a I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 1878 
 v.l
 
 (L (Tl 
 
 1,^A^ 
 
 A
 
 <( 
 
 CHERRY RIPE!" 
 
 31 lilomana. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR (OF 
 
 comin' thro' the rye," "the token of the 
 silver lily." 
 
 Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
 In the old likeness that I knew, 
 I could be so loving, so tender and true, 
 Douglas, Douglas, tender and true." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 CJirtr CBtiitiom 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 1878. 
 
 [All Rights Reserved :\
 
 o 
 
 vCi 
 
 Oo 
 
 <( 
 
 ?^3 , 
 
 in? 
 
 CHERRY RIPE!" 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Just SO may love, although 'tis understood 
 The mere commingling of passionate breath, 
 Produce more than our searching witnesseth." 
 
 UN !" said Mignon. 
 
 ^' This way !" cried Lu-Lii. 
 Fate, choosing so insignificant 
 a means as the fact of two girls running 
 away from their governess, to alter the cur- 
 rent of four persons' lives, directed their steps 
 to the left instead of to the right, and sent 
 them spinning round one of the big trees of 
 VOL. I. i
 
 2 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 the avenue with such velocity, that a gentle- 
 man, who was advancing slowly from the 
 opposite direction, found himself all at once 
 deprived of breath, hat, stick, and patience. 
 
 " Upon my Avord !" said he angrily, and 
 for the moment too much astonished at the 
 hearty and simultaneous onslaught on his 
 person, to be at all sure of the sex of hia 
 assailants. 
 
 *^ I heg your pardon !" said Lu-Lu. 
 
 Glancing sharj^ly at the apple-cheeked,.'' 
 black- eyed schoolgirl, the young man dis- 
 covered in her face no reason why he should 
 set aside the bad temper and ennui that de- 
 voured him, to assure her of his gratitude for 
 the favour just accorded. 
 
 '' We are very sorry !" said Mignon ; and 
 then he turned suddenly, and saw before him 
 something that all his life long he thought he 
 must have been seeking, yet had never until 
 now found ; discovered a want that in all its^ 
 depth and fulness he had never known until 
 in this, its moment of fulfilment ; felt that here 
 at least was something by no means to be
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 included in the bitter, weary disgust for him- 
 self, the world, and all within it, that this day 
 filled his stormy, passionate soul to overflowing. 
 
 " And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,- 
 Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, 
 And still the cup was full . . . ." 
 
 And in that moment was the wheel of liis 
 life's fate and hers set moving, and the end 
 thereof, how could he tell it any more than 
 the girl who stood facing him beneath the 
 pink and white blossoms of the flowering 
 chestnuts, with something of the wonder and 
 puzzle of the young May morning in her 
 innocent, childish eyes ? 
 
 ^^ We are very sorry," she said again gently, 
 thinking how terribly put out he seemed to 
 be about no such great matter, and not 
 daring to smile for fear of making him yet 
 more angry. 
 
 He almost laughed aloud as it suddenly 
 flashed through his mind, what a pity it was 
 that none of his friends were by, to see the 
 ridiculous figure he cut before this pair of 
 schoolgirls. The gay words that would at 
 
 1—2
 
 CHERRY RIPE /' 
 
 any other time have sprung quick as lightning 
 to his lips ; the bold devil-may-care spirit that 
 would instantly have turned the ludicrous 
 mischance to at least the semblance of a 
 honne aventure — where were they now ? and 
 what mapfic was this that stole the wit from 
 his brain, the words from his tongue, and the 
 power to do aught save stand looking — look- 
 ing — at the girl before him ? 
 
 The matter — it had in all occupied not 
 more than thirty seconds — was cut short by 
 an act on the part of the culprits, that proved 
 them to be no embryo fine ladies with fashion- 
 able notions of their own importance, for 
 Mignon fetched his hat, Lu-Lu picked up his 
 stick ; and, having placed his property in his 
 hands, they dropped him the simplest, 
 sweetest, prettiest courtesy in the world, 
 apiece, moved quickly away, and vanished. 
 
 Their disappearance broke the spell ; he put 
 on his hat, turned about, and followed them. 
 
 That they were bent on mischief of some 
 kind was pretty clear, seeing how they tacked 
 this way and that, avoiding the open, and
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 casting so many glances to the right and 
 left, as could not fail, he thought, to dis- 
 cover him sooner or later to their eyes. Only 
 it so happened that they were not thinking 
 of him just then, no, nor of any other young 
 man, nor of anything in the whole Avorld but 
 to get away all by themselves, to enjoy the 
 full freshness and glory of this peerless spring 
 morning, to revel in the rosy feast of blossom 
 that hung overhead . . . and this, they were 
 so dainty and delicate in their fancies as to 
 imagine they could not do, under the guardian- 
 ship of mademoiselle, and in the company of 
 the dozen or so of noisy hoydenish jDupils 
 placed under her charge. And if it should 
 appear strange that two schoolgirls could be 
 found, who were not moved to foolish smiles 
 and minauderies by the mere sight and neigh- 
 bourhood of a young and handsome man, I 
 am bound to confess that these were alto- 
 gether exceptional maidens, and, both by 
 training and habit of thought, had preserved 
 intact an innocence of mind more usually to 
 be met with in misses of eisfht or ten than of
 
 '' CHERRY RIPE /' 
 
 sixteen and seventeen. That they had en- 
 joyed a hearty laugh at his expense as soon 
 as they were safely out of earshot, is not to 
 be denied ; or that when, later, they per- 
 ceived him close at hand, they looked at one 
 another with a certain air of particularity that 
 betokened the existence of a latent under- 
 standing between them ; but that they were 
 guiltless of either giggle or undue excitement 
 he was careful to note, being a man of most 
 fastidious taste, and quick to observe the 
 smallest sign of levity in woman. 
 
 Afterwards, when he tried to remember 
 how he spent that day, he was not able : save 
 that he was sure he had sat under the trees 
 for a long while ; and he thought he had 
 eaten bread and butter, and chocolate, and 
 Turkish Delight — but no, he could not have 
 done that, it must have been somebody else ; 
 that he had looked at a great many pictures, 
 and heard a great many criticisms passed on 
 them by a pair of merciless young judges, 
 one of whom in her bloom and brightness 
 eclipsed whatever she regarded ; that he had
 
 BLOSSOM. 7 
 
 gone on a wild-goose chase in and out, and 
 round and about the Maze, following one 
 little pair of feet that seemed to know no 
 ilagging ; that he had fed one of the big 
 white swans that came sailing proudly down 
 the mimic lake with a little lovely cygnet 
 perched high upon its wings — to his dying 
 day he never forgot that little creature, or how 
 its whiteness showed like snow against its 
 mother, that was fair enough when it stood 
 alone, God knows. He also had a distinct 
 impression that three or four times he had 
 been all but caught and held in durance vile 
 by a sallow-faced Frenchwoman, but had each 
 time escaped by the skin of his teeth .... 
 and yet that could not have been himself, but 
 the girl whose shadow he was that day, and 
 whose name was Mignon. He was quite 
 sure of that, for had he not heard her so 
 called by Lu-Lu many times that day ? also 
 that she lived at Kosemary, Lily town, for 
 which place had he not five minutes ago seen 
 her set out, seated in a great open van 
 drawn by two stout cart-horses '? From the
 
 8 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 stolid, bumpkinish Jehu, who was a curiosity 
 indeed to be found within ten miles of 
 London town, he had by golden means, and 
 quite unobserved, as he thought, extracted 
 this latter information concerning her place 
 of abode. 
 
 Nor could he remember in the days that 
 came afterwards, at what time she went 
 away, and whether it w^ere afternoon or 
 evening ; he only knew that it was dayhght, 
 and the sky still blue overhead, when he 
 turned back, and thi'ew himself down under 
 one of the giant trees of the avenue, to think. 
 About when he had first met her he was 
 more certain ; it was quite early, ten o'clock 
 perhaps \ this he knew, because all his hfe 
 long he could never see a young, exquisitely 
 fresh May morning without the girl's face 
 coming up before him. Mignon .... that 
 was her name, fanciful, tender, and un- 
 Enghsh, yet one that became her curiously 
 well, he thought .... and then he fell to 
 watching the rose and white leaves of the 
 chestnut flowers come fluttering slowly down;
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 observed how the giisten of the sun caught 
 the inner side of one of the big prickly leaves, 
 turning it to gold ; discovered how enchanting 
 was the tiny patch of blue overhead, that the 
 envious boughs had failed to altogether shut 
 out from the daisies and grass that loved it 
 . . . . and the snow and the red of the 
 vagrant petals, the hquid gold of the sun- 
 touched leaf, the bit of bright blue tapestry 
 above, wove themselves unconsciously into a 
 faiiy likeness of a girl's face. . . . For were 
 they not all there — the tints of her skin, the 
 colour of her hair, the very hue of her eyes? 
 But the look that had caught and fixed his 
 regard, and upon which his heart had closed, 
 he found not in either blossom, or leaf, or 
 sky, for it sprang direct from that purest of 
 all sources, a maiden's innocent soul ; and 
 because his own life was just then so full of 
 strife, and sin, and misery, this same look of 
 hers outweighed in his eyes the mere beauty 
 that many a time he had seen possessed by 
 women in a far higher degree. Mignon .... 
 what fate did her name foretell, and what did
 
 10 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 her face say ? It could be nothing to him, 
 this future of hers, for was not his own lot in 
 life fixed, the stage prepared, the last act but 
 one in a reckless, unhappy, and guilty past 
 about to be played out ? 
 
 A bird came whirlino' into a cluster of the 
 stately blooms overhead, and as the dainty 
 column swayed under his eager, slender feet, 
 he poured out a sweet gay song of gladness, 
 that was his tribute of gratefulness for his 
 happy life, his beautiful mate, his long 
 summer day of sunshine, and love, and 
 plenty. And the song of the bird, and the 
 peace and beauty of the evening and the 
 hour, stole into the man's heart, until he 
 knew it not for that which had beat in his 
 breast no longer ago than this morning .... 
 Hither he had come in a mood of black and 
 impious rebellion against all things in heaven 
 and earth. With eyes turned inwards, he 
 had passed all outward things by, nor 
 observed any one of the tender and manifold 
 surprises of the morning, though, if any one 
 had asked him, he would have answered,
 
 BLOSSOM. 11 
 
 *' Yes J it is a jine May morning, and the 
 chestnuts are in bloom ;" but the heart of the 
 man was dead to Nature's teaching, as it had 
 been for many long years — ay, ever since he 
 had taken to reading and playing upon the 
 vices, faults, and weaknesses of the men and 
 women who came in his path. 
 
 Whence, then, came to him, in a breath, 
 this clearness of the eyes, this subtle under- 
 standing of all that was fair and gracious, 
 this capacity for drawing into some new and 
 fragrant chamber of the soul, aught so 
 evanescent, so impalpable, so delicate, as the 
 quivering light on a leaf, the shifting colour 
 of the sky^ or the painting of a flower that 
 had passed through the hands of the Creator 1 
 
 Thoughts unwonted and gentle came to 
 him there .... of his dead mother ; she 
 had not been in his memory this half-dozen 
 years or more .... recollections of his 
 boyhood, and the eager bright days of his 
 youth, when existence had seemed to him 
 but a cup filled to the brim with a cunning 
 and rarely-mingled draught of sweetness, of
 
 12 " CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 which he could not drink too often, or too 
 deeply .... to-night he found himself able 
 to look back upon that time with none of the 
 scorn and pity with which he had in these 
 latter days grown to regard that hopeful and 
 not unworthy period of his life ; nay, some of 
 the old keen flavour and enjoyment of it 
 seemed to be once more between his lips as 
 he lay and mused, and dreamed, and thought 
 .... some new influence was upon him, 
 gentle and humanising, to-night, and blame 
 him not that in yielding to it, he perceived 
 not how that which appeared to him as the 
 touch of an angel's wing was in very truth 
 a snare set for him by Satan, nor knew that 
 in this, his awakening to all things good and 
 lovely, he had never been tempted to so black 
 a sin, so foul a wrong as now. 
 
 This morning when he had walked forth,, 
 his worldly callous heart full to the brim 
 with bitterness and revolt, he had yet been 
 a better, more honest man than now, when 
 the very means that awakened his heart to 
 the recognition of beauty in goodness, and
 
 BLOSSOM. 13 
 
 goodness in beauty, took its root in a half- 
 conceived dishonour that had in it all the 
 elements of crime, in the shadow cast before 
 of a deed that would stamp the doer as a 
 recreant to all those traditions of honour that 
 no man may traverse without inflicting a 
 stain upon his character that, in his own eyes 
 at least, can never be wiped away. 
 
 Has one ever paused to note how that 
 pure and stainless flower the waterlily 
 grows ? From filth and slime and every 
 conceivable noisomeness she springs, to 
 crown the bosom of the waters with her 
 snowy cup ; and among us all is there one 
 so cunning that he can tell by what wondrous 
 alchemy the vileness is transmuted to beauty, 
 the uncleanliness to unsullied purity, the 
 very nadir of degradation to the perfection 
 of an unsurpassable splendour % 
 
 And even as this lily grows, borrowing her 
 purity we know not whence, her beauty we 
 know not how, so may it not be that from 
 the dark unkindly soil of a sinful human 
 heart, may be born a passion that, while
 
 14 ^' CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 having its root in foulness, and owing its 
 very existence to shame and transgression, 
 shall grow to a vigorous stately flower, that, 
 in the beholding, we are almost fain to forget 
 whence it has arisen % 
 
 For as from richest and most healthful 
 soil, with every favouring influence of sun- 
 shine, wind, and rain, may creep into life a 
 noxious deadly poison, a thing of hatefulness, 
 whence our eyes turn with fear and loathing, 
 so is it not given to us to say, '' By such and 
 such means was the evil turned to good, and 
 the good to evil ;" we can but blindly puzzle 
 out a meaning for ourselves, nor dare to lift 
 our brows to Heaven and, with boasting 
 pride, cry aloud that w^e have found it. 
 
 Only this is certain, that the man into 
 whose heart that day had sunk a germ, 
 potential of life, form, and variation, that 
 was by the inevitable law of progression 
 bound to fulfil itself, and who had by sin 
 fallen from his high estate, by sin alone, and 
 the virtue that took its birth from that sin, 
 was lifted again to it ... . and that as he
 
 BLOSSOM. 15 
 
 would to his life's end have been guiltless of 
 his crowning infamy had not a girl's face that 
 day crossed his path, so would he have lived 
 and died with soul unawakened to good, so 
 would he never have raised his eyes to those 
 heights of greatness and self-mastery, to 
 which he, all sinning, humbled, and des- 
 pairing, yet dared to aspire — ay, and by the 
 grace of God to reach at last.
 
 /v 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Clear summer has forth walked 
 
 Unto the clover sward, and she has talked 
 
 Full soothingly to every mated finch." 
 
 HEKE floated over the wall so 
 joyful and exquisite a peal of 
 laughter, that a young man, who 
 was walking in the garden on the other side, 
 was seized with some such curiosity as once 
 set a certain old King pulling up his slippers, 
 and putting on his spectacles, when he spied 
 the unusual crowd collected in the royal pig- 
 sty, on the occasion of his naughty princess 
 kissing the swineherd. 
 
 Mr. Babbage informs us that '^ the air is 
 one vast library, in whose pages are for 
 ever written all that man said and woman
 
 BLOSSOM. 17 
 
 whispered ;" but he does not tell us what 
 becomes of the laughter so plentifully cast 
 upon it day by day, and that surely has a 
 character of its own, jocund, bitter, .false, 
 despairing, and is as much the language of 
 the heart as words or tears, though we could 
 fancy that some such mirth as that just 
 uttered might sound sweet and pleasant after 
 the lapse of more than one century. 
 
 It suggested all manner of sunshiny hu- 
 morous things, as of a witty jest, a consum- 
 mately ludicrous situation, a strikingly happy 
 thought, or any one of those absurdities 
 that provoke poor toiling human nature to 
 amusement, and are in themselves a species 
 of luxury. 
 
 '^ I wonder what she is laughing at now T 
 said he who listened, smihng to himself for 
 company. '' I have a very good mind to 
 find out," he added aloud (for there was 
 nobody by, not even a blackbird, to hear 
 him). 
 
 He paused in his walk, and looked up- 
 wards. 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 At the top of the wall, flourishing hardily 
 and sweetly, grew a tough little colony of 
 wallflowers that had grown, the wind and 
 the rain only knew how, and had come, the 
 birds of the air only knew whence, affording, 
 as he was well aware, a moderate screen 
 from behind which a discreet person might 
 peep without much chance of being de- 
 tected. 
 
 Hard by, a ladder leaned against a peach- 
 tree with a rakish air, as though it had given 
 over work for the day, and was enjoying 
 itself This he fetched, pitched exactly 
 opposite the wallflower, and proceeded to 
 mount the same with as bold and unfaltering 
 a step, as though spying into a neighbour's 
 garden were the most ordinary thing in the 
 world, and no more reprehensible than over- 
 looking an opponent's hand at whist, or 
 reading a letter backwards, or any other of 
 those dishonourable little actions by which 
 we deceive our friends, and open our eyes to 
 our own delinquencies. 
 
 He mounted the first dozen or so of rungs
 
 BLOSSOM, 19 
 
 l)oldly, but slackened his pace as he rose 
 hiofher, for ever so small an excess of couraere 
 or indiscretion might cause him to be dis- 
 covered in a position that no young man 
 would, to say the least, be proud to fill. 
 
 Therefore, albeit he was no faint-hearted 
 person, he could not but feel it to be rather 
 an awful moment when he topped the wall, 
 and, pushing aside the scanty leaves and 
 stalks of the wallflowers, gazed down into 
 the garden some twenty feet below him. 
 
 The sight that met his eyes was curious 
 but pretty, not particularly laughable in 
 itself, yet tickling the beholder with a 
 -certain sense of pleasure that served all the 
 purposes of laughter without demanding the 
 outward expression of it : the subtlest and 
 keenest enjoyment is, oftener than not, voice- 
 less. 
 
 Seated in her coach, with skirts tucked well 
 up around her, and two little neatly-shod feet 
 and ankles full in view, sat a very young lady. 
 Her coachman did not precede, but was behind 
 her, horses she had none, and although she 
 
 2—2
 
 20 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 rode with a hand extended on either side and 
 as majestic an air as though she were seated 
 in the Lord Mayor's own on the 9th of 
 November, Mignon's coach Avas, I am bound 
 to confess, no more and no less than a wheel- 
 barrow. She had a white pocket-handker- 
 chief tied over her head, and the richest of 
 red roses were blooming in her beautiful 
 young cheeks as she came whirling past the 
 peeper. 
 
 " Faster ! faster !" she cried ; '' do you not 
 know that Gretna Green is yet three miles 
 away, and that I have a most particular ap- 
 pointment, with a most particular person, to 
 keep at half past four j^recisely f " 
 
 For answer, there came a whuT ! whifi' I 
 and off flew the solitary wheel of Mignon's 
 chariot, seating her with considerable 
 emphasis on the exact centre of a parsley 
 bed, that flourished greenly below the wall- 
 flowers. 
 
 •'* There !" she cried ; and her voice was so 
 yuang, and fresh, and gay, as to communicate 
 to the listener a dehghtful sensation of
 
 BLOSSOM. 21 
 
 novelty and enjoyment, as when one 
 hears 
 
 " A noise like of a hidden brook 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 Singeth a quiet tune." 
 
 '' I always Iznew that would happen one of 
 these days, and if I were a fine woman hke 
 you, Prue, it would have happened long 
 ago !" 
 
 "Well, Miss Mignon," said Prue, sitting 
 down on a three-legged stool, with her back 
 to the wall, and drawing some needlework 
 from her pocket, " I'm not so sorry neither, 
 for in my 'pinion riding in a barrow ain't 
 the suitablest thing for a young lady like 
 you." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said the girl, regarding 
 her prone chariot regretfully, '' I should never 
 get half as much fun out of a coach and six 
 as I've done out of that old piece of wood — 
 not that I'm ever likely to possess a coach 
 and one /"
 
 22 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 " I'm none so sure of that," said Prue,, 
 nodding sagaciously. '' Just you have a 
 little patience, and you'll see what you will 
 see." 
 
 ^' The days of Cinderella are over," said 
 the girl, laughing and shaking her blonde 
 head ; '^ and all the fairy princes are asleep 
 or bemtched, though even if they were 
 awake and about, they would not be likely 
 to trouble themselves to look for a httle in- 
 significant school-girl hke me ! Why, except 
 Bumble, and one other person, and you, I 
 don't believe there's a soul who cares whether 
 I'm dead or alive !" 
 
 *' It do seem a cruel shame," said Prue 
 frowning ; "if you was a foundling so to 
 speak, you couldn't be worse off than 
 you are for friends and folks of your 
 own." 
 
 . ^^ I have got her,'' said the girl gaily ; " or 
 at least I shall have her very soon, for at 
 any hour- — any minute she may walk in, and 
 then what a time we will have of it — she and 
 1, and you, together !"
 
 BLOSSOM. 23 
 
 Prue, compressing her lips tightly, shook 
 her head, but made no remark. 
 
 " But until she comes," resumed Mignon, 
 " there is no denying the fact that our 
 existence here is — dull I Now I wonder if 
 there is any bit of mischief about that a 
 tolerably well brought up young woman 
 could possibly get herself into % If my 
 gowns were smart enough — which they're 
 not " (she spread out her skirt with both 
 hands and regarded it ruefully), '' we might 
 go to the Park and look at all the fine people, 
 but as it is, we have only Hampton Court 
 and Madame Tussaud's to choose from, and 
 I know both of them by heart I" 
 
 " Miss Sorel said Ave might go to the Poly 
 — something, where they improve folk's 
 morals — " began Prue. 
 
 '^ But I don't want my morals improved," 
 said the girl. " I want to be amused, and — 
 and oh ! Prue, Avill you ever forget the last 
 time we went to Hampton Court ?" 
 
 ''That was a very rum — I beg pardon, 
 miss — a very 'peculiar go," said Prue,
 
 24 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 grinning and looking disdainful. '' If Miss 
 Sorel had been at home, it never would have 
 happened, but there, them furrineering mam- 
 selles don't know nothing !" 
 
 "• Shall I ever get it out of my head T 
 cried the girl, breaking into sudden laughter. 
 
 " ' Four and twenty blackbirds 
 Baked in a pie,' 
 
 only i\^e were baked in a van ! We must 
 have looked fine when we drove from the 
 door, every alternate girl visible through the 
 open framework at the sides, like a saint in a 
 niche with her back to the congregation, 
 bounding, jumping, jolting, creaking, bones 
 rattling, lockets dancing, teeth chattering — 
 was there ever such a shaking up upon 
 earth ? We were black and blue next day, 
 Prue !" 
 
 "' I'll tell Miss Sorel when she comes back," 
 said Prue with decision. 
 
 '' Though, after all," said Mignon, " it was 
 a charming day^ — all but for one thing, and 
 that was dreadful !"
 
 BLOSSOM. 25 
 
 '' What was that, miss T said Prue, looking 
 up quickly. 
 
 '^ Miss Lu-Lu and I nearly knocked down 
 — a man !" said Mignon ; " worse than that 
 — a young man ! If we had beaten him with 
 sticks," she went on, looking thoughtfully at 
 the two pretty feet placed in the first position 
 before her, ^' he could not have looked more 
 astonished and nonplussed !" 
 
 '* How did it happen, miss ?" said Prue, 
 regarding her mistress with covert but keen 
 inquiry, and pausing in her work. 
 
 "We were running away from mademoiselle 
 and the girls," said Mignon, '^ and, alas ! just 
 as we spun round one of the big trees of the 
 avenue, she one side, I the other^ we caught 
 a gentleman who was advancing two simul- 
 taneous blows^ one on the right shoulder, the 
 other on the left — for a moment I do believe 
 he thought he saw double /" 
 
 '' Did he speak, miss ?" inquired Prue with 
 interest. 
 
 " No indeed," said Mignon, laughing, " that 
 he did not ! Although we begged his pardon
 
 26 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 twice over, and even picked up the property 
 of which our onslaught had deprived him, he 
 never uttered one syllable ! It occurred to 
 us afterwards that perhaps the poor man was 
 dumh /" 
 
 " Dumb ?" repeated Prue in an accent of 
 incredulity ; " dumb did you say, miss ? Ho 1 
 ho ! ho ! I beg pardon, miss, but — Ho ! ho I 
 ho ! ho !" 
 
 Mignon looked in astonishment at the 
 woman, who seemed to be struggling against 
 a grotesque and secret merriment, that 
 mastered her against her will. 
 
 '' And pray," said the young lady Avith 
 dignity, "is it such a very odd thing, that a 
 man should be dumb ? Hundreds of people 
 are — and blind as well — and they all marry,, 
 and have deaf and dumb families !" 
 
 " I daresay, miss," said Prue, recovering^ 
 *' but somehow the notion tickled my fancy," 
 and here she showed symptoms of a relapse 
 — " but can you mind what he was like. Miss 
 Mignon V 
 
 ii Very dark — with very blue eyes, an
 
 BLOSSOM. 27 
 
 Irish combination that's too womanish I think 
 for a man ! And perhaps because we had 
 been so rude to him,'' she went on, leaning 
 her fair head against the wall, " he thought 
 he would be rude to its, for he followed us 
 about the whole day, and even came to see 
 us set off in the van ! And Miss Sorel 
 always tells us that it is a very great insult 
 for a gentleman with whom one is not 
 acquainted to stare at and walk behind 
 one." 
 
 " So it is, miss/' said Prue, '' generally." 
 
 " And yet/' said Mignon meditatively, '' it 
 is not considered a rude thing for a young 
 man to fall in love Avith a person — quite the 
 reverse ! You see he must make a beginning 
 somewhere, and really it is rather difficult 
 to say where rudeness ends, and politeness 
 begins." 
 
 '' What put that notion into your head, 
 miss T said PiTie, looking sharply at the 
 girl. 
 
 " Ah 1" said Mignon, '' that's a secret. 
 Heigho !" she sighed, '' how I wish some«
 
 "28 ''CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 thing would happen — just to brisk us up, and 
 set us going — if somebody would only take 
 the trouble to write me a letter even, I think 
 I could be satisfied !" 
 
 '' A letter T said Prue, starting, " and 
 who'd be after writing to you, but Miss Lu- 
 Lu, or Miss Sorel, dear heart? And you 
 heard from both of them last week." 
 
 " There is nobody else," said Mignon ; 
 *' she would not write, she would come. But 
 all the same I should love to have a letter — 
 from anyhody, I don't care who — just to 
 make me feel that I was not such a terribly 
 unimportant little person — that there was 
 ■one person at least in the world to trouble 
 her head about me !" 
 
 Something in Prue's pocket, as the money 
 of spendthrifts is historically supposed to do, 
 suddenly burnt her, and as she looked at the 
 wistful, lovely face, that made the sunshine 
 and happiness of her life, she cast all scruples 
 and hesitation to the winds, and, taking off 
 her thimble and laying down her work with 
 sudden decision :
 
 BLOSSOM. 29' 
 
 *' Supposing, miss," she said, ^' that there 
 was people in the world to trouble their 
 heads to think about you, and supposing that 
 'twasn't a HER at all, but a HIM, why,, 
 what then, Miss Mignon ?"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " While every eve saw me my hair up-tying 
 With fingers cool as aspen leaves .... 
 I was as vague as solitary dove, 
 Nor knew that nests were built." 
 
 HIM ?" said Mignon, laughing 
 gaily, '^ but I don't know a 
 single one Avho is likely to do 
 anything of the sort !" 
 
 " Hasn't it ever struck you, Miss Mignon, 
 that maybe, one of these days, you'd be 
 picking up a heaii T 
 
 " No," said Mignon, clasping her arms 
 round her knees, and leaning her head so far 
 hack that the wallflower got an excellent 
 view of a pretty, straight nose, and some 
 long brown eyelashes. ^' I can't say it ever
 
 BLOSSOM. 31 
 
 lias, Priie. It is not often that a schoolgirl 
 arrives at the dio^nitv of a real heau ! Thouorh 
 indeed," she added, sighing, " it must be a 
 i^harming thing, Prue, when once one has 
 got used to it ! Tell me, did you ever have 
 one like that — all to your own self ?" 
 
 "■ Maybe," said Prue, turning a handsome 
 brick-dust colour, '' but that was a long time 
 ago, Miss Mignon." 
 
 '^ And were you in love with him 1" 
 
 ''No, miss, I never would — for fear. 
 Falling in love's a ticklish thing — very." 
 
 " Did he ever write to you ?" inquired 
 Mignon, surveying Prue with positive re- 
 spect, and from a totally new point of view, 
 '' because if he did, and if you would not 
 mind it very much, I should so like to read one 
 of his letters ! I never read a real love-letter 
 in all my life, and for a particular reason that I 
 oan't explain to you just now, I am so anxious 
 to see hoiv it's done /" 
 
 Prue, looking anxiously at her young 
 mistress, plaited and unplaited her apron 
 with restless, clumsy fingers. A struggle
 
 32 " CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 r 
 
 of some kind was evidently going forward 
 in her mind. . . . She was but an ignorant, 
 gentle-hearted woman, who ardently desired 
 to act for the good of the creature that she 
 loved best upon earth, yet who was sufficiently 
 conscious of her shortcomings as to make her 
 doubt the wisdom of her own decision. . . . 
 Painful and confused are these gropings after 
 wisdom in the minds of human beings, who 
 have not that firm reliance upon their own in- 
 fallibility of judgment, that carries stronger- 
 minded folks with untroubled consciences over 
 everything, even enabling them to ascribe the 
 disasters arising from their own mistakes, to 
 fate, providence, or some influence that it 
 was not possible for them to foresee or 
 evade. 
 
 " And what would you say, Miss Mignon," 
 she said at last, '' if I was to tell you that I'd 
 got a love-letter in my pocket at this very 
 particular moment V 
 
 " Say !" cried Mignon in delight, " Avhy, 
 that it was the luckiest thing in the world, 
 and that it would more than make up for the
 
 BLOSSOM. 33 
 
 wheel coming off the barrow ! And to think 
 that you'd got it bottled up there all this 
 time, and never said a single word about it ! 
 Why, if anybody wrote me a love-letter, I 
 shouldn't be able to sit down for a week, 
 much less do plain sewing !" 
 
 " And supposing," said Prue, her hand in 
 her pocket, '' that somebody should take the 
 trouble to write a love-letter, not to me, Miss 
 Mignon, but to you f 
 
 " That is so likely, is it not," said the girl, 
 laughing, '' when I do not know a single man 
 who is not fat and bald, and a long way past 
 forty ? No, no, Prue, only young people 
 write love-letters, and I do hope he is very 
 deeply in love with you, because I don't 
 want to read a cool love-letter, but a hot 
 one !" 
 
 '' He's just mad with love," said Prue, 
 nodding, ''but it's not with me, Miss Mignon, 
 it's with you /" 
 ^' Me r 
 '^ You !" 
 '' Somebody in love with me ?" 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 34 " CHERRY RIPET 
 
 " Somebody in love Avith you /" 
 
 '' Xot a schoolboy, or the sexton, or the 
 postman, or the chimney-sweep ?" said Mig- 
 non, her eyes groAving rounder and rounder 
 as she looked at Prue. 
 
 '^ No, miss, a gentleman." 
 
 *' Grown up ? out of jackets V 
 
 '^ La I yes, miss, in tails. Looks as if he'd 
 been born in 'em." 
 
 '• Prue," said Mio^non in a tone of utter 
 disbehef, " are jonjoJcuig f Are you making- 
 all this up because I said I thought, if I tried 
 it, I should like a beau V 
 
 '^ No, miss, it's gospel truth." 
 
 " What an extraordinary thing 1" said 
 Mignon, drawing a deep breath, '^what an 
 altogether outrageous thing — to fall in love 
 mth me, of all people in the world ! And 
 where on earth did he do it, and what could 
 have inspired him with the gigantic idea of — - 
 love r 
 
 '' It was at Hampton Court, miss," said 
 Prue, '' and so far as I can make out, it's the 
 very gentleman as you and Miss Lu-Lu
 
 BLOSSOM. 35 
 
 nearly upset cutting round that tree in the 
 avenue." 
 
 " I certainly made an impression upon 
 Am," said Mignon soberly, " and on his hat, 
 and his shins, or I am very much mistaken ! 
 Are you quite sure, Prue, that he is not 
 "pretending, just to pay me out for being so 
 rude to him T 
 
 '*No," said Prue, nodding impressively, ''he's 
 in earnest, there's no mistake about thatr 
 
 " And indeed," said Mignon, " I am begin- 
 ning to thiDk he must be, to do anything so 
 desperate as to write me a love-letter I Why, 
 Lu-Lu never had one in all her life, and she 
 is seventeen years old, and we should hoth 
 have been so much obliged to any one who 
 would write us one, just to see what it would 
 be like !" 
 
 Prue, looking down on her needlework, 
 smiled. Miss S Orel's school was a well- 
 ordered one, the supervision of letters strict, 
 and many an ardent effusion had she seen 
 transmitted to the flames, instead of to the 
 girl to whom it was addressed. Contraband 
 
 3—2
 
 36 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 music too, breathing sentences quite as tender, 
 and far better expressed than the accompany- 
 ing billets, was invariably passed on to the 
 music-master and learnt in perfect good faith 
 by the pupils, who dreamed not that they 
 were giving utterance to their lovers' fervent 
 sighs, when they underwent the awful ordeal 
 of their singing-lessons from that most terrible 
 of professors, Herr Klingholz. 
 
 She could have told many a story too of 
 treasure-trove, discovered in the course of her 
 morning and evening weeding before service 
 began, in the hymn and prayer books left in 
 the church pew from Sunday to Sunday, and 
 of the enormous discomposure of the gilded 
 youth of Lilytown, who had hoped by this 
 ruse to circumvent the stately mistress of 
 Kosemary. But of all this, the girls, most 
 of whom w^ere very young, had suspected 
 nothing, believing the horde of recurrent 
 young gentlemen who waited upon their 
 footsteps to be but one of the natural and 
 inevitable adjuncts of a ladies' school, and at 
 once a flattering but disappointing fact.
 
 BLOSSOM. 37 
 
 " If only," said Mignon, emerging from her 
 trance of amazement, with a sigh of dehght, 
 " he had thought of it earher, how it would 
 have helped to pass the time, to be sure ! 
 Why, it would have been twice as amusing 
 as Grimm's Goblins, and a thousand times 
 better than the wheelbarrow I" 
 
 '' P'r'aps I'm wrong in telling you about it 
 at all," said Prue, " but Lor ! he began to 
 write to you long afore you thought of the 
 barrow; you've only had that a week, but 
 heve been writing love-letters to you for the 
 last twoT 
 
 " Whatr cried Mignon, starting up; ''he 
 took the trouble to write to me, and you 
 never even told me ? Oh ! I will never, 
 never forgive you," she cried, stamping her 
 foot ; "• and when you knew how dull I was 
 too !" 
 
