L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOI5 
 
 V.I 
 
 v,-,ilP 
 
 
 Tai^^dkidge coitbt library.
 
 Sbt^ (Jarl of Cotten^am.
 
 ^. 
 
 J yi^^Jigitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/riverston01crai
 
 RIVERSTON. 
 
 BT 
 
 GEOKGIAM M. CEATK. 
 
 ti' 
 
 "The power, vrhether of painter or poet, to describe rightly what he calls an 
 ideal thing, depends upon its being to him not an ideal but a real thing. No man 
 ever did or ever will work well, but either from actual sight, or sight of faith."— 
 Buskin. 
 
 *' Forgive me where / fail in truth, 
 And in Thy wisdom make me wise." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1857.
 
 [thb eight of translation is besebved.]
 
 
 _^ CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 -s: ^ — 
 
 . ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 ^ OUT OF PLACE ---------l 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH 12 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 SYMPTOMATIC ^^ 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 : HELEN'S LOVERS 59 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 MR. BERESFORD KEEPS SILENCE 75 
 
 N 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 COMING OF AGE 84 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 AFTER SUPPER 101 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE NORTH WIND'S WAIL 118
 
 IV CONTENTS OP VOL. L 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FAGB 
 EFFIE ..---- --142 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 APPEARS IRRELEVANT - ... - - 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 MAY-DAY " 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 BY A BROOK .--------180 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH ------- 197 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST 215 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A SUMMER EVENING 232 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 A HOT DAY 258
 
 RIVERSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 
 
 I HAD been a fortnight in London ; I had answered 
 nearly a score of advertisements for governesses, 
 and had advertised myself; I had been directed 
 to call personally, and I had called, at more than 
 a dozen houses, but I was still without a situation ; 
 and when the fortnight closed I felt the only re- 
 sult of it had been to teach me, far better than I 
 knew at its commencement, how hard it would be 
 to obtain what I desired. 
 
 It was to me a most dispiriting search. Very 
 ignorant of the world and its doings, I had come to 
 London, thinking that, amidst so many advertisers 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 HlVERSTOiS". 
 
 as llie columns of the newspapers showed to me, 
 the selection of a situation such as I wished would 
 be a matter of comparatively little difficulty. I 
 was not prepared for what I quickly found I had 
 to meet. I was not prepared to face vulgarity 
 and ignorance, and bear myself as a dependent 
 before them. I was not prepared to sit humbly 
 and listen to purse-proud insolence — to smile, and 
 flatter, and solicit — to mock my whole sense of 
 self-respect by feigning a reverence for what I 
 despised^ or an acquiescence in what my soul re- 
 belled against. Again and again I had turned 
 away from the houses 1 had entered vv^ith my cheek 
 on fire, feeling, as I walked back to my solitarj^ 
 room, that it would be easier to pass my life in a 
 garret, and sew to earn my bread, easier almost to 
 sing ballads in the street, with the free sky above 
 me, than to recross the thresholds I had passed, 
 and consent to live the crushed down, despicable 
 thing that was to constitute the governess they 
 asked for. 
 
 It was cheerless to be alone in London with 
 this only errand — to get engaged somewhere as a
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 3 
 
 governess. The streets, as I traversed tlieiu day 
 by day, began to grow liateful to me. In my 
 deepening anxiety, in my increasing eagerness 
 to seek, and doubt to obtain, dispirited, wrestling 
 between such keen pain and pride — though God 
 knows the pride might well have been crushed out 
 of me — the desire to see some one face amongst 
 the countlsss faces round me that I knew grew to 
 an almost feverish strength. But I was ac- 
 quainted wath no living creature in London : my 
 friends — w^hat few I had — were far away : wdiat I 
 had to do, and what I had to bear, were to be done 
 and boine alone. 
 
 It was not a gentle initiation into life, and I 
 felt its hardness, and loneliness, and degradation — 
 for it loas degradation at times — keenly and 
 bitterly ; but my decision to become a governess 
 had not been lightly formed, nor was I prepared 
 lightly to abandon it. 1 believed that I was com- 
 petent to fill the post I sought ; I knew that I 
 could teach ; I knew that I was conscientious, and 
 would be painstaking ; I knew that I was in ap- 
 pearance and feeling and manner, as I vvas by
 
 4 RIVERSTOX. 
 
 birth and education, a lady. If I was more than 
 these so much the better; so much the stronger 
 was the reason why I should neither despond nor 
 draw back. And the resolution that I came to 
 when the fortnight closed was — not certainly to 
 do the last — not if possible, and by God's help to 
 do the first. 
 
 It was the middle of the third week of my 
 search, when one morning I came upon this ad- 
 vertisement in the Times : — 
 
 " Governess "Wanted. — A lady resident in the country 
 is desirous to meet with a governess for her little girl. 
 She will be required to teach English, French, German or 
 
 Italian, and Music, Address to E. M., 18, • Place, 
 
 Eegent's Park." 
 
 I had learnt the delusiveness of too many of those 
 advertisements which offer comfortable houses in 
 lieu of handsome salaries : the simplicity of this 
 one pleased me: I liked it the more that there 
 were no promises in it. I noted down the address 
 forthwith, and despatched my application by the 
 next post. 
 
 For two days I had no reply : upon the third I
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 5 
 
 received a note requesting me to call at the address 
 already given. The note was courteously worded, 
 the handwriting firm and free, yet delicate and 
 womanly: it excited me to lose no time in seeking 
 the interview that was offered, and I went that 
 same afternoon. 
 
 The house to which I had been directed I found 
 to be a large and handsome one overlooking the 
 park. I was told to ask for Mrs. Maurice. On 
 doing so, I was immediately ushered up-stairs into 
 one of two very handsome drawing-rooms opening 
 into one another, where a lady sitting by the fire 
 rose up to receive me. 
 
 ** Mrs. Maurice .?" I asked, and she bowed, and 
 motioning to a chair requested me to be seated. 
 
 She was a large, handsome, kindly-looking woman. 
 I was beo:innin2: to read faces, and I liked the look 
 of hers. 
 
 " I had a note from you this morning," I said, 
 and I handed her the letter she had written me. 
 She glanced at the address, and at once said cor- 
 dially — 
 
 ^' Oh yes ! I am only sorry that I was not able to
 
 6 RIVEESTON. 
 
 give you an answer sooner. Your letter — I think 
 I have it by me here ;" and she went to the drawer 
 of a small writing-table, and took out a packet of 
 letters, from which in a few moments she selected 
 mine and opened it. Then she looked up with a 
 half smile — 
 
 " I think I had better know your name ?" 
 
 " Honor Haig." 
 
 "Haig!" she repeated, rather quickly. "That 
 is a Scotch name, I think ?" 
 
 " My father was a Scotchman." 
 
 " Ah, well, that will not be against you !" she said 
 smiling; ^' for my sister-in-law is a Scotchwoman 
 herself. But " — and she hesitated for an instant — 
 " I am afraid you are rather young." 
 
 " 1 am past twenty." 
 
 ^' Twenty — hm/' and she looked down into the 
 fire and seemed to consider. Then, after a moment 
 or two, raising her head — 
 
 '^ 1 would rather that you were a little older, 
 certainly; but still, if we agree upon other points, I 
 do not think j^our age will be any insuperable objec- 
 tion. Let me see," and she consulted my letter for
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 7 
 
 (I moment. " You have had some experience in 
 teaching?" 
 
 " I have heon engaged as Enghsh governess in a 
 school in Devonshire from last Christmas until a 
 few weeks since." 
 
 " And you left in order to come to London ? " 
 
 She hent her eyes with a penetrating look upon 
 me. I understood what her question meant, and 
 answered according to my interpretation of it — 
 
 " I left partly hecause the work was more than 
 I had strength for, but chiefly because, for private 
 reasons, I did not wish to reside any longer in De- 
 vonshire." 
 
 She bowed slightly ; but when, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, she spoke again, I thought I detected 
 a shade of mistrust both in her tone and manner. 
 
 " You could refer me to the lady who conducts 
 this school ? " she asked. 
 
 '^ Certainly," I replied readily, and I added — for 
 I had neither need nor desire to appear unneces- 
 sarily reserved — " when I say that I had private rea- 
 sons for leaving Devonshire, I do not mean by 
 using the word to imply tliat there was any thing
 
 8 mVERSTOlS^ 
 
 I wished to conceal. I left simply because I had 
 no lonisrer any home there, and because I thousrht 
 it was better to seek elsewhere for a situation as 
 governess, than continue against my will to reside 
 in a stepfather's house." 
 
 Thus muchj Keader, I have told you of the com- 
 mencement of our interview, because it gives you 
 such information regarding myself and my pre- 
 vious history as it is desirable for you to know ; 
 to detail the rest with equal faithfulness would be 
 both tedious and unnecessary. 
 
 The particulars that I gathered from Mrs. 
 Pdaurice were these. The lady whose advertise- 
 ment I had answered was the wife of her brother, 
 J^vlr. Wynter. She lived in Sussex, and it was for 
 lier youngest child, a girl of nine years old, that 
 she desired to engage a governess. Should I ob- 
 tain the situation, I was expected to undertake the 
 entire education of this girl in all those branches 
 which had been specified in the advertisement. 
 This I was willing to undertake, with, however, a 
 partial exception in regard to music, for I was by 
 no means a first-rate musician. What I knew I
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 
 
 knew well, and could teach to others, but I had 
 little power of execution. I told j\Irs. Maurice so 
 frankly. The salary that was offered was sixty 
 
 guineas. 
 
