to happen ? 
 And to Mrs. Reichardt s ! Oh, is it not 
 too, too blissful ? " 
 
 Madame took the note, read it, and 
 smiled her slow, expanding smile, then 
 looked at me over her spectacles without 
 speaking. I was quivering with impatience 
 and excitement. 
 
 " It is a serious break in the middle of 
 term," she observed. " It is like a man — 
 a poor, ignorant, single man, to forget all 
 such things, and think October as good a 
 time as August for a holiday.''
 
 204 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Ah, Madame ; but if he wishes it " 
 
 '* True, if he wishes it," she repeated ; 
 " and if you also wish it. Suppose it were 
 something very disagreeable to you that 
 your guardian wished " 
 
 " I should do it, of course," I replied 
 stoutly, but feeling the suspense terrible. 
 I was silly enough to think that she might 
 oppose the scheme, and that Felix might 
 submit to her opposition. ''He must have 
 some reason for it," I went on urgently ; 
 " he knows all about the terms and things 
 — he does, really," 
 
 The smile became grimmer. *' The 
 poor dear man ! He thinks he does, I 
 dare say ; he tells you so, but we must not 
 accept every word from him au pied de la 
 letire. He has many things in his head," 
 she nodded. 
 
 '' He must have a reason," I reiterated 
 stupidly.
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 2 05 
 
 ''Assuredly/' she admitted. '' The reason 
 appears to me quite obvious — in fact, not 
 to be mistaken." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean ?" I asked, 
 at a loss. 
 
 " Ah, you will not study the newspapers 
 as I bid you," she said, laughing ; *' con- 
 sequently you must suffer from ignorance, 
 and, as it is nearly twelve, and Mr. 
 Arkwright is to be here at three, the 
 sooner you go and prepare for your de- 
 parture, the better." ^ 
 
 I forgot the awe which tempered my 
 warm affection for Madame Prenat. I 
 threw my arms round her neck, gave her 
 one hug and one kiss, and flew upstairs 
 to my room. I had no time, in the agonies 
 of deciding what to take and what to 
 leave, to go into the question, " What can 
 the reason be which appears so obvious 
 to Madame Prenat ? The newspapers —
 
 206 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 what of the newspapers ? Well, I had no 
 leisure to think about it. My object was 
 to be ready at three o'clock, when Felix 
 should call for me. 
 
 And naturally, at three o'clock, I was 
 quite ready ; inwardly in a state of the 
 greatest agitation ; outwardly calm and 
 well-behaved, as I sat in Madame's private 
 sitting-room, in her presence, and waited 
 for the expected ring. The ring, when 
 it came, was inaudible in that room. Just 
 as I was beginning to have sickening 
 qualms as to the possible advent of a 
 telegram from Felix, to say he was pre- 
 vented from coming, the waiting-maid 
 threw open the door, and announced him. 
 I sprang up, and started towards him, as 
 usual. What was it that arose between 
 us, in one brief Instant, between the time 
 of my rising from my chair, and the meet- 
 ing of our hands ? What paralyzed my
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 207 
 
 tongue, and utterly quenched my usual 
 voluble joy on such occasions ? I did not 
 know ; but felt a strange constraint. I 
 left my hand in his, and looked up at him 
 silently. He, however, was not afflicted 
 with any such sudden dumbness. 
 
 *' Ready, quite ready, I see," he said, 
 with a laugh, and stooped, and touched 
 my forehead lightly with his lips — as he 
 had always done. 
 
 ''You look well, child," he said; and 
 then, leaving me to one side, passed rapidly 
 on, to greet Madame Prenat, and I realized 
 that I ought in any case to have waited 
 till he had done so. '' I hope this is not 
 against all your rules and regulations, 
 Madame Prenat," he said, smiling, and 
 trying to look as if he considered it a 
 serious matter. ''At any rate, I see you 
 have consented, whatever you may think 
 of the irregularity. Mrs. Reichardt wrote
 
 208 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and told me It was all wrong ; but, you 
 see, one can't alter the time of the Festival, 
 even for such an important person as this," 
 and he looked at me. 
 
 '' That is understood. I was sure it was 
 the Festival," said she, with dignity and 
 affability combined. 
 
 ''Festival!" I echoed — "what festival ?" 
 
 '' Doesn't she know ? " said Felix, open- 
 ing his eyes, and laughing again. " How 
 very amusing ! Evidently, Ines, you do 
 not take that interest in my proceedings 
 which might reasonably be expected from 
 you. 
 
 " But what festival ? I'm very stupid ; 
 but what festival is it ? " I demanded again. 
 An idea had arisen in my mind as to the 
 meaning of all this — an idea so laden with 
 promise of delight and enjoyment that the 
 contemplation of it quite overpowered 
 me.
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 209 
 
 " I told her she ought to study the 
 newspapers," said Madame. And then, in 
 a kindly tone^" The musical Festival at 
 Kirkfence, child ; the great triennial 
 Festival. Surely you must have seen the 
 announcements, for weeks past, and that 
 Mr. Arkwright is to sing there." 
 
 "The Kirkfence Festival! And — are 
 we — I thought you said we were going to 
 Mrs. Reichardt's ? " 
 
 ''So we are — to-day," he said. " I have 
 to sing at Irkford to-morrow. On Friday 
 I have to sing at a town near there ; and 
 on Monday we all go together to my 
 father's, and stay over the Festival." 
 
 "And am I — going — too?" I asked, in 
 solemn, awe-struck tones. 
 
 " You — are — going — too," he said, with 
 a low bow, and an Imitation of my dramatic 
 tones. " Unless you very much object," 
 he added, more briskly. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 I sat down again, and clasped my hands, 
 and looked at them. They were both 
 smiling — generous, delightful smiles of 
 goodwill and kindness. 
 
 "She does not seem altogether to take 
 to the idea," said Felix. 
 
 '* It is too much — too much happiness ! " 
 I said gravely. " But I shall get accus- 
 tomed to it. I am ready, M. Felix." 
 
 '' Yes, It Is high time we were going," 
 he assented. *' You will pardon the 
 abruptness of the summons, Madame ? 
 I would really have called, If I could, to 
 explain." 
 
 She waved her hand graciously. ''You 
 have been very considerate, hitherto, in not 
 interrupting her studies," she said indul- 
 gently, and with the manner of one who, 
 while judging from a very lofty standard, is 
 still anxious to give credit where credit Is 
 due. '' I am not sorry for Ines to have the
 
 I GO FOR A HOLIDAY. 211 
 
 break. It will do her no harm, nor will 
 the change to the bracing air of the North 
 be bad for her." 
 
 He had been gradually retreating to- 
 wards the door, and now again said we 
 had only just time to catch the train ; 
 shook hands with Madame Pr6nat, and 
 went towards the stairs. 
 
 I bestowed one more embrace upon 
 Madame, who kissed me with unwonted 
 demonstration of affection, and hastily 
 whispered in my ear — • 
 
 '' All pleasure to you, dear child, but 
 don't let your excitement get the better of 
 you so. You look quite pale now. After 
 all, a musical festival is — a musical festival 
 — and nothing else." 
 
 '' And nothing else — that's just it," I 
 replied, as I rushed downstairs and to the 
 door, where I found the cab waiting, and 
 Felix standing by, looking impatient.
 
 212 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Euston Square — as quick as you 
 can go ! " he told the man ; ^ and I felt 
 that I had fairly begun my unexpected 
 holiday.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WITH LISA. 
 
 That was Indeed a most delightful journey 
 — that four hours and a half in the train 
 from London to Irkford. To my great 
 relief, the strange paralyzing sensation 
 which I had felt on first meeting M. Felix 
 did not return. Why I should have had 
 even a momentary feeling that he was in 
 some way changed, I could not tell. It 
 was ridiculous and unaccountable, I soon 
 told myself. Here he was, exactly the 
 same as ever, in the best of spirits, as I 
 soon became myself, so that we laughed 
 a great deal at all kinds of small and trivial 
 incidents on the way, or at the most feeble
 
 214 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 kind of jokes or remarks of our own or of 
 one another's. The newspapers and picture 
 papers which he had bountifully provided 
 remained unread. If he had feared that 
 we should need them to while away the 
 time, through lack of matter about which 
 to converse, he had evidently been mis- 
 taken. We talked without ceasing — or 
 rather I did, principally — during the entire 
 journey. My spirits had risen immensely. 
 My confidence in him was quite restored 
 — or perhaps I should say my confidence 
 in myself, — the conviction that it was all 
 right — that he was not bored with me or 
 my schoolgirl platitudes and experiences, 
 but appeared, on the contrary, to be deeply 
 interested in what I had to tell him about 
 my career at Madame Prenat's. In fact, 
 he put a good many shrewd questions to 
 me — questions which, if I had not been 
 really filled with a single-hearted enthu-
 
 WITH LISA. 215 
 
 slasni for my studies, I might have found 
 somewhat embarrassing. 
 
 ''After all," said I, at last, winding up 
 a prolonged account of my doings, '' I 
 enjoy the Sanskrit and Professor Wil- 
 loughby's lessons the most." 
 
 He looked at me with a curious expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "It seems an odd taste," he observed. 
 
 '' Why, do you object to it ? " I asked, 
 suddenly sitting up again, and looking at 
 him with some apprehension. • 
 
 ''Object! Not in the least, if you 
 
 enjoy it." 
 
 " Oh, I do. And Mr. Arkw right— your 
 father, you know," I added, with some 
 embarrassment—" I began Greek with 
 him— I did a good deal of Greek with 
 him. I liked it better than anything else 
 that we did. And he said I had some 
 aptitude— some 'scholarly capacity,' that
 
 2l6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 was what he called It. So, as I liked 
 these languages so much, and Madame 
 Prenat examined me in all I had learnt, 
 to see " 
 
 " Oh, it's quite right, Ines," he assured 
 me kindly. " I know Madame Prenat is 
 like that ; that she has a wonderful gift 
 for finding out people's best mental 
 capacities — so Mrs. Reichardt says, and 
 I believe her. And of course it is good 
 for the best faculties of the mind to be 
 trained. Go on with it all, as hard as you 
 like. We shall be having you a learned 
 young college donna^ if there can be such 
 a thing. It is a little beyond me, that's 
 all. Things of that kind always were." 
 
 " Monsieur Felix ! Beyond you ! " I 
 repeated, in solemn incredulity and indig- 
 nation. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 '' Yes, exactly — beyond me. So my
 
 WITH USA. 217 
 
 poor father discovered, and shook his head 
 sorrowfully over It. I remember his 
 telling me, when at last he had made up 
 his mind to it, and found that I had a 
 voice to sing with, but no powers for 
 Greek and mathematics — no senior 
 wrangler capacities — that God had given 
 and God took away. If It had pleased 
 Him to endow^ me with only a lower gift, 
 it was not for us to complain, but to make 
 the most of what had been bestowed. 
 And he was right." ♦ 
 
 Felix looked straight at me as he gave 
 me this information, and I could not in the 
 least discover whether he was speaking 
 seriously or sarcastically. I held my peace 
 and wished I had not said anything about 
 my own supposed " capacity " for philology 
 in general, and the Oriental tongues in 
 particular. 
 