 And here, with shame I confess it, the 
 tears poured down her cheeks, for Mignon 
 was a representative of that enormous class 
 of women whose anger holds off exactly long 
 enough to say all that they wish, and perhaps
 
 38 
 
 bang a door or two, ere dissolving into in- 
 dignant, passionate weeping. 
 
 '^ Good Lord ! what a sweet little shrew !" 
 thought the wallflower to itself. 
 
 '' La !" said Prue, retreating as far as she 
 could, ''what a temper you've got, to be 
 sure, Miss Mignon ! I misdoubt me, but I've 
 done wrong in telling you of it, though if 
 'twasn't for a little circumstance as happened 
 no later than last night, j)'r'aps you'd never 
 have knowed nothing of the matter at all." 
 
 '' A circumstance !" cried Mignon, a flicker 
 of April sunshine coming and going in her 
 blue eyes ; '' and pray what was that T 
 
 '' Nothing much," said Prue. " Only when 
 I told him I couldn't and wouldn't bring you 
 no love-letters, since you was left in my charge 
 while Miss Sorel was away, he just took me 
 by the shoulders, and shook me with all his 
 might and main till the breath was all but 
 out of my body, and said he, ' I'll ask you to 
 take her no more letters, you fool, but I'll 
 just go straight to her myself.' When he'd 
 done, I said to myself, ' That's real love and
 
 BLOSSOM. 39 
 
 no mistake, and I don't know as it's my duty 
 to stand between 'em.' " 
 
 "■ Did he really T said Mignon, looking 
 delighted ; " he must be very fond of me to 
 do that, Prue ! It reminds me wonderfully 
 of William the Conqueror and Matilda !" 
 
 Here she sat down on the parsley-bed, 
 obeying the universal law of womankind, 
 that impels it to start up at the merest 
 suspicion of good or bad news, and sit down 
 under the shock of the reality, whichever it 
 may be. 
 
 '' I don't know nothing about William and 
 Matilda," said Prue, to whom history was a 
 myth, while to-day was a matter of serious 
 and profound consideration. '' But his way 
 of doing things made me think he loved you 
 true, and meant honest by you, and there's 
 no denying I should be glad and thankful to 
 see you settled in a home of your own, for 
 more reasons nor one, and so — — " 
 
 '' But I don't want your reasons," cried 
 Mignon, '' I want the letter," and seizing 
 Prue's pocket, she turned it inside out, and
 
 40 " CHERR Y RIPE /" 
 
 the last thing coming uppermost, proved to 
 be a big square envelope, decidedly the worse 
 for wear, indorsed in a bold legible hand- 
 writing : 
 
 '' Miss Mignon, 
 Rosemary, 
 
 Lily town.'' 
 
 "■ There 1" said Prue, surve^dng it, "I don't 
 know whether it's one of the old ones ; but I 
 daresay it'll be just as good to read if it is — 
 I guess he says pretty much the same in all 
 of 'em!" 
 
 '•' I don't think I'll read it to-day," said 
 Mignon, holding it a httle way off", and look- 
 ing at it admiringly. '' It can't come twice 
 in one's hfetime to open one's fii'st love-letter, 
 you know ! I'll save it up as a great treat 
 until to-morrow. What do people generally 
 say in love-letters, Prue T 
 
 '' Rubbish !" said Prue, rolling up her 
 work. " One don't look for sense from 
 lovers, miss !"
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " She hath one of my sonnets akeady : the clown bore 
 it, the fool sent it, the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter 
 fool, sweetest lady 1" 
 
 IGNON sat on a wooden cliair set 
 full in the sunlight, hemming a 
 pocket - handkerchief, at nine 
 o'clock in the morning. She wore a white 
 dimity gown^ tied in at the waist, throat, and 
 wrists with ribbons that matched the colour 
 of her eyes exactly, and altogether she and 
 the young June morning became each other 
 vastly, and seemed expressly made for one 
 another — or so the wallflower thought, that 
 was as nearly as possible facing her, though 
 considerably out of the range of her ordinary 
 regard. She was but an indifierent worker^
 
 42 " CHERRY RIPE /' 
 
 and took advantage of every possible pretext 
 to give her needle a rest — quarrelling with a 
 stray sunbeam that had fallen in love with her 
 eyelashes ; scolding a naughty lazy butterfly 
 who came fluttering past in the desultory, idle 
 fashion of his tribe ; making fun of an indus- 
 trious bee who had got into the garden by 
 mistake, and, finding cabbages instead of 
 flowers, went buzzing about in a fussy discon- 
 tented fashion. She said good-morning to an 
 ancient snail who came slowly by, as though 
 he found existence rather a troublesome affair 
 than otherwise, and condoled with him con- 
 cerning the law of nature that compelled him 
 to carry his house on his back, at the same 
 time pointing out that the scheme had its 
 advantages, since he need never be at all 
 afraid (like other folks) of his dwelling being 
 pillaged, or burnt down while he was abroad. 
 *'' And as for you, sir," she said to a Polly- 
 wash-dish who was whisking his long tail up 
 and down the gravel walk at a safe distance 
 from her, '' if you had any shame in you at 
 all, you would hlusli for your own deficiencies
 
 BLOSSOM. 43 
 
 — are you aware that the Hnnet has sixty-four 
 notes in his register, while you have not a 
 single one worth mentioning ? While as to 
 washing up dishes, I don't believe you ever 
 do anything half as useful, for it's my belief 
 that you're a regular gadabout, disgraceful 
 flirt, with a better opinion of yourself than 
 anybody else has, your wife included — there ! 
 Still I think I would rather be a pert silly 
 creature like you than sitting on a wooden 
 chair hemming a handkerchief that has been 
 in process of hemming three months, and may 
 consider itself lucky if it's finished in thirty 
 more !" 
 
 Here she pricked her finger, and instantly 
 put it in her mouth, obeying a strictly feminine 
 impulse that made the wallflower, which was 
 a close observer of men and manners, smile. 
 
 " Now if he were here," she said, thinking 
 aloud, as was her wont in the sohtary old 
 garden, " I suppose he would put himself into 
 a dreadful state of mind, and of course I 
 should say it was nothing at all, but look as 
 if I were enduring agonies; and then he
 
 44 '^ CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 would go down on his knees (as the fany 
 princes always do) and entreat me to let him 
 look at it — and then, should I let him, or 
 should I not ? I don't know." 
 
 She took the pricked finger out of her 
 mouth, and drew from her pocket a letter, at 
 which she looked with immense complacency^ 
 holding it away from her with her head on 
 one side, bringing it nearer to her by de- 
 grees, finally depositing it in her lap, and 
 resuming the handkerchief with a deep sigh 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 " It's the most extraordinary thing I ever 
 heard in my life," she said, shaking her fair 
 head. '^ It can't be my looks — Muriel is 
 lovely, and I'm not a bit like her, no two 
 sisters could be more unlike ; and it can't be 
 my money, for I haven't a rap ; so it must be 
 aU downright, substantial me that Mr. Ride- 
 out's fallen in love with. Ah ! it's a finer 
 thing to be loved for what you are than what 
 you've got, because the looks and the money 
 often run away from you, but you stop, unless 
 you die, that is to say ; and of course when
 
 BLOSSOM. 45 
 
 you're dead you don't think of whether people 
 like you or not ! After all it was a mercy I 
 pelted round that tree, in all probability he 
 never Avould have seen me if I had not, and 
 then the chance would have gone by, and 
 perhaps I should never have had a lover all 
 the days of my life (it's not likely tioo people 
 would be so mad as to fall in love with me), 
 but now — I'm somebody. When I got up 
 this morning I said to myself, ^ Most likely 
 Mr. Rideout's getting up too, and I shouldn't 
 wonder if he's thinking about — me. He will 
 go out and look for Prue by-and-by, to see if 
 she has got a letter from — me. "When he has 
 read it, he will sit down (entirely and solely 
 upon my account) to ^rate to — me ; and then 
 he will go out with it again, and his head 
 quite full of — me.' Only to think of it — -a 
 little person that nobody owns, and nobody 
 loves, to be of so much importance all in a 
 minute to another person as that I 
 
 '''Am I never to have a chance of speaking one 
 word to vov.j Miss MignonT he says. ' Shall I
 
 46 '' CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 never find means to elude the vigilance of that 
 ahe-dragon, Mrs. Prue T 
 
 " Though, indeed, that is not kind of him,'* 
 she said, looking down at the open letter, and 
 smilino^ • '^ after he had shaken her inta 
 brino^ino' me the letter too ! 
 
 '^ ''And if you ivill not hold your finger up 
 to give me this same chance, I ivill force my 
 ivay to your side and tell you — ivhat ivill 1 not 
 tell you J my lovely y childish little sweetheart T 
 
 " And he ends up : 
 
 ^' ' Your faithful lover, 
 
 ''' Philip Rideout/ 
 
 '' It is very short," she said, laying it down 
 and surveying it with regret, whereby it 
 would appear that Mr. Rideout thoroughly 
 understood the aii; of love-letter writing as 
 expounded by Mr. Weller, Avho advised a 
 lover to make his letter very short, but very 
 sweet. '' For then," said he, '' she ^dll vish 
 there vos more."
 
 BLOSSOM. 47 
 
 '^ If Prue does not come soon," said Mig- 
 non, '' I shall be obliged to go down on my 
 knees and tell Bumble all about it, and though 
 of course he would not understand, still he 
 would be better than nothing /" 
 
 She fell to hemming again out of sheer 
 desperation, though certain smiles and stray 
 dimples occasionally relieved the gravity of 
 her countenance, and were duly noted by the 
 wallflower that watched her as unwinkingly 
 as though it had never in all its life had so 
 curious a subject for study as a school-girl, of 
 sixteen or thereabouts, in a white dimity 
 gown. Prue appeared, bearing a work-box 
 and a pile of calico. 
 
 ^' Oh, ther« you are at last!" cried Mignon, 
 " but you may as well put that stuff away^ 
 for I'm not going to do any more needlework 
 to-day. I'm going," she said gravely, '' to do 
 the most particular thing I ever did in all 
 my life, and I w^ant you to help me. Tell 
 me, Prue, did you ever write a love- 
 UUerT 
 
 " Once by whiles, miss. Why ?"
 
 48 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 " Never you mind. What did you say T 
 "• I can't recollect, miss, 'tis so long ago." 
 ''But you can at least remember how you 
 began it?" said Mignon anxiously ; " the very 
 first you ever wrote — you can't have forgotten 
 tlKttr 
 
 '' Yes, miss," said Prue gently, '' I have 
 forofotten even that." 
 
 But she had not : no woman ever does 
 forget what she said in her first love-letter ; 
 and at that moment Prue's eyes saw not the 
 work she held in her hands, but a round 
 wooden table set in a country-house kitchen, 
 a sheet of gilt-edged pink paper, a knot of 
 violets, and what was written upon the page 
 I cannot tell, but am very sure that Prue 
 could, word for word. 
 
 '' You see," said Mignon, frowning and 
 looking wise, '' there is always a right and a 
 wrong way of doing everything, even to 
 writing a love-letter, and it would be such a 
 dreadful thing to take the wrong one, would 
 it not r 
 
 " Drefful," said Prue ; " but you're not
 
 BLOSSOM. 49 
 
 thinkino^ of Avritino;' to Mr. Kideout this 
 mornino: ?" 
 
 " And why not T said the girl. '' Don't 
 you know that it is the rudest thing possible 
 not to send an answer to a letter that you 
 have received V 
 
 "■ I don't fancy that rule applies to billy- 
 doos, Miss Mignon," said Prue dubiously, 
 *' and Avriting's a very dangerous thing. It 
 don't so much matter what you says, miss ; 
 words is easy forgot, unless they happen 
 to be particularly true and sticJz ; but what 
 you w^rite, why there it is, and there 
 you are — there's no getting out of it no- 
 how." 
 
 "But I don't mind if it does," said Mignon. 
 '^ I'm not going to say anything I mind 
 aiiyhody seeing ! I only w^ant to tell him 
 that I'm very much obliged to him for his 
 letter, and that I hope he will WTite me 
 another one soon (for really there is very 
 little in this one, and w^ouldn't fill half a page 
 of our — ^but that's a secret), and ask him w^hat 
 on earth made him take a fancy to me, and 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 
 
 send him my best love — and — and I think 
 that's all, Prue !" 
 
 " All !" said Prue, aghast, '^ and about 
 enough too, I should think ! Miss Mignon, 
 Miss Mignon, you're as ignorant of the 
 practices of courtship as a heathen ! Young 
 ladies don't Avrite like that the first time they 
 put pen to paper to a young man ; they hold 
 back a bit, are modest, for it's a drefful 
 mistake to be forrard with a man— there's 
 such a deal of selfishness in 'em, that if 
 there's any doubt of getting a thing they 
 perticler want, they'll pursue it like mad till 
 it's overtook ; but if you tumble into their 
 arms like a ripe peach, they'll drop you as 
 sure as fate, miss, sooner or later. La ! the 
 difference there is when a man's sure of a 
 girl, and when there's a considerable doubt 
 about it, so nimble and civil and wideawake 
 when he's on his promotion, so easy and lazy 
 when he's got her safe and sound, and knows 
 he can pop his finger down upon her at any 
 time !" 
 
 " Yes," said Mignon absently, for she had
 
 BLOSSOM. 51 
 
 long ago lost the thread of Prue's argument, 
 ^* but really it was very unlucky that Mr. 
 Kideout did not put any beginning to his 
 letter, for of course I could have put just the 
 same to mine. I would not for the world be 
 behind him in politeness, or offend him — 
 perhaps he would never write to me again, 
 and that would be dreadful !" 
 
 Prue threw up her hands in despair. 
 
 " Now what," said Mignon, '' would you 
 say to ^ My dear Mr. Ricleout ' f " 
 
 "No 'my,'" said Prue. '^ ^ Dear Mr. 
 Eideout.' " 
 
 '' Keep that in your head while I get the 
 things ready !" said Mignon, picking up her 
 desk from the ground, and arranging it on 
 her knee. 
 
 "Now then." "Dear Mr. Rideout," she 
 wrote in good intelligible round hand. On 
 ordinary occasions she wrote a rather pretty 
 scrawl, but on an occasion of such magnitude 
 as this she instinctively fell back upon the 
 obedient, careful caligraphy of her earlier 
 years. " Now I should like," she said, " to 
 
 UN4rR3?TY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 tell him that I am sorry I ran up against 
 him in that rude manner with Lu-Lu, or he 
 may think I'm in the hahit of doing such 
 things. Don't you think it might be as 
 well just to mention it, and start faii\ 
 Prue r 
 
 '' P'raps so," said Prue, considering ; 
 ^•' though I should say that, on the whole, 
 miss, it being such a very awkward little 
 circumstance, the less said about it the 
 better." 
 
 '^ First of all'' wrote Mignon, " / must 
 heg your pardon for nearly knocking you 
 down that day in Bushey Park — / never did 
 such a thing before in all my life, and I never 
 tvill again, if I can possibly help it ! I am 
 very much obliged to you for the letter you 
 sent me by Prue, and hope you will write me 
 another one soon, as I am so dreadfully didl 
 here, though, if it ivould not be a great trouMe 
 to you, icould you mind making it a little 
 longer ?" 
 
 " And I should like," said Mignon, pausing 
 in her labours, " to say something nice and
 
 BLOSSOM, 53 
 
 kind, and complimentary about his personal 
 appearance, for in his letter he called me — he 
 actually did — ' lovely !' Of course he did not 
 mean it, still I don't wish him to have all the 
 civihty on his side, so can you think, Prue, 
 of any safe, polite remark that one might 
 make to a person with blue eyes and black 
 hair, when one did not admire either the one 
 or the other in a man ?" 
 
 '' No, miss, T can't. 'Tis a delicate matter, 
 and you might say the wrong thing ; you'd 
 best let it alone." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Mignon, looking 
 disappointed, ''but it does seem a regular 
 pity to miss such a good opportunity ! And 
 if you ivoidd not mind telling me,'' she wrote, 
 "I slioidd like so much to know what made 
 you take a fancy to me, Nohody ever did 
 before, or is ever likely to again ! Was 'it 
 because you thought I had nobody to care 
 about me, and so you were sorry for 
 ,mer 
 
 "That'll never do, miss," said Prue hastily. 
 " It's a bad notion for a man to have, that he
 
 54 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 can either take or leave you because there's 
 nobody else as is fond of you." 
 
 "Never mind the notion," said Mignon, 
 ''is it not the truth? And now for the 
 finish, I declare it's almost as bad as the 
 beginning ! He says, ' Your faithful lover \ 
 now wouldn't you think ' Yours very grate- 
 fully ' would be the proper thing V 
 
 '' ' Yours truly,' or nothing," said Prue in 
 horror, " that's the usual — the only respect- 
 cible way of ending a love-letter, miss." 
 
 " I don't see at all why I should be such a 
 long loay behind him !" said Mignon dis- 
 contentedly ; " but as you've written some 
 yourself of course you ought to know all 
 about it. ' With love,' then, ' yours truly !' " 
 
 '' No love !" said Prue ; '*' kind regards^ 
 miss !" 
 
 "Kind regards, then," said Mignon, sighing. 
 " With kind regards, yours truly, Mignon 
 Ferrers !" 
 
 But on her own account she put in as P.S. : 
 " I wanted to send my love to you, but Prue, 
 who helped me to write this letter, would not
 
 BLOSSOM, 55 
 
 Ifiear of it ; indeed, she has been so trouble- 
 some, that I have a very great mind to 
 write my next love-letter to you all hy 
 myself r
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " I am one, my liege, 
 Whom the vile blows and buifets of the world 
 Have so incensed that I am reckless what 
 I do to spite the world." 
 
 T was nine o'clock in the evening, 
 and the dusk was steahng on 
 apace, veiHng the trees and 
 houses of Lilytown dehcately and imper- 
 ceptibly, as though it were loath to confess 
 that the hapj)y summer day was dying, and 
 the shadowy, silent night creeping slowly 
 into life. 
 
 There brooded over the place that strange 
 loneliness which at nightfall ever seems to 
 attend places that are neither town nor 
 country, that, while missing the cheerful
 
 BLOSSOM, 57 
 
 sights and sounds of the former, do not 
 possess the careless freedom and security of 
 the latter ; and the roads, planted at intervals 
 with trees, were so absolutely deserted that 
 it might have been a city of the dead, instead 
 of a suburb but a few miles away from the 
 great Babylon, whose mighty heart throbbed 
 and beat out yonder — the home of millions 
 of toiling, sorrowing, suffering men and 
 women, who jostled each other day by day 
 and hour by hour in the giant city, yet knew 
 each other not ; the class that dies from over- 
 feeding and the one that dies from over- 
 hunger, velvets and tatters, gold and dirt — 
 all these went to and fro yonder, but the echo 
 of their voices and lives spread not so far out 
 as lonely, quiet Lily town. 
 
 Prue, her shopping over, and basket in 
 hand, set out on her homeward walk in a 
 leisurely fashion, taking now and again a 
 long refreshing sniff of the pure, fresh air, as 
 though she liked it. She had not gone very 
 far when footsteps, rapid and decided, came 
 following after hers.
 
 58 " CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 '' Him /" she said, giving a little jerk of her 
 head backwards, and quickening her walk 
 with that inborn contrariety that makes 
 the comparison of a woman to a shadow 
 one of the pithiest, truest things ever 
 uttered. 
 
 '' Ah ! he's a bold one," she soliloquised, 
 '^ a reg'lar handful as ever / saw." 
 
 A tall grey shadow stepped from behind 
 a tree she was passing, and intercepted her. 
 He came so swiftly and silently, that she 
 half shrieked aloud, but being strong-nerved, 
 turned the hysterical cry into, '' I beg your 
 pardon, sir !" and passed on. 
 
 It gave her an odd sensation of doubt and 
 fear when, glancing downwards, she saw him 
 still by her side, keeping pace with her step 
 for step, and treading so lightly that his 
 footfall sounded strange and ghostly in the 
 stillness. 
 
 ^' Mrs. Prue," said the grey shadow, " you 
 will not give the letter you have in your 
 pocket to Mr. Kideout, who is now following 
 us."
 
 BLOSSOM. 5^ 
 
 Prue stopped as though she had been shot,. 
 and for once in her hfe her breath Hterally 
 went. 
 
 " And pray," she cried at last, peering into 
 his face through the gathering dusk, " who 
 may you be, and what do you mean with 
 your Mrs. Prues and letters?' 
 
 '* A friend," said the man in grey, '' who 
 would act a friend's part ; but we must move 
 on, we shall be overheard." 
 
 Involuntarily she recommenced walking, 
 compelled thereto, though unconsciously, by 
 the strength of will of the man who addressed 
 her. 
 
 '' Mrs. Pme," he said quietly, " you have a 
 little mistress whom you adore. She is left 
 under your sole charge, committed to your 
 most careful and vigilant keeping, yet you 
 have conveyed to her a letter written by a 
 man whose real name you do not know, at 
 whose antecedents you cannot possibly guess, 
 and, misled by you, and betrayed by you into 
 a clandestine correspondence, she has replied 
 to that letter. Her answer lies in your
 
 <jO '' cherry ripe r 
 
 pocket at this very moment. In your own 
 mind you have thought the matter out thus : 
 Here is my young mistress without any 
 relations, with next to no friends, who may 
 at any moment, by the death of her bene- 
 factress, be thrown penniless upon the world, 
 and compelled to earn the very bread she 
 eats ; and here is a lover, young, rich, madly 
 in love, who is able to take her out of all this 
 doubt and uncertainty, and, by making her 
 his wife, secure to her a home, and a certainly 
 provided for future. So far, your reasoning 
 (setting aside the young lady's own inclina- 
 tion) is good, and there is but one drawback 
 to your plan." 
 
 *' And that is T cried Prue, coming up, 
 gasping from the cold bath of amazement 
 into which his latter remarks, even more 
 than any of the previous ones, had plunged 
 her. 
 
 '' That he is not at liberty to woo any 
 Avoman honestly. Judge then what you are 
 doing by promoting a correspondence between 
 your innocent young mistress and this man.
 
 BLOSSOM, 61 
 
 and remember that one encroachment paves- 
 the way for another — the next will be, his- 
 making his way into her presence." 
 
 '^ Good Lord !" said Prue half aloud ; "" now 
 I wonder who's to know which is the honest 
 man, and which is the rogue T 
 
 *' If I were a rogue," said the man by her 
 side, '^ I should scarcely be taking this trouble 
 to serve your mistress, should I T 
 
 "Your voice sounds honest/' she said at 
 last, "but I can't see your face, or I should 
 know in a minute if you're telling me the 
 truth. Anyway I'll promise you this, he 
 shan't have the letter till I've found out 
 whether or no it's lies vou've been telling 
 me this night — there !" 
 
 Mr. Rideout, his patience thoroughly ex- 
 hausted, actuated moreover by some suspicions 
 that he was resolved if possible to verify, here 
 took half a dozen hasty steps forward, and 
 joined the waiting-woman and her companion. 
 
 " Good-evening, Mrs. Prue !" said he ; " I 
 hope I don't intrude ?" 
 
 Paul Pry's famous phrase fell from his lips
 
 62 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 in so rollicking, dare-devil a fashion that 
 Prue, for all her fears, could not forbear 
 smiling as she replied : 
 
 ''No intrusion, sir; certainly not." 
 They were at the moment passing a gas- 
 lamp newly lit, that plainly revealed the two 
 men's faces to each other and to Prue, and 
 the eyes of the former met in a sudden keen 
 scrutiny, that hardened instantaneously — on 
 Hideout's part at least — from inquiry into 
 hostility. If such a thing were possible, I 
 should say that from this moment they 
 became enemies, Avith no one-sided enmity, 
 as when one man hates another virulently, 
 while the latter is too indifferent or peaceable 
 by nature to return the compliment with 
 vigour, but equally, with a thorough and 
 hearty reciprocity of feeling that would 
 enable them to fight each other well, if in 
 the battle of life they came to be pitted the 
 one against the other. 
 
 '' So," said Rideout to himself, '' sets the 
 wind in that quarter ? I must hasten opera- 
 tions a little, or he will be cutting in before
 
 BLOSSOM, 63 
 
 me, and heavily as I am handicapped by 
 cursed ill-kick, no one but I shall win her 
 — I swear it !" 
 
 Prue also had profited by the momentary 
 opportunity afforded by the lamp, and in her 
 own mind had drawn a comparison between 
 the two men that was surely unjust, seeing 
 that the colour of a man's hair, or the shape 
 of his features, oftentimes affords no clue 
 whatever to the qualities of heart, mind, and 
 brain that he may possess. 
 
 Quickening her steps, for she felt about as 
 comfortable as may he who is planted between 
 two barrels of gunpowder that may explode 
 at any moment, Prue suddenly discovered 
 that the man in grey had disappeared from 
 her side ; that even as he came, so had he 
 departed, in impenetrable silence and mystery. 
 
 ''Well, I'm sure !" ejaculated Prue, staring 
 alternately at the sky, the earth, and the 
 trees, as if she expected them to inform her 
 which direction he had taken. '' I wonder 
 am I bewitched to-night, or dreaming f " 
 
 "Dreaming," said Mr. Rideout curtly,
 
 64 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 cingry at what he believed to be her deceit- 
 fulness and double-dealing; ^'perhaps, how- 
 ever, you'll try and collect your wits 
 sufficiently to answer me a question or two. 
 In the first place, who was that man that 
 left you a moment ago ?" 
 
 Left her ! Had he then disappeared by 
 so prosaic a fashion as leaving her ? To 
 Prue's excited imaoination he was hoverinsf 
 somewhere near in an atmosphere of brim- 
 stone, for who but the Evil One himself 
 could have told her the thoughts, plans, and 
 hopes that she had locked in her own breast, 
 nor ever breathed to any living creature ? 
 
 '' Do you hear me, woman T cried Mr. 
 Kideout ; " who was that man T 
 
 *' That, sir," said Prue with unexpected 
 sphit (why does the accusation of being a 
 woman ever carry to the female mind an 
 intolerable sense of unmerited insult ?), '* is 
 •my affair." 
 
 '^ No !" he cried, quick as light, '' I am 
 pretty sure that it is mine. Doubtless you 
 are a very good woman, but I'll be shot
 
 BLOSSOM. ijD 
 
 if you're a handsome one, and that man is 
 no lover of yours, but of — your mistress." 
 
 " He ?" cried Prue in amazement, and re- 
 assured at the notion of the stranger being 
 anything so commonplace as a lover. ^' Why, 
 I never saw him in all my life until to- 
 night !" 
 
 " And he did not ask you to convey to her 
 any letter or message ?" persisted Rideout, 
 who judged his neighbour by himself, and 
 expected to find no virtues in him that he did 
 not discover in himself. 
 
 *^ No indeed !" said Prue. '' On the con- 
 trary " 
 
 She stopped abruptly. 
 
 " On the contrary," — he rej)eated. 
 
 With some men thought is naturally slow, 
 the result of antecedent fact or cautious 
 reflection ; with others, instantaneous, and 
 partaking of the character of intuition, and 
 to the latter class belonged Rideout. More- 
 over, guilt, that marvellous quickener of the 
 intelhgence, had greatly intensified his powers 
 of observation, so that it was in tlie manner 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 of an assertion, rather than a question, that 
 he cried : 
 
 ''So he knows something of me; he warned 
 voii aofainst me, did he ?" 
 
 Utterly unable to discover the connecting 
 link between her own hasty disclaimer and 
 his apparently mal-d-propos remark, that yet, 
 inconveniently enough, hit truth in the bull's- 
 eye, Prue felt more than ever convinced that 
 the devil was abroad to-night ; and like the 
 friar, surprised in the midst of a savoury 
 meal on a fast-day by a terrific thunderstorm, 
 who could not imagine why there should be 
 such a fuss about a little bit of bacon, Prue 
 felt it to be something altogether beyond her 
 philosophy that the innocent love-letter lying 
 in her pocket should be the occasion of so 
 general an upheaval of all things. 
 
 '' Can't you speak T he cried impatiently. 
 
 His imperious tone, albeit such as he 
 habitually used with his servants, was one to 
 which Prue was by no means accustomed, so 
 that it was with a certain dignity that she 
 replied :
 
 BLOSSOM. Q7 
 
 '* Them as has got nothing to fear has no 
 call to trouble themselves about what folks 
 says of them, sir ; and I'm misdoubting me 
 but IVe done wrong in telling Miss Mignon, 
 and I'll tell her no more — but, sir/' her voice 
 broke off suddenly, '^ how could you have the 
 heart to try and deceive her so, and she so 
 young, and lonely, and all V 
 
 ^^ Yes," he said, his voice altogether chang- 
 ing, ^' she is very young and very lonely. . . . 
 A man would be hard-hearted indeed who 
 sought to harm such as she .... and you 
 think me as bad as that ?" he cried, turning 
 suddenly round upon Prue. 
 
 In his voice, as in that of the man who 
 had but now spoken with her, was a ring of 
 honesty, that she, being so purely honest 
 herself, could not fail to recognise and ac- 
 knowledge. For a moment she hesitated; 
 then, making up her mind more quickly than 
 she had ever done in her life before : 
 
 '^Sir," she said, ''if you love my young 
 mistress as she ought to be loved, and if you're 
 still wishful to get her for your wife (as you 
 
 5—2
 
 68 '' CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 told me the other night you was), then 'twill 
 be no such great matter to wait for her till 
 Miss Sorel comes back, when you'll be able 
 to court her as ladies is used to be courted, 
 not as if she was a poor serving-maid like 
 me. 
 
 '' I have seen your Miss Sorel," he said, 
 '' a cold, proud, handsome woman, who has 
 outlived the memory of her youth ; who will 
 choose my little sweetheart's husband as she 
 Avould buy her an instructive book or a useful 
 gown ; who will judge a man by his past 
 history, not by the capacities he may possess 
 for future good " 
 
 He broke off, he had forgotten to whom 
 he was speaking, and that this woman could 
 not possibly understand him . . . how could 
 she, when his heart was to himself a dark 
 and bitter riddle that he had not yet solved ? 
 
 '' Sir — Mr. Rideout," said Prue firmly, 
 ''if there's any reason why you shouldn't 
 come after Miss Mignon, if it's the leastest 
 A\Tong that you'll be doing her in trying to 
 win her love, then, sir, let me pray you to
 
 BLOSSOM. 69 
 
 go your ways and leave her in peace, for 'tis 
 a precious young life, and there's trouble 
 enough in store for her without any more 
 coming to her through a sweetheart — and 
 there's other beautiful young ladies in the 
 world besides her." 
 
 " There is only one Mignon . ..." he said. 
 *' Hark ye !" he cried impetuously, '^ any man 
 who tells you that I mean anything but 
 honestly by her, lies, for God knows I love 
 her too dearly to bring the shadow of sin or 
 shame upon her innocent head ; but there 
 are things that, told you by a stranger, might 
 make you believe me to be dishonourable and 
 unworthy of her, and such things I charge 
 you not to believe or repeat to her ; she could 
 never again be to me what she now^ is if one 
 doubt or fear of me had ever dimmed the 
 crystal purity of her mind. ..." 
 
 "And if it's the truth you're telling me, sir," 
 said Prue, touched in spite of herself, ^' and 
 if you love her so well as that, and are free 
 to court her honest, then I'll tell her no 
 w^ord agen you; but more than this I cannot
 
 70 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 promise, nor will I take any more letters from 
 you to her, nor from her to you." 
 
 "• From her to me T he repeated rapidly. 
 '^ Have you then given her a letter from me 
 — ^has she replied to it ?" 
 
 Prue, making no reply, quickened her pace. 
 On one point her mind was made up — she 
 would keep her word to the stranger, whoever 
 he might be, and the letter should be given 
 back that night into the hands of her mistress. 
 For the rest, Rosemary was but a few steps 
 away, and it was with a sigh of relief that 
 she pushed open the gate, and passed into the 
 carriage -drive that approached the house in a 
 circular form, having in its centre, and oppo- 
 site the hall- door, a colony of thriving ever- 
 greens and shrubs. Was it fancy, or did she 
 see, some distance ahead of her, a gleam of 
 something white or grey ? She could not be 
 sure. 
 
 *^ Not so fast," cried Rideout, dashing after 
 her ; " you've not answered my question 
 yet." 
 
 A dozen steps more would bring her to the
 
 BLOSSOM, 71 
 
 hall-door, and she would be safe, or so she 
 thought, having reckoned without her host, 
 for he caught her by the arm, holding her so 
 tightly that to move was impossible. 
 
 " Now^' he said, " did your mistress reply 
 to that letter, or did she not T 
 
 The light from the hall lamp fell upon 
 Prue's ugly, perturbed countenance, and on 
 the dark, reckless beauty of his. 
 
 '' You are deceiving me," he cried angrily, 
 '' I see it in your face. Whafs that T For 
 Prue's hand had involuntarily tightened upon 
 the pocket containing the letter, and his keen 
 glance had instantly detected the gesture. 
 '' Ha r"' he cried, ''upon my soul I believe 
 you are hiding something there." With a 
 dexterous movement of liis sinewy hand, he 
 Avrenched hers away, snatched the letter from 
 the pocket, glanced at the address, and then 
 tossed hand and letter high above his head in 
 triumph. " You fool !" he cried scornfully, 
 " so you meant to cheat me out of it — you 
 thought yourself a match for Phihp Pideout, 
 ■did you T Then his manner and voice
 
 72 " CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 changed all in a moment : '^ A love-letter 
 from Mignon .... my little Mignon . . . . " 
 he said .... 
 
 A hand and grey-coated arm issued noise- 
 lessly from the laurel-bush behind him, a 
 finger and thumb alighted like a butterfly on 
 the lightly-held letter, closed on it, and 
 vanished as noiselessly as they had ap- 
 peared.
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 " A falsehood in its contrary, as great 
 As my trust was." 
 
 ^^^HE bh-ds were cliatteriDg, twitter^- 
 ing, gossiping, flirting, and quar- 
 relling as energetically as though 
 they had not had the use of their tongues 
 for six months, instead of six hours — for a 
 bird's summer night is a very little longer. 
 
 A young man in waistcoat and shirt-sleeves^, 
 who stood on a ladder, and leaned his arms 
 on the top of the garden-wall, turned round 
 once or twice impatiently, as though he would 
 have liked to scatter the gossipers. but they 
 took no notice of him — not they ! 
 
 Man may have dominion over the beasts of
 
 74 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 the field, but it is to be doubted if he have any 
 over the birds of the air, save that which 
 brute force commands. He may capture, 
 torture, and destroy their bodies, but their 
 spirits he reaches — never. 
 