 " And I need scarcely add/' Mrs. ]\Iaurice said, 
 though with a slight hesitation of manner that 
 seemed to me to contradict her opening words, and 
 God knows there was need to say it, if it was true 
 — " I need scarcely say that you would be con- 
 sidered in all respects as one of my brother's family. 
 Two of my nieces are grown up ; the eldest is much 
 about your own age, so that you would not be with- 
 out companions; and I can answer for the earnest 
 desire my sister would have to do every thing in 
 her power to make you feel that you were amongst 
 friends." 
 
 She said this when our interview was nearly 
 closing. She had been courteous and kind through- 
 out. By the tone of every thing she had said, I knew 
 that I was not looked down upon as an inferior ; 
 but even though I felt this, and though ray heart 
 had expanded in the warmth that her kindness 
 gathered round me, yet wdien the spoken assu-
 
 1 EIVEESTON. 
 
 ranee came, it thrilled me with so strono- a feelinir of 
 kindUng gratitude — for recollect, Reader, how I 
 had starved for a word of frank and honest kind- 
 ness — that in the fulness of the emotion I could 
 not be altogether silent. 
 
 " I. have to thank you," I said, as I rose up, 
 "for more than I have received from any one 
 since I came here. Whether I succeed or fail, 
 your kindness has given me new courage. I shall 
 not soon forget it." 
 
 I had already given her my references, and 
 heard and replied to all she had to say. I was on 
 the point of taking my leave when I spoke thus ; 
 but as I was going she interposed to stop me. 
 
 " Miss Haig, I think and hope that we may 
 come to an agreement together," she said. " I will 
 tell you frankly, that I like what I have seen of 
 
 you." 
 
 She held out her hand, and it closed with a 
 warm, kindly pressure over mine. 
 
 " You shall hear from me as soon as possible," 
 she said; "and I hope very much," she smiled 
 as she looked up to me, " that at our next meeting
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 11 
 
 I may be able to give you an assurance wbicb I 
 think will be a better gift than only a little 
 courage." 
 
 There was sympathy and compassion in the 
 cheerful voice ; I left her and commenced my 
 homeward walk, feeling for the first time for many 
 days, that despite the winter's frost, there was 
 warmth and sunshine in the air. 
 
 It was nearly a week before 1 heard a second 
 time from Mrs. Maurice. Her note simply asked 
 me to call again; but when I went the first words 
 that she met me with were these — 
 
 " Miss Haig, if you will accept this situation in 
 my sister's family, I have much pleasure in offering 
 it to you." 
 
 It was the close of the third week in January. 
 I had few preparations to make ; it was settled 
 between us that on the coming Tuesday morning 
 I should set forward on my journey.
 
 12 EIVERSTOJf. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 
 
 It was bitterly cold in the grey twilight of that 
 January morning, as I took my place in the 
 Hastings stage-coach. We had no Hastings rail- 
 way in those days, and the journey was a long 
 ten hours' one. The coach was full, too — even 
 inconveniently so ; for though the inside number 
 did not exceed the usual four, my three com- 
 panions were all of such a goodly size, that it 
 needed my almost constant exertion to retain the 
 one little corner of space that was absolutely 
 necessary to me against their mountainous en- 
 croachments. 
 
 Long before we approached Hastings the night 
 had fallen — a cloudless, moonless, starry night ; 
 and, through the breath-dimmed windows, it was
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 13 
 
 difficult to catch even the dim outlines of the 
 country across which we passed. Here and there 
 I saw the looming shadow of a hill ; nearer, I 
 caught the occasional sight of water, shimmeringly 
 reflecting the frosty stars ; still nearer, there were 
 bare hedirerows and lines of naked trees, with 
 skeleton branches interlacing, and shutting out 
 from us even the faint light of the moonless sky. 
 Beyond these I could discern nothing ; and, when 
 we drove at last into the old hill-sheltered town 
 of Hastino's, even the sea was hidden from me, 
 and I only heard the sound of its deep, smotiiered, 
 sullen roll as our coach stopped at the inn, and 
 we alighted. 
 
 I had scarcely stepped upon the pavement when 
 a man wrapped in a coachman's great-coat came 
 up to me and touched his hat — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am ; I've come from 
 Mr. Wynter's." 
 
 *' Very well. How am I to get there ?" 
 
 " I've got a chaise here, miss. If you'll go in 
 out of the cold I'll see to your luggage. There's 
 a room ready with a fire in it."
 
 14 EIVEKSTON. 
 
 " Thank joii. How far have we to go ?" 
 " Well, it's not much short of nine mile, ma'am. 
 It'll take us a good hour to do it." 
 
 " I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour." 
 I felt the cheering influence both of the blazing 
 fire to which I was conducted, and of the hot tea 
 that was brought to me. My limbs had got 
 cramped in the crowded coach, and I was halt 
 benumbed with cold. I seemed, as I rested myself, 
 both physically and mentally to begin to expand 
 and thaw. Some anxious thoughts and some 
 almost cowardly fears had been creeping in upon 
 me latterly ; but they had been born of the cold 
 and fatigue and darkness, and they vanished now 
 like spectres before the light and warmth. I was 
 full again both of strength and hope, when at the 
 close of the quarter of an hour I summoned my 
 new friend, and by his directions took my seat in 
 the carriage, which was already waiting in readi- 
 ness before the door. 
 
 We drove rapidly through the lighted streets, 
 and the clear frosty darkness of the night in a 
 few moments was once more around us. Our wav
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 15 
 
 • 
 
 lay westward, and the road we went wound near 
 the sea. There was little for the eye to gaze on, 
 for only a few faint sparkles of light lay on the 
 water, and all the rest was one far expanse of 
 unillumined darkness ; but I liked the accom- 
 panying sound of the sea's solemn roar, and re- 
 gretted when the road, as it did presently, parted 
 from it at the southerly bend towards Beachy 
 Head. 
 
 From this time the impenetrable night shut out 
 the whole country from me, and I knew nothing 
 further of the course our journey took, until at 
 about half- past nine o'clock the sudden stopping of 
 ViiQ carria2:e told me that we had reached its ter- 
 mination, and looking eagerly out, as the door was 
 thrown open, I found myself upon the threshold of 
 the broad, well-lighted hall of Riverston. 
 
 No one except the servant who admitted me 
 was visible when I first entered, but almost imme- 
 diately a second — a woman — advanced towards me, 
 and relieved me of my burden of wrappings ; and 
 I was on the point of accepting her invitation to 
 be shown to my room, when a door before us was
 
 16 mVEESTON. 
 
 somewhat violently thrown open, and a child's 
 voice broke quicMy out — 
 
 '' Is that Miss Haig ? Mamma says, if it's Miss 
 Haig she wants her to come in here." 
 
 *' YeSj it is Miss Haig. Shall I come with 
 you ?" I asked the girl. 
 
 I went up towards her ; she surveyed me all 
 over for a moment with large speculating eyes. 
 
 " YeSj" she said rather musingly ; and without 
 any shyness she reached me her hand. I took it in 
 mine, and we entered the drawing-room together. 
 
 It was a spacious room, bright with fire and 
 candle light, with gilded picture frames and mirrors ; 
 rich-coloured with the glow of crimson curtains, 
 and the dark polish of walnut furniture. Its sole 
 occupant was a lady, who, standing before the fire 
 as we came iuj scarcely waited for our entrance 
 before she advanced to meet me, exclaiming at 
 the same moment, with a slightly hurried nervous- 
 ness of tone — 
 
 " Miss Haig ? — oh, how do you do ? — I'm very 
 glad you have come. We w^ere almost afraid 
 that the cold might have prevented you — and
 
 JOUKNEYING SOUTH. 17 
 
 indeed, my dear," for, as her momentary em- 
 barrassment passed away, a kindly cordiality broke 
 fortli in her — " indeed, I am sure you are half 
 frozen : come away to the fire and warm yourself ; 
 and Effie, ring the bell, darling." 
 
 She took my hand and led me to the fire, and 
 made me sit down in what appeared from its 
 position to be the chair which she herself had 
 occupied. 
 
 " I am not very cold," I said — and indeed 
 there was a glow of warmth within that made 
 the smarting of my fingers little heeded. " Your 
 kindness in providing for my comfort at Hastings 
 has made the last part of my journey not at all 
 unpleasant." 
 
 " But it is a long way to come in such weather," 
 she said kindly. '' I am sure all day I have been 
 quite uneasy about you; for you know any one 
 not very used to travelling is so likely to take 
 cold in these dreadful stage-coaches. Hester,'' 
 for a servant came in at this moment, " I should 
 like tea immediately — and, my dear," she turned 
 again to me, " I think, if you take a cup of tea 
 
 VOL. L c
 
 IS RIVERSTON. 
 
 before you go ilp-stairs, it will do you good. You 
 won't mind just putting off your bonnet here — will 
 you ? There is nobody to see you but Effie 
 and me." 
 
 I was not likely to refuse the friendly invitation, 
 it was so long since any one had cared whether I 
 was warm or cold : with willing obedience I 
 unloosed my cloak and took my bonnet off. 
 
 " I will take them," said a clear serious voice at 
 my side, and turning my head I saw the child 
 Effie standing by my chair. She had left the 
 room or been hidden in some corner of it since I 
 entered : I had scarcely had time to bestow a 
 second thought upon her from our first meeting 
 until she re-appeared now. She put out her hand 
 as she spoke to take possession of my garments, 
 but I prevented her intention by enclosing it 
 within my own. 
 
 " Is it you who are to be my pupil, Effie .?" 
 I asked. 
 