 " I know it was the greatest comfort to
 
 2l8 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 him, to try his hand on your education," 
 he went on. "He found a congenial soil 
 in which to plant the seeds of his own 
 great learning — because, you know, he is 
 very learned. I don't suppose you will 
 find it all holiday at Lanehead. He will 
 want to see how you have been going on, 
 and to hear what you are going to do." 
 
 '' I will tell him everything he wants to 
 know. I wish I could ever do him credit," 
 said I, from my inmost heart. But I did 
 not feel quite so buoyant as before. That 
 little remark of Felix's, to the effect that 
 these, my favourite studies, were a '' little 
 beyond him," oppressed and afflicted me 
 to a certain extent. There was a little 
 silence, during which I reflected deeply on 
 this and kindred topics, and then summoned 
 up courage to ask — 
 
 '' You say you don't mind my going on 
 with these things. But suppose I worked
 
 WITH LISA. 219 
 
 very hard at them, and got really to under- 
 stand something about them — would you 
 then call me a blue-stocking, and think me 
 a horrid prig ? " 
 
 At first he looked amused, apparently 
 on the verge of laughing. Then, seeing 
 my intensely earnest expression and 
 anxious suspense, his look changed. 
 
 ''My dear child," said he, kindly, 
 " calling you a blue-stocking could do you 
 no harm. And prigs are like poets, born, 
 not made. No Sanskrit and no Greok 
 could make you into a prig, and no ignor- 
 ance of those things could prevent you 
 from being one if you had the makings of 
 one in you. But you are not a prig — you 
 won't be a prig, ever. We will not think 
 about it." 
 
 '' I am glad you say so," said I, and 
 there was another pause. His observa- 
 tions had given me comfort as regarded
 
 220 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 the prig and blue-stocking question. There 
 .was, however, another matter about which 
 I was anxious to be enh'ghtened. 
 
 " You are, then, going to sing at Kirk- 
 fence ? " I asked. 
 
 '' I am. Mademoiselle." 
 
 •' Every day ? " 
 
 " Every day ; generally twice a day." 
 
 '' And is Mrs. Relchardt going to all the 
 concerts ? But of course she Is." 
 
 " Yes, of course. Can you Imagine her 
 staying away from one, unless she were 
 too 111 to move ? " 
 
 He smiled blandly at me — would not 
 help me out — perhaps did not understand 
 that I wanted helping out. 
 
 '' You will never let me go anywhere 
 where you are singing," I said, feeling a 
 little afraid of coming to the point. " So 
 I suppose I shall stay at Lanehead with 
 Mr. Arkwrlght."
 
 WITH LISA. 22 1 
 
 ** I fully expect that Mr. Arkwright will 
 himself indulge in the dissipation of several 
 concerts — especially those at which I may 
 distinguish myself. But of course you can 
 stay at Lanehead if you like." 
 
 " You know what I mean," I exclaimed 
 almost sharply. '' Are you going to let 
 me go to any of the concerts, or not ? " 
 
 My dignity was offended. I wished to 
 look majestic ; I do not know what I 
 looked, but I felt as if I should burst into 
 tears very soon. Felix, on the contrar.y, 
 appeared greatly amused. 
 
 "Why do you offer one a premium to 
 tease you as much as possible ? " he asked, 
 laughing. " But I will explain, honour 
 bright. A great musical festival is not the 
 same thing as either an ordinary concert 
 or an opera. I wanted to give you a 
 holiday, and some pleasure, if I could. I 
 consulted Lisa, and she solemnly assured
 
 222 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 me that nothing would so effectually secure 
 both for you, as taking you to the Festival, 
 since you have a curious wish to hear me 
 sing — in public. So I thought that this 
 time you should, if you like and wish it, go 
 to all the concerts." 
 
 I sat and gazed at him. 
 
 ''To all — all the concerts.^ After I've 
 so often teased you to let me go, when 
 you said no . . . oh, you are good ! " I 
 said, quite brokenly, and turned aside 
 and looked out of the window. What a 
 happy girl I was ! Then I furtively drew 
 out my handkerchief to wipe away a tear 
 of joy, and was somewhat relieved to find 
 that he was standing up, and, with his 
 back towards me, was taking our small 
 packages from the netting ; for we were 
 now travelling swiftly through the smoke 
 of Irkford, though it was too dark to see 
 anything save masses of great buildings.
 
 WITH LISA. 223 
 
 and lines of twinkling street-lamps far 
 below. 
 
 ''There!" he observed, as he laid the 
 things down on the seat, and could not 
 avoid catching my eye. '' What a little 
 goose she is ! " he said gently. And 
 then — '' Your gratitude is extravagant, my 
 child. You must not make so much of it." 
 
 I made no reply. I had my own views 
 on the subject. There was no more con- 
 versation. The train glided swiftly into 
 one of the great Irkford stations, and then 
 half an hour's drive brought us, just after 
 eight o'clock, to Elisabeth's pleasant old 
 house, situated In one of the nearer suburbs 
 of the town. 
 
 That night I dreamed wildly of Sans- 
 krit and Greek, Budha and music, and 
 awoke in the morning with the convic- 
 tion that I was a thoroughly lucky and 
 enviable girl.
 
 2 24 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 And this conviction only grew stronger 
 as the delightful days flew by. We had 
 gone to Irkford on a Wednesday. On 
 the Thursday there was the '' Faust " 
 concert, at which I was present, In spite 
 of some objections urged by M. Felix. 
 Elisabeth combated them by an applica- 
 tion of the adage, "In for a penny, In for 
 a pound," and I maintained a discreet 
 silence, only too glad to have the chance 
 of going, and not wishing to spoil it by any 
 ill-timed interference on my own part. 
 
 On the Friday he sang again at a con- 
 cert in a neighbouring town. Elisabeth 
 and I were left to our own devices, and I 
 had the bliss of hearing full particulars 
 of the plans for our enjoyment at Kirk- 
 fence during the Festival week. So per- 
 fect and delightful did these arrangements 
 appear to me, that I could only draw deep 
 sighs of profound satisfaction as one detail
 
 WITH LISA. 225 
 
 after another of them was unfolded to 
 me. 
 
 I was sitting on a stool at Elisabeth's 
 feet, with my hands clasped round my 
 knees, and I remarked after a silence — 
 
 " I don't think there is any one living in 
 the world now, happier than I am. To 
 have a fortnight's holiday, — to go to the 
 Festival at Kirkfence — the musical Festival, 
 — to hear such things as Monsieur Felix 
 told me were going to be performed there, 
 and " • 
 
 '* But, Ines," she interposed, quietly but 
 suddenly, " I don't quite understand. You 
 don't care for music to that extent ? " 
 
 '' I love music," said I. '' It's like 
 nothing else, to me. But you mean I 
 cannot express myself in it. No — that is 
 true. I cannot, and it often makes me 
 sad when I realize it." 
 
 '' I did not mean that," she pursued, 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 In the same quiet, conversational tone. 
 " What I mean Is, that there are other 
 things you take more deHght In, as things. 
 You say you love music. But can you 
 imagine yourself attacking the difficulties 
 of music, and grappling with them, resolved 
 to overcome them for sheer love of the 
 thing, as you do the difficulties In your 
 philological studies — your Sanskrit and 
 Arabic roots, your ParsI grammars, and all 
 the rest of them ? Because, of course, 
 Madame Prenat keeps us acquainted with 
 your progress, and she speaks very highly 
 of your capacity for languages. You love 
 these difficulties — they are pleasant to you, 
 as my violin difficulties were to me when I 
 was practising six hours a day, or more." 
 
 '' No," said I, '' you are quite right — as 
 usual. I could spend the whole day over 
 those things — those roots and grammars, 
 and my beloved Max M tiller, — the more
 
 WITH LISA. 227 
 
 difficult It is, the more I love to grub It 
 out, and get to understand it, whether it 
 will or not. But It is quite true. When 
 I was studying music for a time, because 
 I thought he would hate anybody who 
 didn't understand It, my head ached, and 
 my heart too ; and after a couple of hours 
 of It I felt tired to death, simply. How 
 thankful I was one night, when he had 
 been dining at Madame Prenat's, and she 
 insisted on my playing after dinner. I 
 think she must have told him all about 
 It, for when I had done, she asked him If 
 he did not think I had progressed nicely ; 
 and he gave a peculiar look, and^ said, 
 ' Well, Ines, I am sure you have done 
 your best ; but if I were you, I wouldn't 
 bother with the piano any more.' I could 
 hardly believe It ; and then he said that 
 without any music at all I should be per- 
 fectly satisfactory, but with a small quantity
 
 2 28 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 of very bad music, I should be dreadful. 
 And he said I never need touch another 
 note^ so far as he was concerned. Yes, 
 I was thankful." 
 
 ** Exactly. Then why this extravagant 
 delight at the prospect of nearly a week of 
 nothing but music ? — because, you know, 
 we shall hear of very little else at Kirk- 
 fence. You won't have much chance for 
 your linguistic studies, except perhaps a 
 few hours with Mr. Arkwright." 
 
 *' It isn't only the music," I told her, 
 "though that is a great deal. Though I 
 cannot play, and cannot sing, and could 
 not tell when an orchestra made mistakes — 
 unless they were very bad, — and though I 
 know nothing about lights and shades, and 
 all that technical stuff, you know, yet those 
 great compositions made me feel as nothing 
 else can — oh, they are glorious ! But the 
 chief thing, the greatest thing, is that I
 
 WITH LISA. 229 
 
 am with you and Monsieur Felix ; you are 
 both so happy in these things, and then I 
 am the same.'* 
 
 **You are happy with both, or with 
 either ? " 
 
 '^ Yes." 
 
 " Equally happy ? " she asked me. She 
 was lying back in a low easy-chair, and I 
 held one of her hands in mine. She had 
 the most perfectly beautiful hands and 
 wrists I ever saw. I made no reply to the 
 question. '' Equally happy ? " she asked 
 again. 
 
 *' Don't ask me questions." 
 
 '* Yes ; that question I shall ask. I ask 
 it again, and you must answer it, Ines, my 
 child. Answer it before I tell you why 
 I ask it." 
 
 "Well, then, I must tell you the truth. 
 No, I'm not equally happy with either of 
 you. I love to be near you — I do love
 
 230 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 you" — I squeezed her hand; ''but I'm 
 happiest of all where he is." 
 