 The doo' chnofs with a more than human 
 fidehty to the hand that chastises and caresses 
 him, the cat creeps homeward night by night 
 to the home that feeds and shelters her, all 
 creation bows more or less to the yoke imposed 
 upon it — all save the birds, who ask of man 
 no other boon than that of liberty — liberty to 
 abandon themselves (nobly regardless of the 
 morrow) to their own glorious element, to live 
 or die in it, as Heaven wdlls. 
 
 They care no more for liis frowns than his 
 smiles ; his angry passions affect them no 
 more than does his tender pity for them when 
 they are starved, and cold, and wretched .... 
 a flirt of the wings as long as they will fly, a 
 scrap of a song as long as their slender throats 
 can utter sound, and away they go, heedless, 
 irresponsive, thankless, neither to be tamed 
 nor taught of man, unless he confines them in
 
 BLOSSOM. 75 
 
 z, cage, and deprives them of the final cause 
 of their existence. 
 
 But mark ! when he opens the door of the 
 prison-house, how the bird will fly upward, 
 like an arrow sped from a bow ; weak and 
 half dead though he may be, he prefers to 
 die out in God's air, to dying in the care of 
 man, w^ho has not, with all his gentleness, 
 contrived to establish his power over the 
 brave self-reliant spirit, that breathes in that 
 insignificant, frail little ball of feathers. 
 
 " I have a great mind to go over," said the 
 person in shirt-sleeves ; "for who is likely to 
 be out at this time of the morning?' 
 
 He sat down on the wall, drew the ladder 
 up after him, and dropped it on the other 
 side. 
 
 " A means of exit if I am caught," he said 
 to himself as he descended, " but that's not 
 likely. A dull place," he added as he stood 
 on the gravel- walk that ran round the goose- 
 berry, currant, and raspberry bushes that in 
 due season provide Miss Sorel's table with 
 fruit-pies, and looked about him. And in
 
 76 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 truth it had not much to recommend it, now 
 that the early freshness of spring had departed^ 
 and the goodly ripeness and riches of late 
 summer had not yet crowned it with their 
 plenty. 
 
 Opposite him was set Mignon's wooden 
 chair, and on the ground by its side reposed a 
 bulky volume of Grimm's ''Goblins." Opening 
 it he saw written on the title-page, '' Mignon, 
 her book/' and he smiled as he laid it down 
 again. 
 
 Under the chair lay the half-finished hand- 
 kerchief, and beside it a tiny silver thimble ; 
 the latter he tried to fit on the tips of each of 
 his fingers in turn — unsuccessfully. Turning 
 round to give the garden a last stare prepara- 
 tory to remounting the ladder, he found him- 
 self face to face with a vouno' woman. Now, 
 at six o'clock in the morning, young women 
 are as a rule to be found in their beds, so that 
 the trespasser had some excuse for looking, 
 as he felt, profoundly astonished, and very 
 much taken aback. 
 
 He might also have looked a fool had not
 
 BLOSSOM, 77 
 
 his features been turned by Nature rather in 
 the direction of wisdom than foUy — an ines- 
 timable boon to him who receives it, since the 
 man who looks wise and does foolish thinsfs, 
 is ever reckoned more sensible than he who 
 looks a fool but acts like a man of wit, the 
 countenance being open to all eyes, Avhile his 
 motives and actions are not. 
 
 Mignon (I can't tell why or wherefore she 
 did it, but she did) blushed, and it being the 
 first time she had ever blushed at the si^rht of 
 a man, she overdid the colour very much, or the 
 colour overdid her, until she looked like a rose 
 that glowed freshly with every breath that 
 stirred its heart. 
 
 She faced him thus, full front, for a quarter 
 of a minute, after which she looked at him as 
 calmly as though she wore the ordinary com- 
 plexion of a maid at six o'clock in the morning, 
 and said : 
 
 '' And pray who are you T 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then the 
 answer came, 
 
 *^ I am Adam, the gardener."
 
 CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 He made a slight gesture towards the 
 ladder and garden beyond. 
 
 ^' O !" she said, and by no^Y her face was 
 swept as clean of colour as though the red 
 rose had turned to a w^hite one. Perhaps she 
 had blushed because she thought him to be 
 Rideout ; perhaps she was disappointed — who 
 can tell % 
 
 '' And if you are the gardener from next 
 door/' she said, frowning, '' pray what do you 
 do in here ? If the fruit were ripe 1 should 
 have my suspicions about you, for we lost 
 twelve peaches and nine nectarines last year, 
 but really, just now," she lifted her head and 
 glanced about her disdainfully, "we have 
 nothinof here but — snails !" 
 
 If it be the property and sign of virtue to 
 indignantly repudiate unjust suspicion, then 
 was not Adam virtuous ; for he let the slur 
 on his probity go by, and merely remarked : 
 
 " They're very bad this year, miss — snails." 
 
 " And it is not at all polite to walk into 
 other people's gardens in this way," said Mig- 
 non, sitting down and picking up her work
 
 BLOSSOM. 79' 
 
 and thimble. " I'm sure I don't know what 
 Miss Sorel would say if she could see you — 
 you must never do it again, you know !" 
 
 " Of course not, miss," said Adam, backing 
 towards the ladder ; '' not but what I should 
 be very happy to be of use to you at any 
 time : and if you should happen to want any 
 little odd jobs done about the place, such as 
 weeding, miss, or the plants watered, or any- 
 thing of that sort, you've only got just to pop 
 your head over the garden-wall, and say 
 Adam, and I'll be with you in a moment." 
 
 " Thank you — Adam," said Mignon doubt- 
 fully. '' The fact is, I should be glad of a 
 little assistance sometimes, especially when I 
 let the fowls out. Bumble always tries to fly 
 away, and it would be such a dreadful thing 
 for all his wives if he did — still I don't think 
 I can call you — your master may not like it, 
 to say nothing of our having no ladder ; it's 
 so very mannish, you see, for a ladies' school 
 — so I don't quite see how I can pop my head 
 over the wall — thank you all the same !" 
 
 " Why as to the ladder, miss," said Adam,
 
 80 '' CHERRY RIPE f 
 
 *^ that's easily managed, for I can leave you 
 this one ; and as to my master, he won't 
 make any objections — he's away." 
 
 " Don't talk in that manner," said Mignon, 
 frowning again ; '' it's immoral. You ought 
 to do exactly the same behind his back as you 
 do to his face." 
 
 Adam couo^hed. There was nothino^ re- 
 rnarkable in the couofh, but somehow it set 
 Mignon asking herself whether she would 
 have liked for Miss Sorel to see the love- 
 letter she had received, and the one she had 
 written, the day before. 
 
 She looked the gardener full in the face for 
 the first time, and met his eyes. Honest 
 eyes they were, of that grey colour that is 
 usually supposed to denote great intellectual 
 power, but small capacity for loving ; whereas 
 it is rather the true lover's colour, being less 
 changeable than the blue, and more expres- 
 sive than the brown or black ; clear and 
 reasonable when the passions are at rest, 
 darkening and flaming into splendid earnest 
 when the heart is awake and astir.
 
 BLOSSOM. 81 
 
 ^' What a strange face for a gardener," 
 thought Mignon, her eyes travelHng slowly 
 downwards, and resting on his earth-stained 
 hands. 
 
 *^ Has your master a pretty garden — over 
 there T she said. 
 
 '' Yes," he replied, '' and plenty of flowers 
 all a-blow ; and a fountain and summer-house 
 and shady walks — it's a gay place, very." 
 
 He stood before her looking down upon 
 the slim young figure, the slowly -moving 
 needle, the curly bent head ; his whole ener- 
 gies, and they were not few, concentrated 
 upon the feat of inventing some excuse 
 w^hereby he might be licensed to remain 
 looking at her a few moments longer. 
 
 '^ It is a fine morning," he said ; but 
 whether this remark w^as the result of the 
 cudgelling of his brains, or a determined 
 attempt to compel a glance of surprise from 
 her at its egregious absurdity, it would be 
 hard to say. 
 
 She looked up, wondering why he did not 
 go away . . . she had, in fact forgotten his 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 presence, for her thoughts were fixed upon 
 more serious matters — or so, at least, she 
 considered them to be. 
 
 " It could not well be finer," she said. 
 
 There was a little pause, while the girl 
 glanced at the young man as men and women 
 generally have a way of doing at a different 
 class of people to themselves, less as though 
 they are creatures of flesh and blood like 
 themselves, than as at inanimate goods and 
 chattels created for their especial conve- 
 nience. 
 
 '' It is not going to rain," said Adam, 
 either from sheer stupidity, or with some 
 latent hope that his A^dtless folly might Avin 
 from her a smile at his own expense. 
 
 But, alas 1 not only did she not smile, but, 
 appearing to consider that this remark re- 
 quired no answer at all, worked industriously 
 on. 
 
 '^Good-morning, miss!" he said at last; 
 " and now," thought he, " she will have to 
 look me in the face again." 
 
 '^ O, good-morning," she said, without
 
 BLOSSOM. 83 
 
 raising her eyes. '^ I thought you were gone 
 lonor aofo !" 
 
 He mounted a few rungs of the ladder, 
 lingered, looked back, lost himself for a full 
 minute in the contemplation of that dainty 
 rose-leaf face, then said, in the most modest 
 of voices, '' Good-morninrj, miss !" 
 
 " Good-morning !" she said abstractedly, 
 and without looking up. 
 
 What was her surprise to hear at least two 
 minutes later a voice remarkino-, hio-h above 
 her, '^ (roocZ-morning, miss !" 
 
 It was too much. The smile for which he 
 had w^aited flashed out like a ray of sunlight 
 upon the petals of a flower, and all her dimples 
 — he had never had a really good view of them 
 before — showed bravely as she looked up and 
 said for the third time, " Good-morning !" 
 But even on the top of the wall he paused to 
 gaze down upon her ere he drojDped on the 
 other side, and vanished. 
 
 " What an extraordinary person !" said 
 Mignon aloud. " But oh, I am so dreadfully 
 hungry !" 
 
 6—2
 
 84 *' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 As thoiisli in answer to the wish, Prue at 
 this moment appeared, her eyes fixed upon 
 the tray she carried, and that contained the 
 girl's breakfast, which consisted of a cup of 
 coffee, a plate of bread-and-butter, and a 
 brown ^gg of not more than two days old, if 
 its outward appearance did not sadly belie its 
 inner, 
 
 " There !" said Prue, setting dow^n the tray 
 on Mignon's lap. '' I got it for you as quick 
 as I could, but what made you come out so 
 early this morning V 
 
 " The birds made such a noise," said 
 Mignon, tasting her coffee, ^' and, as I 
 couldn't sleep, I got up. Now what do you 
 suppose has happened to me this morning ? 
 What would you say if I told you I had 
 already had a visitor T 
 
 Prue jumped ; it was more than a start — 
 it was a jump. 
 
 '' A visitor, miss !" she said, turning pale, 
 '' and pray who might that be T 
 
 " A young man," said Mignon, tapi^ing the 
 brown ^gg smartly, " and an uncommonly
 
 BLOSSOM. 85 
 
 good-looking one too I I am going to begin 
 a diary to-day, and write in it, ' Spoke to a 
 young man for the first time in my life, and 
 he was' " 
 
 " Who ?" cried Priie breathlessly. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mignon gaily. "Wouldn't 
 you like to know ? He alighted from the 
 clouds, or, more vulgarly speaking, arrived by 
 the aid of a ladder; and he came after, at 
 least I should think he must have, as there 
 was nothino' else here but me — what do vou 
 think r 
 
 " I don't know, Miss Mignon," said Prue, 
 breathless with impatience ; " what a teaze 
 you are to be sure !" 
 
 " Snails /" said Mignon, looking regretfully 
 at the now empty egg-shell, and turning it 
 upside down, whereby it was metamorphosed 
 from a respectable wreck to a despicable sham. 
 " And w^henever I want to speak to him I'm 
 to pop my head over the garden- wall and call 
 out " 
 
 ''Yes," said Prue, on tenter-hooks, "call 
 out ivhat T
 
 86 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 ''Not Mr. Eideout !"saidMio'non. " Though, 
 indeed, it is almost a pity. Just think of the 
 opportunities one would have for writing and 
 receiving love-letters over a wall with a pair 
 of ladders !" 
 
 '' Then, if 't wasn't Mr. Rideout/' said Prue, 
 considerably relieved, her suspicion reverting 
 to the mysterious man in grey, '' who could 
 it have been, and what was his name, 
 miss \ 
 
 '' It was only the gardener from next door, 
 by name Adam," said Mignon. ^'And, do 
 you know, I do not think that he is quite 
 right in his head, for he wished me good- 
 morning three times ! But tell me, do you 
 think I shall get a letter from Mr. Eideout 
 this morning % It is very odd that he should 
 not have sent one back to me when you gave 
 him mine. Did he not seem pleased with it, 
 Prue r 
 
 '' Pleased enough," said Prue, turning away 
 her head and recalling her last view of Eide- 
 out, dashing in mad pursuit of the thief who 
 stole the letter.
 
 BLOSSOM. 87 
 
 " But didn't he say anything T said Mignon, 
 puzzled by something in Prue's manner. 
 
 '' Miss Mignon/' said the woman slowly, 
 '^ you'd best put him out of your head for a 
 bit, anyways till Miss Sorel comes back, for 
 p'r'aps it won't come to nothing after all ; and 
 if it should turn out as he's no good^ " 
 
 '' No good !" said Mignon, "• and '■ nothing 
 come of it !' why, you don't suppose I want 
 to marry him — do you, Prue ? He can hold 
 a pen, can he not, and has got a heart that 
 feels? I don't want anymore than that — • 
 indeed, I shouldn't know what to do with any 
 other attentions ; and if he'll only go on 
 writing me some nice love-letters, he may he 
 as nasty as he pleases ! I'm not likely ever 
 to speak to him, you know !" 
 
 " He's got a nerve of his own," said Prue, 
 shaking her head, " a very wonderful nerve ; 
 and it would not astonish me if he came 
 swaggering into the garden this very minute 
 and said, ' Miss Mignon, I've come to marry 
 you ;' and it's my belief that if he said so 
 you'd have to do it, miss !"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 T'S no matter what you do 
 If your heart be only true, 
 And his heart ii:as true to Poll," 
 
 said Mignon with great decision, as she hber- 
 ally dispensed the barley she held up in her 
 apron. 
 
 ''I do Avish," she Avent on, discarding 
 elegant quotation for commonplace prose, 
 and addressino;' the hens who scrambled and 
 fought, and pushed about her feet, '^ that you 
 would take pattern by Bumble, who is the 
 soul of politeness, instead of gobbling away 
 as though you Avere eating for a Avager. 
 There can't be a ghost of a digestion among 
 you — perhaps that's why you're so tough and 
 nasty when you're eaten, whereas a little com- 
 mon politeness would make you far more
 
 BLOSSOM, 89 
 
 respectable in life, and satisfactory in death, if 
 only you could be brought to think so ! 
 There !" she added, letting fall her apron with 
 its few remaining grains, and smiling at the 
 scrimmage they occasioned, "that's all; so 
 you need not perk your heads about in that 
 inquisitive way, for you won't get any more 
 for ever so long !" 
 
 She sauntered towards her accustomed 
 seat, and the feathered flock foUow^ed close 
 upon her heels, imagining that where so much 
 barley had been, more might yet be found. 
 
 " I can't help feeling sorry for you," she 
 said, sitting down and addressing them in- 
 differently ; " you must find it so horribly 
 dull with nothing to do but scratch, scratch, 
 from morning till night, and look forward to 
 meal- times ! You have not even the excite- 
 ment of a good rousing quarrel now and then, 
 but peck at one another in a cowardly half- 
 hearted fashion, that can't relieve your feel- 
 ings one bit !" 
 
 The hens did not understand these re- 
 marks, and after standing about for some time
 
 90 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 in various attitudes of despondency and ex- 
 pectation, they separated and spread about 
 the garden, all save Bumble, the cock, who 
 flew in a clumsy manner to the top of the 
 garden- wall, and from thence uttered a loud 
 and derisive cock-a-doodle-doo ! that awoke 
 warlike echoes in the gardens round about. 
 
 " Oh, Bumble !" cried Mignon in despair, 
 " that is the third time you have played me 
 this trick in one week ! Now I should like 
 to know how on earth I am to get you down 
 ao-ain f 
 
 But Bumble had no intention of leaving a 
 place that was evidently so much to his liking ; 
 so his only reply to this appeal was to flap his 
 wings fiercely, toss his head proudly, and 
 nearly dislocate his neck in a still louder note 
 of triumph than before, that was speedily 
 answered by his feathered brethren from 
 half a dozen adjoining gardens in every 
 imaginable key — high and clear, husky and 
 deep, shrill and quavering, hoarse and grum- 
 bling, weak and piping, every note in the 
 gamut of cock-a-doodle-doo-dum appeared to
 
 BLOSSOM. 91 
 
 have its representative, to swell the in- 
 harmonious concert. 
 
 Having scaled the wall with a purpose, 
 Bumble did not, however, pause to indulge 
 himself in half an hour or so of crowing, as 
 was his wont of mornings, when time hung 
 particularly heavy on his hands, so set out 
 with a lordly strut, and an evident intention 
 of takino' one of those unauthorised and 
 vagabond rambles that were a source of peril 
 to his neck, and giief to his mistress ; for if 
 he was brave, he w^as also foolhardy, and 
 oftener than not returned from these excur- 
 sions so severely mauled and beaten as to 
 lead her to suppose that he had met with 
 more kicks than halfpence by the way. 
 
 On one occasion, indeed, he remained away 
 so long that a scarlet-combed and proudly- 
 spurred gentleman of the neighbourhood ap- 
 peared upon the scene, and was accepted by 
 Bumble's lately obedient wives with that 
 placidity which (added to greediness) appears 
 to be the sole characteristic of the hen 
 tribe. But, alas ! one fine morning Bumble
 
 .92 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 unexpectedly returned, and, discovering the 
 profligate usurper of his affections, there en- 
 sued a oTeat and o-rievous battle that was 
 ever remembered by Mignon with fear raid 
 trembling, and that ended not until the 
 doughty and justly enraged Bumble had, 
 with great loss of blood and feathers to the 
 enemy, achieved a signal victory over the 
 daring intruder. 
 
 '' He is going," she cried, her eyes anxiously 
 fixed on the extreme tip of his vanishing tail. 
 '' Oh ! what shall I do ?" 
 
 Her eyes fell upon the ladder, and it put 
 an idea into her head. To climb it was 
 the work of a moment, and, on looking over 
 the top of the wall, she discovered Adam 
 working with his back turned to her. 
 
 "■ Adam !" she said breathlessly ; '' quick — • 
 Bumble ! he will be lost ! Don't you think 
 you could manage to catch him for me ?" 
 
 But before Adam could answer, Pro\4deDce 
 interposed on Mignon's behalf in a somewhat 
 ludicrous manner. 
 
 As Bumble went on his way rejoicing, his
 
 BLOSSOM. 93 
 
 toes well turned out, and perking his head 
 from side to side, as though he \Yere deter- 
 mined to see all that was to be seen on both 
 sides of the way, he came suddenly face to 
 face with a cat, who was also taking the air 
 from an eminence, and whose approach he did 
 not perceive till his feathers actually touched 
 her fur. 
 
 He recoiled with so violent a start, that it 
 would be folly to assert that a fowl has na 
 nerves ; indeed, he could not have looked 
 more horrified if he had met a fox j)repared 
 to strangle and eat him, feathers, bones and all.. 
 
 '* What a godsend !" cried Mignon, in prodi- 
 gious excitement. " If only she would chase 
 him back !" 
 
 " If only they would stay looking at each 
 other for ever," thought Adam, gazing up at 
 the innocent, childish face that bloomed in. 
 all its delicate colours high above him. 
 
 But, alas for his hopes, the matter was^ 
 decided in a few seconds. Puss claiming the 
 right of way, and Bumble being in far toa 
 much of a fluster to efface himself in her
 
 94 " CHERRY RIPET 
 
 favour, she flew at him tooth and claw ; 
 while he, reversing himself with extraordi- 
 nary rapidity, raced homewards with out- 
 stretched neck and flapping wings, nor rested 
 until he had floundered headlono- into the 
 bosom of the family he had so lately quitted. 
 
 " Oh !" said Mignon, fetching a deep sigh 
 of relief, '' that vxis lucky ! Good afternoon ! 
 I'm just as much obliged to you as if you had 
 caught Bumble, you know !" 
 
 She nodded bhthely, and vanished so sud- 
 denly as to plunge Adam, who had by no 
 means reckoned on so speedy a disappear- 
 ance, into utter despair. 
 
 Were his wits never to be at hand when 
 he wanted them ? he asked himself angrily, 
 as he stood looking at the bare wall, that 
 a moment ago had appeared to him the finest 
 spectacle that earth could afford. 
 
 A good general, however, does not pause 
 to bemoan a blunder, he sets to work to 
 instantly repair it, if possible. Not more 
 than ten seconds therefore had elapsed ere he 
 had mounted his ladder, and was looking over
 
 BLOSSOM, 95 
 
 into the adjacent garden. Alas ! it was 
 empty of all save Bumble, who stood, the 
 imao-e of discomfiture amono- his wives, who 
 may, for aught we know to the contrary, 
 have been twitting him with the ignominious 
 end of his expedition. '^ Such an oppor- 
 tunity," he said to himself ruefully, '^ and to 
 have missed it like that !" 
 
 Apparently minded to take a little hoHday, 
 he folded his arms on the top of the wall, 
 rested his chin upon them, and refreshed his 
 eyes with a good stare at the prospect before 
 him. 
 
 He did not appear to grow tired of this 
 amusement until a certain faint sound in the 
 distance struck upon his ear, whereupon, and 
 with such extreme rapidity as might lead any 
 one on the other side to suppose that the 
 perch on which he stood had ingloriously col- 
 lapsed, he disappeared from the summit of the 
 wall. 
 
 Footsteps were coming into the garden, 
 voices were drawing near, and in a very few 
 moments he enjoyed the happiness of parting
 
 9fi " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 the wallflower's leaves, and getting an excel- 
 lent bird's-eye view of Mignon and Prue. 
 
 The woman Avas, as usual, sitting down ; 
 the girl standing with her hands behind her 
 back, and voice a little raised in positive- 
 assertion. 
 
 '' Yes !" she Avas saying, *' on one point I 
 am resolved — we will do something, Prue ! we- 
 will lead a gay life, you and I, for at least 
 three whole days, beginning at eight o'clock 
 to-morrow morning I And in the first place 
 we will go to Madame Tussaud's." 
 
 "Yes, miss," said Prue, immensely relieved 
 at finding Mignon's iniquitous proceedings 
 resolve themselves into nothing worse than a 
 visit to the w^ax figures. 
 
 "• The day after to-morrow," continued 
 Mignon, '' we will go to Hampton Court — 
 but not by train, or in any way that we have 
 ever been before, or are likely to go again — 
 we will go on donkeys.'" 
 
 " No, miss, we won't," said Prue with 
 unlooked-for decision ; '' you'll not demean 
 yourself in that way while I've got the charge
 
 BLOSSOM. 97 
 
 of you. But if we could hear of a respect- 
 able shay now " 
 
 Prue was one of those persons who call 
 anything that goes upon wheels a *' chaise ;'* 
 and indeed it is a comfortable, well-sounding 
 word that casts a halo of respectability about 
 the most broken-down of conveyances, for, 
 however bad may be the conveyance that 
 Providence has thought fit to send you, you 
 have but to reflect that in the days of old 
 the finest conveyance was oftener than not 
 dubbed a "chaise," to retain your dignity, 
 and feel that after all thino^s miofht be 
 worse. ^ 
 
 '^ A shay costs money," said Mignon, 
 shaking her head, and pursing up her lips ; 
 " you must have a man to drive, and then 
 the horse will want a feed — and I have only 
 got ten shillings and sixpence in the world 
 to last me till Miss Sorel comes back. I 
 must not spend all my money on trips, 
 though, because — are all gardeners handsome^ 
 Prue r 
 
 The apparently irrelevant question bore 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 reference to something that was then in her 
 mind. 
 
 " I don't know, miss — about the same as 
 other folks, I s'pose. They're mostly dirty 
 fellows — 'bliged to be with the work they 
 do — and terrible fond of their beer and 
 'baccy." 
 
 "But this one is not dirty at all," said 
 Mignon, puzzled. " His shirt-sleeves are as 
 white as snow ; and he does not look as if he 
 were fond of beer — not in the least !" 
 
 '^ This one V said Prue, " and pray who 
 may that be, miss ?" 
 
 " The gardener from next door," said the 
 girl. " I saw him just now. He was going 
 to help me to catch Bumble. Now do you 
 think he would be very much offended if I 
 were to offer him half a crown ? Then he 
 would be sure to help me at any future time, 
 and even keep an eye upon the fowls when I 
 happen to be away." 
 
 " Offended !" said Prue, "he'd jump at it, 
 miss. But why should you do that — when 
 you've got so little, too ? And he won't be a
 
 BLOSSOM. 99 
 
 bit grateful to you for it, neither ;" by which 
 it would appear that Prue knew her OAvn class 
 thoroughly. 
 
 " But I don't want him to be grateful," 
 said Mignon ; "■ it's enough pleasure to me, 
 to give it. It's a great luxury," she added, 
 sighing, " the greatest of all under the sun, 
 to give !" 
 
 He must have been very greedy, as well as 
 dishonourable, the young man who listened 
 to the foregoing conversation, for at the young- 
 lady's first intimation of her intentions, he 
 gave vent to a quickly stifled exclamation of 
 delight ! 
 
 '' Half a crown," he said to himself. " I 
 wonder when will she give it me ? To- 
 morrow ? The day after, the next ? If I 
 watched Prue safely ofl* the premises and 
 went over, might she not even give it me 
 to-day r 
 
 He vowed in his heart that by hook or 
 crook he would at the earliest opportunity 
 make his way into her presence ; and, in ca^e 
 she should have foro^otten her intention, look 
 
 7—2
 
 100 *' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 half-crowns at her with all his might — only 
 he must be quick about it, or she would spend 
 all her money; she might not have another half- 
 crown to give away for months and months, 
 and then where would lie be ? 
 
 Clearly there was no time to be wasted ; 
 he must waylay her on the morrow (and here 
 a question as to the possibility of getting 
 suitable holiday attire in which to go to 
 Madame Tussaud's obtruded itself disagree- 
 ably upon his mind), and it should go hard 
 with him if he did not catch her away 
 from Prue, and gain the promised 'pour- 
 hoire. 
 
 For the rest, no lover ever hung on the 
 varying expression of a capricious mistress's 
 eye more fondly and faithfully, than would he 
 on the tip of Bumble's vagabond tail. Troy 
 was taken by a stratagem. Rome was saved 
 by the cackling of geese ; why should not 
 Bumble be the means of guiding him tq the 
 end to which his ambitions pointed ? 
 
 And he fell asleep that night as happy as 
 a king, with the vision before him of Mignon
 
 BLOSSOM. 101 
 
 presenting him with a bright, brand-new half- 
 crown, while the pleasures of Hope were 
 represented by the sight of Bumble majesti- 
 cally vanishing in the distance.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Ye who have yearned 
 With too much love, will here stay and pity 
 For the mere sake of truth." 
 
 IGNON stood with her hands be- 
 hind her back, winking at Mr. 
 Cobbett, who sat at the foot of the 
 Sleeping Beauty, neatly dressed, with his 
 snuff-box in his hand, and turning his head 
 slowly from side to side, as though he were 
 trying to overhear some of the pure English 
 that he loved. She never could divest her- 
 self of the belief that he was as much alive as 
 she herself was, and it would not have as- 
 tonished her in the least if one day he had 
 closed one of his wicked little eyes in a 
 deliberate return wink at her, but he never
 
 BLOSSOM. 103 
 
 did, and she presently turned away, saying to 
 herself that really he was a gentleman of very 
 little es])v%t after all. 
 
 She had long got over the amazed Avonder 
 with which she had at first beheld these 
 gorgeously- attired ladies and gentlemen, and 
 now liked them according to their histories, 
 having her favourites, of course, and never 
 failing to go and say, " How do you do T to 
 the Princess of Wales, and Maximilian, 
 Oliver Cromwell, Voltaire, and Liston as 
 Paul Pry. To these she had already 
 paid her devoirs, and now sat down before 
 Henry and his six wives, thinking for the 
 fiftieth time how exactly like a big fat, tyran- 
 nical turkey-cock he looked, surrounded by 
 a flock of timid, helpless hens, all waiting to 
 have their heads cut off. Surely he must 
 have been made of strange stuff, that burly, 
 €lear-faced king, with those amorous blue 
 eyes that spoke the language of love well, or 
 his portraits sorely belie him, to keep his com- 
 plexion as purely red and white as that of a 
 village beauty in her teens, when he had so
 
 104 " CHERR Y RIPE /" 
 
 many crimes lying upon his mind \ Did these 
 poor murdered queens come stepping softly to 
 his side when he lay a-dying, whispering/' How 
 does it taste to you^ this bitterness of death V 
 He was but a sorry knave after all, in spite of 
 his kingly air and presence ! 
 
 The morning was not very old yet, still a 
 few people were strolling about, and, as usual, 
 were to be seen half a dozen of those courting 
 couples who would not consider th ey had seen 
 London unless they paid a visit to the ''w^ax 
 figures," and who combined the triple enjoy- 
 ment of criticism, courtship, and refresh- 
 ment in a manner apparently highly agreeable 
 and satisfactory. 
 
 Perhaps because Mignon was so used ta 
 them all, she found the waxen people a little 
 dull that morning, and fell to wishing that they 
 would open their impossibly pink lips and talk 
 to her, for everybody knows it is very one-sided 
 work to talk to people whenever answer you. 
 Therefore it was with a decided sense of 
 pleasure that Mignon saw passing, at some 
 little distance from her, a somebody whose
 
 BLOSSOM. 105 
 
 back seemed familiar, yet unfamiliar to her 
 eyes, a somebody who had a semi-bump- 
 kinish air, as though his clothes and he 
 were not on good terms with each other, and 
 only when he was on the point of disappearing 
 did she recognise the gardener, Adam. 
 
 She jumped up, and ran after him. 
 
 '' Is that you, Adam ?" she said, delighted 
 at having a chance of speaking to somebody ; 
 '^ and have you got a little holiday to-day ?" 
 
 * ' Yes, miss," he said ; and the girl thought 
 to herself a little enviously, how happy he 
 looked, and how thoroughly he seemed to be 
 enjoying himself ! 
 
 *' You could not possibly come to a better 
 place to spend it," she said gravely ; and a 
 sweet Httle mentor she looked, for all the 
 world like a freshly-plucked bunch of violets, 
 he thought, in her white gown and hat, with 
 their dark-blue ribbons. *' It will give you an 
 excellent idea of English history, and every 
 young man who wishes to improve his mind 
 should know something of the great men of 
 his country."
 
 106 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 "Yes, miss," said Adam, ^vitli miabated 
 gravity. 
 
 *' Though I don't suppose you've got as far 
 as French history yet," she said, apparently 
 dehghted with the sound of her own voice ; 
 '^ still, I dare say you may have heard of 
 Marie Antoinette ? Tlieve she is !" said the 
 girl, nodding towards her. " Prue always calls 
 her Maria, because she can't pronounce her 
 name the right way." 
 
 *' Ah !" said Adam ; " some of those French 
 words are quite beyond most folks." 
 
 " Of course they are," said Mignon with 
 dignity, ^' and I should never advise you to 
 attempt to understand them. The three ' R's ' 
 are quite enough for any respectable young 
 man, and ' a little knowledo^e is a dang^erous 
 thing.' " 
 
 " Yes, miss," he said, and waited for more. 
 
 Instructing him by the way, she came 
 presently to a stop before Mary Queen of 
 Scots. 
 
 *^ I think you must have heard of her,'' she 
 said gravely ; " everybody has. She was
 
 BLOSSOJl, 107 
 
 wicked, you know " (she shook her head and 
 looked solemn) ; " she had too many husbands : 
 just as Henry over there had too many wives; 
 and they both got into a very bad way of killing 
 off the ones they did not like, so that of course 
 it was not j^ossihle for any one to approve of 
 either of them." 
 
 '' Of course not," said Adam, looking pro- 
 foundly impressed, and only hoping that she 
 might have time to expound to him the whole 
 catalogue before Prue swooped down upon. 
 and routed him. 
 
 But Mio-non's thous^hts had taken a new 
 turn. She was looking towards the turn- 
 stile in the distance, through which people 
 passed in twos and threes, all looking ex- 
 pectaut and eager, some frightened. 
 
 " Adam," she said, '' have you ever been 
 into the Chamber of Horrors ?" 
 
 ^^ Yes, miss, once." 
 
 " Was it very awful ? Did it haunt you 
 for days and weeks and months afterwards ?" 
 
 ^* No," he said, smiling a httle ; '' but were 
 you thinking of going in ?"
 
 108 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 " Should you say that a person would be 
 likely to tumble do^^^l in a fit ?" she went on, 
 disregarding his question. 
 
 " Not unless she were subject to fits at any 
 other time." 
 
 " You see, it would be so awkward if there 
 were nobody to pick one up !" 
 
 "' You need not be afraid, miss !" 
 
 " Prue is no good, she would as likely as 
 not tumble down too," she went on, appa- 
 rently thinking aloud. " You are sure you 
 would not like to go in again, Adam T looking 
 at him much as a robin may at a respectable 
 crow against whom he is plotting some fairy 
 mischief. 
 
 " I should love to, miss." 
 
 '' Then so you shall,'' she said briskly ; '' but 
 you mustn't speak to me, unless you see I'm 
 very much frightened, only if you can't under- 
 stand everything, and come to me, I'll explain 
 it to you." 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 *^ By the bye," she said, growing rather 
 red and putting her hand in her pocket, '^ you
 
 BLOSSOM. 109 
 
 smoke tobacco, Adam, do you not, and you 
 drink beer ?" 
 
 ^^ Yes, miss. " 
 
 ^' Then will you — will you mind accej^ting 
 a little luherewithal to buy some '?" 
 
 And with the true shamefacedness of the 
 generous giver, she thrust the half-crown into- 
 Adam's hand, that did not close modestly 
 and secretly upon the gift, as surely it should 
 have done ; but, on the contrary, received it 
 publicly, openly, the silver coin lying upon 
 his open palm as a respectable fact that all 
 the world was welcome to behold. 
 
 Adam looked musingly down at the half- 
 crown, as though it were the first piece of 
 money he had ever seen in his life. 
 