 Her answer was a half smile, .and when the 
 smile was passed, a slow dreamy " Yes," At the 
 same time the small hand began to twist itself
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 19 
 
 out of mine, and, not desiring to detain her by- 
 force, I at once freed it ; but she did not leave me 
 as I expected that she would. 
 
 ** Oh yes ! Effie has been in great excitement 
 about your coming," Mrs, Wynter said, smiling. 
 ^^ I am sure you have been the whole subject of 
 her thoughts for days past. There has been 
 nothing but ' Miss Haig ' talked about for the last 
 week." 
 
 " I can return the compliment in part," I said. 
 " EfiSe lias been in my thoughts too, if not upon 
 my lips, a good deal during these last days. So 
 I hope," and I addressed this to her, " as we have 
 thought so much about one another before our 
 meeting, that we mean to be good friends now ?" 
 She stood by my side, slowly feeling over and 
 fingering my hand, turning round a ring that 1 
 wore, and in other ways amusing herself at my 
 expense. I had a good opportunity for observing 
 her. She was v6ry handsome, of a kind of beauty 
 that was very pleasant to me — low-browed and 
 dark-haired, with large grey eyes, dark with 
 fringed lashes, and all luminous with changing
 
 20 KIVERSTON. 
 
 lights ; a complexion soft, clear, and pale, with 
 a faint dash of olive in it ; a contour classically 
 beautiful — ^broad at the forehead and narrowing 
 gradually to the chin. It was undoubtedly a face 
 outiuardly eloquent at least both of intellect and 
 strong feeling. 
 
 " Oh yes ! I hope indeed that Effie will be a 
 good girl," Mrs. Wynter said. " But I must 
 tell you frankly, Miss Haig, that you will find 
 she wants a good deal of training and bringing 
 into order; for there have been no very regular 
 lessons for her of late — from various causes — and 
 I am afraid she has got a little too wild." 
 
 " It is all Sydney's fault for going away/' 
 Effie broke in. '^ She used to teach me " — this 
 explanation was to me ; " and she is gone to 
 Scotland." 
 
 '^ Yes, Sydney — that is my second daughter," 
 Mrs. Wynter said — " used to take principal charge 
 of Effie ; but she is staying with a relation now — 
 with her grandmother — in Edinburgh. And my 
 eldest daughter, Helen, has been a good deal 
 occupied with other things lately."
 
 JOURNEYmG SOUTH. 21 
 
 ' " Helen is going to be married," Effie said 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Not exactly going to be, Effie," her mother 
 interposed. 
 
 " She has been engaged for some time," she 
 explained to me, " to our young clergyman here — 
 Mr. Beresford ; but we are hardly thinking of the 
 marriage taking place yet. But Effie, my dear, 
 you are letting Miss Haig hold her bonnet all this 
 time." 
 
 The clock over the fireplace struck ten before 
 our meal was concluded, and immediately after a 
 nurse appeared to summon Effie away to bed. 
 When the table was cleared, Mrs. Wynter and I 
 again returned to our seats beside the fire. 
 
 She had some time before informed me that Mr. 
 Wynter and her daughter were dining out; "I 
 think," she said now, "after your long journey I 
 must not keep you up to see them to-night. 
 Helen -^as very sorry not to be at home when you 
 came ; but there is a great gathering of people at 
 present at one of our friend's houses near here — 
 a sort of prolongation of a Christmas party — and
 
 22 RIVERSTON. 
 
 wherever there is much gaiety going on," she 
 said, with something between a smile and a sigh, 
 *' Helen is generally a good deal in request." 
 
 It needed little insight to perceive, slight as 
 my acquaintance with Mrs. Wynter yet was, that 
 few subjects of conversation could be started in 
 which she would take so strong an interest as 
 in any thing relating to her ovyn children. I did 
 not hesitate, therefore, when we were again es- 
 tablished round the fire, so to direct our talk as 
 to lead her to tell me further concerning her 
 family. 
 
 " These three daughters are your only chil- 
 dren .^" I asked. 
 
 " Oh no ! " she said quickly ; and a bright 
 smile, that faded away next moment into a touch- 
 ing expression of quiet sorrow, passed over her 
 face. " Oh no ! I have a son ; my eldest child — he 
 is in the navy. I had two," and her voice 
 dropped. 
 
 "The other was younger.^" I asked, after a 
 moment's silence. 
 
 "• Much younger — oh yes ! he was seven years
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 23 
 
 younger tlian Frank. lie was to be a sailor, too ; 
 lie had just gone upon his first voyage when — 
 when he was taken away." 
 
 " At sea ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Oh yes — at sea !" she said sadly, and her eyes 
 were raised for an instant to my face with a timid, 
 wistful appeal for sympathy. We were silent for 
 a moment or two ; and then, as though the temp- 
 tation to speak of him had overcome her, she 
 began in her gentle way to tell me all the story of 
 his life and death — of the love that had been 
 lavished on him, and of the parting when he went 
 to sea — that proved to be the final parting upon 
 earth. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Haig !" she said, " it was like cutting 
 my life in two when I lost him. The half of all 
 the love I ever gave to any one on earth was his. 
 It was not that he was better than my other 
 children, but — but he loved me as none of the rest 
 of them ever did. When I heard that he was 
 (lead " 
 
 She broke off abruptly, and her hands fell down 
 clasped upon her knee. There was something in
 
 24 PJVERSTON. 
 
 the moiirnfal powerlessness of the action, so indi- 
 cative of broken-down sorrow as it was, more 
 pathetic to me than any words she could have 
 used. It moved me to do what was unusual with 
 me, to show more than passive sympathy with her. 
 She took my hand into hers as 1 laid it over them, 
 and held it with a kind of eager pressure. 
 
 '• Thank you, dear," she whispered ; and, when 
 a few moments had passed, she looked up with a 
 feeble glimmering smile, and said ; '' I have so 
 much left to be thankful for, and God must know 
 best. Even at the most it is for such a few years, 
 and my Willie " 
 
 She did not bring her sentence to an end ; with 
 the name she loved so dearly lingering on her lips, 
 she let the final words remain unspoken. 
 
 The stroke of another hour was the first inter- 
 ruption our conversation met with. Mrs. Wynter 
 started up at the sound, and, breaking ofP in the 
 midst of what she was saying, exclaimed quick- 
 
 ly- 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! here I am keeping you up talk- 
 ing, when I am sure you ought to be resting in
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 25 
 
 bed. I really did not notice how the time was 
 ooinsr/' 
 
 She took a bed-room candle from a side-table, 
 and we left the room together ; and, crossing the 
 entrance hall, ascended a broad wainscoted spiral 
 staircase, around whose massive centre pole a 
 heavy oaken balustrade wound, dark and richly 
 carved, until it terminated in a group of sculptured 
 figures on the threshold of a gallery, that branched 
 off in a long line right and left, and was again 
 crossed at one extremity by a second passage. It 
 was in this last that I found my room lay. 
 
 As ^Irs. Wynter opened the door, my eye was 
 met by a glow of firelight falling warmly upon 
 white bed-curtains, and gleaming brightly on an 
 opposite mirror. It was a small octagonal room, 
 and the light entirely filled it : there were no dim 
 corners — no obscure recesses ; all cheerily bright 
 and warm it lay before me — a pleasant picture of 
 comfort on that cold winter's night. 
 
 " My dear, you must ring for any thing you 
 want, and I hope you will be warm and comfort- 
 able," my kind conductress said, as she put my
 
 26 mVEESTON. 
 
 caudle on the table. "And now I'll say good- 
 night, and not keep you out of bed any longer/' 
 
 She came to me and took my hand, and then 
 the kind heart expanded again — 
 
 " My dear, I am very glad you have come : I am 
 sure we shall get on very nicely : I hope we shall 
 be able to make you feel happy amongst us. There, 
 now, good-night !" 
 
 With the half-timid nervousness that came fre- 
 quently over her, she bent towards me and dropped 
 a fluttering kiss upon my cheek; then, smiling, she 
 went away ; and, as the door closed upon her gentle 
 little figure, I felt that I had already gained one 
 friend at Kiverston. 
 
 The day had given birth to too many thoughts 
 for me to sleep soon. As I lay awake, my ear pre- 
 sently caught the approaching sounds of carriage 
 wheels, followed in a few moments by the loud 
 ringing of a bell, and the momentary commotion 
 of an arrival : half an hour later, there were steps 
 upon the stairs and in the gallery, and the tones 
 of a clear voice reached me, carelessly singing 
 amidst its talking some gay snatches of a song ;
 
 JOURNEYING SOUTH. 27 
 
 then there were good-nights spoken, and the closing 
 of doors : but every sound throughout the house 
 had long been hushed, and the last embers of my 
 fire were burnt out, before the sleep I sought at 
 length visited me.
 
 28 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 
 
 When I found my way to the breakfast-room 
 next morning, there were only two of the family 
 assembled ; the one was Effie — the other, who, at 
 my first sight of her, was sitting crouched on the 
 rug before the fire, I had no difficulty in guessing 
 to be Helen. She turned round as I opened the 
 door, and starting up with a slight laugh at being 
 detected in such a posture, came frankly towards 
 me, and ofi'ered me her hand. 
 
 " Miss Haig," she exclaimed, " you must let me 
 make my excuses to you. You don't know how 
 sorry I was that we were engaged from home last 
 night. I assure you I was quite grieved ; I was 
 more than half-inclined to let papa go without me 
 when I heard that you were coming." >
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 29 
 
 I was by no means particularly taken with this 
 address. That Miss Wynter should make an 
 apology for her absence on my arrival, was an 
 excess of politeness that was little called for ; nor 
 did the manner with which her speech was de- 
 livered please me better than its matter. The 
 effort to be amiable was too visible in it. I did 
 not thank her for her courtesy, for I did not believe 
 in the sincerity with which it was offered. 
 