 "Why, I wonder?" 
 
 " Why ? I suppose I could give reasons ; 
 but I don't know that they would be the 
 true ones." 
 
 " You queer child ; what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, there is every reason why I 
 should love him better than any one else. 
 And yet, that is not why I do love him so 
 much, though I love him for that " 
 
 " You are getting involved," said she, as 
 quietly as if we had been engaged in dis- 
 cussing the relative merits of different 
 kinds of bonnet trimmings — as quietly as 
 if she had not known that we were on 
 dangerous ground. 
 
 " Not in my own mind. I am quite 
 clear and decided. You gave the reason 
 in that little German song you sang the 
 other day —
 
 WITH LISA. 231 
 
 " ' Und sprich, woher ist Liebe ? 
 Sie kommt, und sie ist da ! " 
 
 I don't know. I only know that it is so. 
 He has been so good to me that I would 
 die for him in a minute, and yet — I believe 
 I would die for him if he had not been so 
 good to me." 
 
 '' Oh, dear ! we are getting quite too 
 subtle in our distinctions," said Elisabeth, 
 suddenly. '' We'll turn to something more 
 commonplace. And yet, Ines," she went 
 on quickly, " you are right, quite right, to 
 feel happier with Felix than with any one 
 else. I don't want to dispute that. I 
 didn't want to make you say you cared as 
 much for me as for him. I'm glad your 
 heart is in the right place. But, darling, 
 you must never talk about these things so 
 openly, to any one but me — do you under- 
 stand ? " She passed her hand over my 
 head. I smiled as I took possession of it.
 
 232 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 '* I never wish to speak to any one but 
 you of them," said I. And then her 
 generous words seemed to sound again in 
 my ears — '' I didn't want to make you say 
 you cared as much for me as for him ; " and 
 the feeling which then rushed over my 
 heart sent a sob to my throat. 
 
 '' EHsabeth ! " I cried, kneehng at her 
 knee, and eagerly looking up into her face, 
 "what I cannot understand is why / 
 should be loved by two such people as 
 you and Monsieur Felix, or cared for by 
 you. What am I, to deserve it ? I know 
 you love me. You often say so — your 
 goodness shows It. I suppose men don't 
 go about saying they love people — like 
 me ; but he would not be so good to me 
 and give time, /lis time, and thought, and 
 care, to my stupid affairs. If he didn't care 
 for me a little bit. And why ? It frightens 
 me sometimes, when I think of it, and feel
 
 WITH LISA. 233 
 
 that I can do nothing, nothing for It, except 
 stand still and take It all." 
 
 ''Oh, you can, Ines! You can go on 
 loving us both. It all helps to make life 
 sweet — love does, of any kind. Perhaps 
 you are doing more than you know — 
 certainly for me — perhaps even for him, 
 by just being what you are. . . . And now, 
 we have talked sentiment enough. I will 
 ring for lights. I have ever so many 
 letters to write before post-time." 
 
 Felix returned very late that night fropi 
 the neighbouring town at which he had 
 been singing, and I did not see him again 
 until the following morning, when he came 
 down late for breakfast, hoping we had 
 not forgotten that we were to spend a 
 happy day in the country. 
 
 " We have not forgotten," said Elisabeth. 
 " What sort of a concert had you last 
 night ? "
 
 2 34 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, looking very- 
 cross. '' I detest that sort of thing," he 
 said. '' I did what I had to do, got away 
 as quickly as I could, and put the whole 
 thing out of my mind as speedily as 
 possible. A lot of dressed- up, vulgar 
 people, who don't care two pins for the 
 music, and don't understand a note of it, 
 but who have more money than they know 
 what to do with, and who go because your 
 humble servant is the fashion, and they 
 have to pay a high price for their tickets. 
 I didn't see one responsive face in the 
 whole crew." 
 
 " Wretches ! " I exclaimed emphatically. 
 
 Elisabeth laughed gently. " Poor Felix!" 
 said she. " Come, Ines, we must get ready 
 to go and see this wonderful young man 
 and his fiddle." 
 
 How we went to Moor Isles, what we 
 saw and did and heard there, has already
 
 WITH LISA. 235 
 
 been related. Except as a pleasant day, 
 spent with my two dearest friends, and 
 as an occasion on which I heard Felix 
 sing, as I loved to hear him — at his best, — 
 the visit did not make very much impres- 
 sion on my mind, though, afterwards, I 
 got into the habit of dating a good many 
 things as having happened before, or after, 
 '' that day at Moor Isles." I pass on to 
 what followed.
 
 36 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FESTIVAL. 
 
 The Sunday morning, the day after our 
 visit to Thornton-In-Ravenslde, was spent 
 In a desultory manner. I remember it 
 chiefly from the fact that Elisabeth played 
 for Felix the accompaniment of a new and 
 very difficult song, which he was to sing 
 at the Festival, by some one whom they 
 both called "poor Hopkinson," the singing 
 of which song was to make or to mar him. 
 " I do hope It will make him, Felix," 
 she said, pausing. '' He Is a true musician, 
 and I wonder you aren't a little bit afraid 
 of standing up with ' Thou who hast slept 
 all night upon the storm,' when you reflect
 
 FESTIVAL. 237 
 
 upon his anxiety, and remember how fickle 
 these audiences are. Suppose they just 
 take it into their heads to dIsHke it, or, 
 worse still, to be profoundly indifferent to 
 it?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. '' If Hop- 
 kinson is anxious, all the more reason why 
 I should not give way to any such feeling. 
 I mean to do my best for him — I can no 
 more." 
 
 *' No, that's true," said she ; and as they 
 tried It over, I realized that It would 
 probably be either a great success or a 
 great failure. It was unlike anything I 
 had ever heard before. 
 
 In the evening Elisabeth took us to 
 her People's Recreation Hall, where she 
 fiddled and Felix sang, and thereby a 
 great many people were put Into high 
 orood humour with themselves and each 
 other.
 
 238 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 On the following morning, the Monday, 
 we started for Kirkfence, and early in the 
 afternoon arrived at Lanehead, a rambling 
 old stone house, situated in one corner of 
 the great park belonging to Lord Urmston, 
 whose wonderful library was in the care of 
 Felix's father, old Mr. Arkwright. It was 
 a sweet spot, with a garden opening at 
 one side into delightful rough wood and 
 moorish grass ; while from the front win- 
 dows there was a noble view, commanding 
 distant Wharfedale hills — the sentinels, as 
 it were, which kept guard at the entrance 
 of the enchanted land of moor and fell, 
 castle and abbey, wood and rushing water- 
 fall, which to some partial minds are 
 covered by those two little words, '' the 
 North." 
 
 I had my wish, and went to all the 
 concerts — there were seven of them — and 
 heard Felix sing at most of them. When
 
 FESTIVAL. 239 
 
 he was not singing, he occupied a place 
 between Elisabeth and me, and listened to 
 the others. 
 
 Though I look back upon that time 
 with pleasure, and with a sense that 
 pleasure and not pain predominated in it, 
 yet the two incidents which stand out in 
 my mind as chiefly connected with it all 
 are painful — more painful than pleasurable, 
 that is. 
 
 The first of these incidents took place 
 on the Friday morning, the third day of 
 the Festival. This morning had been 
 devoted to the bringing out of a new work 
 by a popular composer, to the production 
 of which four of the greatest singers of the 
 day had devoted their best efibrts — two 
 ladies, one a world-renowned soprano, and 
 the other a scarcely less celebrated con- 
 tralto ; a tenor, the tenor, if there was one, 
 and Felix Arkwright. The baritone part
 
 240 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 happened to be the most important one of 
 all. Felix had created it, and had surpassed 
 himself, so they all said. I sat and listened ; 
 even I could understand that the work, if 
 not on a par with those of Beethoven, 
 Schumann, or Handel, was still a far from 
 ordinary composition. That was a life — 
 something like a life to live, I decided, as 
 I watched the rapt attention with which 
 they listened to his production of the new 
 and striking music : to be able to stand 
 up, one single man before all that vast 
 concourse of people, looking for all the 
 world like one of themselves — no better, 
 no worse, — not as good, many of them 
 probably thought, for there were proud 
 people present, high up in the ranks of 
 society and of wealth. But one and all, 
 when he stood up and took his part, and 
 sang before them, became as nothing, so 
 it seemed to me. He had the key of a
 
 FESTIVAL. 241 
 
 portal leading into another world ; not only 
 had he that key — some of them, perhaps, 
 had as much as that — but when he had 
 passed that portal, thrown it open, as it 
 were, and invited us to enter with him, he 
 was clearly perceived to be one of the 
 great princes of that world, ruling by 
 divine right — an artist, one of the kings of 
 art. 
 
 Elisabeth and I sat rather near the 
 front that morning — too near to hear per- 
 fectly well, but not too near for great 
 enjoyment ; we were, in fact, on the front 
 row of the regular reserved seats. But 
 so many places had been applied for by 
 persons coming after the concerts had 
 begun, and by strangers passing through 
 the town, that the committee had caused 
 chairs to be placed here and there in the 
 pretty wide space which lay between the 
 orchestra and this first row of reserved 
 
 VOL. I. 16 .
 
 242 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 seats, and these were all occupied, to the 
 number of fifty or sixty. 
 
 Elisabeth was fully occupied with her 
 copy of the music, following the work in 
 its completeness, both orchestral and vocal. 
 She took no notice of what passed around 
 her, save to look up now and then with a 
 smile of pleasure at some particularly good 
 effort of orchestra, chorus, or soloists. For 
 my part, I had declined her offer to let me 
 look over the music with her ; I was quite 
 content to sit there, in a delightful, blissful 
 dream, seeing vaguely the great hall ; 
 dimly conscious of the mass of people 
 behind us ; carelessly watching, almost 
 without knowing that I did so, the ex- 
 quisite and elaborate morning toilettes 
 and gorgeous bonnets of the two lady- 
 soloists — but turning aside every now and 
 then to give a glance at Felix, and to 
 think how very good he had been to pro- 
 cure me this pleasure.
 