 " Thank you, miss," he said at last, and 
 still looking at it, laid it away in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Mimon heaved a siofh of relief ; thank 
 goodness that business was over. Then 
 she paid two sixpences at the turnstile, 
 and, with a fast-beating heart, stepped 
 over the threshold of the famous chamber,
 
 110 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 that grisly abode of which she had heard 
 such terrible stories, but fetched a sigh of 
 relief when, on looking around, she beheld 
 no more or less than (at the first glance) a 
 Avaxen assemblage of ordinary men and 
 women, and circulating among them a score or 
 so of real flesh and blood people, who chat- 
 tered, stared, and gossiped, apparently quite 
 unimpressed by the atmosphere of murder 
 that they breathed. 
 
 And yet, when Mignon's eye was caught 
 by the cast of Ravaillac's head, taken after 
 death, and she went near to examine it — 
 when she noted the cruel, and slightly pro- 
 truded lips, the stealthy lurid eyes, the brand 
 of murderer that nature had imprinted upon 
 every line of his face, and that outlived the 
 inconceivable horror of the death he died — she 
 began to understand why this room was 
 indeed terrible, why it had so powerfully 
 affected the minds of some who entered it, 
 because it was a record of things tme, things 
 accomplished, because every silent figure here 
 present was the representative of a cowardly
 
 BLOSSOM. Ill 
 
 atrocious crime that had been committed — 
 because, side by side with the destroyer of 
 hfe, one beheld in imagination the victim or 
 victims, and saw enacted before one the 
 whole frightful tragedy. Would so many 
 tears have fallen when Mr. Irving walked 
 to his doom as Charles the First, had 
 the story been an imaginary one, had the 
 woes he represented been fictitious ? The 
 lookers-on knew that it had all happened — 
 that in some such fashion as this the kino- 
 had bade his wife and little ones a long fare- 
 well ; that in just such fashion he had walked 
 forth in the grey of the early morning, guilt- 
 less, to his doom. 
 
 Mignon had not been in the room sixty 
 seconds, when a gentleman, who had just 
 entered, and having by his side a young lady 
 caught sight of the girl's profile, and starting 
 violently, made a sudden step or two forward 
 as though to join her. Kecovering himself 
 as quickly, however, he said something in a 
 low tone to his companion. 
 
 '^Yes — let us go," she said coldly and
 
 112 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 wearily ; and what a strange voice it was, 
 to issue from such young and beautiful lips \ 
 " It Avas a foolish fancy — no more — that 
 made me enter" — her tone changed with 
 the last few words to a passionate wistfulness 
 that behed their lightness, and words and 
 tone alike, though uttered at some distance, 
 pierced to Mignon's ears, and produced upon 
 her an instantaneous and extraordinary effect . 
 For some seconds she stood perfectly motion- 
 less, absolutely incapable of either speech or 
 movement ; then, shaking off with a desperate 
 effort the spell that bound her, she gazed 
 wildly around. 
 
 '' Muriel !" she cried. " Muriel !" 
 And the cry sounded eerie and strange in 
 the dismal room, and the people fell back 
 from her as she ran hither and thither, with 
 outstretched arms and a breathless look of 
 joy in her eyes that changed to despair as 
 there came no answer back to her, and all 
 around her she saw but the immovable faces 
 of the waxen people, and the astonished ones 
 of the crowd.
 
 BLOSSOM. 113 
 
 Then a curious thing happened, and one 
 that those present have never forgotten — 
 never will forget to their dying day. The 
 girl stood quite still, and there broke from her 
 lips the refrain of grand old Robert Herrick's 
 once famous Madrigal, 
 
 " Cherry ripe f rijoe, ripe 1 cry, 
 True ami falre ones come and buy ! 
 Come and buy "'^ 
 
 Then she paused, lifted her hand, and waited 
 for the burden of the song to be taken up by 
 another pair of lips. There was not a sound 
 save of the distant footsteps that went to and 
 fro, and the muttered exclamations of the 
 crowd. Then she took up the verse again. 
 
 '' If so he you ash me vJwe 
 They doe groiv, I answer, There : 
 Where my Jidia's lips doe smile 
 There's the land or cherry-Ue /" 
 
 Here the voice that had started so bravely 
 with its lilt of youth and freshness, died away 
 into a passionate quivering sob. . . . 
 
 '' I shall lose her !" she cried, " I shall lose 
 
 * Old version of song. 
 VOL. I. <i
 
 114 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 her !" and the people all fell back to make 
 way for her as she fled through the ante- 
 chamber, and the Hall of Kings. Hindered 
 here, jostled there, she yet reached the street 
 entrance in time to see a carriasfe drivins^ 
 rapidly away, from the window of which 
 there looked a girl's face, brown eyed, brown 
 haired, fair as the day, the face of Mignon s 
 lost sister, Muriel. 
 
 '' Muriel r she cried. '' Miiriel T Hope- 
 ful and overjoyed, she dashed after her in 
 swift pursuit. 
 
 Lost in the sea of traffic, bewildered, con- 
 fused, she yet pushed blindly on. . . . There 
 was the carriao^e in the distance that held her 
 darling, and she must get to it .... if only 
 these cruel carts and cabs would not come 
 between ; if only she could pass that great 
 ugly van before her ! The slender little 
 figure in white made a sudden perilous dash 
 forwards, slipped and fell. . . . The driver, 
 occupied in chaffing a passing acquaintance, 
 saw nothing. The horses went stolidly on. 
 Some one, who had followed her all the way.
 
 BLOSSOM. 115 
 
 came from behind and caught her in his arms 
 — caught her from the death that in another 
 moment would have come to her at the hoofs 
 of those stohd well-fed horses. 
 
 " Let me go !" she cried, struggling fiercely 
 to free herself; ^' do you know lohat you are 
 doing? I shall never find her now — never/ 
 And oh ! how I hate you and I wish that you 
 were dead /" 
 
 8—2
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 " The pearliest dew not brings 
 Such morning incense from the fields of May, 
 As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray 
 From those kind eyes — the very home and haunt 
 Of sisterly affection." 
 
 YOUNG man who was digging in 
 his garden with great industry and 
 vigour, and who sent his spadefuls 
 of mould flying hither and thither, as though 
 they were missiles sped after the vanishing 
 heels of an enemy, felt all at once convinced 
 that something unusual had happened to him. 
 He paused in his toil, and looked around. 
 
 Something had happened. At the tojD of 
 the garden-wall bloomed a flower that was 
 never grown by sunshine, wind^ or rain ; that
 
 BLOSSOM. 117 
 
 had a wistful delicate face of its own, and a 
 pair of blue eyes that looked anxiously at the 
 gardener ; that was, in short, Mignon. 
 
 Do the tears of the very young, and they 
 to whom sorrow is a word, not a meaning, 
 blister the eyes, and wring the heart as those 
 shed by souls to whom misery is an established 
 fact, misfortune a recurrent and ever-faithful 
 o'uest ? I trow not. To the fresh unworn 
 heart, with its springs of emotion as yet 
 unsounded and untouched, these early tears 
 that seem to it so bitter, are in sooth but a 
 novel experience that has almost the form of 
 a luxury .... a timorous step or two taken 
 into a dark and unbeautiful land, from whence 
 it retreats with no more unquiet feeling than 
 has he who wanders from the sunlio^ht into 
 the shadow, from the shadow back into the 
 sunlight, knowing that the latter, not the 
 former, is his home. 
 
 It is grief added to grief, nay, it is the very 
 intensity of the memory of grief, that alone 
 produces those scalding agonising tears that 
 wear channels about the eyes that death itself
 
 118 '' CHERRY RIPE f 
 
 has not power to smooth away .... the woes 
 of the very young leave the eyes clear as 
 crystal, bright as the day, and are as quickly 
 dried as is the silver dew upon the morning 
 grass. 
 
 Adam, throwing down his spade and look- 
 ing up at that gentle apparition, discovered 
 in her face no sign of the passionate anger 
 and grief that had convulsed her yesterday ; 
 on the contrary, she had a timid air, and her 
 voice was extremely low and somewhat falter- 
 ing as she said : 
 
 '' Adam !" 
 
 '' Yes, miss." 
 
 ^' Would you mind very much if I were to 
 speak to you ?" she said. 
 
 " To speak to me, miss ?" he said in a voice 
 no whit more resolute than her own. 
 
 " Yes, if you do not mind." 
 
 He fetched a ladder — it looked very like a 
 new one — pitched it against the w^all, and in 
 another moment there w^as but a hand's- 
 breadth between the girl's face and his. 
 
 " I want to ask you a question," she said,
 
 BLOSSOM. 119 
 
 hanging her head, and looking sorely ashamed. 
 *' Supposing that you loved somebody very 
 dearly, better than anything else upon earth, 
 and you had lost her and were always think- 
 ing of her day and night, and longing for the 
 time when you would find her again, to part 
 from her never any more, and it hajDpened 
 one day by the strangest chance that she was 
 quite near you, almost within reach of your 
 hand, and you knew that if you could only 
 get to her, the long weary waiting would be 
 all over, and you would look into her very 
 face, hear her very voice, and almost die for 
 pure gladness that your arms were about her 
 again, would you not for the moment hate 
 any one who came between you and her, yes, 
 and wish w^ith all your heart that he Avas 
 deadr 
 
 " I should hate him," said Adam, '^ with 
 all my heart." 
 
 " No," she said gently, *' you would not, 
 though in your anger you might be so wicked 
 as to think you did ; and afterwards, when 
 you found how that person had saved your
 
 120 " CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 life, at the risk of his o\n\, would you not 
 feel so desperately sony and ashamed of 
 yourself that you would be quite afraid to 
 look that person in the face T 
 
 He was beginning to understand the drift 
 of her meaning now, and a sudden brightness 
 overspread his features, that made him look 
 a different man. 
 
 *^ And was it that you wished to say to me. 
 Miss Mignon T he said ; and it was curious 
 how different her name sounded on his lips 
 to Prue's literal and English pronunciation of 
 it. " Why, I thought nothing of your words 
 — people say a gi'eat many things when 
 they're angry that they don't mean, and I 
 haven't given those a single thought ;" and in 
 this he Ued, for they had never ceased to ring 
 in his ears since the time that she had uttered 
 them. 
 
 '* Have you not ?" she said joyfully ; " then 
 that is all right, and we will forget all about 
 it, and — would you mind my shaking hands 
 with you, Adam ?" 
 
 He took her soft fair little hand in his
 
 BLOSSOM. 121 
 
 brown earth-stained one, looking down upon 
 it as though he held some rare and costly 
 gew-gaw, that was unfamiliar yet beautiful 
 to his eyes. Then he laid it dow^n on the wall 
 as carefully as though he feared it might 
 break. 
 
 " Thank you, miss," he said. 
 
 ^^ She will thank you better than I ever 
 can," she went on, '' for what you have done 
 for me ; and she wdll scold me — ever so gently 
 — for putting myself into that state, because 
 I could not overtake her, for she will say, 
 ' And if you saw me in London, might you 
 not have been sure that I should come 
 straight off to you at Rosemary as soon as 
 ever I w^as able ?' only, you see, I did not 
 think about that, but only that she would 
 not answer when I called her — no, nor even 
 listen, when I sang the old song." 
 
 ^^ And if she can love a sister in this 
 fashion,'' thought Adam, '' ivhat loill not her 
 love he ivhen her heart awakens at last to the 
 lover and the husband T 
 
 She had paused in her speech, not because
 
 122 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 she had suddenly become conscious that she 
 was talking too freely to the young gardener 
 — she was too absolutely ignorant of the 
 hienseances of society and the world for that 
 — moreover, her instincts were too pure and 
 good to lead her astray, or cause her to 
 recognise him for any other than the honest 
 man that he was ; but because there was pass- 
 ing through her mind the memory of the tender 
 foolish promise that she and Muriel had made 
 long years ago : how, if either should find 
 herself separated from the other, she was to 
 go through the world as Blondel did in 
 search of Kichard Coeur de Lion, singing 
 the favourite song agreed upon between 
 them ; for with the song on the lips of the 
 one, the echo in the heart of the other, how 
 could they fail to find each other at last, as the 
 faithful Blondel sought and found his master ? 
 To their passionate, childlike faith all 
 things had seemed possible, and now that 
 the separation had indeed come, they were to 
 Mignon possible still .... though it might 
 be doubted if there remained to that other
 
 BLOSSOM. 123 
 
 lost, beloved sister one article of the simple 
 old-world creed that had so amply sufficed to 
 her in the far-away innocent days of her 
 «arly youth. 
 
 " But now," said Mignon, heaving a deep 
 sigh of delight, ''it is all coming straight ; 
 and if she does not come to-day she will be 
 sure to come to-morrow, and we shall be 
 together all the rest of our lives, and, I hope, 
 go away from here." 
 
 '•' You would go away from here," said 
 Adam abruptly, " go away altogether, miss V 
 
 " I hope so," she said gaily ; '' indeed, why 
 should I stay a day longer than I am obliged, 
 when I have nothing on earth to leave but 
 the fowls and the raspberry and currant 
 bushes, for of course Prue would come 
 too ?" 
 
 " You are right," he said ; " you have 
 nothing else to leave." 
 
 Something odd in his voice arrested the 
 girl's attention. 
 
 '' Would you too like to be going away V 
 she said. ''Do you sometimes grow tired ot
 
 124 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 gardening all the year round, as I do of my 
 lessons and idleness ?" 
 
 " Sometimes," he said. 
 
 "And yet it is a beautiful garden," she 
 said, leaning her arms upon the wall, and 
 gazing abroad at the trim well-kept fruit- 
 trees and the smart flower-garden beyond ; 
 " I don't think I could ever be dull with all 
 those flowers for companions — they always 
 seem to me to be far better company than 
 some people are ! " 
 
 "• Would you like a bunch, Miss Mignon ?" 
 he said quickly, and thinking that he saw 
 his way clear to an hour at least of her 
 society. 
 
 ^' Are you sure you would not be robbing 
 your master T she said doubtfully ; "of 
 course I should like to have them, but " 
 
 " Then so you shall," said Adam ; " I'll 
 brinof them over to you in less than two 
 minutes, miss." 
 
 And with that, the brown head disappeared 
 from one side of the wall, the fair one from 
 the other, and Mignon betook herself to the
 
 BLOSSOM. 125 
 
 wooden chair that had never held her in so 
 bright and joyous a mood as was hers to- 
 day. 
 
 She looked around at the homely uncared- 
 for garden, and found it fair and pleasant, as 
 the thought filled her heart, how in a few 
 hours perhaps Muriel's eyes would have 
 fallen upon it ; she glanced at the fat sour 
 green bodies of the gooseberries, and smiled 
 to think that, after all her devout longings 
 for their fruition, it was very likely she 
 would not be here to eat them. And then 
 Adam reappeared at the top of the wall, 
 bearing an old mat and gardening knife in 
 one hand, and a great nosegay of roses in the 
 other. 
 
 They were every whit as sweet as though 
 they had been grown a hundred miles from 
 London town, and, as Mignon's hand closed 
 upon them, she saw not the four grey walls 
 that shut her in, but the stately terraces and 
 brilliant rose-gardens of her beautiful birth- 
 place, Silverhoe. She saw this same garden 
 every day, and each night before she slept
 
 126 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 she walked in fancy all round and about it ; 
 in the winter when the snow was on the 
 ground, and in the summer when it was all 
 green and beautiful .... there were no high 
 walls to shut her in, and prevent her getting 
 a good breath of God's air, but all was open 
 and free, where she could wander up and down 
 and in and out, and nowhere be met by bolts 
 and bars and other people's gardens and 
 houses and busy roads .... it had used 
 to be her joy to watch the seasons, and to 
 await the coming out of the flowers one 
 by one, from the first flaming velvety moss- 
 cuj) that she called her winter rose, to the 
 early boisterous February days when the 
 violet roots began to gather their scent, and 
 the hawthorn buds would come stealing out 
 like forgotten snow from the bare black stalks, 
 while to the laggard primroses and wind- 
 flowers she would stoop down and whisper: 
 
 *' Come out ! come out ! spring is rushing 
 upon us, and you are all behindhand and 
 nothing will be ready ; how will you look 
 thenl"
 
 BLOSSOM, 127 
 
 And it was her foolish fancy that they came 
 a Httle the faster for her asking them, because 
 they knew she loved them every one, and was 
 so wearying for a sight of their pretty delicate 
 faces .... And Adam looked at the girl, 
 and there passed through his mind — and 
 surely it was strange that a gardener should 
 know aught of such matters — the lines : 
 
 '' Fold 
 A rose-leaf round thy finger's taperness 
 And sootlie thy lips . . . ." 
 
 But aloud he said : 
 
 " As I have nothing to do this afternoon, 
 perhaps you will alloAv me to give the garden 
 a little weeding, miss ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," she said absently, being far too 
 much taken up with her treasures to par- 
 ticularly mind what he did, or did not do. 
 
 Having looked all about and decided that 
 the weeds grew thickest in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Mignon, Adam deposited 
 his mat at a distance of about two yards from 
 her feet.
 
 128 " CHERR V RIFE /" 
 
 Setting to work in a very business-like and 
 energetic fashion, he had presently a sym- 
 metrical row of green tufts before him, and 
 no sound save the scrape, scrape of his knife 
 broke the silence. 
 
 Any one coming suddenly upon the pair 
 would have said that, over their weeds and 
 flowers, these two people were thinking very 
 deeply ; and so they were, only the thoughts 
 of one were far more profound than those of 
 the other. 
 
 " Adam," said Mignon at last, laying her 
 roses down in her lap, " have you got a sweet- 
 heart r 
 
 The question Avas put with such perfect 
 good faith, moreover with such absolute 
 confidence in a serious reply, that it was 
 equally impossible to resent, or to evade 
 the question. 
 
 " Perhaps, miss," he said, smiling ; and it 
 was extraordinary the difference a smile made 
 to his face — it turned its power to sweetness, 
 and altogether displaced a certain sternness 
 that distinguished it ; also bringing to light
 
 BLOSSOM. 129 
 
 one of those curious freaks of nature, a 
 dimple, that is rarely found on a man's face 
 unless Venus is to strongly influence his for- 
 tunes at one period or another of his life. 
 '' Why, miss T 
 
 " Because, if you had not," she said, lower- 
 ing her voice, '' I know of somebody who 
 would just suit you — a very fine woman ; 
 and of course you like a fine woman — do you 
 not, Adam ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, miss," said Adam, whose 
 taste rather inclined to the ^petite in woman- 
 kind. 
 
 " And you would not mind h^r being a 
 little older than yourself ?" said Mignon ; 
 '' you would not consider that an dbjec- 
 tion T 
 
 " Not if I liked her," said Adam, smiling, 
 *'but I won't ask you to trouble about it on 
 -my account, miss, because" — he lifted his 
 head and looked her full in the face — "" I'm 
 •suited." 
 
 '' Have you quite made up your mind T 
 i?he said, looking greatly disappointed ; " do 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 *•' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 you think she would mind very much if you 
 married somebody else ?" 
 
 " I don't know about lievl'' he said, smiling, 
 " but I should mind it, miss." 
 
 " It is a great pity," said Mignon, shaking 
 her head, "for I am sure Prue would have 
 made you a most excellent wife ; and then, if 
 ever I have a garden of my own, you could 
 have been my gardener. It is certainly very 
 provoking !" 
 
 "You forget, miss," said Adam, "that 
 even if I liked Mrs. Prue, it's very likely she 
 would not have liked me!' 
 
 " Do you often write love-letters, Adam T 
 said Mignon gravely. 
 
 " Maybe, miss. Why T 
 
 " I only wanted to know," she said, rest- 
 ing her chin on her hand, and her elbow on 
 her knee, " what you would consider a reason- 
 able time to elapse between the writing one 
 and receiving a reply." 
 
 " Do you mean if I wrote to her, or she 
 wrote to me, miss ?" 
 
 " If she wrote to yoii."
 
 BLOSSOM. 131 
 
 " If I liked her," said Adam, '' I should 
 answer it straight off ; but if I didn't hke her, 
 I should not answer it for two or three days, 
 or perhaps a week." 
 
 '' Oh !" said Mignon, quite crestfallen. 
 ^' Then, if a gentleman did not answer a 
 person's letter straight off, you would say 
 he did not care very much about that other 
 person ?" 
 
 She looked so wistful and lovely as she 
 asked the question, that Adam set his teeth 
 hard, thinking. ' ^ Can she love him — already T 
 
 *' One can't always tell, miss," he said 
 aloud. "" People go away sometimes, or are 
 ill, or busy, or something." 
 
 " But, surely," said Mignon, '' a man 
 usually answers a first love-letter — the very 
 first a girl ever wrote to him T 
 
 Adam turned his head aside ; he was pale 
 as he said to himself, ^' Her first love-letter 
 . . . . Mignon's first love-letter .... and 
 to Mm f 
 
 " He would be sure to answer it, miss," he 
 said quietly, " if he received it — quite sure !" 
 
 9—2
 
 132 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 He waited for more, but as she did not speak 
 he went steadily on with his work, and by- 
 and-by the girl picked up a newspaper lying 
 by her chair, and with a little frown upon her 
 forehead began to read. 
 
 " I cannot believe that," she said, after 
 perusing a paragraph that set forth how a 
 man, after partaking of such light and diges- 
 tible nourishment as clasp-knives, shoemaker's 
 sparables, brass-headed nails, and a few dozen 
 or so of any other leaden and brass trifles 
 that he had been so fortunate as to meet 
 with, died from a slight overdose of iron 
 filings. '^ Some of them must have stuck in 
 his throat ; I'm sure they would have in 
 mine /" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, miss," said Adam, 
 ^' but did you speak ?" 
 
 " No," she said, ^^ at least not to you. I 
 have got into a bad habit of talking out loud. 
 It has occurred to me once or twice that a 
 person might almost hear what I am saying 
 on the other side of the wall !" 
 
 Adam, intent on his weeds, blushed.
 
 BLOSSOM, 133 
 
 It was many years since he had done him- 
 self so much credit, for he was a cool person- 
 age, and not easily put out of countenance, 
 so that this sudden access of red-brick colour 
 argued a tenderness of conscience, or a fresh- 
 ness of feeling for which no one who was 
 acquainted with him would have given him 
 credit. 
 
 "• Why, I declare," said Mignon, regarding 
 him attentively, '' you're blushing !" 
 
 '' It's the heat, miss," said Adam, throwing 
 back his head. "' It's warm work, weeding." 
 
 He laid down his knife and stood erect, to 
 stretch his cramped limbs perhaps, and a 
 magnificent specimen of manhood he made, 
 with his superb physique and grand face — 
 grand by reason of its unconscious nobility of 
 regard and expression ; the face of a man who 
 had long ago begun to think and feel, but who 
 had not yet cast the noble credulity of youth 
 behind him, or attained to that which has 
 been termed the most immoral of infidelities 
 — a disbelief in human nature. 
 
 But Mignon was not looking at hin< , Ler
 
 134 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 glance had fallen upon the wheelbarrow, and 
 as she looked she rubbed her eyes, for instead 
 of being a heap of ruins, there it stood, respect- 
 ably upright, saying, as plain as it could speak, 
 ^' Come for a ride I" 
 
 ^' Have the pixies been here in the night ?" 
 she said, opening her blue eyes still wider, '^ or 
 have you T 
 
 " It looked untidy, miss," he said, " and so 
 — I mended it." 
 
 She w^as dying to go for a ride in the 
 barrow, and he was dying to take her one ; 
 but lest it should put the notion into her head 
 that he had already seen her, from over the 
 wall, enjoying that agreeable recreation, how 
 was he to make the proposal ? 
 
 On the other hand, was it quite compatible 
 with her dignity to do so, rather would not 
 this somewhat sober young man despise her 
 in his heart for a hoyden % 
 
 " It's beautifully clean," said Mignon, sigh- 
 ing, and thinking how fast Adam's strong 
 arms would spin her round and round, twice 
 as fast as Prue's.
 
 BLOSSOM. 135 
 
 " There's something very handy about a 
 barrow," said Adam reflectively ; " one can 
 carry things in it, and one can sit in it, and, 
 at a pinch, why one can even take a ride in 
 it ; and though you wouldn't believe it, miss, 
 -a ride in a barrow is downright exciting, 
 because, you see, there's always the chance 
 that if you don't hold on tight you'll tumble 
 out." 
 
 "But doesn't the wheel ever come oflf?" 
 .said Mignon, red at her own duplicity. 
 
 '^ It won't to-day^' said Adam decidedly. 
 "'• Now supposing, miss, just for once, that 
 jou were to try how you liked it V 
 
 And with that, and forgetting, perhaps, the 
 difference of station between them, he ex- 
 tended his hand with the air of a courtier. 
 The young lady took it with an equal grace. 
 One little foot on the giound, one in the air, 
 and presto ! she is stepping into her chariot, 
 another moment, and she is seated, 
 
 " As beautiful as a butterfly, 
 As proud as a queen," 
 
 her lap full of roses, her eyes full of light,
 
 136 ''CHERRY RIPET 
 
 flying along on what literally seem to her to 
 be the winces of the wind ! 
 
 Not for long does this mad race last ; for- 
 tunately, perhaps, for Adam's legs, there 
 comes an interruption, summary and unex- 
 pected. A door bangs yiolently ; it is the 
 one communicating with the other garden. 
 
 Crushing the grayel beneath his hasty foot- 
 steps, there adyances to meet the flying- 
 wheelbarrow and its contents, a handsome 
 young man. 
 
 Adam, too, as he lays down the handles of 
 the barrow, recognises in the new-comer that 
 gi'aceless young roue, and professed lady- 
 killer, Philip Rideout
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 My restless spirit never could endure 
 To brood so long upon one luxury, 
 Unless it did, though fearfully, espy 
 A ho[)e beyond the shadow of a dream." 
 
 DAM, without turning liis face to 
 Mr. Rideout, removed himself and 
 his mat to a remote comer of the 
 garden, quite out of earshot, ahnost out of 
 sight, as though he were used to playing 
 gooseberry every day of his life, and under- 
 stood the part thoroughly. 
 
 Howmecui of him, thought Mignon, almost 
 in tears, to rush off like that wdthout offering 
 to help her out, and oh I Avhat a dreadful 
 thing for a grown-up person to be caught by 
 the first young man who had ever w^ritten her 
 a love-letter, riding in a wheelbarrow !
 
 138 " CHERRY ripe!'' 
 
 How much ankle was she showing 1 Could 
 she clear the whole affair gracefully by one 
 good bound ? No, it was too late ; here he was 
 with, thank goodness, no laughter in his eyes, 
 only something that she had never seen before, 
 and could not therefore he expected to under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Miss Ferrers — Mignon," he cried im- 
 petuously, as he bared his head before her, 
 while his eager eyes fastened upon, and clung 
 to her face, as a bee does to a blossom, ^' for- 
 give this intrusion, but I have no other means 
 of approaching you — and I am driven mad, 
 reckless, by the obstacles placed in my way — 
 the very letter you wi'ote me, dear angel, Avas 
 stolen from me — snatched from my hand ere 
 I had read one syllable of it. Tell me,'' he 
 cried," have you some other lover who is seek- 
 ing to frustrate my hopes with you — some 
 one who is given to stealing letters intended 
 for other people, and who brings you — ^roses T 
 
 He tapped the flowers significantly with 
 liis forefinger as he spoke, and looked at her 
 with angry, jealous meaning.
 
 BLOSSOM, 139 
 
 '' Somebody stole my letter from you T 
 she said, almost forgetting her ridiculous 
 position in her surprise. '^ Did Prue not give 
 it you r 
 
 " I took it from her by force/' said Rideout 
 grimly, '' and then somebody took it from me 
 — 'twas the strangest thing imaginable, but I 
 have my suspicions." 
 
 '' Oh ! what a wicked, wicked woman !" 
 cried Mignon ; " and when I asked her every 
 day too^ how it w^as that 1 got no reply to 
 it!" 
 
 "• And you cared so much T cried Bideout 
 ardently ; *' it was actually a source of regret 
 that you did not hear from me again T 
 
 "• Yes," she rephed gravely, "" indeed it 
 was. When I got up in the morning I used 
 to say to myself, ' There will be a letter from 
 Ifiira to-day ;' and when the evening came and 
 Prue always came back without one, I was so 
 bitterly, bitterly disappointed !" 
 
 '' You were T he cried in a transport ; "but 
 tell me, what did you say in that dear little 
 letter — can you remember T
 
 140 
 
 " Oh yes," said Mignon, nodding, " almost 
 word for word, and it was a very nice one 
 indeed. I was most particular about that, as 
 I was afraid that if you did not like it, you 
 would never write to me again !" 
 
 *' Like it !" he cried, and stooped his head 
 suddenly and pressed his burning lips against 
 the hand that still clasped the side of the 
 barrow. 
 
 She did not draw it away, but looked down 
 with a kind of puzzled wonder at the faint 
 red mark his almost rough caress had left on 
 the soft white flesh. 
 
 He would not have found her less innocent 
 and ignorant for worlds ; yet it struck him 
 instantly, with the jealous, unerring instinct 
 of the real lover, that there was in her none 
 of that sensibility to the first approaches of 
 love that is usual in very young w^omen .... 
 the faint curiosity and vague yearning after 
 some more exquisite experience than any that 
 they have ever known, dimly guessed at, yet 
 too shadowy and impalpable to be thoroughly 
 grasped, was altogether absent in Mignon :
 
 BLOSSOM. 141 
 
 the chords of the beautiful instrument were 
 dumb under the hand of the man who swept 
 them, and he said to himself, with an angry, 
 impatient sense of dissatisfaction, that the 
 touch of his lips had moved her no more than 
 those of a woman might have done. 
 
 The outcome of this thought was the re- 
 linquishment of her hand. And then it oc- 
 curred to her that he might find a standing 
 courtship rather fatiguing than otherwise, and 
 at the same time she thought she saw a way 
 out of the dilemma, alias the wheelbarrow. 
 
 *' There is a three-legged stool about some- 
 whei^e" she said, looking at him doubtfully, 
 and wishing with all her heart that she had 
 had a lover before, that she might by practice 
 have ascertained whether etiquette did not 
 demand that she should give him the chair, 
 and fetch the stool for herself. 
 
 But as Mr. Rideout turned in search of 
 the proffered seat, she was out of the wheel- 
 barrow, and seated in her chair in a jiffey, 
 congratulating herself on either the lack of a 
 sense of the ridiculous, or the perfect savoir
 
 142 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 faive of the new-comer that had enabled him 
 to manifest no surprise at all at the position 
 in which he found her. 
 
 " Is that your gardener T he said, frown- 
 ing, as he discovered the soles of Adam's feet, 
 and the back of his head and person, as that 
 young man diligently pursued his avocation 
 of weeding in the distance. " Can't you send 
 him away ?" 
 
 " Why should I do that ?" she said, won- 
 dering, and thinking that after all love-making 
 was not nearly so amusing as riding in a 
 wheelbarrow. " I am afraid you are not very 
 comfortable," she added, as she saw Rideout's 
 efforts to arrange himself gracefully on the 
 extremely narrow foundations of the stool. 
 After all, it would have been better to have 
 offered him the chair. 
 
 " Thank you," said Rideout, ^' I am quite 
 comfortable ; nothing could be better, I assure 
 you." 
 
 But for all that he made up his mind that 
 he would have done more wisely to stand up. 
 Now Adam, had he been in the same position.
 
 BLOSSOM. 143 
 
 would not have paused to think of whether 
 he were sittino- or standino^, and if Providence 
 had thought fit to send him a three-legged 
 stool, would not have noticed whether he 
 were sitting on it or a chair, which triflin2j 
 matter marks the difference that existed 
 between the two men. 
 
 '^ I never, never will forgive Prue," said 
 Mignon, looking at him and thinking what a 
 pity it was that his eyes were so blue, and his 
 hair so black. 
 
 '^ You are angry with her," he said, leaning 
 forward ; " you were disappointed that you 
 got no reply to your letter from me ?" 
 
 " I was more than disappointed," said 
 Mignon ; "I cried /" 
 
 '' You did T he said, drawing nearer still ; 
 " you cared for me so much as that 'C 
 
 '^ If you had no one to sjDeak to from 
 week's end to week's end (save Prue), and 
 nobody to write a letter to you, and nobody 
 (except one other person and Prue) to care 
 two straws whether you were dead or alive, 
 would not you be dehghted, overjoyed, proud
 
 144 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 at discovering that somebody not only told 
 somebody else he liked you very much in- 
 deed, but actually took the trouble to write 
 and tell you so himself T 
 
 " Then," said Rideout passionately, " I 
 suppose anyhody would have done as well — a 
 travelling tinker, or the butcher's boy, or any- 
 thing else that had eyes to see, heart to love, 
 and fino^ers to write to vou ?" 
 
 *'Well," said Mignon, considering, "so 
 lonof as I did not see him, vou know, and he 
 spoke properly, and wrote me a good long 
 love-letter every day, I don't suppose it would 
 have signified very much. Of course I never 
 expected that you and I would be talking to 
 one another like this !" 
 
 " And I," he said dryly, "should never have 
 written to you had I not been resolved on 
 seeing you — ay, and more than once — so our 
 letters were written with a difference. If it 
 would not tax your memory too much, per- 
 haps you will tell me what you said in this 
 •letter ?" 
 
 *^ yes," she said, putting her hand to her
 
 BLOSSOM. 145 
 
 head, '' that is to say if you will give me a 
 little time for recollecting ; you see it was 
 such a difficult job, and it took such a very 
 lonor time." 
 
 '' And why was it such a terrible job ?" he 
 said, gazing at her as though his eyes could 
 n3ver be sated of her dimpled, childish 
 beauty, the most maddening, beguihng beauty 
 on earth to a man of his calibre of existence, 
 
 " You see, I had never written one before," 
 she said, looking rather ashamed of the con- 
 fession. " Let me see — I began by saying that 
 I was very sorry I nearly knocked you over 
 in the avenue, and that I would never do it 
 again if I could possibly help it !" 
 
 " Yes," he said, smiling in spite of himself, 
 " and what else ?" 
 
 " That I was very much obliged to you for 
 writing me a love-letter ; and that I hoped you 
 would send me another as soon as you possibly 
 could, for it was so dreadfully dull here !" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 '' And I hoped you would make the next a 
 little longer /" 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 /" 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 " I think that's all. Oh ! and my kind 
 reofards. I wanted to send my love, but Prue 
 would not Ineav of it, and so " 
 
 " Prue helped you to write that letter to 
 me T he cried. 
 
 " Of course she did," said Mignon. " I 
 'don't know how I should have got on with- 
 out her, two heads are better than one, 
 you know, and I was not at all sure of 
 saying the right thing in the right place ! 
 So we did it together, and really, upon the 
 w^hole, I think you would have liked it very 
 much indeed !" 
 