 " It was fortunate you did not stay," I said, " or 
 you would have gained, I am afraid, a poor equiva- 
 lent for the pleasures you gave up. As it is, you 
 see, you have secured both me and your dinner/' 
 
 My answer seemed to perplex her : as she was 
 not ready immediately with any rejoinder beyond 
 a rather uncertain laugh, I turned from her, and 
 had accomplished my greeting to Effie before she 
 spoke again. 
 
 ^' Are you not cold ?^' she asked then. ^'I am 
 sure you must be, for I was really quite frozen in 
 getting up this morning. I was just thawing myself 
 when you came in," and she laughed. 
 
 "Well, go on thawing yourself," I said. ,^*If
 
 30 EIVERSTON. 
 
 you make my presence an interruption to sucli a 
 pleasant occupation I shall feel that I had better 
 have stayed in my room." 
 
 ^' Will you sit here, then ?" and she wheeled a 
 chair to the side of the fire, laughingly curling 
 herself up again upon the rug as I took possession 
 of it, and proceeding to rub her hands together 
 before the blaze. 
 
 She was a pretty creature certainly. As I sat 
 looking at her bright face, my first feeling of irrita- 
 tion against her began rapidly to subside. She 
 was fairer than Efifie, and indeed bore little 
 resemblance to her. Kegular features, blue eyes, 
 brown hair, and sparklingly beautiful complexion, 
 made up a face which was strikingly pretty, but 
 which yet, I thought, scarcely promised a long pre- 
 servation of its charm ; for its beauty lay almost 
 wholly in its delicate form and colouring, and but 
 little in its expression, which, though full of 
 animation, was very destitute either of depth 
 or real sweetness. Not only as a piece of sculp- 
 ture, but far more as an index of character, the 
 face was to my mind infinitely inferior to Effie's.
 
 IT BEGINS TO TUAW. 31 
 
 But still it was a pretty tiling to look at — so 
 young, so bright, so beautifully coloured. 
 
 " What a dreadful journey you must have had 
 yesterday ! " she exclaimed, recovering from her 
 first slight repulse, and addressing me again in 
 the somewhat exaggerated style in which she 
 seemed fond of indulging. "Were you not 
 almost dead with cold .? I assure you, when I 
 came home after only our short drive, I was quite 
 numbed." 
 
 " It was cold enough certainly, but I was 
 warmly wrapped up. I had not on an evening 
 dress, like you." 
 
 " Well, that of course makes a difference ! " she 
 exclaimed earnestly ; *' because you know, however 
 warm our cloaks may be, we can't venture when we 
 are dressed to wTap them closely round us, and 
 then the air creeps in at a dozen little crevices 
 upon our poor bare arms and necks. Oh, Miss 
 Haig, don't you think it is very foolish to wear low 
 dresses in winter .^ " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Well, I was just saying that last night ! I w\as
 
 32 EIVERSTON. 
 
 telling the girls at Clifton that I was going to 
 appear at the next party I went to in a high 
 dress — but you can't think what a storm I 
 raised ! " 
 
 " I daresay. Why did you say so ? " 
 
 ^•' Why ? — oh, I don't know ! — just pour passer le 
 temps, I suppose," she said laughing, after an 
 instant's hesitation. " Oh, Miss Haig ! I shall 
 certainly get afraid of you if you demand a reason 
 from me for every piece of folly I commit." 
 
 ^' I beg your pardon, but I thought you had put 
 this forward as a piece of wisdom." 
 
 " Well, so I did, perhaps ; but then if you 
 thought it folly," she stopped a moment — " as you 
 did — did you not ? " she asked, looking up and 
 laughing, and then leaving the broken sentence 
 unfinished. But the last words had been spoken 
 so simply and naturally, that, in my liking for 
 their tone, I forgave the girl her little affecta- 
 tions. 
 
 *' I have no concern with your follies," I said, 
 laughing ; '• it is only EflSe's that I intend to busy 
 myself about."
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 33 
 
 '' Do you hear that, Effie ? " Helen exclaimed 
 gaily ; but Effie's great eyes, as she stood opposite 
 me, were fixed upon my face, and she took no 
 notice of her sister's address. '^ Effie, do you 
 hear ? " Helen reiterated. *' Miss Haig is not 
 going to allow an atom of folly to remain in you. 
 Now, what do you think will be left when all the 
 folly is gone — seriously, now, Effie ? " 
 
 She stretched out a hand, and caught her 
 sister round the waist ; but, with an imperturbability 
 that rather amazed me, Effie still vouchsafed no 
 answer, nor in any way betrayed the slightest con- 
 sciousness that she was addressed. It was impos- 
 sible to know, however, whether she was either 
 sulky or angry, for not the shadow of a change 
 appeared upon her handsome face. 
 
 " Oh, you obstinate child ! " Helen exclaimed, 
 letting her go not over gently. ^' Miss Haig, I am 
 sure I hope you will consider obstinacy a folly, and 
 get that out of Effie ; for so much of it as she has 
 1 never saw in any child in my life.'' 
 
 " Then beware of telling her so," I said. " I never 
 knew obstinacy cured by accusations." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 EIVERSTON. 
 
 Helen's blue eyes opened upon me for an in- 
 stant, tlien, suddenly starting up, slie broke out, 
 laughing — 
 
 " Miss Haig, I'll have nothing to do with you ! 
 You are so sensible that you perfectly frighten me. 
 There, Effie, go away to her — I'll never interfere 
 between you," and, pushing the child towards me, 
 av/ay she went, 
 
 I had no idea of petting Effie for being obsti- 
 nate. She had not behaved amiably ; and, though 
 I hardly wished to commence so early with a 
 reproof, I still thought it advisable in some way 
 to note my disapproval. I prepared, therefore, to 
 bestow a grave look upon her ; but when I raised 
 my eyes, something strangely earnest and touch- 
 ingly searching in hers made my intention melt 
 away. Their silent pleading tugged at my heart. 
 I hardly knew if I did right or wrong, but I raised 
 my hand and smoothed back the heav}^, curling 
 hair from her brow. She never moved her eyes 
 from me, but as I touched her a slow dreamy smile 
 stole over her face. 
 
 ^' Gome away to the window," she said quietly
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 35 
 
 the next moment ; and I rose up without any words, 
 and, taking her offered hand, accompanied her. 
 
 Helen, too, joined us again. 
 
 ^* This is only the side of the house : both the 
 back and front views are prettier," she said. " AYe 
 see nothing from this window except the hill, and 
 not the best view even of that.'' 
 
 Helen's " nothing " had to be taken with limita- 
 tions. The hill by no means composed the whole 
 of the view. There was a foreground of smooth 
 grass-plot belted with evergreens : there was to the 
 right a gloom of tall Scotch firs, raising their dark- 
 clothed heads high towards heaven : there was on 
 the left the promise of a garden abounding in 
 flower-beds and green-house beauty. There was 
 this in addition to the hill ; but the hill alone was 
 rich in loveliness. It was a low gently-swelling 
 eminence, broken in its ascent into soft waving un- 
 dulations, its whole extent bare of tree or shrub, 
 but clothed from head to foot with a close grassy 
 carpeting, which was scarcely green, but shaded 
 over with soft misty whiteness; browsing sheep 
 dotted it here and there, and the whole, as I looked
 
 36 RIVEPtSTON. 
 
 forth, lay with the still richness of summer beauty, 
 shadowless in the full sunlight. It warmed me 
 with its loveliness: gazing, I forgot that frost was 
 nipping the evergreen leaves, and sucking the dew 
 from the parched earth. 
 
 I did not leave the window until I was summoned 
 from it to be introduced to Mr. Wynter, a ceremony 
 which was immediately followed by the appearance 
 of breakfast. Mr. Wynter was the picture of a 
 country gentleman. Large, stout, and healthy- 
 looking, he ate heartily and spoke little. I set him 
 down as a quiet, phlegmatic personage, who would 
 probably trouble me as little as I should meddle 
 with him. While we ate and talked, he ate and 
 studied his newspapers : when breakfast was over, 
 he gathered up two or three letters that he had 
 allowed to lie unopened beside him during the 
 meal, and withdrawing with them left us in pos- 
 session of the apartment. 
 
 We gathered then for a few moments round 
 the fire. I was on the point of inquiring of Mrs. 
 Wynter when and where my instructions to Efifie 
 were to commence, when, as the words were upon
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 37 
 
 my lips, Helen broke in in her usual enthusiastic 
 manner — 
 
 " Mamma, did you ever see such exquisite hair ? 
 Look at these curls — are they not perfectly lovely ?" 
 and she suddenly reached at me, and caught up a 
 handful of those ornaments. " Oh, they are beau- 
 tiful, ^liss Haig ! If I could do my hair as you do, I 
 would never let a hairdresser touch my head again 
 as long as I lived ! Mamma, is it not charming ?" 
 
 *' It is very pretty," Mrs. Wynter said — " only it 
 makes her look very young." 
 