 FESTIVAL. 243 
 
 He sat next to Madame Reuter, the 
 great contralto and celebrated beauty ; 
 renowned, too, for her love of good com- 
 pany, her ready wit and social powers. I 
 did not feel quite at ease, somehow, as 
 I saw her bend a little towards him, raising 
 her music before her face, and tell him 
 something — in the nature of a joke, appa- 
 rently, for her handsome shoulders shook 
 violently, and her face, when it emerged 
 frgm behind her music, was red ; a look of 
 mirth was on it still ; she lifted her lace 
 handkerchief and wiped tears of enjoyment 
 and amusement from her long dark eyes. 
 He turned to her, surprised, attentive, and 
 amused also, it would seem, when he 
 understood what it was all about. He too 
 laughed, with great enjoyment — not behind 
 his music, but openly, heartily, though of 
 course silently. She looked at him, with 
 her head a little thrown back, and a sort
 
 244 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 of expression that appeared to say, '* Now, 
 did you ever hear anything Hke that ? " 
 And he laughed again, whereupon Madame 
 Reuter appeared almost overcome by her 
 feelings of merriment, and they both 
 seemed to be having rather a good time of 
 it. She turned her fine eyes to him, and 
 flashed her dazzling smile upon him — so it 
 seemed to me ; and I did not like it — no, 
 I did not like it, though what business of 
 mine it was, was more than I could have 
 said. Why should he not enjoy good 
 company ? And Madame Reuter was 
 reported to be particularly good company. 
 Tired of watching this (to me) displeas- 
 ing scene, I turned my eyes resolutely 
 away, and cast them first upon my own 
 long gray suede gloves, which I was wear- 
 ing with a rather recherchee toilette, one 
 chosen a short time ago by Madame 
 Prenat with considerable care, and ap-
 
 FESTIVAL. 245 
 
 proved of by Elisabeth as the very thing 
 to wear at the morning concerts. It was, 
 I remember, all gray — composed of thick 
 soft silk, and some fine thin woollen stuff 
 mixed with it, which fell in soft folds ; 
 and with this went a hat of white and 
 gray with many soft, plumy feathers. 
 There was no hue brighter than gray 
 in all the costume, and Elisabeth had 
 laughingly said, '' Ines Grey,'' and patted 
 my shoulder before we had set off In 
 my hand, I recollect, was a black fan, 
 and this fan I furled and unfurled, and 
 tried to keep my eyes from again, with 
 anxious curiosity, seeking Felix and 
 Madame Reuter. 
 
 Looking up at last, in a desperate effort 
 to find some counter-attraction, my own 
 eyes were encountered by another pair — 
 a pair belonging to a young man with a 
 pale, handsome, clean-shaven face, and
 
 246 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 a very grave, responsible expression. 
 Next to him sat a young girl, and beyond 
 her an old gentleman with a ruddy counte- 
 nance and white hair, a high nose, and a 
 determined expression. They formed one 
 party, and occupied some of the extra 
 chairs I have spoken of. Seemingly they 
 were only casual visitors — the men were 
 both in somewhat easy-going garments, 
 and the o^irl, who resembled the old o^entle- 
 man, and had scarcely any of the distinc- 
 tion of the younger one, wore a travelling 
 costume of gray tweed made with severe 
 plainness, high starched white linen collar 
 and cuffs, and a little gray toque of cloth 
 and silk crowning her thick flaxen hair. 
 She was not looking at me, but it was at 
 her that I looked, with critical indifference. 
 Her round, good-humoured, rosy face was, 
 I decided, far from intellectual. It was 
 set into an expression of highly proper
 
 FESTIVAL. 247 
 
 and Intense want of interest in the music, 
 the people, and the proceedings in general. 
 She looked straight before her ; quite 
 serious, quite modest ; quite and entirely- 
 uninteresting. I hardly knew why I 
 watched her, or her party. Gradually, 
 however, a peculiar sensation took posses- 
 sion of me. I felt as if I had somehow 
 got outside my own body, and was gazing 
 at it from a little distance. She was not 
 like me, nor I like her, I knew. I had 
 not that round face, nor those rosy cheeks ; 
 my hair had none of that flaxen tinge ; it 
 was, as I often regretfully confessed to 
 myself, of a dull bronzy hue. The only 
 point in which any resemblance between 
 us existed was in the- eyes. She had not 
 the pale blue eyes that might have been 
 expected to go with that hair and com- 
 plexion, but fine, rather dark gray ones. 
 I also had rather dark gray eyes. I could
 
 248 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 see them In my glass, and Felix sometimes 
 called me '' Gray-Eyes." They were very 
 like hers. And as mine once more met 
 those of the young man, I saw, startled, 
 that his also were gray — just the same 
 kind and colour. They were, then, brother 
 and sister. They were so young that 
 the old squire, or whatever he was, looked 
 too old to be their father — probably their 
 grandfather, I decided. 
 
 And at this juncture there was a slight 
 pause. The chorus, which, almost without 
 my knowing it, had been singing loud and 
 long, rustled gently down Into their places, 
 and Felix stood up. I forgot the party of 
 strangers, and looked at him again, as he 
 rose, with a slight smile still on his face ; 
 and his eyes too fell upon the strangers. 
 The smile faded instantly — a curious ex- 
 pression came over his face — it seemed to 
 grow a little hard. Then another kind of
 
 FESTIVAL. 249 
 
 smile, not an altogether pleasant smile, 
 crossed it. Then, from the strangers, he 
 looked directly at me, caught my wide- 
 open eyes eagerly scrutinizing him, all at 
 once seemed to remember himself, gave 
 me a nod and a friendly look, and then, 
 losing sight of us all, turned to the con- 
 ductor, with his eyes fixed upon his baton, 
 and in another moment there came the 
 notes of a maraificent aria in the new 
 "Jason" composition — a composition 
 founded on the words of a well-known 
 living poet — 
 
 " O Death, that makest Life so sweet ; 
 O Fear, with mirth before thy feet ! 
 What have ye yet in store for us, 
 The conquerors, the glorious ? " 
 
 It was superb, I felt, as I listened with 
 
 rapture to the ever-recurring strain — 
 
 *' What have ye yet in store for us — for us — in store 
 for us?" 
 
 I, too, forgot it all — all the people, the
 
 250 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 place, the time, and everything else, In 
 listening. The scena, of which this was 
 the first part, was a rather long one. 
 Madame Renter had to take a part In It. 
 They sang divinely together, these two 
 great artists — sang in a style to make us 
 all forget time and place, and whether It 
 was night or day, and all our outside 
 Interests and passions and concerns, and 
 to think and feel only of and with them 
 and the great tragedy that they unfolded 
 to us. With the end of their duet came 
 also the end of the first part of the con- 
 cert. It was a long and trying piece of 
 work, and when It was over, there came 
 a pause of half an hour for rest and 
 refreshment. Every one rose, rustled and 
 bustled about. Chorus and Instrumentalists 
 fled, after the prolonged applause was 
 over ; the great orchestra, lately so 
 crowded with life, now lay revealed.
 
 FESTIVAL. 251 
 
 empty, save for the scattered desks and 
 silent Instruments. 
 
 I sat where I was, dreaming, and won- 
 dering what It all meant — If It were really 
 all summed up In the words of Felix's 
 opening song, '' O Death, that makest Life 
 so sweet ! " I did not think It was death 
 that made life so sweet, but just life Itself, 
 strong and full, brimming over with eager- 
 ness and interest. I could not believe 
 that it would ever end, this continuous, 
 undulating sea of music and melody, and 
 of the grandest Ideas and emotions. And, 
 filled with these thoughts, I leaned forward, 
 with my chin on my hand, and slowly 
 opened and shut my fan as I meditated. 
 I was roused by a touch on my shoulder — 
 
 '' Ines ! " 
 
 I looked up, startled, and confronted 
 Felix ; he was looking at me, and his hand 
 was on my shoulder.
 
 252 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 '' Yes ?" I said. 
 
 '* I see you are in a brown study, or a 
 blue dream, or something of the kind ; but 
 just pull yourself together, my child, and 
 take my arm, and come with me for two 
 minutes. I want you." 
 
 I rose, looking at him, I dare say, with 
 tragic solemnity of aspect, for he laughed 
 and said he had no evil designs of any 
 kind ; he wanted to introduce me to some 
 friends — with great emphasis. 
 
 Elisabeth looked at us also, in inquiring 
 surprise. He apologized for leaving her, 
 but said he would speedily return. And 
 then he drew my hand through his arm, 
 and I mechanically walked on by his side, 
 gathering in the fact that he was a little 
 bit excited himself, for he had become 
 slightly paler than usual, though he was 
 perfectly quiet and self-possessed. 
 
 It was not far that he led me ; up to the
 
 FESTIVAL. 253 
 
 old gentleman, the young gentleman, and 
 the girl, whom I had already been ob- 
 serving. The two young people were 
 standing up, looking about them ; the old 
 man remained seated. The brother and 
 sister, I saw, watched us as we approached 
 them ; the girl with mild curiosity, the 
 young man with greater Interest. And as 
 we drew nearer, the old gentleman, turning 
 his head, caught sight of us also ; his eyes 
 remained fixed upon Felix, and a deep 
 purple flush spread all over his face. He 
 looked angry, embarrassed, annoyed in the 
 extreme, but not surprised. He half rose, 
 as if driven from his position by some 
 sudden blow — than sat down again. His 
 eyes dilated, became round and angry, 
 and glared upon us, so it seemed to me, 
 as we approached. I could not help 
 glancing once more towards Felix. He 
 was smiling slightly ; his good-humoured
 
 2 54 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 provoking expression had again come over 
 his face. We now stood close to this 
 group of three. FeHx, looking directly at 
 the old man, bowed to him, and addressed 
 him, and I listened. 
 
 *' It is at least ten years, Mr. Grey, since 
 I had the honour of meeting you, and 
 though I have not forgotten you in the 
 least, I may have to recall myself to your 
 recollection — — " 
 
 ''Not at all," was the reply, after a 
 pause, during which he seemed to struggle 
 with himself, and then decide to brave it 
 — whatever "it" might be — out. ''Re- 
 member it perfectly. Did not know you 
 were to be here. I don't know much 
 about these things ; we heard there was a 
 festival going on here, and my grand- 
 daughter wished to hear some of this new 
 music, and " 
 
 "Yes!" smiled Felix, in his most amiable
 
 FESTIVAL. 255 
 
 tones ; while I felt myself growing rigid, 
 partly from surprise, partly from dismay, 
 as the facts of the situation suddenly flashed 
 into my mind. Felix had never made any 
 concealment about my relations, and the 
 fact that when they had refused to receive 
 me, he had, after returning to England 
 from Paris, sought an interview with Mr. 
 Grey, and said he wished to adopt me, 
 and Mr. Grey had sullenly said he might 
 do as he pleased in the matter — that, for 
 his part, he thought the school he had 
 proposed was provision enough for me. 
 This, I realized, was my grandfather, as 
 well as that flaxen-haired girl's — she and 
 the youth were my cousins — the children 
 of my father's elder brother. I had heard 
 of them vaguely. I had been far too 
 happy and satisfied with my lot as it was, 
 ever to speculate with any interest or 
 curiosity about them. The scene appeared
 
 256 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 to be a revelation to them, as well as to 
 me. They gazed at Felix with open-eyed 
 astonishment, and turned to their grand- 
 father, as if asking for an explanation. 
 