 " No doubt," said Hideout ; "' nevertheless, 
 wpon the ichole, I will confess that I no longer 
 reofret the loss of that letter — I no lono-er 
 bear malice to the thief who stole it — he is 
 "welcome to it, he may keep it, I make him 
 a present of it ! In future I will get my man 
 Coles to assist me with my letters to you ; 
 so long as I write the signature it will not 
 of course matter to you whether the hand- 
 writing is mine or his ?"
 
 BLOSSOM. 147 
 
 '' I should not mind it in the least," she 
 said sincerely ; " a letter is a letter, and if 
 you told him what to say it would be just as 
 good as if you had written it yourself" 
 
 He almost stamped his foot upon the gravel 
 in his impatience. 
 
 '' Is she nothing but a little coquette after 
 all r he thought. 
 
 It flashed suddenly through his mind that 
 her composure on receiving him was possibly 
 occasioned by considerable practice in the art 
 of receiving lovers, and thought he would 
 have preferred her resenting his intrusion 
 with indignation and scorn, for, man-like, he 
 who profited by the indiscretion was the first 
 to condemn it. A woman never yields an 
 inch, however innocently and generously, to 
 a man that he does not suspect her, sooner or 
 later, of having given way in a similar manner 
 to some man who has come earlier. It is the 
 very refinement of the cruelty of love, it is 
 the blade turned back against the breast of 
 the holder, the gift heartlessly dashed into 
 the face of the giver ; and this treachery, so 
 
 10—2
 
 148 ' ' CHERR Y RIPE / 
 
 common from man to woman, is rarely, if 
 ever, displayed by woman to man. 
 
 With these ungenerous thoughts in his 
 mind, he looked keenly at her as though he 
 would discover if 
 
 " In Cupid's college she had spent 
 Sweet days, a lovely graduate, still unshent. 
 And kept his rosy terms in idle languishraent — " 
 
 but as he looked his fears died away. His 
 experience of woman was wide and deep 
 enough to have long ago taught him that 
 there are two kinds of innocence — the one 
 that is too absohitely ignorant of evil to 
 tremble before, or fear any man hving, 
 therefore- has no thought of guarding itself 
 against a danger it does not know to exist, 
 and is as much a part of the possessor as the 
 air she breathes (and such was Mignon's) ; 
 and the purity that is pure consciously , with 
 a full knowledge of its own exceeding value, 
 and that maybe described as the product of a 
 carefully cultivated and well-watched-over soil 
 — an innocence that is only compatible with 
 the clearest possible knowledge of evil, and
 
 BLOSSOM. 149 
 
 that enables her to meet her natural enemy, 
 man, at every point — armed. He knew that 
 23rudishness is but another form of im- 
 modesty, and that she who is for ever 
 balancing things proper versus things im- 
 proper, arriving, when all deductions are 
 made, at an outwardly modest and unassail- 
 able demeanour, inevitably loses the fresh- 
 ness and ingenious delicacy of her mind in 
 J:he process, and is immeasurably less pure 
 than she who, never having regarded aught 
 but good, stands in no need of rule and pre- 
 cept to prevent her footsteps from straying 
 into the mire. 
 
 And he also knew how dangerous to the 
 owner is this latter form of innocence, to how 
 many risks it is exposed, to Avhat miscon- 
 struction it is liable, nay, how it may borrow 
 the very garb of guilt, and how the world, to 
 whom it is a mystery and a wonder (and the 
 world hates mysteries and does not under- 
 stand wonders), will hoot and decry it, 
 reserving its approval and respect for that 
 other marketable possession that is of itself,
 
 150 " CHERRY RIPE I 
 
 worldly. '' Blessed are the pure in heart/' 
 says the Book. Who shall say that this 
 same innocence, though perchance smirched, 
 soiled, destroyed by a villany that it never 
 could have conceived possible, does not contain, 
 even in its ruins, elements of greatness and 
 virtue that the earth-born, devil -sent, cowardly 
 substitute does not, nor ever could possess ? 
 
 Comino' out of his reverie, Mr. Hideout 
 discovered that Mignon had picked up a news- 
 paper that lay on the ground by her side, and 
 was actually reading it. 
 
 " You seem interested," he said in a tone 
 of pique, thereby revealing a most unheroic 
 weakness in his character. No really wise 
 man, who wishes to establish his empire 
 firmly over a woman's heart, ever indulges 
 in the luxury of showing himself piqued, for, 
 by so doing, he places himself at a disadvan- 
 tage that she is not slow to perceive, and 
 licenses her to smile with superior wisdom at 
 his folly, and when a woman begins to laugh 
 at a man's humours, instead of being awed 
 by them, it is but a losing game he plays, for
 
 BLOSSOM. 151 
 
 do we not know that she will pardon a crime 
 where she is merciless to a foible ? 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mignon, putting 
 her finger down on the paragraph she was 
 reading, " but I caught sight of such an odd 
 pretty name, and Lu-Lu and I always look 
 out for all the fine names we can find for the 
 book we are writing." 
 
 " You are writing a book T he said, smiling, 
 in spite of his crossness ; " and pray what is it 
 to be about T 
 
 '' Love !" said Mignon gravely. " We 
 were afraid we should make a terrible 
 muddle of the love scenes, as neither of us 
 had ever had a real lover, but now it will be 
 all right. We shall put you in as the hero !" 
 
 *' And my letters T inquired Rideout. 
 
 '' And your letters !" said Mignon, " we 
 shall copy those right ofi" — they will look so 
 much more real I" 
 
 " If it will be any further satisfaction to 
 you," he said sarcastically, *' I will send my 
 portrait to be pinned on to the title-page. I 
 don't make such a bad photograph altogether."
 
 152 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 "Do you not?" said Mignon, looking at 
 him doubtfully, for somehow his good looks 
 did not please her one bit, and yet that dark, 
 reckless face of his had been a fatal one to 
 women, more fatal than Mignon ever dreamed 
 of, as her careless eyes rested upon his fea- 
 tures. 
 
 " And this name that took your fancy so 
 much T he said. 
 
 " La Mert. I can't quite understand — it 
 seems a trial of some sort — " She paused in 
 amazement as he caught the paper from her 
 hand, his face pale and angry, while a streak 
 of fiery red lay like a stain across his brow. 
 His eyes fell on the paragraph, that ran as 
 follows : 
 
 '' La Mert xersus La Meet. — Pubhc in- 
 terest in this cause ceUhre will receive a fresh 
 stimulus next week when the case comes on 
 for hearing, as it is rumoured that in the 
 course of it many painful family disclosures 
 will be made." 
 
 '^ Why do 3^our people allow you to see
 
 BLOSSOM. 153 
 
 such things as these ?" he cried, striking the 
 paper with his open hand ; '' vile records of 
 sin and shame that they are, and utterly unfit 
 reading for a young and innocent girl. Did 
 you understand it — do you know what it 
 meant — that paragraph V 
 
 She looked at him in wonder, his excite- 
 ment appeared to her so strange and unna- 
 tural .... what could she have said to so 
 move him ? 
 
 " No," she said, "I do not know what it 
 means, but why should you mind if I did ?" 
 
 " You have never seen or heard of that 
 name before," he persisted, " either in a news- 
 paper or otherwise T 
 
 He awaited her reply with such eagerness, 
 that one might have supposed his life de- 
 pended upon it, and drew a sharp breath of 
 relief as she answered, ^' Never !" 
 
 " Is it an omen 1" he said to himself, crush- 
 ing the paper between his restless hands ; 
 *' whether it be or no, I care not — I will not 
 turn back — pshaw ! many a man goes through 
 more than this to get his heart's desire . . . ."
 
 154 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 '^ Mignon," he said aloud, ^' do you know 
 why I came here to see you to-day T 
 
 " To ask me to write you another love- 
 letter V 
 
 " No," he said, " I did not come for that. 
 Will you try and understand me, Mignon, 
 when I tell you that I love you, love you 
 with a passion that I have sought to over- 
 come, and cannot, that if conquered one 
 moment has vanquished me the next, and 
 against which I have ceased to struggle, for 
 it has become a part of myself, it has entered 
 into my very blood, and no man fights against 
 his own life who is not mad or suicide — and I 
 am neither. There are obstacles between us, 
 dear angel, obstacles that " ('' Good God !" he 
 groaned to himself, ^' if she only knew what 
 they are !") ^' will be removed ere long, and 
 they who stand between us shall pass away 
 Hke shadows ; the last, the best beloved 
 among the rest, to return no more .... I 
 swear it. . . ." 
 
 There was a wild and reckless defiance in 
 his voice as he broke ofi" that startled the girL.
 
 BLOSSOM. 155 
 
 It was as though he defied Heaven itself to 
 stand between them, and Eideout caught her 
 surprise as quickly as it arose. 
 
 " Do not be afraid," he said, with extraor- 
 dinary tenderness of look and tone ; "to you 
 I will be ever faithful and true, and neither 
 grief, nor sorrow, nor shadow of sin or shame 
 shall rest upon that lovely head. ..." 
 
 He paused to watch the half smile that 
 parted Mignon's exquisite lips (so may a child 
 smile, who is pleased with the sound of the 
 words it hears, yet comprehends nothing of 
 their meaning), lips that were the crowning 
 beauty of her face, and suggested all manner 
 of passionate possibilities, and flatly contra- 
 dicted her eyes, that were cold and clear, and 
 more given to mirth and observation than the 
 language of love — if their looks might be 
 trusted to tell truth. When a woman's eyes 
 and lips tell the same story, it is not difficult 
 to decide what she will say or do at any given 
 crisis of her life, and she will fulfil her fate 
 with no more of efibrt than makes a fruit 
 when it falls, ripened, to the earth ; but when
 
 156 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 reason, calm and critical, dwells in the eyes, 
 and from thence keeps its watch over the im- 
 pulses and vagaries of the too passionate heart 
 as typified by the lips, then may it be foretold 
 that there will sooner or later be fought a 
 determined battle between the opposing forces, 
 and that upon its issue will depend the future 
 history of the woman's soul. 
 
 '' Mignon," said Rideout impetuously, 
 ^^ does it seem a strange thing to you that I 
 should love you as I do — without having ex- 
 changed a dozen words or been once before in 
 your society — knowing nothing of you in short 
 but what your face tells ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said prom23tly, "I do think it 
 ;Very odd — I told Prue so — just ask her 
 if I did not say it was the kindest , the 
 most outrageous, the most extraordinary 
 thing I had ever heard in my life, and she 
 could not account for it any more than I 
 ,could !" 
 
 '' And why should it be so kind and so 
 -extraordinary ?" he said ; '' has no one else 
 ever fallen in love with you, Mignon T
 
 /y'LOSsoJ/. 157 
 
 '' No one !" she said seriously, '' what oa 
 earth should put such an idea into a person's 
 head ? and indeed I was very much obliged 
 to you (as I told you in my letter) ; for I felt 
 so lonely, and dull, and uncaredfor, just then ; 
 but now " — her face dimpled into sudden 
 smiles — " I am afraid it is wickedly ungi'ate- 
 ful of me, only I do not seem to care so much 
 about it, and I do not think it would break 
 my heart if you were never to write me 
 another love-letter — for, to tell you a secret, 
 somebody that I love beyond everything else 
 in the world is coming to me, may come this 
 minute even, or to-night, or to-morrow, and I 
 shall be so perfectly happy, that I shall forget 
 all about everything — everything — but that 
 we are together — at last — that somebody and 
 I . . . ." 
 
 He caught her hand so fiercely that vshe 
 recoiled from him, and Adam, seeing the ges- 
 ture from afar off, half rose, trembled, and 
 knelt down again. 
 
 " And you told me that you had no lover," 
 cried Rideout furiously, " and all the time —
 
 158 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 all the time — " he stopped, almost choked by 
 the violence of his emotions, the vehemence 
 of his thoughts. 
 
 *' A lover T said Mignon, bewildered, 
 " there is no lover- -it is my sister." 
 
 '^ Your sister T he cried, " forgive me, 
 Mignon . . . ." 
 
 He turned pale as death under the relief 
 her words afforded him. 
 
 ^' Yes," she said, almost in a whisper, " my 
 beautiful lost sister .... for whom I have 
 waited such a long long while, but I always 
 knew she would come at last, and now she is 
 coming. ..." 
 
 In the course of Rideout's Hfe he saw this 
 girl many times, and under many aspects — in 
 the day of her greatest happiness, as in that 
 of her deepest tribulation — but he never again 
 saw the look upon her face that he at this 
 moment beheld .... without one shadow 
 to dim the brightness of her hope, or one past 
 experience that could embitter or make her 
 fearful of the future, above all, with the price- 
 less illusions of youth still upon her, there
 
 BLOSSOM. 159 
 
 could at no period of her life come to her so 
 radiant an outlook as this present. 
 
 In the days to come it was to recur to him, 
 the look upon that joyous, childish face, until 
 he became a man haunted by its gladness 
 .... until it came to follow him like a curse, 
 and burn into his heart like fire, until he nearly 
 went mad in remembering that if he had 
 known — Heaven ! if he had known — he 
 might have fixed that joy of hers in her heart 
 for ever, and so kept his soul clean of blood- 
 guiltiness, if not of sin. 
 
 " Mignon," he said, drawing closer to the 
 girl, ^^ I came to tell you to-day, among other 
 things, that I am going away, though do not 
 fear, my sweetheart, but that I shall return 
 to you. Then — then — listen !" he said earn- 
 estly ; ^' it is now a month since I first saw 
 you, and since then I have been going through 
 as many antics and love-sick tricks as a fool 
 of a schoolboy in the first idiocy of his calf- 
 love. I have astounded even myself at the 
 depths of folly that I have sounded .... I 
 have been compelled to acknowledge that a
 
 160 " CHERR Y RIPE 
 
 phenomenon which. I have always mocked 
 and derided as the most laughable absurdity 
 ever conceived, is in reality 2, fact ; in my own 
 proper person and against my will I have 
 proved it, Mignon. . . . Always remember 
 in the days to come that, however madly I 
 loved you, it was against my will, my con- 
 science, my God, all " 
 
 He suddenly ceased ; the last words seemed 
 to have escaped him involuntarily. 
 
 '' I had heard/' he went on, ** of two people 
 falling in love at first sight, before either knew 
 the name of the other, before they had ex- 
 chano-ed one svllable, before either even knew 
 if the other were married or single .... 
 twin souls, created for each other, now met at 
 last — in the self-same instant of their eyes 
 meeting, their souls have rushed together, the 
 stray halves made into one perfect whole, the 
 lifelong ache satisfied, the restless yearning 
 
 hearts finding rest and peace at last I 
 
 had heard of this, and of the shame and grief 
 that ofttimes come after these sudden recog- 
 nitions of kindred souls, since for one who
 
 BLOSSOM. 161 
 
 finds his other self in time, there are nine 
 hundred who meet, too late ! And as I have 
 said, the theory amused me, for I believed in 
 no love that was not material, in no affection 
 that was not the result of daily acquaintance, 
 propinquity, and familiarity. I could under- 
 stand a sudden admiration at first sight, but 
 love^ as apart from line jpassioiiy I could not 
 and did not understand until the day I saw 
 you, and then and there, and in the very 
 midst of a ridiculous situation that filled you 
 Avith no other sense than that of amusement, 
 I loved you, but it was unconsciously ; not 
 until I had seen you many times, and learnt 
 your face and manner by heart, did it suddenly 
 dawn upon me that life would not be worth 
 the living without you, and that win you I 
 must and would, no matter what came be- 
 tween .... and I reckon myself a happy 
 man in that I found you when I did, ere it 
 was just too late. . . . Tell me," he cried 
 ardently, '' on that day did you feel yourself 
 as irresistibly drawn to me as I did to you ? 
 
 Did you recognise me as your " 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 "CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 "- Oh !" said Mignon, taking her hand away 
 and placing it with its fellow over a face that 
 had grown most suspiciously red, '' I beg your 
 pardon for interrupting you, I do indeed ! 
 And don't think me very rude, but — but I 
 think we were drawn together with a ven- 
 geance ! I never shall forget the blow I gave 
 you as long as I Hve !" 
 
 And here she gave up the attempt to retain 
 her gravity, and laughed so heartily as (by 
 some process of reasoning best known to him- 
 self) to restore Adam to perfect equanimity. 
 
 "You did look so cross when we pelted 
 round that tree," said Mignon, drying her 
 eyes, " and as to your hat, I always thought 
 it a mercy that neither of us stepped on it !" 
 
 Rideout was absolutely without that kind 
 of humour that enables a man to smile at his 
 own expense, thereby missing one of the 
 keenest pleasures that poor mortal beings 
 possess, and he looked at Mignon as though 
 he found her impulse of mirth exceedingly 
 foolish and ill-timed. 
 
 Here was this girl, he said to himself, for
 
 BLOSSOM. 163 
 
 whom he was sinning past redemption, so in- 
 different to the strength of his passion, so 
 unconscious of the convulsions that gave it 
 birth, that she could find for him no more and 
 no less than such laughter as she might give to 
 a love-sick whining boy, who came to her with 
 the tale of his foolish love upon his lips, and 
 the feel of a birch but freshly in his memory. 
 
 " Mignon," he said sternly, '^ you do not 
 seem to understand — ^you think all this an 
 excellent joke, and that there is no sober 
 earnest in it, but you will find out your mis- 
 take when I come back and fetch you away 
 to make you my wife." 
 
 '' Your wife '?" said Mignon, with a saucy 
 ■smile, that brought to life two delicious dim- 
 ples in her delicate cheeks. " You are not — 
 you cannot be — so mad as to suppose I am 
 going to be that f Do you know how old I 
 am ?" she added, looking at him seriously, and 
 pushing one of her little hands through her 
 rumpled blonde hair ; " sixteen and a week, 
 and very little indeed for my age ! Now, in 
 four or five years' time, perhaps, I might 
 
 11—2
 
 164 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 think of marrying, if she did not mind, and 
 would let us both live with her, but not now ! 
 Why, it would be like 'playing at being mar- 
 ried !" 
 
 " Come and play at it then," said Rideout 
 just as seriously as she, " it will seem more 
 like work after a bit." 
 
 *' No, no !" she said, '^ you may fancy your- 
 self in love with me, but no amount of the 
 hardest fancying on earth would make me 
 think myself in love with you /" 
 
 '' Am I such an ugly devil that I frighten 
 you T he cried passionately. 
 
 '* No," she said, surveying him critically, 
 *' I should say you were very good-looking to 
 a person who admired dark people. And 
 though you are very nice and kind when you 
 are not in a rage, I think, if ever I do marry, 
 I should like a peaceable sort of a man, who 
 did not worry me, though I should expect him 
 to say, at least twice every day, ' Mignon, I 
 love you.' " 
 
 " I will not worry you," he said, divided 
 between anger and laughter, ^^ and I will tell
 
 BLOSSOM. 165 
 
 you that every day, never fear, and in time 
 you will learn to love me, little Mignon." 
 
 '' To love '?" she said dreamily, " do you 
 know what it is to love '? To long for some 
 one all and every day, to think of nothing 
 else upon earth, to weary after her, to feel 
 that until you get to that person you only live 
 one half, and that the worst half of your life. 
 That is love. How would it be possible to 
 love a man like that T 
 
 " Someday you will do so," he said, leaning 
 towards her with an air of pleading entreaty, 
 — '' some day .... little sweetheart. ..." 
 
 He did not know, he could not guess, how 
 terrible to her was to be the awakening of 
 love in her breast. She had turned her head 
 partly aside, and was looking down on her 
 roses, and he thought he would have given 
 everything he possessed on earth to be able 
 to put out his hand, and touch that downy 
 cheek and throat .... for as yet she pos- 
 sessed that exquisite softness of skin that on 
 a, girl's face is the only equivalent to the bloom 
 upon a purple grape or plum, and is as easily
 
 166 " CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 brushed away as it is impossible to replace 
 .... the longing, I say, was strong upon 
 him, but he, who had never before denied 
 himself his heart's desire for prayer, or love, 
 or scruple, forbore to take advantage of the 
 girl's innocence and loneliness ; he had indeed 
 sworn that until he was free to ask her to be 
 his wife, he would neither seek to obtain, or 
 wrest from her, any one of a lover's privileges. 
 " Mignon," he said, " I want you to listen 
 to me, and to try and understand me if you 
 can. . . . You do not love me now ; it is not 
 possible that you should do so (for although 
 vou seem most familiar to me since I have 
 watched and followed you so long, yet I have 
 been to you no more than any one of the idle, 
 impertinent young men who have stared at 
 you in church and out walking), but you will 
 be no such inapt pupil, my flower, and whether 
 you love me or no, you shall be no man's wife 
 but mine — I swear it ! And if by any cheat 
 or fraud any man come between us, I will 
 wrest you from him, ay ! and keep you, for 
 to no other man can you be what you are ta
 
 BLOSSOM. 167 
 
 me, and if by any cursed misfortune I lost 
 you, I would search the world through and 
 through until I had found you, so do not 
 dream that you will escape or elude me, 
 Mignon, for you will not. In about a fortnight 
 — you may look for me at any moment after 
 the fourteenth day has passed — I shall return. 
 I shall w^alk straight to this garden, and pro- 
 bably I shall find you sitting here on this old 
 chair, and maybe you will wear a white gown 
 and a red rose at your breast, just as you wear 
 to-day, and you will look just as little, and 
 childish, and lovely as you do to-day, and I 
 shall say to you, ^ Mignon, I have come to 
 ask you to be my wife,' and you will put your 
 Httle hand in mine .... and then, Mignon, 
 then, in this dull old garden I will teach you 
 one by one the lessons of love .... 
 
 '' It is possible," he went on, '^ that people 
 will tell you stories about me, but you wiU 
 not believe them, my Httle one ; you will just 
 say to yourself, ' He is coming hack in fourteen 
 days to marry me, and he loves me dearly, 
 dearly /' and so you need not mind the stories.
 
 168 *' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 And do not let any one fall in love with you, 
 do not dare. ..." 
 
 His blue eyes had so fierce a menace in 
 them, that they appeared almost black for 
 the moment ; then, as they dwelt on Mignon's 
 dimpled, charming face, he smiled .... and 
 so with a last long look, and a close, strong 
 hand-clasp, he was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 '• He ne'er is crowned 
 "With immortality who fears to follow 
 Where airy voices lead." 
 
 ILENCE in the garden for the space 
 of a full minute. Even the scrap- 
 ing of Adam's knife ceased, and 
 turning half round he leaned his hand upon 
 the gravel, and looked across at the girl's 
 downcast face and lips pursed into the sem- 
 blance of a pout. 
 
 Glancing up suddenly and meeting his eyes, 
 for so intense was his regard that he could 
 not instantly withdraw it, an idea came into 
 her head, and jumping up she crossed the 
 garden and came to his side. 
 
 '' Adam," she said seriously, '' would you
 
 a ^TTT^-nr^^r r^rr^rr ," 
 
 170 '' CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 mind telling me — as you have got a sweet- 
 heart of your own, and of course know some- 
 thing about such matters — whether you ever 
 heard of a jDerson being married straight off 
 against her vjill, whether she would or no '?" 
 
 " Such things used to be, miss/' he said, 
 ^' but nowadays it's not often heard of" 
 
 '' Then," said Mignon, '' you would say 
 that if a person were threatened with such a 
 thing she need not be very uneasy — he could 
 not make her say ^ yes "?" 
 
 '^ No," said Adam, '\ but she might change 
 her mind, or he might coax her into saying it 
 — you're quite sure it ivould be against her 
 
 wiur 
 
 His keen eyes studied every line of her 
 face as he spoke. 
 
 " Quite sure !" said Mignon emphatically^ 
 ''You see, Adam, a love-letter is a perfectly 
 charming thing, and to know that somebody 
 is in love with a person is more charming 
 still, but what on earth would one do with a 
 husband V 
 
 ''What indeed ?" said Adam, his heart as
 
 BLOSSOM. 171 
 
 light as a feather (and why should this be ?), 
 " if she is quite sure." 
 
 He was standing up now, and all homely 
 as was his garb, his grand comeliness made 
 him more than a match for the girl, who 
 stood with cheeks flushed by excitement 
 and the exceeding heat, soft hair sadly 
 tumbled, and partially hanging down her 
 back, and two red lips just parting to 
 speak. 
 
 '' She is quite sure," said Mignon, nodding, 
 "' and I am very much obliged to you, Adam. 
 I should not have had to ask, if Prue had got 
 a sweetheart, and knew more about such 
 matters — only, you see, she used to have one, 
 but has not now, poor thing 1" 
 
 Then she smelled her roses, appeared to 
 forget all about Adam, stood still for some 
 moments, thinking, moved slowly away, and 
 presently left the garden. 
 
 He went quietly on with his weeding for 
 a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, thirty, 
 then made up his mind that she was not 
 coming out again until the evening, and pre-
 
 172 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 pared for departure. He collected the weeds 
 into a respectable heap, rose, picked up his 
 mat, and was turning towards the ladder, 
 when the sound of approaching footsteps set 
 his heart beating, and turned his head in the 
 direction of the garden door. A half smile 
 came over his face as he discovered not 
 Mignon, but Prue. 
 
 ^^ And now," said he to himself, '' the 
 deluge !" 
 
 He wore no hat, his face was clear as the 
 day before her eyes, the recognition was, 
 on both sides, perfect. 
 
 "" You villain !" she cried, coming over to 
 him Hke a whirlwind. '' And wliat have you 
 done ivitli that letter you stole f " 
 
 He touched his breast. " I have it here," 
 he said. 
 
 She looked down at the knife and mat he 
 held in his hands, at his unmistakable gar- 
 dener's dress, at his shirt-sleeves and bare 
 head, then — 
 
 '' Good Lord !" she cried, drawing the 
 deepest breath she ever took in her life, "and
 
 BLOSSOM, 173 
 
 I took you — I actually took you that night 
 for a — gentleman !" 
 
 '' And why did you T he said. '' I don't 
 remember giving you any particulars as to my 
 station in life. I told you I was an honest 
 man — which I am." 
 
 " An honest man !" retorted Prue, mth in- 
 tense scorn, " and you have the impudence to 
 call yourself tliat ? And pray, if I may make 
 so bold as to ask the question, what have my 
 young lady done to you that you should take 
 such a powerful interest in her as to steal her 
 letters T 
 
 " The question is a bold one," said Adam, 
 *' and one that I don't choose to answer any 
 one but — herself^ 
 
 " You'll have the face to tell her what 
 you've done T said Prue, altogether staggered 
 by his assurance. 
 
 '' Yes, I shall tell her." 
 
 '' No wonder you disappeared so quick that 
 day at Madam Tussore's," she said. "No 
 wonder I'd scarcely got sight of my young 
 lady than you bolted "
 
 174 '' CHERRY RIPE P 
 
 She paused, for the first time remem- 
 bering that this man, no matter what his 
 previous misdeeds might be, had saved her 
 young mistress's Hfe at the peril of his 
 own. 
 
 But as she looked at him, cool, confident, 
 fearless, her anger rose again and burned hotly 
 in her breast. 
 
 ''And if you're going to tell her," she 
 said, " why didn't you do it before % 
 you've had opportunities enough while you've 
 been sneaking about her garden, goodness 
 knows !" 
 
 " I did not intend to tell her that until 
 I thouo-ht it time to tell her — other 
 things." 
 
 " Do you know what you are talking about T 
 cried Prue, in a fury, " that you speak of tell- 
 ing her this and that, as though she was a 
 cook or a housemaid — one of your own class — 
 do you know who she is, I say V 
 
 '' A young woman," said Adam, his face 
 softening, '^ and a good one too — God bless 
 her !"
 
 BLOSSOM. 175 
 
 Prue's anger suddenly left her, it was too 
 useless to be retained, and she looked at the 
 young man Avith a sensation of despair. As 
 yet not the dimmest suspicion of the heights 
 to which his audacious hopes aspired had 
 shadowed itself ever so faintly upon her 
 mind. 
 
 " 'Tis a true saying that ill-doings never 
 prosper," said Prue, ^'and I'm sure yours 
 didn't. You stole the letter and made a 
 thief of yourself — for nothing. You tried 
 to keep Mr. Kideout and my young lady 
 apart — well, he's mad in love wdth her, and 
 ready to marry her whenever she pleases. 
 There !" 
 
 " Yes," said Adam, '' I know it. He was 
 here this afternoon." 
 
 '' Here,'' cried Prue, starting back, '^ here, 
 did you say '?" 
 
 '' Yes, why not ? Has she not told 
 you { 
 
 '' I've not seen her. Hes a bold one," 
 she added half aloud, '' to cut in
 
 176 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 like that the very first time I turned my 
 back !" 
 
 " But I don't think your mistress will 
 marry Mr. Kideout," said Adam. 
 
 ^^ And why not T said Prue tartly, " unless 
 you're going to take upon yourself to forbid 
 the banns T 
 
 '' There are one or two objections," said 
 Adam calmly, "• or at least — I think so." 
 
 " And what may they be V cried Prue, 
 angry and inquisitive ; ^' maybe you think 
 she's over-young for marrying T 
 
 ^^ No," he said, '' I should not consider 
 that an objection. Plenty of girls marry as 
 young as she." 
 
 '' Or he's poor T 
 
 " He is very rich — as riches go." 
 
 ^' Maybe he's not his own master ?" 
 
 '' He has no parents, and is absolutely his 
 own master." 
 
 ^' Then," said Prue, "if he is rich, and his 
 own master, and so deep in love with her, and 
 if she favours him, whatever on earth can 
 there be to keep them apart f
 
 BLOSSOM. 177 
 
 " Two things," said Adam. '' In the 
 first place, Mr. Rideout is married already ; 
 and in the second, I mean to marry her 
 myself." 
 
 VOL. T. Ji2
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! the wooing o't !" 
 
 AS that Mignon who sat so still 
 and quiet on the old wooden chair, 
 the neglected " Goblins " by her 
 side, her untouched work stretched in a forlorn 
 strip at her feet ? 
 
 Some one who watched her said to himself 
 that she looked as thouo^h a blioiit had 
 already fallen upon her, and he shook his 
 head so sadly that the wallflowers trembled 
 and shook also. 
 
 Such a merry little soul as she used to be, 
 he said to himself; such a joyous, happy, be- 
 witching little hoyden I 
 
 What could he do to amuse her ? To go
 
 BLOSSOM. 179 
 
 over he was forbidden, to speak to her even 
 he dared not, but no one could prevent him 
 from looking, and he had made no promises 
 about messages without words. A thought 
 struck him ! 
 
 He rapidly descended his ladder, disap- 
 peared, presently became visible again bear- 
 ing a small basket lined with leaves, and 
 apparently filled with something delectable. 
 He attached to this basket tAvo stout cords 
 of considerable length, then mounted the 
 ladder, carefully placed the basket on the top 
 of the wall, adjusted the cords, and proceeded 
 to lower it gently into the garden beneath. 
 
 Bibbety bob — bob — bob — down they came, 
 so gently as not to disturb a single leaf, and 
 so noiselessly, that not until they were almost 
 on a level with Mioiion's head did she dis- 
 cover them. 
 
 Cherries ! round, shining, rosy, red ! As 
 she looked at them her eyes brightened, she 
 could almost feel her teeth meeting in their 
 soft, luscious, plump sides . . . but were they 
 for her ? though if not, then for whom else ? 
 
 12—2
 
 180 " CHERRY ripe/' 
 
 All at once she burst into a peal of laughter, 
 and clapped her hands. 
 
 '^ Adam !" she said, '' why of course it's 
 Adam !" but on directing her glance upwards, 
 she found no Adam, only a group of wall- 
 flowers. 
 
 Her eyes reverted to the basket. It had 
 paused in its descent to a convenient distance 
 from her hand, and now gave a gentle bob or 
 two of invitation, as much as to say, " Come, 
 come, you are very backward ; why don't you 
 eat me T 
 
 She could resist the temptation no longer, 
 but put out a little eager curved hand, and in- 
 continently a cherry was down her throat ! 
 It is only the first step that costs, the rest 
 was easy enough ; in two minutes the basket 
 was empty ! 
 
 This fact appeared to give it satisfaction ; 
 for it executed various hops and skips of a 
 jubilant character, finally whisking itself out 
 of sight in an ecstasy of bobs that suggested 
 ^' Good-bye, and thank you !" 
 
 Mignon sat quite still, surrounded by cherry
 
 BLOSSOM. 181 
 
 stones, her blue eyes gradually travelling 
 upwards and after the basket, then she 
 sighed, looked at her cherry-stained fingers, 
 shook her head, blushed. '' You are a greedy 
 little pig," she said, '' but oh ! how I wish it 
 had all got to come over again I" 
 
 She curled her two red lips, the one over 
 the other, as though she tasted those cherries 
 still, then looked about for the ladder that she 
 might by means of it convey her gratitude 
 to the young gardener ; but alas ! it was no- 
 where to be found. He had apparently 
 taken it home aofain. 
 
 '' riow^erpots are no good," she said, 
 gravely ; '' they always give way under 
 one, besides one would want dozens. I'll 
 thank him for them to-morrow !" 
 
 Then she sighed and went aw^ay ; but to- 
 morrow came, and yet another morrow, and 
 Mignon was not found in her old place ; and 
 Adam, watching all day long for her, fell to 
 asking himself, had Prue, with all the inca- 
 pacity of a woman for keeping a secret, told 
 her young mistress everything, and was she
 
 182 '' CHERRY RIPE f' 
 
 too proud and angry to so much as walk in the 
 garden, where she would be subjected to the 
 chance of his appearance 1 When the third 
 day had come, and brought no Mignon, he 
 made up his mind that Prue had betrayed 
 him, and girding up his loins, prepared him- 
 self for as disagreeable a duty and scene, as 
 a man and a lover with any pride and self- 
 respect ever undertook.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I loved her to the very white of truth 
 And she would not conceive it." 
 
 EANING lier brows against the 
 window-pane in the bare and now 
 deserted schooboom, Mignon kept 
 her watch for Muriel, and felt her soul die within 
 her for longing to see the well-known slender 
 figure turn in at the garden gate, to hear the 
 echo of her hurrying feet upon the gravel 
 walk, and the sound of her loving eager cry 
 of " Gabrielle ! Gabrielle 1" Three days had 
 gone by since Mignon had, in mere idleness 
 of spirit, paid that visit to Madame Tussaud's 
 that was fated to end in so strange a fashion; 
 three days .... only three, no more than 
 an hour to untroubled happy people, yet a
 
 184 
 
 long, long while to this girl who had for the 
 first time tasted the exceeding bitterness of 
 that hope deferred which ^' maketh the heart 
 sick." 
 