 The last portion of the sentence was spoken ra- 
 ther deraurringly : it made me suspect for the first 
 time that the style in which I dressed my hair was 
 perhaps scarcely suited to my present position. It 
 was a very simple arrangement: the hair was 
 merely parted through the centre, and gathered in 
 curls — it curled naturally — over each shoulder, 
 shortening up to tlie brow, and I had worn it thus 
 for many years ; but it dawned upon me, as Mrs. 
 Wynter spoke, that something less simple and 
 youthful might perhaps be better suited to me 
 now. I turned to her and said —
 
 38 KIVEKSTON. 
 
 " I never thought about my hair ; but, if you 
 think it makes me look too young, I am quite will- 
 ing to alter it." 
 
 "Miss Haig, hold your tongue ! " Helen exclaimed. 
 " Alter it ! why, it would be a perfect sin to touch 
 a. single hair of it. Now, mia madre^ say it would ? 
 I know you think it in your heart." 
 
 '^ Well, Nelly, it almost would be a pity, I 
 think." 
 
 " Ah, I knew you would say so ! Think if these 
 curls were mine what your feelings would be. Oh 
 dear ! I never thought my own hair was so ugly 
 before;" and, with mock dissatisfaction, Helen 
 looked in the glass at her thick glossy plaits. 
 *' Miss Haig, if I was only a single degree less ami- 
 able than I am " 
 
 " My dear Nelly," Mrs. Wynter remonstrated. 
 
 " Mamma, it is perfectly true. If I was not more 
 amiable than almost any other person I am ac- 
 quainted with " 
 
 In what way this excessive amiability was sup- 
 posed to be displaying itself I was left to conjecture; 
 for, precisely at this moment, Helen's speech was
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 39 
 
 a second time interrupted by an exclamation from 
 Effie, and turning round I found that our party 
 had been silently increased by the entrance of a 
 gentleman, who, as soon as he was perceived, was 
 familiarly greeted, though with very different de- 
 grees of cordiality, both by Helen and her mother. 
 
 " Ah, Edward, is that you ?" Mrs. Wynter ex- 
 claimed, and with her gentle smile she went 
 forward to meet him; while Helen, after one glance 
 round, dropping into the chair which she had drawn 
 to the fire for me before breakfast, addressed hiiii 
 as he came towards her with a cool — not to say un- 
 civil — 
 
 " Well, i\Ir. Beresford, this is an early visit." 
 
 " It was my only chance of seeing you all day," 
 he said. 
 
 There was no mistaking Ms eagerness : he came 
 towards her, and stooped over her chair as if he 
 had eyes and ears for no other person in the room. 
 I do not believe, near as I was to Helen, that he 
 was even conscious of my presence until Mrs. 
 Wynter obliged him to take notice of it, by intro- 
 ducing us to one another.
 
 40 EIVEKSTON. 
 
 He was a mildj gentlemanly-looking young man, 
 with a quiet pleasing manner^ and a gentle and 
 kind expression of face. We exchanged no words 
 together ; for, though he turned to me upon our 
 introduction with a courteous bow, I felt that his 
 thoughts were so evidently engaged elsewhere, 
 that the most charitable course I could pursue 
 towards him would be to keep my lips closed. I 
 returned his bow, therefore, and was mute ; and in 
 another moment he was again devotedly bending 
 over Helen's chair. 
 
 '^ My dear/' Mrs. Wynter said, in reply to the 
 request which I now succeeded in making with 
 regard to myself and Effie, " if you will excuse 
 me for five minutes, I will come back and take 
 you to the schoolroom. Effie, run away and see 
 that your books are ready, and Miss Haig will 
 come to you immediately." 
 
 I had no desire to intrude upon the lovers' Ute- 
 a-tete; I did, therefore, the utmost I could, when I 
 was left alone with them, to get out of their way, 
 by retreating to my former station at the window, 
 and there amusino^ mvself with turnino: over the
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 41 
 
 books that lay on a small table before it. The 
 room, however, was not a large one, and I could 
 not avoid hearing their conversation. 
 
 " So you had Captain Carlyon last night," Mr. 
 Beresford was saying. " I suppose he is regarded 
 as somewhat of a star at Clifton ? " 
 
 " Captain Carlyon ? I am sure I saw nothing 
 star-like about him ; unless it is a characteristic of 
 stars to be rather noisier and vainer than the rest 
 of the world," Helen said flippantly. 
 
 Her tone struck me with some amazement. 
 This Captain Carlyon's name had been mentioned 
 by her many times during breakfast, in a manner 
 very difterent certainly from the one she chose to 
 assume in speaking of him now. However, it was 
 no concern of mine ; so, after a momentary glance 
 at her, I looked down upon my books again. 
 
 " Yet I should imagine there was something in 
 him," Mr. Beresford said quietly. " Henry 
 Wetherall would scarcely speak so warmly of him 
 as he does, if he was nothing more than vain and 
 noisy." 
 
 " Oh, well, he may be a genius for any thing I
 
 42 KIVERSTON. 
 
 know ! " Helen exclaimed rather pettishly. " I 
 don't pretend to dive into people's characters at 
 first sight." 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Beresford considered that the sub- 
 ject he had chosen was not one that interested 
 Helen, or possibly it did not much interest him- 
 self; at any rate he quitted it abruptly. 
 
 " I have a long walk before me/' he said. " I 
 am going to Falklands." 
 
 ^'And you mean to walk! dear mC; Edward, 
 what a foolish thing to do ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " But how can I help it, when poor Hero is 
 lame ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot about Hero's lameness. But 
 surely you could have one of our horses ? I 
 would lend you mine if you liked." 
 
 " Thank you," he said smilingly, and looking as 
 grateful as though the half-joking offer really 
 deserved serious thanks. " Thank you, but I shall 
 not mind the walk. A long walk is by no means 
 a bad thing in this cold weather — though I was 
 sorry to see," he added, " for the sake of the roads, 
 as I came along, that it has begun to thaw."
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 43 
 
 From ]\lr. BeresforcVs entrance until tliis mo- 
 ment, nothing could have been more careless and 
 languid than Helen's whole tone and manner ; but 
 at this announcement of his a marvellous change 
 came over her. 
 
 ^' Begun to thaw ! " she exclaimed with the live- 
 liest excitement. " Oh no, it has not ! oh, surely it 
 is not thawing to-day I " and, starting forwards on 
 her chair, she looked anxiously through the window. 
 
 There were undoubtedlv sisrns of a commencins; 
 thaw, though they were as yet rather audible in 
 the slow dripping of water from some upper ledges 
 upon the garden walks, than visible in any moisten- 
 ing of the dried earth. 
 
 '• I thought you were tired of the cold weather, 
 Helen," Mr. Beresford said, in very evident sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Well, so I am!" she answered impatiently; 
 '• but I am sure it never makes it a bit warmer 
 when it begins to thaw ; and it is excessively 
 annoying that the thaw should commence to-day, 
 for the Wetheralls have got a chair for driving on 
 the ice — Captain Carlyon brought it with him from
 
 44 EIVEESTON. 
 
 London yesterday — and we are all to try it this 
 morning on the miller's pond." 
 
 " My dear Helen, I am very sorry to disappoint 
 you," Mr. Beresford said hastily ; " but I assure you 
 that any sledging on the miller's pond to day will 
 be utterly out of the question. It was quite unsafe 
 even yesterday : I was there myself" 
 
 '' Why, Edward, the ice was four inches thick 
 yesterday : Henry "Wetherall told me so ! " 
 
 " I know it was, Helen, but it was quite rotten 
 from the falls of snow upon it. Helen, dear, give 
 up the thought of this skating party: I don't think 
 any of them would be so rash as to attempt it to- 
 day ; but, even if they should, promise me at least 
 that you will not go with them." His face was 
 all eager with anxiety at the thought of the 
 shadow of a possible danger coming near her ; but 
 she paid little regard to his entreaty. 
 
 " I shall certainly promise nothing of the sort," 
 she said quickly. " If the others think it safe to go, 
 you may be sure I shall not pretend to be wiser 
 than they are. Why, wliat a fool you would have 
 them think me!'*
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAAV. 45 
 
 " But, Helen, I was at the pond yesterday, and 
 saw the state of the ice with my own eyes." 
 
 *' Well, Edward, it is no use arguing about it," 
 she said petulantly. "I am not going to set off 
 and drive about upon the ice by myself — you know 
 that very well ; but, if the others come to fetch me, 
 I shall go with them — so, if you please, don't say 
 any thing more about it." 
 
 She leaned back in her chair with a cloud upon 
 her pretty face ; he too drew back a little, resting 
 his elbow on the chimney-piece, and did not speak 
 for a few moments; but, as I guessed, he was too 
 really anxious to let the subject drop yet. He 
 bent towards her again, and commenced hesitat- 
 ingly and humbly — • 
 
 " Helen, if you knew the satisfaction it would 
 give me to hear you promise what I ask. These 
 young men, as you know, are very thoughtless and 
 reckless, and " 
 
 The cloud upon her brow grew stormier; before 
 he could proceed further, she looked up and inter- 
 rupted him — 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort ! I know I never
 
 45 EIVERSTON. 
 
 heard any human being call Henry Wetherall 
 reckless, and as for the others — for Captain Carlyon, 
 for instance — I suppose you will acknowledge that 
 he is as likely to know as much as you do about 
 whether the ice is safe or not. Such nonsense, to 
 expect that I am going to be coaxed into giving up 
 whatever I care for, simply to please people who 
 choose to take absurd fancies into their heads 
 about them!" 
 
 " God knows, Helen, if I would ask you to give 
 up any thing that gave you pleasure simply to 
 please me! " he said, with an earnest sadness and 
 tenderness that might have moved her. " I ventur- 
 ed to think that, if you really understood how 
 anxious I was about this matter, you would do 
 what I asked ; but if you will not" — he paused a 
 moment and looked at her, but she only played 
 impatiently with the tassels of her apron — " if you 
 will not, at least I cannot go away and leave you." 
 