 " I hope the new music has not dis- 
 pleased Miss Grey," Felix went on 
 blandly ; and as my hand began to tremble, 
 and he felt it on his arm, he drew it a little 
 more firmly through his, glanced kindly at 
 me, and went on — 
 
 " Judging from the only member of your 
 family with whom I am intimately ac- 
 quainted, I should think that music is not 
 very much in their line. This young lady, 
 at least, has little knowledge of it." 
 
 I was breathless — I felt as if things 
 would soon begin to swim round me, but 
 I recollected Felix's words, " Pull yourself 
 together," and I did so, and met the un- 
 willing, angry eyes of the old gentleman 
 Vv^ith a steady, unflinching gaze.
 
 FESTIVAL. 257 
 
 "■ Let me present her to you ! " Felix 
 went on, still smiling. '' This is your 
 granddaughter, Ines Grey — and I may 
 take the same opportunity of thanking 
 you for not refusing to leave her in my 
 charge ten years ago. The trust has made 
 me a happier man ; it has given joy to 
 others as well as to me, and I don't think 
 she has been a very unhappy girl — have 
 you, Ines ? " He laid his hand upon mine, 
 and looked down at me with the kindest of 
 smiles. I felt that so far I had betrayed 
 no outward emotion — inwardly I was 
 tremblinof like a leaf in the wind. I 
 clasped my other hand tightly over his, 
 and said, somehow, my own voice sounding 
 strange to me as I heard it — 
 
 " You know I have never had an un- 
 happy hour — thanks to you." 
 
 I stopped ; if I had tried to say another 
 word, I should have burst into a storm of 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 nervous weeping. I clung- to his arm and 
 was silent. 
 
 '' Ines is a truth-telling person. I never 
 knew her to utter the shadow of a false- 
 hood," said Felix, pleasantly. " It may 
 gratify you to know for yourself that she 
 is not unhappy — it 77tay. I always impute 
 the best motives, in dealing with others. 
 But I see this encounter has been a little 
 too much for her — too much of a surprise, 
 so I will take her away again. Good- 
 day. I am delighted to have renewed our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 He was turning, to my intense thank- 
 fulness. I managed to make some kind 
 of an inclination of my head, and to feel 
 a sense of profound relief that it was all 
 over ; when the young gentleman, who 
 had been watching the proceedings with 
 the most lively interest, spoke to Felix. 
 
 '' Pardon me an instant. I think, sir "
 
 FESTIVAL. 259 
 
 — turning to his grandfather — "it is only 
 fair that you should allow us to make our 
 cousin's acquaintance, and you might 
 explain the circumstances to us afterwards. 
 At any rate, I shall feel much hurt if I am 
 forbidden to do this." 
 
 There was a pause. The scene was 
 becominor unbearable to me. At last Mr. 
 Grey, with a mighty effort, said — 
 
 ''If you wish it, Maurice. As you say, 
 I can explain later. This young lady is 
 your cousin, Miss — Miss " 
 
 " Ines," observed Felix, obligingly. 
 
 '' Miss Ines Grey. And this," he added, 
 turning to me, *' is my grandson, Maurice 
 Grey — and his sister, Maud." 
 
 Maud Grey looked at me, not with 
 much emotion of any kind, it seemed to 
 me. Inasmuch as there was something 
 irregular in the scene, she disapproved of 
 it ; otherwise it concerned her but little.
 
 26o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 She inclined her head sHghtly to me, 
 without speaking, and drew nearer to her 
 grandfather. Maurice, with a smile of 
 great sweetness, which wonderfully lighted 
 up his pale face, held out his hand. 
 
 '' Will you shake hands with me, Cousin 
 Ines ? " he asked. 
 
 I looked speechlessly at Felix, who sur- 
 veyed the young fellow with an expression 
 of great goodwill, and laughed a little as 
 he said — 
 
 *' Why do you hesitate, child ? " And I 
 at once put out my hand, but silently. 
 
 " I only knew vaguely that I had a 
 cousin somewhere," said the young man, 
 very seriously. '' This is not a time for 
 going into explanations, but, if I am 
 allowed, I shall have the honour of making 
 your further acquaintance, and that of 
 Mr. Felix also." 
 
 ** That will give me great pleasure," said
 
 FESTIVAL. 261 
 
 Felix, as he took out his card-case. '' That 
 is my club. I shall be delighted either to 
 see or to hear from you there. Ines, you 
 have had enough. We will go back to 
 Mrs. Reichardt." 
 
 With a bow, and a general " good 
 morning," he this time effectually led me 
 away, and back to Elisabeth's side. The 
 whole scene had been played out in less 
 than ten minutes. I felt as if it had taken 
 a year. I sat down, and Felix stood 
 before us, looking at both Elisabeth and 
 me. 
 
 "You were a good girl, Ines," said he, 
 " very good. I could not have wished 
 you to behave better. Don't worry about 
 it. It s all right. Don't think about them 
 again." 
 
 I was speechless. A fear had entered 
 my heart. He went on to Elisabeth, with 
 an amused laugh —
 
 262 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 *' I happened to catch sight of this 
 child's affectionate and soHcitous relatives, 
 and I could not resist taking the oppor- 
 tunity of showing her to them — especially 
 to him. Bless my life ! It has been too 
 much for him — they are going ; he and 
 the demoiselle — the girl In gray, Lisa, — 
 she and Ines seem to have a similar taste 
 in colours," he laughed again. " The 
 youngster remains. He has designs upon 
 our further acquaintance. I beg your 
 pardon, sir ? " he added, discovering that 
 his father was saying something to him. 
 For my part, I had drawn close to Mr. 
 Arkwright's side, and clasped my hands 
 over his arm. 
 
 '' I hope, Felix," said he to his son, 
 '' that you have not been Inflicting need- 
 less pain on any one. Ines looks none 
 the happier for this scene that you have 
 put her through."
 
 FESTIVAL. 263 
 
 ''It is all right," I whispered hastily, 
 and Felix smiled. 
 
 " Pain ! " he repeated. '' What pain 
 could be connected with the fact of a grand- 
 father making the acquaintance of our Ines ? 
 It ought to be pleasure unmixed." 
 
 ''Ought to be, perhaps," said his father ; 
 and Elisabeth, though smiling, shook her 
 head a little. 
 
 " If you are all going to censure me," 
 said Felix, " I had better withdraw ; and, 
 indeed, I can't stay any longer. But aren't 
 any of you going to have anything — no 
 wine, or biscuits, or sandwiches ? " 
 
 We all declined, and he then said again 
 that he would withdraw himself from our 
 disapproving glances. 
 
 "No one is disapproving," I interposed, 
 in a loud whisper. "It is all right. I 
 said so before ; and I shall be all right, 
 too. in a minute."
 
 264 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Of course !" he said, and went away. 
 
 I steadily averted my eyes from the 
 direction of those three chairs, though I 
 knew that two of them were now empty. 
 I would not look. I did not wish ever 
 again to see the people who had occupied 
 them. But I was vividly conscious that 
 the young man, Maurice Grey, who was, 
 it seemed, my cousin, and wished to make 
 my further acquaintance, remained in his 
 place, and, without looking at him, I was 
 aware that he looked frequently at me. 
 But when the concert was over, and we 
 left the hall, he did not again accost us. 
 We went away at once, driving out to 
 Lanehead, to take lunch and rest, before 
 going down again to the evening perform- 
 ance. 
 
 It was this evening that Felix was to 
 sing the song which had been composed 
 by *'poor Hopkinson," as he and Elisabeth
 
 FESTIVAL. 265 
 
 always called this young composer. They 
 had discussed it so much that I had grown 
 deeply interested in it all myself, and had 
 almost forgotten my unwelcome relatives 
 in the excitement of expectation, when we 
 went down again in the evening. '' Poor 
 Hopkinson " was somewhere in the hall, it 
 was understood. As we took our places my 
 eyes fell once more upon those three chairs. 
 I began to remember again. But the 
 persons who had sat in them that morning 
 were not there in the evening. The chairs 
 were occupied by three men ; one, by his 
 wild appearance, dishevelled hair, and not 
 too dazzlingly white linen, an aesthetic 
 critic ; the second, a youngish-looking man 
 with laughing eyes and a nearly bald head, 
 who had a small drawing-book, and was 
 evidently taking views of the chorus and 
 some of the soloists. Felix seemed to 
 know him ; he caught his eye and nodded
 
 266 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 to him, whereupon he promptly began to 
 take FeHx's portrait, while some of the 
 young ladies of the chorus giggled, as 
 young ladies sometimes will, with small 
 reason. The third man was a natty-looking 
 little Roman Catholic priest, who had the 
 score of the music that was being sung, 
 and who appeared to appreciate it all 
 thoroughly, and sat with his eyes half 
 closed, drinking it in, but who woke up 
 thoroughly when at length the last number 
 of the first part of the concert was reached, 
 and Felix stood up to sing a song, entitled 
 in the programme, " The Man-of-War 
 Bird." 
 
 There was a little stir and bustle. The 
 programmes rustled about ; murmurs were 
 heard. " Man-of-War Bird — Whitman, 
 Hopkinson, — who is Whitman ? " (This, 
 it must be remembered, is a good many 
 years ago.) '' Who is Hopkinson '^. Hop-
 
 FESTIVAL. 267 
 
 kinson — oh ! don't you know ? He has 
 done some good things, but no one knows 
 anything about them. Might as well have 
 done nothing at all. Well, let s hear this. 
 I wonder what it is ? " 
 
 " If only it isn't too intellectual for 
 them ! " Elisabeth said in my ear, with 
 something like a groan. '' That's all I am 
 afraid of. You know, after all, they are 
 not intellectual, for all their ra,vings about 
 classical composers. I shall not look at 
 him, Ines. He really means this, and I 
 don't want to disturb him." 
 
 I nodded. I was of the same mind. 
 The song was accompanied by the full 
 orchestra. Some strange phrases and 
 modulations, which instantly took my 
 fancy, were heard, and then Felix sang 
 this song — 
 
 " Thou who hast slept all night upon the storm, 
 Waking renewed on thy prodigious pinions,
 
 268 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 (Burst the wild storm ? above it thou ascendedst, 
 And rested on the sky, thy slave, that cradled thee,) 
 Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating. 
 As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee, 
 (Myself a speck, a point in the world's floating vast). 
 
 " Far, far at sea, 
 After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore 
 
 with wrecks, 
 With reappearing day as now so happy and serene, 
 The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun, 
 The hmpid spread of air cerulean. 
 Thou also reappearest. 
 