 The silence of her sister for the past year 
 and a half had been hard to bear, but the 
 treasure and reward lying in the future had 
 been anticipated with such entire trust, that 
 though in the earlier portion of the time she 
 had suffered keenly, yet she had never once 
 endured the misery of either doubt or de- 
 spair. But now, now that she knew Muriel 
 to be close at hand, divided from her merely 
 by a few houses, and fields, and roads, and 
 conscious (as she must be) of how anxiously 
 the little sister was w^atching for her comings 
 yet making no sign, sending no word, seem- 
 ing to forget her, as though she had no 
 existence, now, I say, upon Mignon's loving 
 and faithful heart fell the cold and cruel 
 blight of open and acknowledged neglect. 
 Neglect .... that is more pitiless than 
 jealousy, more inhuman than hatred, that 
 (even as the j^lant that entangles and crushes-
 
 BLOSSOM. 185 
 
 the life out of the Imng msect it enfolds) closes 
 about the heart with a numbing embrace 
 that slowly destroys all energy, hope, and 
 gladness, yea, and that better part of the 
 existence wdthout which we are happier dead 
 than living. 
 
 To suffer and sorrow for misfortune's sake 
 is natural and healthy, to receive unkindness 
 from the world is easy and light to bear, but 
 neglect at the hand of one from w^hom love 
 alone is due (else should Ave not mourn its 
 withdrawal so deeply) is unnatural, and a 
 violation of the laws of human nature. And 
 this thing, that uses no harsh words, acts no 
 tangible savagery, that has even an outward 
 seemino' of fairness and ofentleness, and is 
 liable to no such punishment as is meted out 
 to bold and overt forms of cruelty, is yet the 
 most dastardly and barbarous of all the 
 weapons placed in our hands whereby we 
 have powder to stab the hearts of those who 
 love us. The shadows w^ere beginning to 
 creep about the girl's young life — to creep 
 higher and higher till they rested upon her
 
 186 " CHERRY ripe/' 
 
 heart and settled there, but this she could not 
 know as she watched patiently on from day 
 to day, and hour to hour, for one who never 
 came. 
 
 Some one came from behind her, and took 
 one of the soft girlish hands between her two 
 hard rough ones. It was Prue. 
 
 '' Miss Mignon, dear heart," she said, 
 " and won't you come out for a bit this after- 
 noon, even if 'tis only so far as the garden ? 
 You've not crossed the thi'eshold these three 
 days, and you so used to pretty nigh live in 
 the open air ! And if she should come " — 
 the woman hesitated and turned aside — 
 ^' couldn't I fetch you in less than a minute ?" 
 
 ''And what would she say," cried the 
 girl, '' if I were not here to run out to the 
 door and welcome her ? She would think 
 that I was angry with her, that I had 
 grown careless of her " — she paused, and put 
 both her hands suddenly to her side. '' Such 
 a pain, Prue !" she said, '' oh ! such a pain ! 
 Such a feeling that everything is going 
 ivrong with me, and that I don't know how
 
 BLOSSOM. 187 
 
 1 — 
 
 to put it right again ! If I had not seen her, 
 if I did not knoiv that she was ahve and 
 well, I should think that it meant that she 
 was dead /" 
 
 " No, no, miss," said Prue gently, '' not 
 dead — forgetful maybe, but not dead. Don't 
 ever think of such a thing, little mistress ; 
 and why should you fret yourself so sore 
 for one as never seems to fret herself about 
 you?" 
 
 '' You do not understand," said Mignon 
 coldly and proudly, and turned without 
 another word and went quietly away. 
 
 She paused a moment upon the threshold 
 of the house-door, for her eyes were dazzled 
 by the sun, and the vivid green of the trees 
 and bushes smote her almost painfully after 
 the subdued light within doors ; then she 
 descended the steps and went round soberly 
 enough into the garden. It seemed to her a 
 long while since she had walked in it, and 
 that a great deal had happened to her in that 
 time, although in truth nothing new had come 
 to her save the sharpness of a disappointment
 
 188 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 that to her undisciplined heart had all the 
 force of a revelation, and the cruelty of an 
 injustice. 
 
 She sat down in the old place and picked 
 up her embroidery, that lay just where she 
 had left it, the coraplexion thereof being in 
 no way improved by the night dews and 
 noonday sun. There had not been a drop of 
 rain, so the needle was still unrusted and 
 hlled mth cotton ; a thimble lay in her 
 pocket, she drew it out and commenced 
 working. The unquiet mind is an excellent 
 incentive to manual labour : she had never 
 before worked so steadily and industriously 
 as she did now. Somebody came through 
 the door communicating with the other 
 garden and advanced towards her, but she 
 did not lift her eyes ; she believed it to be 
 Prue, and she was angry with the woman, 
 and did not desire either her society or her 
 conversation. But when the steps paused 
 before her, she knew that it was not Prue, 
 and looking up, saw that it was Adam the 
 gardener.
 
 BLOSSOM. 189 
 
 '^ Is that you, Adam V she said, surprised 
 that he should have come by way of the 
 garden instead of the wall, " and have you 
 come to do some weeding for me to-day ?" 
 
 " No," he said, '' not to-day." 
 
 Something in his voice made Mignon 
 glance at him in surprise. Was this Adam, 
 this man with boldly-lifted brows and fearless 
 regard, as of equal meeting equal, yet with 
 some feeling stronger and deeper than pride 
 subduing and softening his features to a 
 nobility that she had never seen them wear 
 before ? 
 
 Scarcely noting his expression, she became 
 cognisant of an indefinable yet certain change 
 in his manner. Altogether innocent of the 
 intense vulgarity that passes by the name of 
 high breeding, and that would regulate 
 politeness by the position occupied by the 
 person addressed in the social scale, that is 
 for ever drawing distinctions, and measuring 
 people not by what they are, but by what 
 they have, Mignon possessed that sweet and 
 gentle courtesy that is inbred in some men
 
 l( ^rrr-T^T^Tr t^tt^t- ," 
 
 190 " CHERRY RIPE / 
 
 and women, and put forth as naturally to the 
 poor as to the rich ; but at the first suspicion 
 of an encroachment, by either look or word^ 
 the proud Ferrers blood showed itself, and 
 her tone instantly defined his position as 
 gardener, hers as gentlewoman, as she said : 
 ^^ You wish then to speak to me ?" 
 " I have something of yours in my pos- 
 session that I wish to restore to you," he 
 said, and drew from liis pocket a letter sealed 
 with red wax. 
 
 She took it from his hand and read aloud : 
 
 ^* Philip Rideout, Esq., 
 Lilytoion." 
 
 The handwriting was her own. The 
 matter of the lost letter had concerned her 
 but little, nay, in the trouble of the last few 
 days, she had forgotten its very existence, 
 and the time of her writino^ it seemed a lonsf, 
 lono^ while ao'o to her now. 
 
 *' How did you come by this T she said, 
 in wonder ; ^^ where on earth did you find 
 
 itr
 
 BLOSSOM. 191 
 
 " I stole it from Mr. Rideout," said 
 Adam. 
 
 '' You stole it !" she said, staring at him in 
 utter bewilderment, ''and why did you do 
 
 that r 
 
 He made no reply, only bent his eyes 
 downwards, and w^aited quietly for her next 
 words. 
 
 She passed her hand hastily over her brow, 
 looked at the letter, then back again at him. 
 Then, even as it had done to Prue, the in- 
 difference, or, as it seemed to her, effrontery, 
 of his bearing angered her. 
 
 '' And so you were a thief all the w^hile," 
 she said slow^ly, '' and I thought you were an 
 honest man I Who gave you the right to 
 intermeddle in my affairs ? What was it to 
 you whether I wrote to Mr. Hideout, or no ? 
 Did Miss Sorel set you over me as a sinj and 
 a keeper when she went away ?" 
 No answer. 
 
 " So tliat was why you came into the 
 garden that morning?" she cried, roused 
 more and more by his a2:)parent apathy, and
 
 192 " CHERRY ripe/' 
 
 with all her other troubles swept clean away 
 in the excitement of the moment. 
 
 '' I saw you peeping into my book and 
 fegering my thimble, were you trying to 
 find a clue to my other doings ? Were you 
 trying to pick up something to my dis- 
 credit r 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " I have only one more question to ask 
 you," she went on ; " ivhy did you not read 
 my letter while you were about it — why do 
 you return it to me now, above all, with the 
 seal unbroken ? Better an out-and-out dis- 
 honour than one badly cloaked with a 
 semblance of truth !" 
 
 Still no reply, not a tremor of the eyelids, 
 not a quiver of the firm lips, to show that her 
 barbed words struck home, and wounded him 
 to the quick. 
 
 " And if you thought to do harm by 
 stealing that letter," she said, with a 
 triumphant ring in her voice that dashed 
 out the scorn, ^' you did not — it made no 
 difterence to Mr. Rideout, he came and told
 
 BLOSSOM. 193 
 
 me all about it ! But you know that already 
 — you were in the garden spying when he 
 came, though surely you made a terrible 
 mistake in being out of earshot ! You might 
 have come as near as you pleased, and it 
 would never have occurred to me that you 
 were listening — for, you see, I did not know 
 you were a spy. And now I understand why 
 I caught you staring so at me when he went 
 away .... Tell me !" she cried, ^' if you are 
 man enough to be able to speak the truth, 
 who set you to watch me, to lie in wait for 
 my letters, to come into my garden on false 
 pretences, to lead meon to talk to you trust- 
 fidly as I should to Prue ? Was it — though 
 I cannot believe it — Miss Sorel ?" 
 
 "No," he said, " it was not Miss Sorel." 
 " You did it simply and solely of your own 
 accord ?" 
 
 " Simply and solely of my own accord !" 
 " I have no more to say to 3^ou," she said, 
 *-' except that I am sorry — very sorry — that 
 I have found you out to be so bad." 
 
 Her eyes^ were wistful, her face was pale 
 
 VOL. I. IS
 
 9 4 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 .... following upon the broken promise of 
 the past three days came this new disappoint- 
 ment, for she had liked and instinctively 
 trusted this man, and she was, as she had 
 said, sorry. 
 
 His heart ached as he looked at her, and 
 to himself he said that his punishment was 
 beodnnino' .... 
 
 ^^ And now," he said aloud, " you will 
 hsten to me. Had you not better sit down ? 
 you will be tired." 
 
 She looked at him, hesitated, then sat 
 down again, obeying the law that impels 
 the strong will to yield to the stronger — 
 a submission that has in it all the ele- 
 ments of rebellion, and is as little grate- 
 ful to the recipient as it is hateful to the 
 giver. 
 
 '^ You have called me thief, eavesdropper, 
 and spy," he said, " and each of those appel- 
 lations is justly bestowed upon me, but you 
 have not yet discovered the full extent of the 
 fraud I have practised upon you. Can you 
 guess what that is ?"
 
 BLOSSOM. 195 
 
 She looked at him, measuring him from 
 head to foot, his common dress, his pride of 
 regard, his well-shaped feet and hands, and 
 all at once something flashed upon her that 
 she had been blind indeed not to have dis- 
 covered long ago, and catching that sudden 
 light in her eyes, Adam knew that she had 
 guessed the truth. 
 
 "You are not a gardener after all," she 
 said, '' you are a gentleman ! And you came 
 into my garden pretending to be what you 
 were not V she said slowly. "" You obtained 
 a footing in it by a lie, and kept it by 
 hundreds of others T 
 
 '' Yes," he said, but by now a red flush 
 had crept slowly up to his brow and settled 
 there. 
 
 " You let me order you about as though 
 you were a servant, and laughed at me in 
 your sleeve, while you weeded the gravel 
 walks r 
 
 *^ I let you order me about, but I did not 
 laugh at you in my sleeve." 
 
 13—2
 
 196 *' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 "I gave you half a crown I" 
 
 '' Yes !" 
 
 " And I let you wheel me in a wheel- 
 barrow !" 
 
 '' Yes !" 
 
 " And you called me miss.'' 
 
 ^' I did." 
 
 *'* And I recommended you to study 
 English history !" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you sent me cherries over the wall, 
 and I ate them — every one/' 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 " Oh !" cried the girl, starting up and 
 covering her scarlet cheeks with both hands, 
 " I shall never get over it — I shall die of 
 shame, and oh ! sir, how I scorn, how I detest 
 you !'' 
 
 " Mignon," cried the young man in his 
 excitement, and so shaken was she by the 
 violence of the conflicting emotions that 
 swayed her, that she never observed the slip, 
 " I have told you the end of the story — the 
 beginning you have yet to leara — my actions
 
 BLOSSOM. 197 
 
 you know, but the motives that prompted 
 them you do not " 
 
 *' Nor do I wish to hear them," cried the 
 girl ; "your actions are enough, and more than 
 enough for me ! Did you think because I 
 was a poor friendless schoolgirl, with no father 
 or mother, or brother — nobody to stand up 
 for me — that you could play oif as many 
 pi'cictical joIts upon me as you pleased ?" 
 
 " Mignon," cried Adam in despair, " can't 
 you understand why I have done all this ? do 
 you not see how I have tried to be your friend 
 all along, even if I did make a terrible mistake 
 at the beginning ?" 
 
 She did not reply, she was weeping; a great 
 many causes had conspired to make the salt 
 fountain overflow ; but Adam took those 
 tears (being ignorant of the pressure of other 
 troubles upon her) to be altogether due to his 
 own bad behaviour. 
 
 "Mignon," he cried again, distracted by 
 the sight of them, his calmness utterly for- 
 saking him, " won't you try to overlook the 
 past — won't you begin it all over again, on a
 
 198 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 better, surer foundation, won't you give me 
 at least the chance of earning your good 
 ojDinion ?" 
 
 " How could I trust you again ?" she said, 
 taking her hands away from her face. *' How 
 should I know Avhen you were telling me 
 truth, and when falsehood ? I liked you .... 
 and you saved my hfe/' she added, sobbing, 
 '^ I can never forget that " 
 
 " If it will soften your anger to me," he 
 said gently, " remember that, and forget all 
 the rest .... you need fear no intrusion 
 from me, or that I shall molest you in any 
 way, and you may walk in your garden with 
 as much security as though I were a hundred 
 miles away. I will never enter it again, until 
 you call me. If you should require a friend 
 at any time send for me ; a man may be a 
 good friend, Mignon, although he be liar, 
 thief, spy, and eavesdropper. Prue has 
 somewhat to say to you on the subject of 
 Mr. Hideout that wiU demand your careful 
 attention ; and if you can ever feel that you 
 forgive me, will you send me one word — only
 
 BLOSSOM, 199 
 
 one, and you will make the most miserable 
 man upon earth the happiest . . . ." 
 
 Then, as she made no sign, he went slowly 
 away, and left her standing there alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Let the white rleath sit on thy clieek for ever, 
 We'll ne'er come there again." 
 
 " ^^"^^ KITE," said Mignon, sitting down? 
 unexpectedly on the floor, ^' I 
 will never believe in anybody 
 living again (except Muriel) ; and if yoii 
 were to take it into your head to kill me one 
 night in my sleep, I should not be in the 
 least astonished, indeed I should say it was 
 exactly w^hat I had expected t" 
 
 " I don't s'pose you'd say anything at all 
 in that case, Miss Mignon," said Prue, who 
 was giving the drawing-room a thorough 
 good dusting in anticipation of Miss Sorel's 
 return.. 
 
 "I am a very litile more than sixteeru
 
 BLOSSOM. 201: 
 
 years old," said Mignon, addressing a bunck 
 of flowers painted by her own hand, and duly 
 framed and hung up on the opposite wall, 
 and of which the roses were so deeply red, 
 the violets so intensely blue, and the leaves 
 so overpow^eringly green, that they made the 
 eyes wink again to look at them ; " and I 
 think the world a shockingly wicked, deceitful, 
 surprising place, and human nature as bad as 
 bad can be. Now what should you suppose 
 will be my opinion of the same by the time 1 
 am sixty V 
 
 '' A deal more favourable to human natur','' 
 said Prue, who was dusting the chaste Diana, 
 with averted eyes, as much as to say that if 
 that misguided young person fancied herself 
 without any clothes, she for one was not going 
 to abet the iniquity by looking at her. 
 "- When people get a better knowledge of 
 theirselves, miss (and years give 'em that), 
 they discover so much wickedness in their- 
 selves, that they're in no hurry to cast stones^ 
 at their neighbours. 'Tis only the young, 
 miss, as comes to conclusions so mighty quick,.
 
 202 
 
 and finds hard words so much easier to their 
 tongues than kind ones." 
 
 " But surely," cried Mignon, pushing back 
 her hair, " doAvnright wicked things, like 
 deceit, lies, and worse, require hard language? 
 Can being old turn black things into white ? 
 Do old people have an upside-down dictionary, 
 and call virtue vice, and vice virtue ?" 
 
 '' No, Miss Mignon, but they go deeper 
 than just outsides — they see reasons. " 
 
 *' Would any amount of reasons make it 
 right for you to deceive me as you did about 
 that letter, Prue ? Would an old person find 
 a satisfactory reason why Mr. Rideout should 
 ask me to marry him, when he had a wife all 
 the time, and his name was not Hideout at 
 
 aur 
 
 " No," said Prue, " I've got no reasons for 
 him — he's a rascal — and I should like " 
 (making a movement of her hand that in a 
 man would have taken the form of a doubled- 
 up fist) " to tell him so to his face." 
 
 '' I can't sa}/ i am very sorry at his bad 
 behaviour," said Mignon, sighing; ''for I
 
 BLOSSOM. 203 
 
 have been racking my brains as to what good 
 excuse I should give him when he came back 
 for not marrying him, for he is such a tre- 
 mendous person that it Avould not be easy to 
 say ' No ' to him ; but noio I shall just be 
 able to drop him a courtesy, and say, ' Thank 
 you very much, but does the English law 
 permit a person to have tivo wives V " 
 
 " Villain !" cried Prue, "■ and what a silly, 
 helieviiig woman was I, good Lord !" 
 
 " Perhaps it is not true after all," said 
 Mig-non. " How^ are we to know that Adam 
 was not telling us some more stories ? Though 
 why it should matter to him whether Mr. 
 Pideout is married or single, or what on earth 
 could have induced him to steal that letter, is 
 more than I can understand ! Do you think 
 it is possible that he is a kleptomaniac, 
 Prue ?" 
 
 '' What's that, miss T 
 
 *' A man who appropriates other people's 
 goods : if he is rich, and in no want of the 
 things he takes, he is called a kleptomaniac ; 
 but if he is a poor, despairing man, w^ith a
 
 204 ''CHERRY RIPeT 
 
 starving wift and family at home, he is 
 called — a thief." 
 
 ""No, miss," said Prue, frowning; ''he's 
 not that. It wasn't stealing neither, for he 
 give it back to you ; and when he took it^ 
 'twas for your goodT 
 
 "But why concern himself about my good?"^ 
 said Mignon, looking puzzled. '' What could 
 it matter to him whether I wrote to Mr. 
 Rideout, or no T 
 
 '' Because," said the Avoman, "■ he knew 
 you had no relations, nobody to look after 
 you but a silly creature called Prue — and 
 that Mr. Hideout was a bad man, not fit for 
 a young lady to be writing to, and so he took 
 the letter." 
 
 " You seem to have a very good opinion of 
 him/' said Mignon, "" though I'm sure I can't 
 see what he has done to deserve it ! The 
 only difference between them that / can see 
 is, that one came in at the garden door and 
 made unlawful love, and the other came over 
 the garden wall and played the spy — and 
 really I don't think there is a pin to choose
 
 BLOSSOM. 205 
 
 between them ! Though after all," she added, 
 ■" what does it matter how they behave, what 
 does anything matter, so long as she still 
 delays to come, and when she must know, too, 
 bow I am wearying for her ?" 
 
 Kat-tat ! went the knocker of the hall- 
 door, as though in answer to Mignon's words, 
 •causing her to start violently. What is there 
 In the sound of the postman's knock that sets 
 more hearts beatinsf and nerves flutterino- 
 ithan any other sound upon earth ? 
 
 " A letter from Muriel !" she thouo-ht 
 rather than spoke, and sprang to her feet. 
 In a moment she had flung the house-door 
 wide, to discover a boy on the step who 
 handed a yellow envelope to her with the 
 <?ustomary inquiry of " Any answer ?" 
 
 She did not hear him .... she was look- 
 ing at the ugly narrow envelope with the 
 most intense joy; it was from Muriel, she 
 was sure of that, to say she was coming im- 
 mediately .... and yet her fingers tarried, 
 .and did not seem able to open it. 
 
 Prue came out. The boy went away.
 
 ii /-"ZLTE^Dm/- DTrtTT /" 
 
 206 " CHERRY RIPE / 
 
 Mignon desperately tore the envelope 
 asunder, and read aloud the following words : 
 
 From To 
 
 M. GiRARDiN, Miss Gabrielle Ferrers, 
 
 Hotel de B , Rosemary, 
 
 Paris. Lilytown. 
 
 " An Englishwoman, named Sorel, died 
 here suddenly last night. By examination 
 of papers have discovered above address. 
 Some relative must come over at once to 
 identify body and arrange for burial." 
 
 The teleoTam fell from Mimon's hands. 
 The shock, following on her triumphant and 
 
 mistaken gladness, was cruel She 
 
 looked at Prue, who seemed turned to stone, 
 and did not utter a syllable. The cook ap- 
 peared in the hall, attracted thither by the 
 instinct that invariably draws people to the 
 scene of a catastrophe, or the place where one 
 is in process of being announced. 
 
 " Mistress is dead !" said Prue, and threw 
 her apron over her head. 
 
 *' Dead !" said the cook, looking shocked,.
 
 BLOSSOM. 207 
 
 but putting on the pleasurable air of excite- 
 ment that domestic misfortune ever seems to 
 afford the ordinary, unattached servant, to 
 whom a death or a wedding are equally 
 productive of fuss and importance, agreeably 
 combined with a total disregard of the every- 
 day duties that it has been their custom to 
 fulfil. Mignon did not weep .... there 
 was a strange tightness about her heart, and 
 she felt as one who has been stunned by a 
 heavy and unexpected blow. She had given 
 the dead woman respect, not love, yet respect 
 is as good a thing as love in its way, and 
 Miss Sorel had been her only friend, save 
 Prue, for four long years .... it smote her 
 now with a dull and bitter pang, how often 
 lately she had taken her name between her 
 lips, carelessly, ignorantly, speaking lightly 
 of that home-coming that should never come 
 to pass .... at the very time, perhaps, 
 when she had been passing away to that 
 unutterable mystery and greeting that mortal 
 eye hath not seen, nor ear heard. 
 
 " The telegram said that somebody must
 
 •208 *' CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 go,'' said Prue, taking her apron from her 
 ^eyes. '' Oh ! poor mistress .... poor mistress 
 
 nobody ever came to see her but her 
 
 brother, and he hves somewhere in the north ; 
 did she ever tell you his address, Miss 
 Mignon T 
 
 ''Never," said the girl, and shivered, 
 scarcely knowing why, as she recalled the 
 sinister-faced man who had looked at her so 
 strangely, and spoken to her so roughly, on 
 the sole occasion when she had found herself 
 in his presence. 
 
 '^ If the address is anywhere, 'twill be in 
 Ahe big writing-table in her room," said Prue, 
 lowering her voice involuntarily as she uttered 
 the pronoun that now stood for what was 
 not, 
 
 " We will go and see," said Mignon, who 
 felt as one who moves in a dream, yet knows 
 the awaking will surely come by-and-by. 
 
 They went upstairs, and into the pretty 
 sunny chamber that would receive its mistress 
 never any more ; treading softly, as though 
 she were by to hear them, and looking about
 
 BLOSSOM, 209 
 
 with that fearful awe that ever attends the 
 dwelhng-places of those Avho were once of us 
 but are now apart. 
 
 The table was securely locked, and would 
 yield to no key that the house afforded, 
 finally, and \vith a roughness that made 
 Mignon turn her head, half expecting to see 
 the tall slender shape and the grey gown of 
 the woman whose secrets were so rudely 
 violated, the desk was forced open, and its 
 orderly contents became visible. Neatly 
 labelled packets of bills, files of accounts, 
 school and tradesmen's books, all the tidy 
 odds and ends of a careful manager and a 
 prim old maid, and Prue, who had seen it all 
 many times before, felt her eyes fill again. 
 
 The search was not a long one. Two or 
 three slender packets of letters, indorsed 
 "■ Silas Sorel to Marie Sorel," were placed in 
 such fashion, that the most casual glance 
 could not fail to fall upon them. Mignon 
 drew out one of the sheets, and, turning to 
 the heading, read : 
 
 " The How, Northallerton, Yorkshhe." 
 
 VOL. I. IJf.
 
 210 " CHERR V RIPE / 
 
 As she laid the letter down again, she 
 perceived a packet addressed to herself, and 
 indorsed, " Not to be opened until after my 
 death." 
 
 She took it in her hand, and again, burn- 
 ing summer day though it was, she shivered, 
 and her face was very pale as she said to 
 Prue — 
 
 " See, this is addressed to me. It is no 
 theft to take what is my own T 
 
 *' It is yours," said Prae, sobbing, " since 
 she is dead. Poor soul ! poor soul !" 
 
 Five minutes later Mignon was sitting in 
 her chamber, the unopened letter in her hand, 
 alone.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I 
 take to be too little for pomp to enter ; some that humble 
 themselves may, but the many will be too chill and 
 tender : and they'll be for the flow'ry way that leads to 
 the broad gate and the great fire." 
 
 IGNON broke the seal, and took out 
 two enclosures, the one a long and 
 closely-written letter, the other a 
 sealed envelope, also addressed to herself, the 
 superscription of which was as follows : 
 
 '^ Not to he opened until the other letter is 
 read.'" 
 
 The habit of obedience was still strong upon 
 her ; she laid it down on her lap and took up 
 the other It ran thus : 
 
 14—2
 
 212 ''CHERRY RIFE 
 
 '' In tlie event of my sudden decease by sick- 
 ness, railway accident, fire, or any one of those 
 urgent summonses of God that men mis-name- 
 chance, I write these words for your enlighten- 
 ment and guidance, my poor little Mignon,. 
 since, when I am gone, there will not be in the 
 whole world a more lonely, friendless creature 
 than yourself For my own sake I do not 
 fear Death ; nay, I listen for his footsteps in 
 the stillness of the night, in the glory of the 
 noonday, at evening-tide when the night is 
 closing in, and, when he lays his cold hand 
 on mine, I shall go to him as gladly as a 
 bride to her bridegroom ; but my heart aches 
 when T think of you, whom I cannot choose 
 but leave desolate and unprovided for, and for 
 your sake I would live yet a few years longer, 
 until I had seen you placed securely beyond 
 the storms and temptations of life. Then I 
 could face your father ^^4thout fear in the 
 Great Beyond, where he awaits me, and say 
 to him, ' I have left her safe, the little 
 daughter that you entrusted to my care . . .' 
 It mav be that you will never read these
 
 BLOSSOM. -213 
 
 lines ; that I shall tell you my story some 
 night when the darkness hides from me your 
 face — the face that is a birthright from your 
 dead father, and yet bears a strong resem- 
 blance to your mother . . . that same resem- 
 blance to her that hardened my heai^t against 
 you, and made my looks and ways so cold to 
 you always. 
 
 '^ Thirty years ago I was but a very little 
 older than j^ou now are, and happy , ... no 
 bird rioting in his short summer-da} gladness 
 was happier than I, for my heart was filled 
 with the first rapt n re and glory of a young 
 girl's love, than w^hich there can on earth be 
 nothing more exquisite, for believe me, child, 
 when I tell you that, no matter how strong, 
 and deep, and true, may be the second love of 
 a man or woman, it can never approach that 
 first matchless passion when the fancy flew 
 like an arrow, and the heart followed after, 
 and there was no question of measure or com- 
 parison, but each poured out the riches of the 
 soul in one supreme gift, recking not if the 
 cup w^ere drained, the golden wine squandered
 
 214 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 in a draught, and no drop left remaining for 
 the long, long years of the future. 
 
 '' We were but a month from our wedding- 
 day, your father and I, when your mother 
 crossed our path — beautiful, cold, unscrupu- 
 lous — a woman of no passions and many 
 vices, who lied, and schemed, and plotted, and 
 divided us from each other — divided us so 
 utterly, that to the day of his death he never 
 knew but that I had played him false, yet 
 loved me so faithfully, so enduringly, that the 
 last letter his poor stiffening fingers penned 
 was to me, as the last name he uttered, when 
 he lay a-dying, was * Marie ! Marie f not his 
 wife's name, only his poor lost sweetheart's. 
 I received and read his letter ; I have it stilly 
 it has lain ever since on my breast by night 
 and day, it will go with me to my coffin ; and 
 in this letter he prayed me, for the sake of 
 the love I had once borne him, to befriend hi& 
 little daughter when he was gone. A ruined 
 man, the splendid fortune for which your 
 mother had married him, squandered in mad 
 extravagance, he knew of no one to whom he
 
 BLOSSOM, 215 
 
 could make such a request but me. Muriel 
 was old enough to earn her bread, but you 
 were only a child; and having made his 
 prayer to me, he died, and I did not shed one 
 tear for him, for he seemed nearer to me 
 dead than he had for long years been to me 
 living. 
 
 *' He was scarcely cold in his grave when 
 your mother died, of a broken heart, the world 
 said, and the world was right; the loss of 
 wealth, station, and all that was to her the 
 very principle of existence, killed her. She 
 was no more than a shadow to Muriel and 
 you, and when she went, you scarcely missed 
 her, your lives w^ere literally bound up in 
 each other, and for even your rarely-seen 
 father you had but little affection. Then I 
 knew that the time had come to redeem my 
 unspoken promise, and I went to my brother 
 and told him what I was about to do. He 
 had always hated your father, with a hatred 
 that nothing could exceed, and on hearing that 
 I meant to adopt his daughter, his fury rose 
 to madness, and he swore that if I took you
 
 216 " CHERRY RIPE / 
 
 under my care I should never enter his doors 
 again. When I told him my mind was made 
 up, he bade me begone and starve with you 
 — ay, starve ; for all the fortune I pos- 
 sessed was a scanty pittance left me by my 
 mother — or so it seemed to one who had 
 never known the use of money, or the lack 
 of it. 
 
 ^' I left him and came to London, and then 
 my struggles began. It is difficult for a 
 woman to obtain a subsistence, even if she 
 possesses the knowledge necessary to earn 
 it ; it is more difficult still when she knows 
 not how to seek it, and has no friends to 
 advise her ; nevertheless it came to pass that 
 ere many months were past I was able to 
 fetch you to a home — a home to which you 
 came wdth passionate grief and frantic un- 
 willingness, for though you had lost both 
 your parents, yet the first real trial of your 
 life was your separation from Muriel, and 
 though I besought her to come and live with 
 me as well, she would not do so ; she must 
 make her own way in the world, she said.
 
 BLOSSOM. 217 
 
 but would ask my leave to come and see you 
 twice a year. 
 
 " I made her promise that she would never 
 tell you that you were indebted to me for a 
 home ; I thought the knoAvledge might fetter 
 and gall you, so you never guessed but that 
 jour father left you in my charge, with a 
 certain sum of money for your use and main- 
 tenance. 
 
 " And now, Mignon, the bitter gist of my 
 story is to come, and how hard it is to me to 
 tell you will never know .... it is this : 
 At my death the paltry income that I possess 
 passes into my brother's hands, and leaves 
 you totally unprovided for. If I could have 
 left you some certain yearly sum, however 
 small, upon which you might subsist when 
 other means failed you, I should die content, 
 but it grieves me sorely to leave you without 
 one creature to whom you can look for pro- 
 tection or help, save Prue, who loves you, 
 and is a good woman, yet has it not in her 
 power to do more than serve you faithfully. 
 By patient care, I have succeeded in saving
 
 218 
 
 for you the sum of a hundred pounds, which 
 I have paid in at the Lilytown bank, in your 
 real name, Gabrielle Ferrers — and that you 
 must almost have forgotten, since it is so 
 long since any one called you by it — a name 
 I have ever hated, since it was your mother's, 
 so that when, a year ago, Lu-Lu christened 
 you ' Mignon,' I encouraged the idea, until 
 at last you came to be called by that, and no 
 other. 
 
 " And now for the future. If I do not 
 return, and since I know my brother too well 
 to believe that he will hold out any hand of 
 help towards you, your best plan will be to 
 seek employment as governess or companion, 
 with Prue's help. I have already spoken to 
 her on the subject, and the money I have left 
 you will pay both her expenses and yours 
 until such time as you have found a shelter. 
 Trusting in God and your own heart, in the 
 integrity of your principles, in the purity of 
 your soul, all may yet be well with you ; and 
 if it should be that the love of a good man 
 become yours, I beseech you do not cast it
 
 BLOSSOM. 211> 
 
 aside for any fancy, or whim, or folly, for, 
 although you may have many lovers, there 
 will not be many worth the taking. And 
 I warn you against believing the passionate 
 vehement wooer, who vows the world to be 
 well lost for your sake, against the true and 
 steady one, who does his duty before Heaven 
 and his own conscience, and whose love for 
 you is no sudden caprice born of your beauty, 
 but a deep and steady affection that will wax 
 deeper, not colder, as time goes by. 
 
 *' You will perhaps lay down my letter 
 here to say to yourself, ' Have I not Muriel ? 
 Can I be so friendless, when the thing I 
 love best on earth is alive and well ?' Oh ! 
 Mignon .... Mignon .... I have some- 
 thing to say to you. I have received neics of 
 your sister Muriel T 
 
 Mignon sprang up with a low cry. 
 
 '* Oh ! how cruel .... how cruel !" she 
 cried wildly, '' never to say one word to me, 
 and when I used to ask her every day . . . ." 
 she broke off, suddenly conscious that she 
 was speaking of the dead ; and is there any
 
 a ^TTT-7^T^1^ J^TJ^ir^ ," 
 
 220 " CHERR V RIFE I 
 
 more shameful disloyalty on earth than to 
 have unkind thoughts or words for those who 
 can speak no syllable to reinstate themselves 
 in our regard ? 
 
 She seized the letter, but was so blinded 
 by excitement and eagerness, that the written 
 words danced before her eyes ; by-and-by 
 they steadied themselves, and she read as 
 follows : 
 
 " If I return safely from those lonely cities 
 where my restless feet bear me up and down, 
 backwards and forwards, as some strange yet 
 certain instinct to-night tells me that I shall 
 not return, this letter with its enclosure will 
 be destroyed, and of your sister you will 
 learn no tidings from me, until she returns to 
 tell you all, of her own free will ; but since it 
 is possible that the knowledge I possess will 
 be forced upon you in some unforeseen and 
 abrupt manner, and that the telHng of the 
 story may come more gently from my lips 
 than from those of a strano^er, I leave a 
 written account of my interview with her, 
 although I am bound to tell you that if you
 
 BLOSSOM. 221 
 
 read it, you do so in defiance of her expressed 
 wish and command. You have your choice 
 of two things ; you worship Muriel, and to 
 you she is a type of perfect purity and good- 
 ness ; you could better believe evil of yourself 
 than of her. 
 