 Still no reply, but a wilful, determined frown 
 settling upon the brow. 
 
 " Helen/' he bent lower, and spoke still more 
 anxiously. "Helen, are you offended.^"
 
 IT BEGINS TO THAW. 47 
 
 I liacl been growing for some time past more 
 and more uneasy at my position. The matter be- 
 gan now to take so much the form of a lovers' 
 quarrel, that I could not persuade myself to remain 
 a listener any longer. I could reach the door 
 without drawing any nearer towards them; so 
 seizing the opportunity, when he was stooping very 
 much over her chair, I rose up and made my exit 
 as noiselessly as I could, intending, if I saw nothing 
 of Mrs. Wynter, to retreat to my own room until 
 I might be sent for. But, as I was midway upon 
 the stairs, I met her coming down. "She was just 
 coming to me," she said ; so we ascended the re- 
 mainder of the stairs in company, and she led me 
 to a small room opening from the gallery, where I 
 found Effie and a bright fire. We talked together 
 for a few moments ; then she went away and left 
 me with my pupil.
 
 48 EIVERSTON^ 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SYMPTOMATIC. 
 
 I DO not know in what manner Helen's interview 
 with her lover ended (interviews of that description, 
 I soon discovered, were too common to render their 
 separate terminations a matter of importance to 
 any one save Mr. Beresford) ; but when, at one 
 o'clock, Effie and I were invited to descend to lun- 
 cheon, we found no one but Mrs. Wynter awaiting 
 us in the dining-room. 
 
 " Helen has gone out riding," she said, " with 
 some of her friends from Clifton. There was to 
 have been some skating, but unfortunately you see 
 it has begun to thaw. It was quite a disappoint- 
 ment to them all to have to give it up." 
 
 " Is Mr. Beresford with Miss Wynter ? " I 
 asked.
 
 SrMPTOMATIC. 49 
 
 " Oh no ! he had a visit to make quite at the 
 other end of the parish ; it is a great long straggling 
 parish this of ours, and he went away soon after 
 you went up-stairs, I think." 
 
 Helen did not retui-n until evening. She was 
 expected to dinner, and we waited for her half an 
 hour ; but, as she did not make her appearance at 
 the end of that time, we dined without her. 
 
 " I do not know what Nelly is doing wath herself, 
 but I think our dinner is none the better for havinir 
 waited for her," ]Mr. Wynter quietly remarked as 
 he ate his fish. 
 
 But it was very evident to me that Helen's 
 escapades, whatever inconveniences they might 
 entail upon the rest of the family, were accustomed 
 to be looked upon very leniently both by father and 
 mother. 
 
 I liked the good-humour ^vith which Mr. Wynter 
 took the overdressing of his dinner, and was moved 
 by it to exert myself more than I might other- 
 wise have done to fill up the void that Helen's 
 absence occasioned. Effie was very quiet, and Mrs. 
 Wynter did not talk much ; the burden of the 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 50 KIVERSTON. 
 
 conversation, therefore, rested principally with Mr. 
 Wynter and myself. We managed to maintain it 
 tolerably. I was country bred, and had some 
 very smattering knowledge about crops and land, 
 enough to enable me to ask sufficiently intelligent 
 questions ; so I raked all my little amount of 
 information together, and trafficked with it 
 with what tact I could. It was a proceeding 
 which, at its commencement, occasioned some little 
 amazement and even contempt in Mr. Wynter 's 
 mind, and my questions were received, I thought, 
 with a very evident suspicion that I was going to 
 talk of what I did not understand ; but as I went 
 on, undismayed by this distrust, and was careful 
 rather to appear more than less ignorant than I 
 really was, my perseverance in a little while brought 
 its reward, and before the cloth was removed I 
 found that Mr. Wynter was waxing almost elo- 
 quent. 
 
 In nine cases out of ten, I would rather be a 
 listener than a talker. I have no aptitude for talk- 
 ing to strangers • the utterance of vapid common- 
 places to persons of whose lives and thoughts and
 
 SYMPTOMATIC. 61 
 
 feelings I am in dense and utter ignorance, is to me 
 an unspeakable weariness ; and to do other than 
 this — to \valk with my heart unmasked in the face 
 of all the world, to throw down my pearls, such as 
 they are, on the chance that they may not be trodden 
 down by swine — this is not possible for me. 
 
 But I like to draw on people to talk to me about 
 themselves and their doings; for few subjects have, 
 I believe, to the mass of mankind in reality so deep 
 an interest, and assuredly, consciously or uncon- 
 sciously, they discover more of their real nature 
 and feelings in discoursing upon that selfish topic, 
 than upon most others that could be offered to 
 them. I think it is generally not consciously; the 
 revelations that they make come mostly in chance 
 words dropped here and there, in tones or gestures, 
 in varying expressions of joy or sorrow, love or 
 hatred ; the varnished details they deal out to us 
 are often something quite apart from these ; but it 
 is from these, and not from their lip eloquence, that 
 we piece out the truth. 
 
 It is a woman's way of getting at it, but we get 
 at a good deal so, and keep it in our minds very 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 KIVERSTON. 
 
 quietly sometimes ; for, depend upon it, let men say 
 what they choose, when a woman has the will she 
 can close her lips as firmly as ever a man can. 
 
 I liked much that I found in Mr. Wynter. 
 Beneath an unpolished manner there was great 
 good sense, and even some sparklings of keen 
 sagacity. Ke was evidently little accustomed to 
 talk to women, but I liked him none the less for 
 his bluntness. His occasional condescensions to 
 my feminine ignorance, and then again his appa- 
 rent forgetfulness, in the midst of some earnest ha- 
 rangue, that his listener was nothing but a woman, 
 until I, not quite willing to sink my individuality, 
 would recall myself to his mind by some question 
 that a man would never ask, amused me greatly. 
 Upon the whole, we did not make way ill together. 
 
 We had a quiet evening with reading, and work, 
 and music. It was not till nine o'clock that Helen 
 returned. She came straight into the dining-room 
 as she had arrived, in her riding-habit, looking 
 very handsome. The dress suited her to perfec- 
 tion, the closely fitting habit showing her figure to 
 great advantage, and the broad riding-hat with its
 
 SYMPTOMATIC. 53 
 
 plume of sable feathers making her fair skin, by 
 the contrast of its darkness, still more brilliantly- 
 fair and clear. Her colour was raised, too, and the 
 whole face beamed with smiles and good temper. 
 It was an expression somewhat different from the 
 last that I had seen upon it. 
 
 " Oh, Nelly, did you ride home ?" Mrs. Wynter 
 exclaimed. '' I was going to send the carriage pre- 
 sently ; for we thought, as you had not come to 
 dinner, that you meant to stay out the evening. 
 Did you really ride in this cold night .?" 
 
 " It is not cold, mamma — it is the most delicious 
 night — you really would not believe it !" Helen 
 exclaimed. 
 
 I certainly did not believe it; but the remark 
 was not addressed to me, and Mrs. Wynter was 
 happily less sceptical. 
 
 '^ Is it really, dear ? Well, I only hope you 
 have not got cold. And did Henry Wetherall 
 come with you .^" 
 
 " Yes, Henry came" — and then with a momen- 
 tary demur the sentence broke off — not as if it 
 had reached its conclusion.
 
 54 KIVEKSTOIf. 
 
 '' And a servant, I suppose ?" Mrs. Wynter said. 
 
 The colour rose for an instant on Helen's 
 cheek. 
 
 *' Noj there was no servant. Captain Carlyon 
 came along with Henry," she said, with feigned 
 carelessness. 
 
 " I thought I heard more than one horse riding 
 back," Mrs. Wynter quietly remarked, as she rose 
 up and poked the fire into a blaze. 
 
 Helen was in the highest spirits all the remain- 
 der of that evening. There was not a trace of the 
 morning's sullen obstinacy remaining in lier. Way- 
 ward, and capricious, and wilful, she showed her- 
 self at every moment ; but all she did or said was 
 glossed over by a perfect sunshine of good-humour. 
 To me she was extremely affable, and even cordial ; 
 nay, had I encouraged it, before we retired to our 
 rooms, she would even have commenced to constitute 
 me her confidante ; but I succeeded fortunately in 
 giving her such hints of the stony nature of my 
 sympathy, as sufficed for the present at least to 
 check that inclination in her ; and I found that 
 our mutual friendliness was not much affected by
 
 SYMPTOMATIC. 55 
 
 tlie repulse. She only laughed, and cried that she 
 would as soon strike herself against a stone wall as 
 hold an)^ intercoui-se with me ; and when, on going 
 up-stairs to hed, I made a slight motion to escape 
 from the arm which she showed an intention of 
 putting round my waist, she rewarded me with a 
 smart tap on my shoulder, which, as it had the 
 effect of pushing me nearly upon the wainscoting, 
 severed us effectually. Nevertheless, when we 
 reached her room she insisted upon kissing me ; 
 and, as the girl's good-nature had really a little 
 moved me, I submitted to this ceremony with a 
 good grace, and we parted amicably. 
 
 It was on the next morning that, when Effie and 
 I came down-stairs for luncheon, we found some 
 strangers in the dining-room. They were intro- 
 duced to me as Mr. Wetherall and Captain 
 Carlyon. The first was a young man of about 
 two or three and twenty, slight, delicate, and in- 
 telligent-looking : the other was a year or two 
 older, tall and handsome, with the distiuguished 
 bearing and gentlemanly manner of a soldier. 
 Both were prepossessing in appearance, though
 
 56 RIVERSTON. 
 
 the personal advantages of the two could not with 
 justice be for a moment compared together. 
 