 " Thou born to match the gale (thou art all wings), 
 To cope with heaven and earth and sea and 
 
 hurricane, 
 Thou ship of air, that never furl'st thy sails. 
 Days, and even weeks untired and onward, through 
 
 spaces, realms gyrating, 
 At dusk thou lookst on Senegal, at morn, America, 
 That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder- 
 cloud. 
 In them, in thy experiences, hadst thou my soul, 
 What joys ! what joys were thine ! " 
 
 He ceased to sing, and I was sure that 
 Elisabeth was looking and feeling anxious 
 as to the verdict of the public, for whom
 
 FESTIVAL. 269 
 
 she had hoped It might not be too in- 
 tellectual. Fortunately, we had not very 
 long to wait for the said verdict. It 
 certainly was intellectual music, but per- 
 haps It had in it also the mysterious quality 
 which constitutes popularity, whatever that 
 may be. Perhaps the audience were dis- 
 posed to refuse no favour to their present 
 supreme favourite, Felix Arkwright. So 
 far, he had carried everything before him. 
 
 He did so once again. There was a 
 momentary pause ; a terrible one to Elisa- 
 beth and me, and perhaps to '* poor 
 Hopklnson " also. Then the applause 
 burst out ; It was loud, long, and persistent, 
 and Felix made no ado about yielding to 
 the cries for a repetition of the scng. He 
 sang It again, rather better than before — 
 there was a perfect fury of delight and 
 applause ; and loud cries for the composer, 
 who at last did emerge from his corner,
 
 270 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and confront the now vociferous and 
 delighted crowd. And he also shook 
 hands with the singer, with a look I shall 
 never forget. It was the end of the 
 Friday's concerts, and '' poor Hopkinson's " 
 reputation as a composer of songs was 
 made. We departed, rejoicing.
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN THE WOOD. 
 
 We departed, rejoicing, as I say, but not 
 together. Old Mr. Arkwrlght and I went 
 back to Lanehead, in company ; Felix and 
 Elisabeth were both bidden to a supper- 
 party, given by a common friend, who was 
 that night entertaining a large number of 
 the artists who had sung or played. We 
 arrived at the quiet old house, said good 
 night, and went to our respective rooms. 
 I fell asleep very soon after I had gone to 
 bed, and had not the faintest idea at what 
 hour the other two returned. But, though 
 I fell asleep soon, as one may, very often, 
 even in a state of high nervous excitement,
 
 2/2 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Still, the excitement was there — the excite- 
 ment arising from a combination of great 
 and long-sustained enjoyment and pleasur- 
 able emotions produced by the noble music, 
 and the fear and subtle pain and apprehen- 
 sion mixed with it, contributed by the 
 episode of the morning — the discovery of 
 my, to me, most unwelcome relations ; the 
 recollection of Maurice Grey's look, which 
 seemed to tell me that he, at any rate, did 
 not consider the matter at an end. All 
 these things were still in my mind, and 
 began to agitate my brain the Instant I 
 opened my eyes In the morning. I had 
 slept for a good many hours, and woke 
 very wide awake indeed. As soon as I 
 was conscious, I knew that sleep had quite 
 fled. I lay still for a little while, my hands 
 clasped behind my head, my eyes fixed on 
 the dimly visible ceiling of my old-fashioned 
 bedroom, with the long beam running
 
 IN THE WOOD. 273 
 
 across the roof. It must be very early in 
 the morning. By-and-by the Hght grew 
 stronger, and presently I heard a clock 
 strike six. Then a gleam of sunlight crept 
 through the blinds, and played upon the 
 wall and ceiling. Then I heard the stealthy 
 step of the matutinal housemaid creep 
 downstairs, and presently distant sounds 
 as of grates poked out, pails carried about, 
 and other household noises. I closed my 
 eyes again, with the reflection of the sun- 
 beam still in them, and almost immediately 
 
 • 
 
 there arose in my brain the distinctly visible 
 picture, with all its details complete, of a 
 woodland glade, the trees of which were 
 covered with fiery autumn tints : the grass 
 of it was soft, fine, and short. Banks of 
 fern, bracken, and autumn gorse spread 
 away into remoter glades, and I saw myself 
 standing beside a silent, dark-looking pool, 
 part of whose surface was diversified with 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 2 74 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 brilliant green slime and weeds. This 
 picture was vivid enough ; so vivid that 
 with a smile I opened my eyes ; said half- 
 aloud to myself, " The very thing — just a 
 little surprise for them at breakfast," and, 
 unclasping my hands, I promptly arose, 
 pulled up the blind, and looked forth on a 
 glorious dry October morning, precursor 
 of an equally glorious day. There had 
 been frost in the night ; it lingered yet on 
 the grass and on the leaves of the autumn 
 trees, but the sky overhead was of a 
 magnificent deep blue, and from the 
 meadows and hillocks all around the mist 
 was rolling away in soft, silvery wreaths. 
 
 I felt so strong, so happy, so capable of 
 going through life with credit and renown, 
 and of not yielding to adverse circum- 
 stances ; it w^as a glorious, comforting mood 
 to awaken in. I dressed as speedily as 
 might be, put on a little fur-trimmed
 
 IN THE WOOD. 275 
 
 cap, seized my warm plaid, opened my 
 door softly, and as softly stole downstairs. 
 Sometimes old Mr. Arkwrlght rose early 
 and took a morning walk. I hoped I was 
 beforehand with him on this occasion, and 
 it seemed that I was. Perhaps he was 
 tired with the unwonted excitement of the 
 past few days, and had slept later than 
 usual. All the life I saw was in the form 
 of Mary the housemaid, who, with broom 
 and pails, was just coming through the 
 hall, with the obvious intention of cleaning 
 the steps. 
 
 " Lawk, Miss Grey ! " she observed, 
 
 seemg me. 
 
 " Open the door, Mary, as quietly as 
 possible. I am going for a walk before 
 breakfast. And if any of the others come 
 down, do not say that you saw me." 
 
 In another moment I was out, in the 
 delicious sharp morning air, the gravel of
 
 276 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 the drive crunching frostily under my feet. 
 It was not very far to the spot I wanted 
 to reach. A ten minutes' walk through a 
 field, rough and moorish, brought me to 
 the gate leading into the woodland I had 
 dreamed of; and here it was, even more 
 beautiful than my dream of it. Such 
 handiwork of nature ; such forms, such 
 tints, such traceries — such lights and 
 shades, melting into and out of the dim 
 blue mist and into the sunshiny spots ! I 
 knew it well, and felt happy and at home 
 there. London — the gray square, the 
 dim-looking house, the outlook upon build- 
 ings and streets — Madame Pr^nat and my 
 professors, all seemed very far away, and 
 belonging to another world. 
 
 The wild flowers were over — all but a 
 few autumn yellows and reds, but there 
 was this endless variety of beautiful leaves 
 and twigs, grass and mosses, fading ferns,
 
 IN THE WOOD. 277 
 
 delicate tendrils — and the pond, just as I 
 had expected it to be ; I knew it from 
 many an old holiday ramble — many an 
 hour's rest by its banks on sunny days, 
 when the coolness of the wood had been 
 grateful. It was still and dark where the 
 water showed ; brightly green and yellow 
 where it was grown over with slime and 
 weeds. The pond, somehow, was not as 
 delightful as when I had last seen it ; the 
 rest of the surroundings were, if anything, 
 more so. 
 
 I had wandered about the glade for 
 some little time, picking here a leaf and 
 there a twig; when suddenly, at a little 
 distance in the wood, I perceived a treasure 
 — a cluster of harebells, and not far away 
 a few late tufts of heather. With a joyful 
 exclamation, I made for them, gathered 
 the flowers till not one was left, and then 
 turned in search of fresh plunder.
 
 278 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " Well ! " said a voice behind me. '' So 
 you are here, after all, though I could 
 hardly believe Mary's statement to that 
 effect. What has brought you out so 
 early ? " 
 
 I was still stooping over my flowers, 
 and by the time that I had started in my 
 surprise, and had had time to feel the 
 jump that my heart gave, I had had time 
 also to pull myself together as on a former 
 occasion. I stood up, looked round, and 
 said tranquilly, as I stripped some leaves 
 away from my bouquet — 
 
 ''Why, did you think I should never 
 find out such a place as this ? I don't 
 know why, I am sure." 
 
 '' Oh yes, I will trust you to have found 
 it out long ago. The only thing is, there 
 are times and seasons for everything. 
 Seven o'clock in the morning " 
 
 " Is a good time, and so you seem to
 
 IN THE WOOD. 279 
 
 think," said I. "And yet, I should 
 suppose it was much worse for you than 
 for me, for you have got a voice to take 
 care of, while I have none — of that kind." 
 
 " Listen to her, telling me to take care 
 of my capital," he remarked, half laughing. 
 "Then you didn't know that I have been 
 here, and generally a good deal farther, 
 every morning since we arrived ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I didn't," I said, honestly 
 astonished. 
 
 "It is one of my old country habits. 
 One loses it in town sometimes, unavofd- 
 ably, but here — there's something that 
 makes it worth one's while to renew it." 
 
 " And is this your favourite spot ? " I 
 asked sentimentally. 
 
 "It is a favourite spot of mine," he 
 said decisively. " But please tell me what 
 you are doing here." 
 
 " I came because I awoke very early.
 
 28o FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 and remembered how beautiful the leaves 
 and things were here, and I thought I 
 would gather some — for you and Mrs. 
 Reichardt — and for Mr. Arkwright — for 
 breakfast, you know." 
 
 " For breakfast ! What an extraordinary 
 notion ! Is thy servant an ox that he 
 should eat this thing ? " 
 
 " For your plates, that was all," I ex- 
 plained, holding up a small bunch of hare- 
 bells and leaves. 
 
 *' For our plates, there will probably be 
 bacon, or fish, or something — or game. 
 My father understands a real Yorkshire 
 breakfast," he said meditatively. 
 
 '' You know perfectly well what I mean," 
 I argued ; " but, if you like, I will explain 
 it to you — Madame Prenat always says we 
 should try to explain ourselves — it often 
 shows how very vague and formless was 
 the thought behind our equally vague and
 
 IN THE WOOD. 251 
 
 formless words. Therefore, what I mean 
 is this, Monsieur Felix ; a present of 
 flowers is perhaps of not much intrinsic 
 value, but it may mean affection and 
 esteem — at any rate, it is a little kindly 
 attention. Autumn leaves are as beautiful, 
 I think, as the most splendid flowers. I 
 love to look at them. I thought that you 
 — and the others — might also like to look 
 at them. I was going to make three little 
 bouquets, and lay them on your plates, 
 just to show that I had been thinking of 
 you. That would not have prevented you 
 from taking bacon upon your plates after- 
 wards " 
 
 " I prefer a hot plate for bacon," he 
 said, after looking at me attentively ; "cold 
 plates for bouquets ; hot plates for bacon." 
 