 " Mignon, little adopted daughter, I would 
 that you might keej^ your faithful, beautiful 
 belief in Muriel always, that in your thoughts 
 she should be ever as she is to-day, therefore 
 I leave it in your own hands whether you 
 destroy, unread, the letter I enclose in this, 
 or read it, and thereby lose the purest jewel 
 out of your life. I say I leave it in your own 
 hands, for I am sorely perplexed between my 
 promise to her and my duty to you. Fare- 
 well. God bless and protect you always. 
 " Marie Makepeace Sorel."
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 " Anything that's mended is but patched; virtue that 
 transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends 
 is but patched with virtue." 
 
 IGNON walked to the window and 
 looked out at the garden stretched 
 below. Bumble and a favourite 
 wife had escaped from the kitchen-garden, 
 and were strutting about the burnt-up, 
 stubbly bit of lawn on which reposed half 
 a dozen bent croquet hoops, three or four 
 battered wooden balls, and two mallets, the 
 same being the forlorn residue of a set of 
 croquet that had been in its prime some 
 three years ago. 
 
 " It will rain before night," she said aloud,
 
 BLOSSOM, 223 
 
 and looking up at the skies, over which a 
 lowering black cloud was slowly creeping. 
 The air was sultry, the silence oppressive, 
 there was but little beauty in either sky or 
 land just then, but Mignon leant far out on 
 the window-sill, looking abroad as though she 
 were anxious to imprint all that she saw upon 
 her memory. Perhaps some instinct told her 
 that this old garden which had grown dear to 
 her from long familiarity would never again 
 look the same to her after to-day, that the 
 careless happy hours of her girlhood were 
 gone, never to return, while the cares and 
 troubles of a woman were thickening about 
 her path .... I say it may be so, for she 
 was not conscious of thought, she simply 
 regarded that which was before her, and 
 understood it, noting all things, from the 
 stray birds that flew from one tree to another, 
 hastening to hide themselves from the coming 
 storm, to the blood-red heart of a single rose 
 that grew on one of the standard bushes her 
 own hand had planted nigh upon four years 
 ago.
 
 224 " CHERRY RIPE / 
 
 A faint mutter in the distance heralded 
 approaching mischief. Mignon withdrew 
 from the window and went back to the 
 table where the unopened letter lay. She 
 took it in her hand, looked at, and laid it 
 down ?,gain. 
 
 '^ Muriel," she wliispered, and her voice 
 sounded strange and sinister in the lonely, 
 darkening room, '' shall I open this letter, or 
 destroy it, and so go back to the long and 
 weary days of waiting, with the added misery 
 of knowing that I might have learned some- 
 what of you, and did not \ It holds tidings 
 of you, and any news must be good to me 
 after your long and cruel silence .... You 
 cannot have done anything wrong, my Muriel, 
 it is I who have been always wicked, not you ! 
 and perhaps you are expecting me — reproach- 
 ing me in your heart ; while I am idling here, 
 there may be a message in this letter from 
 you to me .... an explanation why you do 
 not come. ... 
 
 " Yes ! I will read it, I will face the truths 
 whatever it may be, for nothing can break
 
 BLOSSOM. 225 
 
 my love for you, my beloved, nothing can 
 make you any other than my angel of good- 
 ness, and I can bear anything that brings me 
 nearer to you, no matter ho^v steep and 
 thorny the path may be. ..." 
 
 Once more she took the packet in her 
 hand. As she broke the seal, a sudden glare 
 of lio'htnino' half blinded her : as she drew the 
 letter from the envelope, a clap of thunder 
 seemed to shake the house to its founda- 
 tions. 
 
 " Mignon," wrote Miss Sorel, "when a bad 
 thing has to be told, or a blow^ is about to be 
 inflicted, the only mercy that can be shown 
 is to do it quickly ; therefore I will say 
 what I have to say in the fewest possible 
 words. 
 
 " You know that w^hen I brought you 
 here, Muriel, adopting your mother's name 
 of Brook, sought and obtained a situation as 
 governess in the family of a Mrs. Falkner, 
 Avho lived in Dublin. Twice a year she came 
 •over to spend her holidays with you. Twice 
 a week (sometimes oftener) she wrote to you, 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 " CHERRY RIPE 
 
 and for the space of over two years she failed 
 neither in her visits nor her correspondence. 
 At the end of that time all communication 
 with her abruptly ceased, your letters and 
 mine were returned to us, unopened and re- 
 directed by Mrs. Falkner. Upon my writing 
 to that lady and inquiring for your sister, I 
 received the intelliofence that Muriel had left 
 her suddenly ; giving no reason, leaving no 
 address, affording not the slightest clue by 
 which it was possible to ascertain her where- 
 abouts. 
 
 ^^ You used to come to me and say, ^ Do 
 you think she is dead, ma am T and my heart 
 grew sore for you, for I had begun to suspect 
 that Muriel was lost to you (let me whisper 
 it, Mignon ; and since I shall be dead when 
 you read these words, do not hate me for 
 what I am forced to say) by something of 
 which you have never heard, and cannot even 
 guess at . . . , something compared with 
 which death is kind and the grave a friend 
 .... and the name of this thing by w^hich 
 she is lost to you is — shame !
 
 BLOSSOM, 227 
 
 '^ I say I suspected it, but I did not hiow ; 
 that was to come after. 
 
 ^^ Do you remember the fever you had in 
 the autumn of the year before last — how in 
 your dehrium you moaned, ' Muriel! Muriel P 
 till it almost broke one's heart to hear you ? 
 And do you remember how, when you were 
 beginning to recover, you used in the evening 
 to lie in the drawing-room with Lu-Lu, or 
 sometimes myself, for companion ? One 
 evening I was sitting with you after dark — 
 I in the shadow, you in the firelight with 
 your features plainly visible — when I saw a 
 woman's face pressed against the window- 
 pane, peering in. She thought you alone, 
 for her eyes never once wandered towards 
 me ; and the intensity of her gaze, and some- 
 thing in the half-seen features, sent a sudden 
 suspicion leaping through my mind. I 
 managed to get out of the room without a 
 sound, so that when I came behind her in 
 the garden she was still there. I laid my 
 hand upon her arm ; she turned with a violent 
 start and broke away from me like a mad 
 
 15-2
 
 228 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 creature, but I caught at her dress and held 
 her fast. 
 
 " ^ Muriel,' I said, ' have you come at last 
 to see Gabrielle f 
 
 " * How do you know that I am Muriel V 
 she said in a strano-e defiant voice that 
 staggered me. 
 
 " It was so different to the sweet voice of 
 the girl I had spoken with only a few month s 
 before. 
 
 " She was holding a piece of her shawl 
 over her face, we were but a few paces 
 from the window, but it was so dark 
 that I could no longer distinguish her 
 features. Nevertheless an unerring in- 
 stinct told me that it was your sister and 
 no other. 
 
 '' I think she dropped the shawl. I let go 
 her dress and held her arm — a round firm arm 
 clasped by a heavy bracelet that from the 
 mere touch assured me she was not at all 
 events suffering from poverty. 
 
 " ' Let me go,' she cried, struggling 
 violently — ay, violently ; and do you re-
 
 BLOSSOM. 229 
 
 member that the distinguished quahty of 
 Muriel was her gentleness ^ 
 
 " * Muriel,' I said, ' do you know that 
 Gabrielle has been very ill, that the child's 
 life has been in danofer V 
 
 " I felt her arm tremble in my grasp as 
 though she were in an ague fit, and 
 her voice was hoarser than before as she 
 whispered : 
 
 " * She is better now . . . she is recoverino- V 
 
 o 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, ' and strangely enough she 
 now frets about you no longer, but seems 
 happy in looking forward to the time when 
 you will return to her.' 
 
 " She rocked herself to and fro in a stranofe 
 dumb agony for some moments, then she 
 said : 
 
 " ' She does not think evil of me, she does 
 not suspect me of — sin f 
 
 " My soul seemed to die within me as I 
 heard her ... I saw the old miserable story 
 so plainly . . . but through it all I was most 
 conscious of pity for you — you who had so 
 loved and believed in her, who looked upon
 
 230 
 
 her as something above and beyond other 
 women . . . and it seemed to me that your 
 wreck of faith in her (when you should know 
 all) was the most piteous feature in the whole 
 case. 
 
 " She repeated her question almost fiercely. 
 * She does not suspect me of — sin f 
 
 " ' She does not know the meaning of the 
 word,' I said, ^ at least in the common accep- 
 tation of the term.' 
 
 '^ ^ God grant she never may!' cried Muriel, 
 with fearful energy. ^ Promise me, swear to 
 me, that you never ivill tell her ... let 
 me be for a little longer to my angel the 
 Muriel that she used to love . . . used to 
 love. . . .' 
 
 "" Her arms fell by her sides, she stood like 
 a woman turned to stone, then she suddenly 
 stooped her lij)s to my hands and kissed them 
 passionately. 
 
 *' ' You are a good woman,' she said, ' are 
 you not ?' 
 
 " ' No,' I said ; ' I only try to be.' 
 
 " ^ Then if you are not/ she said, * no one
 
 BLOSSOM, 231 
 
 is. And ci good woman always keeps her 
 promise, does she not ?' 
 
 ^'^Yes,' I said. 
 
 " ' Then promise/ she said, holding my arm 
 tightly, 'that you will never reveal to Gabrielle 
 that vou saw me here to-night. Swear to me 
 that you will never tell her the thoughts that 
 I know are in your heart concerning me to- 
 night . . . that you will utter no word to soil 
 the purity of her mind by one whisper or hint 
 of evil. Let her think me cruel, unnatural, 
 heartless, but do not let her think me — 
 wicked. You swear it ?' 
 
 "" ' Upon one condition only,' I said, after a 
 few moments of thought, ' and that is, that I 
 leave a written account of this interview 
 with you for Gabrielle to read in case of my 
 death.' 
 
 " ' In case of your death V she cried ; 'are 
 you ill of an incurable disease ? have you 
 ^ny reason to think that you are likely to die 
 before long V 
 
 " ' No,' I said, ' I have no disease that I 
 know of ; humanly speaking I am likely to
 
 232 '' CHERRY RIPE 
 
 live for a long while, but death may come 
 unexpectedly to me, as to you, at any 
 moment.' 
 
 '' ' Do you think that you will live two 
 years V she cried; 'do you think you are likely 
 to die before that V 
 
 '' It was a strange question asked in a 
 strange fashion, but I perfectly understood 
 that she wanted certain things kept from 
 you for a certain time, and that she feared 
 my death might interfere with her plans. 
 
 '' * I cannot tell/ I said. ' Why do you 
 say tw^o years X 
 
 '' ' Because,' she said, ' by that time all will 
 have come right, and I shall be able to face 
 her — honest. I shall be able to look her in 
 the face, and you, without fear or shame. 
 You will have a better opinion of me then 
 than you have to-night ... if you knew 
 what I have suffered, what I do suffer, you 
 might find it in your heart to be sorry for 
 me. . . .' 
 
 '' She left my side, and stole to the window. 
 I looked over her shoulder. You were sit-
 
 BLOSSOM. 233 
 
 ting by the fireside working, and there was a 
 smile upon your Hps, the first I had seen 
 there for many weeks. 
 
 "'See!' cried Muriel, 'she smiles! Gabri- 
 elle ! . . . Gabrielle !' 
 
 '' There was such a passion of longing in 
 the poor creature's voice that it made my 
 heart ache to hear her. At last she tore her- 
 self away. 
 
 '' ' Think as well of me as you can,' she 
 whispered, taking my hand in her two trem- 
 bling ones ; ' you have promised that you will 
 never tell her V 
 
 '' ' Yes,' I said, * I have promised.' 
 
 "'God bless you,' she said, 'but above 
 all for the friend you have been to my 
 Gabrielle ! Do not deem me thankless of 
 your goodness, and I dare to pray for you 
 every day. . . .' 
 
 *' And ^yith. that she kissed my hands and 
 was gone like a shadow. 
 
 *' I have only seen her once since that 
 night ; it was about three months ago. She 
 was again looking in on you from the garden,.
 
 234 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 but this time from the front of the house. 
 When I reached the place where I had seen 
 her standing, I found no sign of her. It 
 seemed to me a curious and sad fatahtv that, 
 at the very time you Avere at your brightest 
 and happiest, looking forward with such un- 
 clouded hope to your reunion, I should have 
 become possessed of the knowledge how by 
 her OAvn act she had severed herself from you 
 for ever. 
 
 ^' Mignon, do not look for her return ; 
 better far for 3^ou that you should never see 
 her face again .... lest you have to endure 
 the inconceivable agony of contrasting the 
 Muriel of your love and childhood with the 
 Muriel that now lives to you; and believe 
 me when I say that, bitter as Avould be her 
 loss by death to you, it would be merciful 
 -compared with the horror of knowing 
 her to be alive, divided from you by a 
 gulf that she can never cross — the gulf of 
 sin, 
 
 " That she will return when the two years 
 have elapsed I hold to be too wild and impro-
 
 BLOSSOM. 235 
 
 bable a story to afford us one ray of hopeful 
 anticipation; dependent upon the capricious 
 impulse of the man who has betrayed her, 
 she leans but on a broken reed. . . . For so it 
 is that when a virtuous woman forfeits the 
 respect of the man who loves her, she makes 
 herself but a poor dependent on his bounty, 
 and reposes herself but by sufferance upon 
 his protection ; while he, being bound by no 
 law to give her redress, being indeed throAvn 
 absolutely back upon the goodness of his im- 
 pulses and heart as to whether or no he shrJl 
 repair the wrong he has done her, is, alas ! 
 more likely to be false to his better instincts 
 than true to them ; for the tendency of a bad 
 man is ever towards evil, and he rarely gives 
 the lie to his past life by one deed of con- 
 spicuous virtue. 
 
 '"Mignon, little adopted daughter, if my 
 words appear heartless and cruel to you, I 
 beseech you to believe that they are as hard 
 to me to tell as to you to hear. . . . Comfort 
 I cannot give you, pity I dare not offer. . . . 
 Only believe that you are not the first, as you
 
 236 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 will not be the last, to whom God has seen fit 
 to send so terrible a misfortune. 
 
 *' Marie Makepeace Sorel." 
 
 Five minutes passed, ten minutes, fifteen. 
 The hand of the clock went round to the half 
 hour, but still Mignon sat still and quiet, the 
 letter neatly refolded and placed in the enve- 
 lope. A knock at the door came, and there 
 entered Prue. 
 
 The storm had spent itself, the rain had 
 ceased to fall, the sweet odours of flowers and 
 refreshed green leaves floated in at the open 
 window. 
 
 Prue advanced, about to speak, but when 
 she saw the rigid attitude of the girl who sat 
 in the chair, when she saw the awful change 
 that had come over Mignon's face in the 
 space of one hour — she stopped short, terror- 
 struck. 
 
 " Little mistress/' she cried, '' don't look 
 like that .... don't fret so about Miss Sorel; 
 if you haven't got any friends or home, dear 
 heart, you've got your poor old Prue, and
 
 BLOSSOM. 237 
 
 together we'll make our own way in the 
 world " 
 
 Mignon lifted her hand and beckoned to 
 the woman. Prue came slowly nearer and 
 nearer till she faced the girl. 
 
 " Prue," said Mignon slowly, and her voice 
 was as the voice of a stranger, "what is 
 ^hame T
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 limed soul, that struggling to be free 
 Art more engaged !" 
 
 ,OME one was watching the stars, 
 ^^ the ang^els' forofet-me-nots," come 
 out one by one in the sky over- 
 head. stars ! that man in his short-sighted, 
 narrow-minded wisdom calls '^ restless/' do 
 you not mock him, even as he speaks, with 
 the silent majesty of your eternal peace and 
 presence 1 Is it not the toiling, throbbing, 
 suffering heart of man that is restless, not you ? 
 Century after century you look dumbly down 
 upon millions upon millions of human beings 
 who, in the brief and scanty hours of serenity 
 that brighten their lives, and possessed by no 
 immediate, passionate wish, or unfulfilled long-
 
 BLOSSOM. 239 
 
 ing, lift their eyes to your supreme splendour, 
 and, pointing at you a pigmy finger fashioned 
 of dust, hurl at you the epithet of " restless." 
 You might teach us many a lesson of beauty 
 and peace if our hearts could only be guided 
 to read you aright. . . . You might breathe 
 into our souls some divine image of, the un- 
 utterable grandeur of the hfe that lies beyond 
 this present, but we do not seek to understand 
 you, or fathom the mystery of your meaning. 
 . . . We just glance up at you for a few 
 seconds with careless, aweless regard, as 
 though you w^ere pretty toys hung out for 
 our passing wonder and amusement, then turn 
 our eyes downwards to the coarse and garish 
 lights that guide our footsteps, and death 
 overtakes us while we are still groping to and 
 fro, seeking for the jewel of wisdom in the 
 mud that hampers our feet ; having learned 
 not one lesson from those simple yet mighty 
 teachers overhead, nor attained to either 
 knowledge, understanding, or greatness. 
 
 Some one was thinking, as so many other 
 souls have thought in their misery (and most
 
 240 " CHERRY RTPE 
 
 of them I think in their youth, when trouble 
 seemed to them a less natural thino* than 
 happiness ; whereas to the older wayfarers, 
 happiness is accepted as something stran^-e 
 and precious, theirs by no right of their own, 
 but a gift sent straight from Heayen), *' It 
 will be all the same a hundred years hence." 
 
 This cry, that proceeds from such different 
 natures, under such widely different circum- 
 stances, must surely take its root in some 
 process of reasoning that is gone through alike 
 by all suffering human nature .... or perhaps 
 it is the outcome of a sudden liohtnino- con- 
 viction of the utter impotence and Ayasteful- 
 ness of sorrow, and our intense w^eariness of 
 life causes us to look forward to the annihila- 
 tion of it, and all it knows and comprehends, 
 with a certain sense of relief But althouoli 
 the mere utterance of the old, old thouo-ht 
 carries with it a dull comfort of its own, reality 
 steps quickly in and pricks us with the thought 
 that the hundred years are not oyer yet, that 
 the meanwliile alone is our life and must be 
 gathered up and borne as a burthen, no matter
 
 BLOSSOM, 241 
 
 how the flagging Hmbs fail us, no matter that 
 we see no end or turning to the dark and 
 lonely road along which our journey lies, nor 
 that there is not one breast to which we bear a 
 claim upon which to lay the burning brow for 
 one precious purchase-hour of peace .... 
 
 " Nothing cares," thought the girl as she 
 lifted her heavy eyes — eyes that had shed no 
 tears throughout these seven long days — to 
 the crescent-shaped moon, that 
 
 " Put forth a little diamond peak, 
 No bigger than an unobserved star, 
 Or tiny point of fairy scimitar. 
 Bright signal that she only stooped to tie] 
 Her silver sandals ere deliciously 
 She bowed into the heavens her timid head." 
 
 A night-bird whirled swiftly past . . . out 
 of the soft twilight a night- wind came sighing 
 and whispering, toying with the few precious 
 flowers brought by Prue, that 
 
 '•' Poured out their soul in odours, 
 That were their prayers and confessions ;" 
 
 and the peace and stillness of the soft sum- 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 mer night warred against the girl's passionate 
 heart, and she cried out dumbly against the 
 heartlessness of nature, as though she ex- 
 pected the stars to step down and comfort 
 her, the bird to pause in his flight to whisper 
 consolation, the very foundations of all things 
 to be upheaved because she was so tossed 
 upon the waves of shame and agony .... 
 but there came no voice out of the night, no 
 sign out of the silence, and so in her confused 
 longing after something that she could not 
 compass, she had said in her bitterness of 
 spirit, " Nothing cares." Who has not 
 felt, at some period or other of his exist- 
 ence, that Nature is a cruel and unsympa- 
 thising mother to the children who love her 
 best? 
 
 Go to her when you are happy and con- 
 tented, and she will seem to rejoice and make 
 merry with you. . . . Every one of her 
 quivering lights and delicate tints will be a 
 message from her heart to yours, that she 
 knows your secret, and exults in your glad- 
 ness. . . . The music of her waterfalls will
 
 BLOSSOM. 243 
 
 be as the sound of her voice, the breath of 
 her flowers as the words of her Ups, the sun- 
 light upon her purple hills will be as a smile 
 that is smiled for you, and you alone, and 
 your heart will borrow a quicker throb and 
 beat at feeling how perfectly it is in unison 
 with hers .... but go to her when you are 
 sad and lonely, when the only creature from 
 whom you could brook the receiving of pity 
 is far away, and she will heed you not .... 
 nor shed one tear over your sorrow, nor 
 silence one song of her countless birds, nor 
 quench one of her magic Hghts .... nay, if 
 you die, she will wear her fairest robe, her 
 brightest smile, and at the very moment of 
 your departure^ she will produce some magical 
 effect of sunlit leaf and landscape that you 
 should, on beholding it in your moments of 
 felicity, have deemed to be a special and 
 loving token of her harmony with your 
 soul. . . . And yet the great nurse-mother 
 has a heart, and a very human one, for while 
 she still continues to smile for they of her 
 <jhildren who are light of heart, she receives 
 
 16—2
 
 -44 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 her dead and sorrowful ones tenderly into her 
 bosom. . . . Over their heads she sows her 
 delicate flowers and kindly grasses, and out 
 of the hum of the bees, the chorus of her 
 . silver- throated choir of birds, the very rustle 
 of her silken leaves, nay, the very footfall of 
 her shy and beautiful animal creation, she 
 weaves one exquisite, never-failing requiem 
 to sing over them, remembering, when all 
 human things, ay, even they that have 
 loved them most tenderly, have utterly for- 
 t^otten ! 
 
 " Nothing cares." But little farther on its 
 way of research groped the confused and 
 childish intelligence of the lonely little crea- 
 ture w^ho sat, very still and droo]Ding, in the 
 ')!d wooden chair. 
 
 There was something strangely pathetic in 
 its absolute quietude, for in Mignons short 
 life it had ever been her nature to oxj out 
 sharply under pain of body or mind ; but the 
 bitterness of an adversity that was in itself 
 irreversible, and set far beyond the merciful 
 chance of either hope or fear, had absolutely
 
 BLOSSOM. 245 
 
 stunned her ^Yith its violence, leaving her with 
 no more than a crushed and helpless feeling 
 of accomplished misery. 
 
 In the days of her keenest longing after 
 Muriel, she had owned one precious posses- 
 sion, of Avhich no man had power to rob her, 
 that had been the tide upon which floated, 
 fair and stately, the argosy of her hopes, 
 laden with the oolden store of love and 
 happiness, liable to no storms from without, 
 no treachery from within, as are the brave 
 ships that sail upon the dangerous shifting 
 floods of reality. . . . Now the future had 
 stepped backwards and become the present, 
 and she saw it, this dream-joy of her fancy, 
 as the hollow, pitiful mockery that it was, 
 devoid of substance, use, or fulfilment, how- 
 its boards were rotten, its yards manned by 
 the dead, its sails but skeleton hands that 
 waved idly in the wind, the ghastly wraith of 
 that cursed and cruel '' mioiit have been " 
 that draws all the sweetness and pith from 
 out of human lives to cast it down as w^ater 
 ^pon the earth.
 
 246 '' CHERRY RIPE?' 
 
 To Mignon all things began and ended in 
 the present — the present, that her immature 
 powers of suffering did not give the strength 
 and resolution to meet .... she was as 
 one who is suddenly deprived of the crutch 
 upon which she has confidingly leaned in 
 her troublous path, and knows not how to- 
 take one single step forward without its 
 support. 
 
 She did not even dimly guess how Time, 
 the E-estorer, heals all wounds .... even if 
 she had known it, would not her soul have 
 rebelled aofainst the hurt that she had re- 
 ceived, unconsciously asking what healed 
 wound could ever compare with the unflawed 
 wholeness that was hers ere the knife was- 
 lifted and the blow fell \ What restoration 
 can ever compare with the dauntless con- 
 fidence of untried and unbroken health ? 
 The stain may be cleansed away, but the 
 traces of the process remain .... the gaping 
 wound may close, but the scar remains for 
 ever .... we can lay our fingers upon it at 
 any moment, and say to our hearts, ^' It is
 
 BLOSSOM. 247 
 
 here " . . . . and we feel it throb and burn for 
 many a year after others deem it wholly 
 healed and forgotten; we remember, as no 
 other can, what we were in the days before 
 we tasted of the fruit of the tree of know- 
 ledge .... we know what we now are .... 
 not to mortals is it given to eat of the 
 tree of knowledge either in the shape of 
 sin or sorrow, and henceforward be as 
 though our shrinking lips had never 
 touched it. 
 
 The night drew in, the countless hosts of 
 the great army of living lights overhead had 
 ceased to gather, and now filled the appointed 
 places set by Him of whom it has been 
 written, ^^ He calleth them all by their 
 names " . . . . but the girl still sat without 
 stir or movement, trying painfully to think, 
 yet hearing only a dumb cry from all crea- 
 tion, the skies, the earth, the wind, of Muriel! 
 Muriel I And so it was that her ears were 
 deaf to the sound of footsteps that came 
 slowly along the gravel walk, nor did she 
 lift her eyes when they approached nearer,
 
 248 '^ CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 nearer, and at length came to a full stop 
 before her. 
 
 There was enough light in the sky for 
 the new-comer to make out the outline of a 
 fair, drooped head, and of two httle slim 
 hands, folded stiffly on a plain black gown. 
 
 "Gabrielle Ferrers!" 
 
 It was a man's voice that spoke, harsh and 
 distinct, each word falhng sharply upon the 
 silence with startling effect. 
 
 She raised her head slowly, hke a dull or 
 chidden child, with whom obedience, however 
 painful, is an instinct. 
 
 " Stand up !'' he said. 
 
 She rose, in a strange mechanical fashion, 
 and quietly, with no sense of wonder or of 
 fear, discovered in the half-light the unfor- 
 gotten face of Silas Sorel. 
 
 He put out his hand and touched a fold of 
 her black dress. ''You wear this for your 
 benefactress T he said. 
 
 She bowed her head in silence. The 
 sources of speech, as those of thought, seemed, 
 for the time being, to be dried up.
 
 BLOSSOM. 249 
 
 " You have reason to regret her," he said 
 coldly, " for she was the only friend you 
 possessed in the world. There are men and 
 women altogether independent of friendship 
 and extraneous support, Avho find their best 
 and safest allies in themselves, and j^os^ess 
 the power to carve out their own hves boldly 
 and well; but you are not one of these women ; 
 your father was not one of these men ; you 
 are all unstable ; and as a sapless tree or a 
 drought-stricken land, shall you Avither away, 
 root and branch, and your place shall know 
 you no more." 
 
 The even voice, broken neither by anger 
 nor passion, uttered these words with the 
 solemnity of a curse, and Mignon, listening 
 to him with patient care, and no shadow of 
 either fear or resentment, unconsciously com- 
 mitted them to memory, knowing not that in 
 an unknown day of the future they would 
 recur to her mind with all the force and sii]^- 
 nificance of a prophecy. 
 
 " Facile as sand, weak as water, with 
 headstrong hearts and feeble wills, you are all
 
 250 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 bound to fulfil your destinies. Already, from 
 afar off, I have watched the working out of 
 those of your father and sister, and yours 
 will in no sense be behind the others, or I 
 have not read that true Ferrers face of yours 
 aright." 
 
 He paused. The scorn that for one mo- 
 ment thrust aside her pall of wretchedness, 
 and flashed from her eyes, might surely have 
 wakened in him some dormant spark of man- 
 liness, had he not been sexless through his 
 madness. ... A spirit of revengeful hatred, 
 immoderately nourished and exalted into 
 godship, has the efiect of divesting both man 
 and woman of every human attribute where 
 the object of its loathing is concerned, making 
 of them but blind instruments of a cowardly 
 and degrading passion. 
 
 " Such being the case," Mr. Sorel went on, 
 '-' the death of my sister is in every way 
 disastrous to you. Had she lived, your home 
 with her would have been secured until some 
 man, mad and senseless enough to be caught 
 by your pretty wax-doll face, spoilt his life
 
 BLOSSOM, 251 
 
 by marrying you ; but as it is you are de- 
 lorived of your home, you have not a single 
 friend, and you will have to earn your bread 
 before you eat it. The world in general 
 is apt to be cold to those who look to it 
 for subsistence — cold, yet in some respects 
 too kind for the safety of a young and friend- 
 less woman." 
 
 His latter words fell unheeded on Mignon's 
 ears .... with her lately acquired terrible 
 knowledge of sin fresh upon her, she yet did 
 not understand him, so that the insult of his 
 insinuation, the degradation of his speech, 
 simply recoiled upon himself, and he knew it. 
 His hatred and bitterness of heart rose higher 
 as he saw how powerless he w^as to move her 
 .... he knew nothing of the history of her 
 griefs, he beheved her silence and immobility 
 to be but an insolent and audacious phase of 
 the Ferrers' haughtiness and pride of bearing, 
 and his slow pulses quickened with anger as 
 he cried : 
 
 " Do you know what she was to me, this 
 dead woman, who was the sweetheart of your
 
 •252 " CHERR \ ' RIPE f ' 
 
 father, the friend of his child, the gentle 
 ■schoolmistress to an arm}^ of turbulent girls 
 that her Aveak hand had scarcely power to 
 control ? She was my very life itself Any 
 pretty fool would have suited your father just 
 .as well as she did ; any commonplace woman 
 could have done as much for you as she has 
 done ; but nothing would serve but that n)y 
 own joy upon earth should be sacrificed at 
 
 the altar of you and yours A harsli, 
 
 unloved man, I was a yet more cursed and 
 unhappy child ; my very mother could not 
 endure my evil humours, my father spurned 
 me from his path ; only one creature bore 
 with me, understood me, loved me .... ay ! 
 in spite of all my hatefulness loved me, and 
 that was the dead sister upon whom I looked 
 my last four days ago, and ^^-ho would be 
 with me now but for you and yours .... 
 
 you and yours It Avas no bodily illness 
 
 that killed my poor girl, it was a broken 
 heart — do you hear me ? A broken heart, 
 and your father was the man that broke it. 
 «... He had all the world to choose from,
 
 BLOSSOM. 25^^ 
 
 yet he must needs come and steal from me 
 my one ewe lamb. I endm^ed to see her 
 drift away from me, endured to see the- 
 passionate love of a week set aside the deep 
 and steady attachment of years, for I loved 
 her too well not to be able to endure my own. 
 loss if it should result in her happiness, only 
 it was not so ... . the treasure that he had 
 grasped with such eager avaricious hands, ere 
 long fell from them, and on the day that she 
 should have become his wife, her heart broke 
 instead, and T, O God ! in my madness was 
 as Cain, and would have followed and killed 
 liim, had she not wrung from me a promise 
 
 that I would never lay hand upon him 
 
 It was not his fault, she said — not his fault ! 
 O Heavens ! And thus for many years we 
 dwelt together, but a gulf yawned between 
 us, the old days never came back, she was no 
 
 longer my sister, but his sweetheart 
 
 She came to me one day and told me that he 
 was dead. I rejoiced, thinking ' now that he 
 is gone her heart will turn back to me.' And 
 even as he had been to her living, so was he
 
 254 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 to her dead. Not long afterwards she came 
 to me again, and said that he had left a child 
 in her care, and that she was resolved upon 
 accepting the trust. I bade her choose 
 between us, and she chose — you. The 
 patient love of a lifetime to weigh not a 
 feather against the dying wish of the man 
 who had duped her ! Judge then whether or 
 no I have reason to hate you, ay, even more 
 than I hated your father. . . . Judge when 
 from time to time I saw her, growing paler 
 and paler, flagging more and more under the 
 burden your selfish father imposed upon her, 
 whether I did not transfer my hatred from 
 your father, dead, to his daughter, living; 
 judge whether I am likely to raise my hand 
 to save you from the miserable future that 
 awaits you, for even as your ill-starred father 
 perished, even as your sister is living in 
 shame, so shall the horror of your future in 
 no way fall behind that of the others, and I 
 shall live to see it, ay ! and behold you perish 
 even as the Book has written that all the 
 seed of the unrighteous shall perish "
 
 BLOSSOM, 2oo 
 
 He lifted his hand in solemn warninof, his 
 voice was terrible in its monotony, he was in 
 truth a fanatic, whose brain had been partially 
 overturned by intense brooding on the subject 
 of his sister's wrongs and his own, and there 
 was the glare of covert madness in his eyes 
 as he peered through the half-light into the 
 girl's face. She, recoiling at those pale and 
 frightful features, fell back before him, and 
 he, still advancing, was face to face with her 
 as she stood upright against the wall, whereat, 
 her courage suddenly failing her, and the 
 power of speech returning, she suddenly 
 shrieked out " ADAM !"
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 Friend ! is there any such foolish thing in the world V 
 
 ^^"^^HE cry had preceded the thought 
 by about a second, instinct directed 
 it, for it was the result of no con- 
 scious vohtion of her own. 
 
 A breathless silence followed, which lasted 
 some ten seconds. Then a man dropped 
 noiselessly from the wall almost at their 
 feet. 
 
 "You called me ?" he said, intensely relieved 
 at finding nothing more terrible going forward 
 than Mignon in apparently close conversation 
 with a middle-aged and extremely ill-favoured 
 gentleman ; for the cry had been such as one 
 might utter in the extremity of fear or anguish^
 
 BLOSSOM. 257 
 
 and had pierced his ear with a sudden and 
 disastrous foreboding of evil. 
 
 ''An assignation, I presume," said Silas 
 Sorel, withdrawing a few steps from the pair ; 
 "you are beginning early, Gabrielle Ferrers." 
 
 The tone of the man who spoke, conveyed 
 a dehberate insult to the girl, none to Adam, 
 and the latter perfectly understood him. 
 
 " An assignation," he said calmly, " is a 
 thing that requires a previous agreement 
 between two persons, and that such is not 
 the case this evening, is proved by the fact 
 that I am only here in obedience to Miss 
 Ferrers' summons " 
 
 '' Take care, take care," said Mr. Sorel, 
 addressing Mignon, and disregarding Adam 
 utterly, " that you do not follow the example 
 of the girl that you call Muriel !" 
 
 " Peace 1" cried Mig-non, stepping forward, 
 the Jierte of her voice and attitude amazing 
 the one man as thoroughly as the other ; '' do 
 not dare to take her name between your foul 
 and lying lips E-evile the dead if you will ; 
 they are beyond the reach of your curses as 
 
 VOL. 1. 17
 
 258 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 of your hatred for ever, and you can wreak 
 no pitiful revenge upon them ; revile the 
 living that are face to face with you, but do 
 not dare to traduce one who is not here to 
 speak for herself !" 
 