 It struck me, during the conversation that suc- 
 ceeded my entrance, that there was something un- 
 * usual and almost constrained in Helen's tone and 
 
 manner. It was easy to perceive, by her heightened 
 colour and sparkHng eyes, that she was excited by 
 this visit, and that the excitement w^as of a plea- 
 surable description ; but, unless I erred greatly, 
 she was at the same time by no means free from 
 embarrassment. 
 
 By numerous indications I was involuntarily 
 impressed with the feeling that she was adopting 
 a reserve of manner towards Captain Carlyon in 
 the presence of her father and mother, such as she 
 had not shown him in their previous meetings. 
 
 "We must try the sledge to-morrow," Mr. 
 Wetherall had said ; " the frost is setting hard 
 in again." 
 
 It was accordingly settled that, should no 
 second untimely thaw occur, Helen Wynter and 
 the ladies of Clifton should make their first ex- 
 periment in sledging on the following morning.
 
 sympto:matic. 57 
 
 " And suppose that you all come in and take 
 dinner with us on your way home ?" Mr. 
 Wynter said. 
 
 But Mrs. Wynter smiled doubtfully, and Helen 
 laughed outright, and even Mr. Wetherall and 
 Captain Carlyon seemed to be impressed with the 
 impossibility of dining in skating costume ; so with 
 one consent Mr. Wynter's hospitable proposal fell 
 to the ground. 
 
 "Will you come next day, then .^" he asked. 
 " Mrs. Wynter, shall Harry take a message to his 
 father, and ask them all to dine here on Satur- 
 day ?" 
 
 "I hope Captain Carlyon will excuse such an 
 informal invitation," Mrs. Wynter said, turning 
 to him when this second plan was settled. 
 
 " I am only too happy that you are so kind as 
 to dispense with formality," he answered eagerly ; 
 and, with a genuine smile of pleasure on his face, 
 his eyes glanced for an instant, I almost thought 
 involuntarily, towards Helen. 
 
 Slie did not meet his look, but that she was 
 aware of it her conscious face told me plainly, and
 
 58 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 that each read, and read rightlj^ what was in the 
 other's mind I never doubted, then or afterwards. 
 " Effie, I tliink we will go up again to our 
 books/' I saidj and I took the child's hand and 
 went away quietly. I believe the visitors did not 
 stay very much longer. I presently heard the 
 tread of horses on the carriage-drive; but I did 
 not look from the window to see who the riders 
 were. When our lessons were over, EfEe and I 
 put on our bonnets and went out till sunset ; I 
 had only time, after we returned, to arrange my 
 dress before we were summoned to dinner.
 
 Helen's lovers. 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HELEN S LOVERS. 
 
 Although onr company on Saturday, besides 
 the party from Clifton, consisted only of Mr. 
 Beresford and a neighbouring landowner, a Mr. 
 Wilson, we yet mustered as many as fifteen in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 The skating party of the day before had gone off 
 with brilliant success. Helen had come home 
 in wild spirits — flushed, excited, and beautiful ; and 
 when, on this next evening, she and Captain Car- 
 lyon met again at Riverston, it was impossible not 
 to perceive that he was more than ever eprise. Mr. 
 Beresford had not arrived at the time (Captain Car- 
 lyon made his entrance, and I was weak enough to re- 
 j oice that he had not witnessed their meeting. When 
 he did make his appearance they were at some dis-
 
 60 EIVERSTON. 
 
 tance from one another ; and Helen's reception of 
 her lover — though a blush, which I fear bore a 
 different interpretation to him from that it did to 
 me, rose to her cheek as he addressed her — was nei- 
 ther cold nor ungentle. 
 
 Captain Carlyon led her in to dinner. At the 
 first word of the announcement that it was served, 
 he went to her and offered her his arm in a manner 
 whose mingled empressement and familiarity could 
 not be mistaken. That they were not unnoticed 
 by ^Ir. Beresford I had good opportunity for observ- 
 ing ; for he was standing by my side at the moment, 
 and I watched both the direction and the expression 
 of his eye. His look, however, was rather one of 
 smothered pain than either of alarm or surprise, as 
 though — so I guessed — the sight of Helen's flirta- 
 tions was an entertainment to which he was by no 
 means a stranger. Still, that he was far from feel- 
 ing easy beneath such exhibitions, was evident to 
 me when we entered the dining-room — he gave me 
 his arm thither — for no sooner did he perceive 
 where Helen was seated than he pressed towards 
 the opposite side of the table, and had I not inter-
 
 Helen's lovehs. 61 
 
 fered he would quickly have established both himself 
 and me in an eligible position for observing her 
 proceedings. But the anticipation of mounting 
 such a guard over her by no means engaged my 
 fancy, so I stopped the proceeding by resolutely 
 standing still, and saying firmly — 
 
 ^' I don't like sitting with my back to the fire. 
 If you have no objection, I think we shall both find 
 it pleasanter upon this side." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon/' he muttered, and in a 
 moment more I had the satisfaction of finding both 
 him and myself seated on the same side as Helen, 
 with a substantial barrier in the persons of Mr. 
 Wilson and Miss Wetherall between us and her. 
 
 However, as I had disappointed him of his in- 
 tended entertainment, and as I had little doubt 
 that he was secretly chafing — though I took the 
 consciousness of that mildly enough — I was willing 
 to make him what reparation was left in my power, 
 believing indeed, without much hesitation, that I 
 upon this side was able to give him at least as good 
 amusement as he was likely to have got opposite : 
 therefore, as soon as the conversation had fairly
 
 62 RIVERSTO?^. 
 
 commenced around us, partly for his gratification, 
 and partly to satisfy myself, I introduced Helen's 
 name into something that I was saying, and, as I 
 expected, the bait took so well, that before ^yq 
 minutes had gone past I was well assured, by his 
 eager tones and kindling eye, that for the present 
 at least his momentary uneasiness was forgotten. 
 
 Upon the whole, the pain of this dinner was for 
 me rather than for Mr. Beresford. I could not hear 
 all that he said of Helen without feeling sincere 
 pain for him : I could not see with what earnest 
 and absorbed devotion he loved her — devotion so 
 intense and blind, that through it he scarcely seemed 
 to perceive her faults, or, in his humility, to recog- 
 nise how poor and meagre her affection was, 
 without the deepest pity for him. But from this 
 day I never wondered that Helen did not care more 
 for him. His love for her was of a kind for which, 
 even in the midst of my pity, I had no deep sym- 
 pathy. It was for a man too humble, too forbear- 
 ing, too anxious ; in a word, too cowardly. I think 
 that even to Helen, vain as she was, and dearly ag 
 she loved admiration and homage, it must in the
 
 HELEN'S LOVERS. 63 
 
 long run have been a wearying insipid thing to 
 know, that there was no limit to her power over this 
 man— nothing that he would not do for her — no- 
 tliins; that, he would not suffer from her : I believe 
 firmly, that had he shown her less than one half of 
 the devotion that he did — had he made it his part 
 to claim from her, instead of to repudiate, consi- 
 deration for himself — had he even once set himself 
 to bend her wilful spirit into subjection to him, I 
 believe that her affection for him would as certainly 
 have doubled itself as would her honour and re- 
 spect. But he threw himself as a worm beneath 
 her feet, and she was too little generous not to 
 trample on him. 
 
 As I said, the pain of this dinner was more for 
 me than for Mr. Beresford : I was glad when it was 
 over and we were all returned to the drawing- 
 room, thougli there was little there — strangers to 
 me as all the ladies from Clifton were — that w^as 
 likely to prove very entertaining to me ; but it was 
 not much my mood to break my heart, though I 
 might be forced to sit with my lips closed ; so I 
 brought out a bit of flimsy silken work that I kept
 
 64 KIVEESTON. 
 
 for show occasionSj and set myself very contentedly 
 to operate thereon, not much disturbed by any 
 thing that went on around me — for, beset by such 
 a bevy of fair dames, Effie was for the time ahiiost 
 totally removed from my jurisdiction — until, after 
 the lapse of half an hour or so, Helen came tripping 
 up to me, and bending low over my chair — to 
 judge by her gay spirits, she had not lacked good 
 entertainment this evening — she addressed me in 
 a half whisper — • 
 
 " Miss Haig, without disturbing your medita- 
 tions very greatly, may I presume to ask what you 
 think of my heau fiance V 
 
 The tone was flippant, and almost, as I thought, 
 derisive ; there was a strange mixture and contra- 
 diction of expressions, too, in the smile which ac- 
 companied her words, that I liked little enough. 
 I was not inclined to give her a serious answer, so 
 I said shortly — 
 
 " I was not aware that you had one : I thought 
 you were going to marry ^Ir. Beresford." 
 
 "Well!" she exclaimed, with her blue eyes 
 opening upon me, but I went on silently with my
 
 Helen's lovers. 65 
 
 sewing ; so, when she had waited until half-a-dozen 
 more stitches were performed, she broke out again 
 impatiently — 
 
 " What do you mean by saying that you 
 tliouglit I was going to marry Mr. Beresford?" 
 
 " What do you mean by styling a man so 
 plain as Mr. Beresford your ^heau fiance V^' I 
 retorted. 
 
 " Oh ! it is that that you are quarrelling with 
 me aboutj is it .^" she exclaimed, with a momen- 
 tary careless laugh. "But suppose I think him 
 heaur 
 
 ^•'Then you would call him so in a different 
 tone." 
 