 "Very well," I said, trying to cover my 
 nervousness — for I was nervous, though I 
 could not have told why — by a prolonged
 
 282 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 Stream of talk. ''If you insist upon being 
 so very exact, I could have laid the 
 bouquets beside the plates — then, whether 
 they had been hot or cold would not have 
 mattered. It seems to me that it shows a 
 want of respect for a beautiful landscape, 
 and for lovely flowers and leaves, to be 
 talking incessantly of bacon and hot 
 plates." 
 
 " Well, it was not I who brought it on. 
 When you are told that you are to have a 
 bunch of leaves and grass for your break- 
 fast, you have to show that you don't 
 intend to submit to any such thing. The 
 worm will turn. . . . But," he added, lean- 
 ing with his back against a tree-trunk, and 
 half smiling as he looked at me, " there is 
 another use to which your pretty things 
 might have been put — in my case, at any 
 rate. I feel almost hurt that you have not 
 yourself proposed it."
 
 IN THE WOOD. 28 
 
 '' And what Is that, pray ? " I asked 
 curiously. 
 
 ''A buttonhole, for this morning-'s con- 
 
 cert." 
 
 *' This — mine ? Do you mean that you 
 would, really ? " I stammered. 
 
 " Would what ? " he asked, beginning to 
 laugh. 
 
 "Would wear it, if I arranged it for 
 you : 
 
 '* Why, certainly. I have to sing ' The 
 Old Manoah ' this morning. Surely autumn 
 tints would be most appropriate for tKat 
 part." 
 
 '' But," said I, holding out my leaves 
 and harebells, and looking critically at 
 them, "these are poor little things, after 
 all. When you get down to the Hall, you 
 will find, as usual, a lot of lovely flowers — 
 hot-house flowers — ferns, roses, and " 
 
 " Well, yes. They generally are there,
 
 284 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 by some means. Did you ever know me 
 to use any of them, for that purpose ? It 
 is uncommonly kind and disinterested in 
 whoever sends them ; and so thinks the 
 Matron of the Children's Hospital here, 
 only I felt as if I were posing under false 
 pretences when I got a note from her 
 yesterday, thanking me for my lavish 
 generosity to them in the matter of flowers. 
 She shall have whatever there may be, 
 this morning ; and I will have your autumn 
 leaves, Ines — if you will give me them, that 
 is, of course." He stretched out his hand. 
 
 '' If \ will give you them!" said I, 
 striving to conceal my delight in this 
 arrangement. ''Wait — they are not ready 
 yet. I will arrange them after breakfast. 
 But are you sure that when you see lovely 
 Dijon and Marshal Niel roses, you will 
 not " 
 
 " Va pour la feuille morte !'' he said
 
 IN THE WOOD. 285 
 
 decidedly. *' There, you have gathered a 
 great wisp of stuff. You will give me a 
 little bit of it, and I shall wear it, and 
 think with pleasure of Ines and of the old 
 pond, in which I managed nearly to drown 
 myself twenty years ago. . . . Now, Ines" 
 — his tone suddenly changed into one of 
 gravity — '' I hate subterfuges and pre- 
 tences. I have something to say to you, 
 and I followed you here ; I asked Mary 
 if she knew whether you were down, and 
 she told me in which direction you had 
 gone. There's only a short time, and it 
 has to be done. I go to London to- 
 morrow.". 
 
 I had expected this. By the chill that 
 fell upon my heart now, I found how I 
 had also dreaded it. 
 
 *' And before I go, I have, as I remarked, 
 something to say to you — something which 
 I expect you will hate, just at the moment."
 
 2S6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 " If It is anything you want me to do, I 
 am sure I shall not hate it," said I, stoutly. 
 
 "Yes, you will. And, first, I'll ask you 
 a question. Do you trust me quite and 
 entirely, and believe that what I do, in 
 your concerns, I really believe to do for 
 the best ? " 
 
 *' Yes, I do, and always shall." 
 
 '' Very good — yes, you look as if you 
 meant it. You like Madame Prenat, don't 
 you : 
 
 " I love her dearly." 
 
 '* That also is well. She is so clever 
 that I am rather afraid of her, though I 
 must admit that she has never made me 
 feel my inferiority in any disagreeable 
 manner." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 ''What I say. And you find yourself 
 happy and contented with Madame Pre- 
 nat ? "
 
 IN THE WOOD. 287 
 
 "Y — yes." My heart began to beat, I 
 hardly knew why, and I drew a little 
 nearer to him. He was silent for a 
 moment, not looking at me. Then, slowly, 
 and yet kindly — 
 
 '* Ines, I am going to place you in 
 Madame Prenat's hands, and out of my 
 own, for the next two years." 
 
 He then looked at me with a very 
 determined expression, still leaning against 
 the tree-trunk, and plunging his hands into 
 his pockets. I did not quite take it in at 
 first, and said, in some surprise — 
 
 '' But, surely, I am in Madame Prenat's 
 hands, and have been, for the last three 
 years r 
 
 "• Yes — yes," he said, rather hurriedly. 
 '' But you forget. I said, ' out of mine.' " 
 
 I gazed at him, wondering what in the 
 world he meant, and finally asked him. 
 
 *' I wonder you don't see what I mean.
 
 288 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 I mean, you will stay with her — I have 
 such confidence in her doing what is right, 
 and we — you and I — will not — I mean — 
 why, in Heaven's name, do you look at me 
 in that way — as if I were a maniac ? " 
 
 '' I don't know what you mean. Tell 
 me quickly," I said, In a voice which 
 sounded strange to myself. But I did 
 know what he meant. It had flashed in 
 a moment into my mind, and I felt as if 
 the knowledge paralyzed me. 
 
 '' During that time, I think it will be 
 best for you to put me out of your mind 
 altogether. I don't say, forget me — I 
 don't want you to forget me — but live and 
 act as if I were not there. I do not intend 
 to see anything of you. It is only for a 
 short time — you will not be twenty at the 
 end of two years. But two years at your 
 age make a great difference. You want to 
 know my reasons for it, I dare say "
 
 IN THE WOOD. 289 
 
 " Only if you wish to tell me them," I 
 interrupted, in a voice which somehow 
 would not rise above a whisper. ** I said 
 I trusted you, and I do, but " 
 
 " But what ? " 
 
 '' One may trust, and yet feel as if one 
 were being killed," said I, dropping my 
 hands at my sides, and clenching them 
 tightly. 
 
 '' Killed ! " he repeated, with a not very 
 successful attempt at a laugh. *' I am 
 going to tell you just what I think you 
 ought to hear. Ines, I am so much older 
 than you that I might almost be your 
 father ; you heard what I said to Mr. Grey 
 yesterday — how glad I was that he had let 
 me take care of you all this time. That is 
 true, but it does not hinder the fact that 
 I think you have become too dependent 
 upon me — morally, I mean, child, of course," 
 he hastily added, with a shocked look, as 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 he caught sight of my face. ''You let your- 
 self depend too much on my judgment, and 
 refer things too much to me, even in your 
 own mind — yes, you do. I know it. I 
 wish you to get out of that habit, if possible, 
 and to that end it is that I mean to commit 
 you entirely to Madame Prenat's charge. 
 And I wish her to refer less to me in her 
 dealings with you and your concerns — do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 Yes ! Oh yes, I understood ; and, what 
 is more, I did not misunderstand. It 
 never entered my head to think that he 
 meant all this otherwise than as he had 
 said — for my good, entirely for my good. 
 I could, an' if I would, have twisted his 
 words bravely into stabs of unkindness, 
 but it did not occur to me to do so. He 
 had thought the matter over ; evidently in 
 the midst of his numberless engagements 
 and occupations he had found time to do
 
 IN THE WOOD. 291 
 
 SO. The decision he had come to was, to 
 me, an agonizing one. That it was right, 
 I never doubted. 
 
 '* As for our not meeting," he went on, 
 *' I have my own good reasons for that 
 too, which I do not think it necessary to 
 tell you. You may trust them. Do you 
 agree, then ? " 
 
 " If you wish it.'' How was it that my 
 tongue declined to utter anything that I 
 really wished to say, and could only in 
 measured tones speak the coldest common- 
 places ? 
 
 "//"I wish it! That is not trust, Ines. 
 That is submission, because you can't help 
 it — just the one thing that I hoped I 
 should never see between you and me." 
 
 " Please forgive me," I said, all in the 
 same toneless kind of voice. " It is 
 because I am surprised — it is not because 
 I don't trust you. I am not to see you
 
 292 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 for two years. But I may write to you — 
 to tell you how I get on ? " (This I pro- 
 posed as if it were an irresistibly tempting 
 offer.) " And you will write to me ? " 
 
 '* Better not. No — we will not write." 
 
 By this time I had got to the resolution 
 to agree absolutely to every condition he 
 laid down. That was trust. It seemed 
 to me that he was dissatisfied because I 
 did not display also satisfaction. It was 
 beyond my power to give that. 
 
 *' No ? " I said. '' And never hear any- 
 thing about you ? You don't mean that ? " 
 
 '* I think it would — well, if you ever 
 come here in the holidays at any time you 
 would hear of me — enough and to spare." 
 
 ''And Elisabeth " 
 
 " Well, if she were in London, she would 
 go and call upon you. And you could 
 write to each other, you know. I don't 
 want you to go and stay with her."
 
 IN THE WOOD. 293 
 
 "We could write to each other — for two 
 years. And when the two years were over 
 — if ever they did get over " 
 
 ** Oh, we should meet, of course. My 
 purpose would have been accomplished, 
 and I have little doubt that you would 
 thank me for havino- come to this deci- 
 
 
 sion. 
 
 ''I wonder why?" I said, beneath my 
 breath. Then aloud — '' I should stay with 
 Madame Prenat " 
 
 '' And by attending to all her wishes, 
 show me that you do trust me, Ines." 
 
 I stood still for a moment, and then 
 lifted my hand to put it within his. 
 
 '' I will do exactly as you say," said I. 
 
 '' But do not go so white — as if I were 
 wishful to make you utterly miserable," he 
 said beseechingly. 
 
 " I am sure you wish nothing of the 
 kind. I know you wish me to be happy.
 
 294 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 And I know you are doing right, if this is 
 what you have decided upon. But I cannot 
 pretend that I Hke it," I said passionately. 
 '' ril bear it. I'll do what I ought, but " 
 
 *' But my sweet Ines will show her old 
 friend that she thinks him a brute, all the 
 time," he said, in so sorrowful and pained 
 a voice as I had never heard from him 
 before. The agony that seized me at that 
 moment was beyond all description. I felt 
 hysterical as I forced a smile and retorted — 
 
 '' Because she cannot bear to think of 
 not seeing you for two years, that shows 
 that — I — think you — a brute ! Have I — 
 have I behaved wrongly in some way ? " I 
 asked, going nearer to him, and looking 
 at him very earnestly. 
 