 She turned back to Adam, as though he 
 were her friend and refuge, and indeed she 
 had altogether forgotten her cause for anger 
 against him, instinct guided her to him, and 
 
 she went The Ithuriel spear of sorro\\' 
 
 had turned all lesser things into shadows at a 
 touch, and a passionate throb of exultation 
 ran through Adam's bewilderment that it 
 should be so, that the wild and improbable 
 dreams of an hour ago should in a breath have 
 leaped to golden fruition, that he was actually 
 in her presence, called thither by her voice, 
 looked to by her for help and protection, 
 nay, more, that he dared to hold one of her 
 little trembling hands securely in his 
 own. 
 
 '' Who is this man ?" he said to her ; *' and 
 by what right does he come here to thus 
 insult you ?"
 
 BLOSSOM. 259 
 
 " He is my enemy," said Mignon, '' and he 
 has no authority over me." 
 
 " This young lady, sir," said Silas, extend- 
 ing his hand towards her, and for the first 
 time addressing Adam, " enjoys the proud 
 position of owning not one soul upon earth 
 who has the smallest authority over her ; but 
 as a slight drawback to her enviable position, 
 she is an absolute pauper, without a shilling 
 or a friend in the world, and not a home open 
 to her save that which is furnished by a 
 sister's shame." 
 
 " You lie !" cried Adam, dropping Mignon's 
 hand and stridinof forward. " She has a 
 friend, and he is — here /" 
 
 He struck his breast with a vehement ges- 
 ture, the longing strong upon him to seize the 
 man before him and inflict upon him the chas- 
 tisement he so richly deserved. 
 
 " And so you are her friend ?" said Silas 
 with a sneer, and again the deliberate insult 
 his tone conveyed made the blood boil in 
 Adam's veins. " Did I not tell you, girl, 
 that you would find the world, cold as it 
 
 17—2
 
 ■260 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 usually is, in some respects too kind to 
 you ? And we all understand what kind 
 of friendship subsists between a young^ 
 lady who is on such excellent terms of clan- 
 destine intimacy with a young man that 
 a call will at any moment bring him to 
 her side !" 
 
 ^^ Sir !" cried Adam, almost beside himself 
 with fury, ^' do not presume too greatly upon 
 your grey hairs, although the man who can 
 thus shelter himself behind them is so vile a 
 coward that he deserves to take a coward's 
 punishment. And as to your calumnies, I 
 hurl them back in your teeth." 
 
 '' Bah I" said Silas scornfully; ''you use 
 lono^ words, but ask her if what I have said 
 is not true, every word of it." 
 
 Mignon s head had sunk upon her breast ; 
 a burning shame was upon her ; she could not 
 have put her hand in Adam's now if her life 
 had depended upon it, but he took it in his 
 own and — 
 
 '' Sir," he said, '' I think you must hate 
 this young lady very much, although I can-
 
 BLOSSOM. 261 
 
 not conceive it possible that she has ever 
 harmed you." 
 
 " I hate her," said Silas, slowly ; " she and 
 all her stock. The men are all fickle, the 
 women are all lioht : there is not one sound 
 fruit upon the tree ; have naught to do with 
 them if you desire any peace of mind, or covet 
 an unstained life ; better far that you should 
 die by your own hand than place your 
 honour in the hands of a Ferrers." 
 
 In the days to come these words were to 
 ring in Adam's ears and be to him as 
 letters of fire in the darkness, as letters of ink 
 in the sunshine . . . although they were now 
 but as the angry, futile ravings of an em- 
 bittered, half-maddened man. 
 
 " Have you anything more to say ?" said 
 Adam quietly ; '' if not, I charge you begone, 
 ere I force you from the gentle presence 
 that you have so outraged by your wicked, 
 lying words." 
 
 " Before you bid your elders and betters 
 begone, young man," said Silas, ''you had 
 better be quite sure of whose premises you
 
 262 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 are standing upon. Now, as it happens, this 
 garden is mine, whereas you committed a 
 trespass by entering it by way of the wall ; 
 therefore it is for me to command your de- 
 parture, scarcely for you to command mine." 
 
 "But," said Adam, looking down at the 
 girl who stood beside him, '' is not Miss 
 Sorel ^" 
 
 "" Miss Sorel is dead," said Silas fiercely ; 
 " and as her property reverts to me, this 
 garden is mine. Yonder house and all that it 
 contains is mine. You will leave it," he said 
 to Mignon, " by the day after to-morrow at 
 sundown ; you will take Avith you that beg- 
 garly woman who has for you so great an 
 afiection : and you will leave not one trace of 
 your sojourn there, or one indication that 
 will serve to remind me of your existence, 
 nor will you dare to again cross the threshold 
 of the house that has sheltered you for so long. 
 Henceforth your place is out in the world." 
 
 " Oh ! have mercy !" cried Mignon, fall- 
 ing on her knees ; " and do not drive me 
 away before she has come back .... she
 
 BLOSSOM. 263 
 
 would think I was dead, or had forgotten her, 
 and she would 2'0 wanderinof about lookino* 
 
 o o o 
 
 for me .... and we should never find each 
 other .... let me starve, live in the meanest 
 corner of it, or in this old garden, do humblest 
 service for you ; but oh ! do not send me 
 away !" 
 
 A mist swept across Adam's eyes ; a lump 
 in his throat half-strangled him, as he stooped 
 over that little kneeling figure, and raised it 
 in his arms. 
 
 '' No," said Silas ; '' you shall not live 
 here. If she returns (and it's not likely) I 
 will bid her follow you ; you will probably 
 wander about half your lives looking for each 
 other, and that will be a worse punishment 
 than if you found her now, although she is 
 what she is." 
 
 A low cry of agony broke from the girl's 
 lips .... his wicked words passed her by ; 
 she was conscious of but one thought, that 
 she was to be banished from the place to which 
 Muriel would so certainly, whether in triumph 
 or degradation, sooner or later return.
 
 264 " CHERRY RIPE f 
 
 " Miofnon," said Adam, '' if it be true that 
 you are so lonely, having neither father nor 
 mother, nor any friend at hand to take care 
 of you, will you take ine for your friend, lover, 
 and husband ? Will you come tc such a home 
 as I can give you, where we will together wait 
 for Muriel's return 1" 
 
 He felt a quiver pass thi'ough her, as 
 though she were violently surprised and 
 startled, but she answered him never a word. 
 How the brave, true heart beat, as he looked 
 across at Silas, who had retreated a step 
 and seemed struck with a bitter and angry 
 dismay. 
 
 " You would marry her ?" he cried. 
 
 " Ay !" said Adam, " if she will take me ; 
 if she will stoop to lay her little hand in mine, 
 all unworthy as I am, and give me the right 
 to cherish and protect her always ; so much 
 I would do for her, so help me God !" 
 
 " You would take her !" cried Silas, "with 
 the knowledge lying at your heart like a viper 
 that all the Ferrers are bad — bad ; that sooner 
 or later the black drop will come out in yonder
 
 BLOSSOM. 265 
 
 girl ; that sooner or later — for they are all 
 false — she mil betray you ?" 
 
 " I would take her," said Adam, never 
 loosening his hold upon the girl's drooping, 
 quiet figure, " with all her childish faults and 
 imperfections, with her beautiful youth, her 
 unsoiled freshness and innocent heart, and 
 deem her the most precious and gentle gift 
 that ever came to the heart of man .... I 
 would commit my honour to her keeping, and 
 lay my future in her hands without one doubt 
 as to their safety, or one fear of her disloyalty ; 
 if she were able to find within her heart one 
 little word of kindness for a poor fellow^ who 
 loves, yet is not half worthy of her." 
 
 '' You love me T exclaimed Mignon. 
 
 *' I have loved you for a long while." 
 
 This new puzzle for the moment distracted 
 her attention from other things ; she stood 
 quite still, conscious, for the first time that 
 night, of thought. Impulse and instinct had 
 hitherto guided aU her words and actions. 
 
 The two men waited, breathless, for a 
 reply. One at least would have forecast her
 
 266 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 future with a certain amount of truth had that 
 answer been in the negative. 
 
 " You would help me to find her ?" she 
 said, pursuing a certain train of thought, and 
 looking earnestly into Adam's half-seen face. 
 
 '' I would." 
 
 " And let me live close by here with Prue^ 
 so that we might take it in turn to watch by 
 the gates, in case slie came T 
 
 " Yes, you should hve close by." 
 
 She put her hand to her head. 
 
 " Wait a moment," she said, '' I have got 
 a hundred pounds, my very own ; would it 
 buy a roof to shelter Prue and me, and feed 
 and clothe us for some time, perhaps only 
 until the autumn comes, perhaps a great deal 
 longer T 
 
 '' It would not last a great w^hile." 
 
 She fell to thinking again ; then said : 
 
 " And if she did not come here, if it were 
 necessary, you would with me search the 
 world through from end to end until we had 
 found her T 
 
 He hesitated a moment . . . ''Yes," he said*
 
 BLOSSOM. 267 
 
 She turned without a word and put both 
 her hands into his. Adam held her fast, but 
 did not speak. So the}^ faced the enemy, 
 young, ever brave, and handsome .... so 
 he beheld them afterwards defying him. 
 Even so in the future one of them at least 
 remembered that cruel wicked face, and the 
 mirthless smile that curled his thin and 
 bloodless Hjds as he stood, his arms folded, 
 looking at them. 
 
 ^' I wish you joy of her," he said coldly. 
 " When w^e meet again, it will be a matter 
 of the profoundest amazement to me if I 
 discover that this young lady still retains 
 the place in your esteem that she at this 
 moment occupies. Miss Ferrers — sir — I have 
 the honour to wish you a very good-evening."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Half happy by comparison of bliss, is miserable." 
 
 i^^S the echo of his footsteps died away, 
 Adam looked down thoughtfully 
 into that pale young face. It took 
 a faint warmth beneath his gaze, for she was 
 ashamed ... in a moment's space he had been 
 transformed from her friend and champion to 
 a scarcely known lover, whose presence filled 
 her with uneasiness .... the former had 
 been something to hold fast by and value, the 
 latter oppressed her with a dull sense of dis- 
 comfort and strangeness. 
 
 He was instantly conscious of the change 
 in her, but did not let her go. 
 
 ^' Mignon," he said, " after all is your
 
 BLOSSOM. 269' 
 
 answer 'No' .?" But, as he looked, he found 
 himself no longer seeking the answer to his 
 question, but recognising, with a sense of 
 shock and dismay, the change that had come 
 over her face during these past ten days, and 
 not possessing the key of the puzzle beyond 
 the fact of Miss Sorel's death (for that other 
 black misfortune as shadowed forth in Mr. 
 Sorel's speech he had rejected as a wilful 
 and malevolent lie), he was at a loss to com- 
 prehend it. 
 
 " I am tired," she said slowly. Then, when 
 she was seated, he knelt down by her side, on 
 the very spot, as it suddenly occurred to him, 
 where Rideout had knelt, a fortnight ago that 
 very day. 
 
 The girl did not speak .... a wheel seemed 
 to be going round and round in her head ..... 
 the waters of affliction, held back for a brief 
 period by the strange events of the past hour, 
 were rushing back upon her with resistless 
 fury, and again, her soul and heart and body 
 were one yearning bitter cry of "Muriel" .... 
 " Muriel " . . . , while her sole consciousness
 
 270 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 was one of intolerable shame and misery. Pre- 
 sently slie looked up, and seeing Adam's face 
 close to her, a ray of curiosity flashed across 
 the confused horror of her own. 
 
 " How long ago was it," she said slowly, 
 ^' that I called you a liar, and a thief, and a 
 spy? 
 
 " A long while ago," he said gently ; '* do 
 not think about it." 
 
 " And after calling you those names," she 
 went on more slowly still, ^^ you offer me a 
 home and .... your love. For you said you 
 loved me T 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 " No, you do not," she said in the same 
 
 stiff, careful way ; *' you only pity me 
 
 How can you love a person who said such 
 things to you ? You only said so out of kmd- 
 ness, and to show that bad old man I had one 
 friend." 
 
 '' Mignon," he said, " I have been your 
 faithful lover longer than you think, even 
 before I came over the wall and weeded 
 your garden I have watched you grow-
 
 BLOSSOM. 271 
 
 ing iijD for these past two years, for I said to 
 myself, ' When she is old enough I will go to 
 Miss Sorel and ask her openly for leave 
 to try and win her for my little sweet- 
 heart/ " 
 
 " And that was why you came over the 
 garden- wall ?" she said. 
 
 " No ; I had not meant to approach you in 
 any clandestine manner, but a foolish impulse 
 prompted me .... at that time of the morn- 
 ing I never dreamt of your coming out ; but 
 
 you came, and then " He paused, but 
 
 she seemed to have relapsed into apathy, and 
 did not speak. 
 
 '^ At first you believed me to be the man 
 who had written you the love-letter, then, be- 
 fore I had in any Avay recovered from the con- 
 fusion into which I was thrown by your sudden 
 appearance (for remember that I loved you, 
 and was now for the first time in your pre- 
 sence), you asked me whom I might be ? In 
 the moment that I hesitated, I saw your eyes 
 fall upon my shirt-sleeves, an inspiration 
 flashed through my mind, and almost before
 
 272 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 the thought had formed itself, my Hps had 
 uttered the sobriquet given me by my sister 
 Flora, ' Adam, the gardener.' " 
 
 '' She calls you that ?" 
 
 " The term is apphed contemptuously," he 
 said. " All my life long I have been fond of 
 working in my garden, and she is pleased to 
 marvel at the lowness of my tastes." 
 
 '' Then it was not quite a lie," said the girl, 
 sighing, " but you should not have come 
 again .... you would not have acted 
 dishonestly then. ..." 
 
 '^ No," he said, ^' I should not have come 
 again, but the temptation was too great to be 
 resisted .... to look, not furtively, but 
 openly, at your face, to hear your voice, to 
 have you addressing me, and to watch you, 
 yourself so utterly unconscious, it was not in 
 human nature to cast this delight away, and 
 so I followed you, in some clothes borrowed 
 for the purpose, to Mme. Tussaud's, and after- 
 wards I came over and weeded your gTavel- 
 walks." 
 
 " But why did you steal the letter ?" she
 
 BLOSSOM. 273 
 
 said, still trying, through all her giddy sense 
 of confusion and misfortune, to follow out a 
 line of special thought. 
 
 *' Because, at that time " — he laid a certain 
 stress upon the last three words that Mignon 
 did not observe — " I would rather have seen 
 the girl I loved in her coffin, than receiving or 
 replying to a letter from the man whom you 
 knew^ as Philip Kideout, and " — his voice 
 grew lower — '^ it maddened me to think that 
 to this man, who was in no sense fit to 
 approach you, should be written your first 
 love-letter " 
 
 " Then you were listening," cried Mignon, 
 shrinking from him, " you watched me write 
 it from the other side of the wall ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Adam slowly, '' I listened to 
 you I could not love you as I do to- 
 night if I did not know every thought of your 
 innocent heart .... if I were not so sure 
 that your face is but the reflection of your 
 mind, if I had not assured myself with my 
 own ears that I had not erred in placing all 
 the hopes of my life upon you. Neverthe- 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 '' CHERRY RIPE ! 
 
 less " (he sighed, sharply and bitterly), '^ it 
 was a fatal laistake, Mignon." 
 
 He paused for some seconds, then went on 
 
 again. 
 
 "Mignon," he said, '^there is one thing that I 
 have to tell you — and perhaps when it is told 
 you A^dll bid me go away from you, for it may 
 be that to him you have given your first fancy,, 
 and when you become aware " — he paused. 
 
 *' It is this," he said firmly : " the man you 
 know as Mr. Rideout is free to woo you 
 honestly to be his wife." 
 
 ^^ Then that too .... was another lie ?" she 
 said almost in a whisper. 
 
 O Mimon ! . . . . Mio-non, how could 
 you .... he turned aside, asking himself 
 how he was to expect the honour and duty of 
 a T\dfe from one who doubted the truth of 
 every syllable he spoke ? 
 
 A bad beo'innino' ! A bad beofinninor t 
 
 " No," he said, '' it was true." 
 
 " But you said he was married ?" 
 
 *' He was — at that time." 
 
 '^ Then is his wife dead ?"
 
 BLOSSOM. 27 b 
 
 " No— not dead." 
 
 How could he tell this girl the whole 
 shameful story ? His lips refused to utter 
 it .... it was curious that the two utterly 
 dissimilar men, who were fated to be the joy 
 and misery of Mignon's hfe, were equally 
 careful over the purity of her mind, and that 
 both were so passionately desirous of keeping 
 from her the knowledo^e of evil. 
 
 She remained so still, that Adam said, 
 " Are you thinking, Mignon, that you would 
 have been happier with him ? That if I had 
 not scared you by a warning, you would have 
 chosen him — not me T 
 
 " No," she said at last, " but I was think- 
 ing .... that perhaps (if you are quite sure 
 that he is free) I might have married Mm 
 and saved you the trouble .... for I do 
 not think he would have minded marryinc^ 
 me, he seemed so very sure and certain l^hat 
 he did want to marry me, and was so angry 
 when I said ' No ' . . . . whereas you only 
 asked me out of kindness, because you heard 
 that wicked man say I had no friends ; and 
 
 18—2
 
 276 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 indeed it was a generous and noble thing of 
 you to do, but I do not Avish to take advan- 
 tage of it, because I like you better than I 
 do him, though I dare say he would help 
 me to find Ifier as well as you could, and 
 I think he would be really grateful to me if 
 I said ' Yes.' . . . ." 
 
 '^ But if you like me best," he said, cling- 
 ing resolutely to the only crumb of comfort 
 that her sj)eech contained, " why should you 
 marry him, for I love you too T 
 
 '^But he will be so angry," said Mignon 
 wearily, her interest beginning to flag ; "he 
 said if I dared to marry any one else he 
 would follow me through the world, but he 
 would find me at last, and really I think he 
 is quite determined enough to do it." 
 
 " I shall know how to protect my own," 
 said Adam gravely ; " and when did he say 
 he should return, Mignon T 
 
 "■ He said that I was to look for him 
 any hour after the fourteenth day had 
 passed." 
 
 " And the fortnight is up to-day," said
 
 BLOSSOM. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Adam; ''he may be here to-morrow— to- 
 nio^ht even !" 
 
 The girl's head had drooped again, she did 
 not even hear him, her soul had gone back to 
 Muriel again. 
 
 Adam was thinking deeply. '' I will not 
 hasten things by one hour on his account," 
 he said to himself, '' but if he should come, it 
 will be a bad business — bad." 
 
 "Adam," said Mignon almost in a whisper, 
 " you heard what he said— that wicked man, 
 about her T 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It is true," she whispered back again, 
 "or so they say. . . ." 
 
 He did not immediately speak ; this reve- 
 lation of her family life was terrible to him 
 .... up to this time he had not behoved 
 the words of Silas Sorel, although he knew 
 some strange mystery hung about the fate of 
 Mignon's sister. . . . Like all men, he wished 
 the surroundings of the w^oman he loved to 
 be absolutely unassailable, and was not proof 
 against the world's decree that, whereas the
 
 278 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 evil doings of the male members of a family 
 may disgi'ace and bring the same into dis- 
 repute, yet will no real stigma attach itself to 
 its women, until one of the sisterhood shall 
 stoop to sin, and thereby for ever sully those 
 other innocent creatures Avho are guiltless 
 of aught save their fatal relationship to her. 
 
 " They say it is true . . . /' went on 
 Mignon piteously, " and they ought to know 
 better than I ; but how could she be wicked, 
 and she said she would come back at the end 
 of two years honest ?...." 
 
 And then Adam felt, wdth a sharp sudden 
 pang of grief, that all his care for her had 
 been in vain .... that her mind was no 
 longer a page upon which had been written 
 no w^ord of sin, or harmful meaning. 
 
 '' When my poor love comes back to me," 
 ran on the girl's soft voice, '' as she will come 
 to me some night or day, you will not by 
 word or look show her that she is unwelcome, 
 or drive her away T 
 
 ** I will not drive her away," he said 
 slowly^ but in his heart he w^as praying
 
 BLOSSOM. 279 
 
 that she might never come back to reflect 
 her own shame upon her sinless little sister. 
 
 '' The only creature that I love in the 
 whole world," she said, below her breath, 
 ''the heart of my heart, the life of my 
 
 life " 
 
 He heard her, but was in no whit dis- 
 mayed. How could he expect her to love 
 him yet ? While he had been learning her 
 disposition, studying her face, he had been a 
 perfect stranger to her, and he was not one 
 to value hasty love .... he knew that a 
 fancy may be born at first sight, but that love 
 grows, even as the appetite by what it 
 feeds upon, and he had infinite hopes of the 
 
 future 
 
 "We will not draw down the blinds at 
 night," she said dreamily, *' lest she should 
 come and look in and we should not see 
 her, but some night, some night, I shall 
 see her beautiful pale face against the 
 glass, as Miss Sorel did, and then I shall 
 run out and bring her in .... at home at 
 last. . . ."
 
 280 " CHERRY RIPE i' 
 
 He shivered. " Mignon/' he said pre- 
 sently, " did you hear what Mr. Sorel said ? 
 That yonder house was his and all within it, 
 and that you must go away from it on the day 
 after to-morrow T 
 
 '' I had forgotten," she said, putting her 
 hand to the brow that ached so ten^ibly ; 
 " but he cannot prevent me from sitting at 
 his gates ; a beggar has a right to do that — 
 any one'' 
 
 '' I have a plan in my head," he said sooth- 
 ingly, "" by which it is possible we may regain 
 possession of the house, but to carry it out 
 we must be very quiet and cautious, or he 
 will discover it all, and thwart us — in short, 
 Mignon, we must go away." 
 
 " Go away f " she repeated blankly ; " but 
 indeed I cannot — I cannot — it is quite im- 
 possible !" 
 
 "But, Mignon, you must," said Adam 
 firmly, " unless you mean to lose all chance 
 of living here, and you do not wish to 
 do that T 
 
 ^' How long should we be away T said
 
 BLOSSOM. 281 
 
 Mignon anxiously ; " three days — a week — 
 a fortnight ?" 
 
 ''I cannot tell," he said; " it will depend 
 upon the lengih of time certain matters take 
 to arrange." 
 
 " And the sooner I go away, the sooner I 
 shall come back — is it so ?" she asked 
 feverishly. 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " Then let us go to-morrow morning," she 
 cried ; "it will not take me an hour to pack 
 up, and " 
 
 '' But, Mignon," said the young man, half- 
 laughing, half-hesitating, '' we must be mar- 
 ried first, you know !" 
 
 " I had forgotten all about that," she said, 
 suddenly sobered ; '' but it doesn't take very 
 long — to get married, does it f ' 
 
 '^ No." 
 
 " I don't see why we should be married at 
 all," she said wistfully ; " why can't you be 
 kind to me always and look after me ? for I 
 have got a lot of money — oh, a great deal, that 
 I dare say would last me till Muriel comes
 
 282 *' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 back, and then we could go away and make 
 some more together — " 
 
 '' Mignon," he said gently, '' I am not 
 your brother, so I could not look after you 
 and take care of you as if I were one, 
 and I do not think you know how hard a 
 young girl like you would find the world ; and 
 you promised me, Mignon . . . ." 
 
 '^ If you are quite sure," said the girl, 
 '^ that you do not mind marrying me very 
 much, and that you will not some day be 
 sorry for having done so kind a thing, why, 
 then, I will marry you to-morrow — next day 
 ■ — whenever you please, only make haste and 
 bring me back again !" 
 
 That imploring voice ... he turned aside 
 from it and groaned, for how could he ask 
 her to try and understand marriage ? *^ To 
 marry " was to her to sit in that garden, to 
 watch at yon gates, to search the world 
 through for her lost sister, but of what a. 
 wife was, she had about as much comprehen- 
 sion as a baby .... 
 
 " Then we will be married the day after to-
 
 BLOSSOM. 283 
 
 morrow," he said, and put his arms romid 
 her and gently drew the weary head down 
 to his shoulder. 
 
 But as he stroked the folds of the sunny 
 hair that flooded his breast with sunshine, he 
 said to himself, " It has all been too quick 
 .... too quick .... could I but have had 
 time, she might have learned to love me . . . 
 and were it not for Philip La Mert, I would 
 wait ; but lest he snatch my prize from me, I 
 must go on with it ; only it is a pity — a pity 
 — more, it is not fair to her, and it is hard to 
 me . . . ." 
 
 A dusky shadow stepped out of the gloom, 
 and looked down with amazement upon the 
 young man supporting the girl, who was too 
 worn out with misery, excitement, and pain to 
 reject that kindly aid .... 
 
 ''Prue," said Adam, touching a fold of 
 Mignon's black dress, " will you get ready a 
 plain white gown for your mistress ? for she 
 is going to marry me the day after to- 
 morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Had I your tongue and eyes I'd use them so 
 That heaven's vault should crack. 
 ! She is gone for ever !" 
 
 SLIM young figure in a white 
 gown, standing before a looking- 
 glass, fastening a white rose against 
 a soft, round throat .... a woman standing 
 by, divided between smiles and weeping . . . 
 a young man pacing a garden with rapid, un- 
 faltering footsteps, and glancing from time to 
 time at the watch he holds in his hand .... 
 a weary haggard lover hasting as fast as 
 horse's feet will carry him to the longed-for 
 consummation of his dearest hopes, his most 
 ardent desires, while his eager imagination 
 outspeeds his tarrying body, and pictures to
 
 BLOSSOM. 2 Hi) 
 
 him the form, the face, the very robe even of 
 the girl whom we saw but now lookins^ in her 
 mirror .... an elderly clergyman walking 
 slowly up the narrow path that leads to the 
 vestry door, marvelling a little at the short 
 notice he has received of the marriage he is 
 about to celebrate .... a pew-opener, de- 
 ciding that for folks who are going to be 
 married without friends, carriages, brides- 
 maids, or anything Avhatever that befits the 
 occasion, she need make no attempt at their 
 reception beyond setting the church-door half 
 open, and dusting the altar steps . . . These 
 are the pieces that will by-and-by fit into the 
 morning's puzzle, and fall into their places one 
 by one, making the picture that is painted 
 uj)on them fair and complete. 
 
 Only one actor in the little drama (to drop 
 one metaphor and adopt another) cannot fail 
 but arrive too late .... though he were 
 'keenly alive to the danger that threatened 
 him, he could not but be too late .... 
 for fear and apprehension could beckon 
 him forward no more irresistibly than does
 
 286 '' CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 love with its smiling, wooing, as yet untasted 
 lips of welcome ! 
 
 The bride, with neither smile, nor blush, nor 
 tear, has made her vows, and her husband has 
 kissed her upon the mouth, for the first time. 
 The waiting- woman no longer hovers between 
 joy and sorrow, her face is as bright as the 
 sunliofht that falls on the red and black tiles 
 at her feet. The clergyman has shut his 
 book, and is wondering, half sadly, quite 
 kindly, how it comes that this young girl has 
 no friend to stand beside her, or relation to 
 forbid her marrying so young .... for to 
 him it seems almost a profanation of the 
 sacredness of childhood .... and his glance 
 turns from the girl to rest reproachfully upon 
 Adam. And the man who is now nearing 
 his destination, feels his pulses bound, his 
 heart stand still in the expectation of the 
 vision and greeting that he so fondly believes 
 to await him ....
 
 BLOSSOM. 287 
 
 They are out of the church ; they have 
 signed their names in the big register,. 
 Mignon has signed her Christian name with- 
 out even knowing what may be the one for 
 which she has exchanged it. Then she has 
 said '* good morning " to the clergyman, just 
 as though she were used to being married 
 every morning of her Hfe, and put her hand 
 in Adam's and come away, quite simply and 
 gladly, with her head full of the thought that 
 the sooner she shall go away the sooner she 
 will return .... and so they go along the 
 quiet roads together to Rosemary, where the 
 travelling-carriage waits, ready packed and 
 loaded, and with nothing for them to do 
 but just jump in, take their seats, and 
 set off upon their travels. For the rest, 
 they had breakfasted two hours ago, and 
 within doors there was not a soul to bid 
 them good-bye and good luck, or send a 
 slipper and a shower of rice flying after their 
 chariot wheels. 
 
 At the gate Mignon drew her hand 
 away. " I am going to say good-bye to
 
 288 " CHERR V RIPE /" 
 
 my garden/' she said, and he, understanding 
 her humour, went into the house to speak 
 with Pnie, and she passed on her way alone. 
 
 She sat down on the old wooden chair and 
 looked around her. Everything looked the 
 same, yet not the same .... the Avorld and 
 all things within it had changed to her in 
 more ways than one since the time when 
 she rode in her wheelbarrow with such grand 
 content, and was as happy as the days were 
 long .... and now she was riding away, in 
 a real coach, taking with her a heavier heart 
 than she had ever dreamed of then .... 
 
 The sound of the familiar bang of the 
 garden-door made her look up, thinking that 
 it was Adam come to fetch her. In the act 
 of rising, she involuntarily sat down again, as 
 she recognised in the new-comer, not Adam, 
 but Philip Rideout. Worn by fasting, ex- 
 citement, and want of rest, haggard with the 
 consuming flame of gnawing remorse^ and un- 
 controllable passion, his dark face startled her 
 with its wild beauty, as, hastily traversing 
 the few steps that lay between them, and
 
 BLOSSOM. 289 
 
 kneeling down by her side, he clasped his arms 
 about her waist, and — 
 
 '' Kiss me, Mignon !" he cried, " for I come 
 back to jou—free /" 
 
 She gazed down upon him without a word, 
 powerless to loose herself from his embrace, 
 and he, looking up at her, through all the 
 confusion of brain and heart that possessed 
 him, instantly missed something out of that 
 childish face .... the beauty was still there, 
 but the radiant, joyous freshness, the guileless 
 innocence of sin and evil, that he had been so 
 fiercely desirous that she should retain, where 
 were they now ? Something had gone from 
 her .... something had come to her .... of 
 this he w^as certain, but — what ? 
 
 A kind of horror grew slowly in his eyes, 
 reflected perhaps from hers, for she feared 
 him ; then his glance went faltering down to 
 the hand upon which the plain gold wedding- 
 ring shone 
 
 He withdrew his right arm from her waist, 
 and lifted this hand, turned it over, looked at 
 it on the other side, parted the third and 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 ''CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 fourth fingers, as though to make sure that 
 the circlet was perfect, going through all this 
 slowly and carefully, much as a madman may 
 do who knows himself to be mad, yet is try- 
 ing with all his might to follow out the one 
 solitary thought that he equally knows to be 
 rational .... then, still holding her hand, 
 he looked up piteously, unsteadily, into 
 the girl's face, then down again at her 
 
 fingers 
 
 '^ Stolen r he said in a whisper, ^^ stolen /" 
 and fell forward like a dead man upon her 
 breast. 
 
 ik ^ ^ ^ ■5'f 
 
 When Adam entered the garden a few 
 seconds later in search of his wife, it was 
 to discover her leaning over an insensible 
 man, whose arms were locked around her 
 while her fair hair mingled with his, as 
 she gazed into the face that lay upon her 
 bosom. 
 
 He stood still for a moment, his sight going 
 from him, his brain on fire, then he went on 
 again.
 
 BLOSSOM, 291 
 
 *' He is dead !" said Mimon, liftinsf a cheek 
 as pale and wan as the one that lay beneath 
 her own. 
 
 " Mignon . . . ." said Adam, scarcely 
 knowing what he said, the agony of his heart 
 making his voice harsh and abrupt, '' take 
 your arms away from that man .... I com- 
 mand you not to touch him !" 
 
 A vain command ! when she was powerless 
 to free herself from that death-like, nerveless 
 body, those heavy, clinging arms ! 
 
 She strove to rise, but could not. 
 
 Adam drew Hideout's anus away, and made 
 a gesture to Prue, who had followed him into 
 the garden, to take Mignon's place. 
 
 " You will attend to this man," he said, 
 " and use every means to restore him. Should 
 you require other assistance, you will summon 
 it, but he has merely fainted." 
 
 Then he turned to Mignon and took her 
 hand in his. ^' Come !" he said. 
 
 " And leave him hke that ?" she cried in 
 amazement. *^ Oh ! how can you think of 
 such a thing ? Why, he may be dead /" 
 
 19—2
 
 292 " CHERRY RIPE /" 
 
 The hand that held hers closed so tightly 
 and suddenly upon it, that she almost cried 
 aloud for the pain, and yet he was not 
 conscious of using any force or roughness, 
 there was not one fibre of unmanliness or 
 cruelty in him, but he was for the moment 
 utterly maddened, and taken out of him- 
 self. .... 
 
 *' Come !" he said quietly. 
 
 She caught her breath hard and looked up 
 into his face, so youthful in its set calmness, 
 and bearing in its clearly-cut features and firm 
 square jaw, such ample indications of will and 
 determination, then she wrenched her hand 
 out of his, and flinofinof both her arms round 
 Prue's neck, cried, through a rain of passionate 
 tears, ^' I will stay with you — with you ! — 
 and oh ! how I wish with all my heart 
 and soul that I had never got married to- 
 day !" 
 
 Some of those scalding tears splashed 
 heavily downwards upon the weary care- 
 worn face resting against Prue's shoulder, but 
 he neither stirred nor spoke, the stupor of
 
 BLOSSOM. 293 
 
 utter exhaustion was upon him and bound 
 him hand and foot. 
 
 '' Come I" said Adam for the third time, 
 but, as he spoke, the fury of the tempest 
 being now over, it flashed through his memory 
 how only two nights ago he had sworn to her 
 to be kind to her always .... to be gentle 
 with her .... and this was the fulfilment 
 of his vow ! 
 
 " Take care of him, Prue," said Mignon, as 
 she gave Prue a last frantic hug. ^' Poor 
 fellow — poor fellow ! And be sure and tell 
 him that I ivanted to wait until he was better, 
 but that he would not let me." 
 
 '' There," said Prue in a whisper, as the 
 girl still clung to her, " go now, dear heart, 
 your husband's waiting for you — your husband 
 as loves you dearly, and him as you've sworn 
 to honour and obey .... but come back to 
 me soon, my heart, for it's sad I shall be 
 without you, though never fear but I'll keep 
 good watch for her, so don't fret yourself 
 about that" .... 
 
 Why did the girl still pause to look down
 
 294 '' CHERRY RIPE r 
 
 long and wistfully at the face of the man to 
 whom she had written her first love-letter, 
 and whose looks she had never liked when he 
 was strong, and bold, and gay? Why did 
 she, turning often, sobbing bitterly, as she went 
 along the path by her husband's side, even 
 pausing at the door that he held open for her, 
 stand for some seconds, still looking back ? 
 Then the door closed .... and the last page 
 in the first volume of the book of Mignon's 
 life was turned down for ever. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PKINTERS, GUILDFORI>, SURREY. 
 
 5. & H.
 
 1^> 
 
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