 " No, you have not," he said emphati- 
 cally, and flushing crimson. "• Why will 
 you persist in looking upon it as a punish- 
 ment ? I cannot explain to you. There
 
 IN THE WOOD. 295 
 
 are things one can't explain. Trust me ! 
 I wonder how much oftener I must say it. 
 And it is the only thing to be said, too." 
 
 '' I trust you — I do. But I cannot sing 
 for joy. You seem to think I ought to do 
 that as well. What can I say ? What can 
 I do ? " 
 
 " You can smile, or try to. And you 
 can go to Madame Prenat, and make your- 
 self happy with her." 
 
 " I can work with Madame Prenat," I 
 said, the first gleam of light breaking ewer 
 the darkness which encompassed me. '' I 
 can work. You have nothing against 
 that?" 
 
 " Nothing. Only don't overdo it. You 
 are different from some girls, Ines. Now, 
 while we are about it, I'll give you the 
 only advice I know of, about how to guide 
 yourself — ^just the same that I should give 
 to a lad if I were sending him off to school.
 
 296 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 You will find that though Madame may be 
 a good friend to you, yet you will have to 
 depend a great deal on your own good 
 sense and right feelings in some things. 
 And all I can say, is, never tell a lie, by 
 word or by deed. Never forsake a friend ; 
 never think, whatever you are working at, 
 that you can do it perfectly, and don't 
 need to trouble yourself any further about 
 it. If you ever give way to that, you'll find 
 yourself outstripped by the most stupid of 
 your rivals, when it comes to a test. What 
 is it, besides ? — fear God and honour the 
 king — you can translate that for yourself. 
 Walk straight, and you'll come out all 
 right at the end. I trust you absolutely. 
 You have never disappointed me before, 
 and I am sure you will not now. Come 
 back to the house. Heaven only knows 
 what time of day it has got to." 
 
 I moved, to do as he suggested. I had
 
 IN THE WOOD. 297 
 
 been standing, rigid, in the same place, all 
 the time, save for approaching one or two 
 steps nearer to him. When I came to 
 step forward, I found myself feeling as if I 
 should fall down. I turned away from him, 
 leaned my hands and my face against the 
 trunk of a silver birch which stood hard 
 by, and cried and sobbed silently and 
 bitterly for a minute or two, till he laid 
 his hand upon my shoulder, and once more 
 said, in a voice of pain — 
 
 " You said you trusted me ? " 
 
 '' So I did— so I do. But this " ' 
 
 " And what is trust for, if not to carry 
 one through some such time as this ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 '* It will carry me through — by-and-by. 
 Go back, and leave me. I'll come 
 directly." 
 
 ''No, certainly not," he answered quickly. 
 '' You will come back with me, now." He
 
 298 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 took me by the shoulders, and gently, very 
 gently, turned me round. I could only put 
 my hands before my face, still crying. 
 
 '' You are determined to make it hard 
 for me, whatever it may be for you," he 
 suddenly said, very quietly, but in a tone 
 which instantly dried m.y tears, and caused 
 me to look up sharply. I saw his face, 
 quite white, and, as it seemed to me, stern. 
 He looked at me, and then exclaimed, 
 " Ines ! Well, I ought not to have chosen 
 just this time to do it, I suppose. I'm a 
 fool. So Madame Prenat would tell me. 
 So Elisabeth doubtless will tell me. No 
 doubt you are faint and famishing, as well 
 as miserable. And it is cold ! " he added, 
 looking round him with a slight shiver, 
 though the sun was shining more brilliantly 
 than ever. *' Come, my — Ines. Give me 
 your hand and come with me." 
 
 I dried my eyes, and gave him my hand.
 
 IN THE WOOD. 299 
 
 He drew It through his arm, and gently 
 stroked my cheek, saying softly, "You 
 have always been so good. You will not 
 fail me now." 
 
 And I felt that I should not. Though 
 the full desolation of the parting was yet 
 to come, I felt that I should not fall. Arm- 
 in-arm we walked a few paces, and then 
 he said suddenly — 
 
 '' You win not fall. But, my child, you 
 grieve far too much about It. Ines, when 
 you set up a human being in your fancy, as 
 you, in your enthusiastic young heart, have 
 set me up, and will see nothing imperfect 
 In that human being, it means disappoint- 
 ment and disgust and disillusion. In the 
 end, as surely as a bright sun means day- 
 
 light." 
 
 " Don't," I said. " Let me think what 
 I like." 
 
 " I suppose you will think what you
 
 3CO FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 like, at any rate." He sighed. It was 
 not often that I had heard FeHx sigh. 
 
 *' Did you mean to leave me here to- 
 morrow ? " I asked, as we drew nearer the 
 house. 
 
 '' I thought so. Why cut your holiday 
 short because I am obliged to leave ? " 
 
 *' You are going to sing somewhere on 
 Monday ? " 
 
 " At the concert, in London — yes. 
 
 Concerts every night next week, and then 
 the opera begins at the ." 
 
 " Don't think I'm tiresome if I ask you 
 to let me go back with you to-morrow, 
 instead of staying here. I would rather 
 go straight to Madame Prenat, and begin 
 my work again." 
 
 *' Surely the fresh air here would do you 
 more good " 
 
 " Please ! " I said persuasively. 
 
 " So be it," he replied. '' See that you
 
 IN THE WOOD. 301 
 
 wire to Madame while we are In KIrkfence 
 this morning. The train to-morrow leaves 
 at one o'clock.'* 
 
 We went Into the garden, Into the house, 
 and I ran upstairs to take off my things 
 before going In to breakfast. What a 
 white, tear-stained face was that I caught 
 sight of as I passed my looking-glass ! I 
 bathed it roughly with cold water, scrubbed 
 It with a stiff towel, and, having thus 
 heightened its beauty, repaired to the 
 breakfast-room. Felix was there, already 
 seated. I said good morning to Mr. Ark- 
 wrlght, kissed Elisabeth, who pressed my 
 hand in silence, and went round to my 
 place. From that hand-pressure, and from 
 the fact that neither Elisabeth nor Mr. 
 Arkwright asked me a question, I con- 
 cluded that Felix must have given some 
 brief outline of the state of affairs. 
 
 Lying on my plate was the greater
 
 302 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 portion of my collection of leaves, ferns, 
 and wild flowers. Feeling my face crimson, 
 I looked across at Felix. He smiled. 
 
 "You dropped them," said he. ''You 
 never saw me pick them up ; but I do not 
 wish to lose my little bouquet, If you will 
 still give It to me." 
 
 It was kind ; kindly meant and kindly 
 said, but It made me feel as If my heart 
 would break, and also as If Felix Ark- 
 wrlght were farther away from me — more 
 apart than he had ever been before. 
 
 Despite all my efforts at composure. 
 It was a sad and silent meal. I hated 
 myself for not being able to behave as 
 If nothing had happened — for having to 
 look dull and sad, and so distressing the 
 others. But I could not be glad, or look 
 as If I were glad. I had not yet had 
 time to begin any speculations as to Felix's
 
 IN THE WOOD. 303 
 
 reasons for pursuing this course with me. 
 I felt only the crushing grief of the thing 
 Itself We were so late at breakfast that 
 I had no opportunity of speaking to 
 Elisabeth before It was time to go down 
 to the concert. I sat It out, but, oh, with 
 what different feelings from the happy ones 
 of the past few days ! *' For two years — 
 two years — two whole years ! " was the 
 refrain which for me ran through all the 
 music ; and when at the end the whole 
 audience, with chorus, soloists, and or- 
 chestra, stood up and sang " God Save 
 the Queen ! " as It seldom is sung, the 
 triumphant notes seemed only to peal forth 
 the one dreadful fact — for two long, weary 
 years I shall not see him, speak to him, or 
 hear from him. And who knows what 
 may have happened before it is all over ? 
 I was glad I had chosen at once to go to
 
 304 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 London. I could work, I knew, but I 
 could not play, under the load of this 
 trial. 
 
 And to London I went, with Felix, on 
 Sunday afternoon. We had not so much 
 conversation as on our journey down to 
 Irkford ; though we did talk a good deal. 
 I would fain have left the hateful topic out 
 of our discourse altogether —kept it as a 
 good grim skeleton, and dragged it out 
 and examined it whenever I wanted to 
 work myself Into a state of misery about 
 anything. Not so Felix. He was far too 
 sane and right-minded, too direct in his 
 notions, to do any such thing. He talked 
 about it openly ; asked me point-blank 
 how I should chiefly employ my time, 
 because, he said, he should like to have 
 some idea as to what I was doing with 
 myself. He said cheerfully that Madame
 
 IN THE WOOD. 305 
 
 Prenat knew all his wishes on the subject ; 
 he reposed entire confidence in her, and 
 I might be sure that whatever she sug- 
 gested would receive his sanction. 
 
 To all of which I, of course, assented ; 
 and then it seemed but a moment while 
 the dreadful cab jogged us through the dim 
 gray streets and squares to the door of 
 Madame Prenat's house — another moment 
 only before we stood in her drawing-room, 
 while she greeted us, self-possessed, calm, 
 and with the suggestion of a reserve of 
 power beneath her quiet manner which 
 impressed me anew after each absence 
 from her. 
 
 " I will not stay — no, I will not sit 
 down," said Felix. " Good-bye, Ines. 
 Lay my admonitions to heart. Ask 
 Madame Prenat if they are not good. We 
 shall meet again, when it's over." 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 ':o6 FROM MOOR ISLES. 
 
 o 
 
 He took my hand, looked at me for a 
 moment, as I stood silently before him. 
 
 '' Auf wiedei^sehen ! '' he said, stooping, 
 and kissing my cheek gently. "■ Good-bye, 
 Madame. I leave her in your hands." 
 
 He touched her hand also, and was 
 o^one, without lookinof back at me. 
 
 " You have chosen to come to me at 
 once, Ines, and to begin work "^ " Madame 
 asked me, after a pause. 
 
 ** Yes, Madame." 
 
 " Good ! I have much for you to do. 
 There are certain conditions laid down by 
 Mr. Arkwright. Those must receive our 
 first consideration. I will explain them to 
 you later. For the rest, he gives us carte 
 blanche to study what we please. A man 
 in a thousand ! " she concluded, in a sort 
 of pious rapture. ''And now, my child, 
 to your room. Your luggage will have 
 been taken there. We dine at half-past
 
 IN THE WOOD. 307 
 
 seven. Two friends of mine are coming. 
 Do not dress more than usual." 
 
 Silently I turned away. Madame was un- 
 bendinorly determined to have no drivelling 
 sentimentality — and she was right. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLES. (r. , C. Cr" Co.
 
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