 "Well, well, you snappish creature, let his 
 beauty alone!" she cried, with a half-laughing 
 petulance. *^ Can't you have the politeness to tell 
 me something more agreeable about him than that 
 he is hideous ? Is he not good ? Does he not talk 
 sensibly ? " 
 
 "Ay — as sensibly as if he had come out of 
 Bedlam," I said. 
 
 She stared at me for a moment, then, suddenly 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6G RIVEESTOK. 
 
 understanding me, clapped her hands and broke 
 out laughing. 
 
 " Oh, poor Edward ! And what did you say to 
 him ? Did you tell him he was a fool ?" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Not I ;" I said. " I don't give myself trouble 
 to give useless information." 
 
 "And his eloquence has produced no effect ?" 
 
 '' Not the slightest." 
 
 '^ Not altered one bit of your opinion ?'^ 
 
 " Not one iota." 
 
 " And you still think he is too good for me — in 
 spite of all his folly ? " 
 
 " I think his folly is the one thing of all others 
 that you are least worthy of," I said, more sharply 
 than jokingly; and, thinking there had been 
 enough of it, I rose up and turned away. 
 
 She broke into a short unmusical laugh, that 
 was less gay in reality, I thought, than it feigned 
 to be ; and, wheeling round, she caught Miss 
 Wetherall by the shoulders as she stood within a 
 pace of her, and exclaimed in tones of mock suffer- 
 ing—
 
 HELEN'S LOVERS. 67 
 
 " Oh, Gary ! do you see a wound any where ? 
 Miss Haig has been sticking her quills into me. 
 There — don't 2:0 near her ! For all she looks so 
 bewitching, she is the veriest porcupine that ever 
 entered a house. I shall warn every body against 
 her. ^liss Haig, do you hear what I am saying ? 
 I am going to tell every body " she broke off ab- 
 ruptly, '' unless," and she stood musingly looking at 
 me — "After all, I am more than half afraid to make 
 an enemy of you, you prickly thing. What do you 
 say to making it up again ? Are you spiteful ? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 '•' You would not scratch me if I put my hand 
 out.?" 
 
 " I will draw my glove on, if you like." 
 
 " No — I think I will trust you. There, then ! " — 
 and she put her hand out cautiously. 
 
 For a moment, as her fingers closed over mine 
 and our eyes met, the gay, indifferent, insincere 
 expression .of her face gave place to a softer and 
 more earnest look. She hesitated for an instant, 
 and then bent over me, and whispered half laugh- 
 ing—
 
 68 RtVERSTON. 
 
 " I am going to be good — I am indeed, Miss 
 Plaig, some day ! " 
 
 " Why not begin at once ?" I asked. 
 
 " Ah, but it is difficult ! " she exclaimed — " and 
 I hardly know how to do it. I don't know good 
 from bad sometimes, and at some other times" — 
 she paused a moment, and suddenly her eyes swam 
 with tears ; " at some other times I think that per- 
 haps every thing is pre-ordained, and that — that I 
 must just go on as the stream leads me, for it is no 
 use fighting against what is to be," and she looked 
 up again with a half laugh. 
 
 " Exactly ; we are all so many little boats set on 
 a great sea to drift before the wind ! " I said with 
 some irony, for I had little sympathy with senti- 
 mental notions about predestination, even where 
 they were held seriously, and none whatever for 
 such a momentary profession of holding them 
 as I took Helen's confession to be ; but I was 
 happily spared the trouble of any further dis- 
 cussion of the matter, for I had scarcely spoken 
 when the door of communication with the dininsf- 
 room opened, and our feminine party was next
 
 Helen's Lo^TiRs. 69, 
 
 moment dissolved by the entrance of Captain 
 Carljon. 
 
 He was at Helen's side before a minute had 
 gone past, and she turned to him all beautiful 
 with her heightened colour and beaming eyes — she 
 had little thought of predestination then, I fancy ; 
 or, if it did still haunt her mind, I imagine it 
 appeared to her to be by no means a thing to 
 make the tears come into her eyes ; undoubtedly, 
 at any rate, she addressed herself to her fate with 
 most lamb-like resignation. 
 
 " Captain Carlyon, do you see any marks of a 
 combat ?" she began. "I have been engaged in a 
 duel, and have come off desperately wounded — I 
 have not got a weapon left !" — and she held out 
 her empty hands, and looked up to him ruefully. 
 
 ^' Shall I try to win them back ? " he asked 
 gaily. "Who has been your adversary.?" 
 
 " No, no — she has poisoned shafts ! " Helen ex- 
 claimed : '• s]:ie is all quills, and thorns, and sharp 
 edges; you could not touch her but she would run 
 a prick into you. No, no ! I wont have the battle 
 begun again," and she gravely shook her head and
 
 70 KIVEESTON. 
 
 looked very serious, until, glancing up at him, her 
 solemnity abruptly broke down into a little peal of 
 laughter, for a comical expression of perplexity 
 was resting on his face. 
 
 " You don't know what 1 am talking about ! " 
 she exclaimed gaily. "Ah ! well, I am not going to 
 enlighten you ; so don't ask any questions. We 
 have proclaimed a treaty of peace." 
 
 " Oh ! you should have told me that at first,'" he 
 said. " If peace has been agreed to, you know, I 
 must not offer to be your champion." 
 
 *' Ah, very true!" she returned carelessly ; "only 
 you know such strict military honour does not hold 
 amongst women — though indeed," she added 
 laughing, " I am afraid I must not venture to say 
 that either, seeing that the truce was made here 
 Vv'ith Honor itself." 
 
 " And Honor itself means to keep you to it," I 
 said — " for this night at least ; so you had better 
 begin to talk of something else before the tempta- 
 tion to break it gets stronger." 
 
 To what extent Captain Carlyon was enlightened 
 by our conversation, I am not in a position to de-
 
 Helen's lovees. 71 
 
 clare ; to judge by the expression upon his face, 
 it left him hopelessly in the dark ; and the confused 
 smile with which he politely tried to cover his per- 
 plexity, served only, I thought, to throw an expres- 
 sion of silliness into his face, such as nature had 
 not intended it to wear. It was a handsome, open, 
 sensible face at ordinary times — not without a 
 dash of dandyism in it; but yet, in spite of that, 
 honest, and brave, and strong. I liked it : he 
 might have a touch too much of vanity about him, 
 but he was a frank, fine-looking English soldier 
 for all that. 
 
 Helen took my advice, and set herself to talk 
 upon a new subject. There was a gaily bound book, 
 filled with engravings of Shakespeare's heroines, 
 on a table, close to which she seated herself ; its 
 bright binding caught her eye, and, reaching to- 
 wards it, she merrily called to Captain Carlyon to 
 come and let her hear his taste in beauty, and 
 they were soon busy enough over the volume. 
 
 Their critiques amused me not a little. To 
 what extent tliey were either of them perfectly 
 sincere, I was doubtful : I soon perceived that it
 
 72 RIVERSTON. 
 
 was Helen's coquettish pleasure to feign tlie 
 strongest admiration for all such faces as, in com- 
 plexion or cast of features, most decidedly differed 
 from her own ; while Captain Carlyon s gallantry 
 consisted in an entirely opposite choice — in a laud- 
 ation of fair beauties over dark — of sunny eyes 
 and dimpled cheeks over drooping lids and smile- 
 less lips. 
 
 The examination of this book turned out to be 
 a happy thought of Helen's ; for before she and 
 Captain Carlyon had been many minutes engaged 
 over it, the dining-room emptied a second de- 
 tachment of its tenants upon us, two of whom, 
 Mr. Beresford and Mr. Henry Wetherall, making 
 their way very quickly to where Helen sat, without 
 delay installed themselves into the post of addi- 
 tional critics, and the war of tastes went on with 
 renewed activity and eagerness ; while Helen sat in 
 the midst of her little group of admirers, the centre 
 of a mimic court, in which she played her part of 
 mimic queen to the life. 
 
 But to me it was somewhat of a singular ex- 
 hibition ; and as I sat in my quiet place, I looked
 
 HELEN'S LOVERS. 73 
 
 upon the forced smiles on Mr. Beresford's lips, and 
 on the ill-hidden anxiety that clouded both brow 
 and eyes, with a wonder that even in its pity was 
 not altogether free from contempt. 
 
 I grew tired at last of watching and listening. 
 I grew tired of seeing Shakespeare's noble women 
 dragged up one by one to meet the shallow praise 
 or shallower condemnation of this petty conclave ; 
 I patiently listened while, in quick succession, 
 Rosalinds and Celias, Imogens and Portias, Her- 
 raiones and Cordelias, were brought up for judg- 
 ment ; bat when at last they took upon them scorn- 
 fully to fling aside a regal Cleopatra, I began to 
 feel that I had had enough of it. So I gathered 
 up my work, and went in search of another seat. 
 
 The party broke up early, and all took their 
 departure together. I had expected that Mr. 
 Beresford would tarry behind the rest, and, unless 
 I mistake, he would have done so willingly; but it 
 was found, when the others rose to go, that a heavy 
 storm of rain had commenced, and a mile's drench- 
 ing' walk was scarcely to be desired even by a 
 lover ; he was wise enough, therefore, to accept the
 
 74 RIVERSTON. 
 
 offer Mr. Wilson made him, of a seat in his 
 
 carriage. 
 
 He went away in no very joyous spirits. I 
 watched him as he went up to Helen, waiting a 
 few moments with a touching silent pjitience, until 
 some gay farewells with which she was engaged 
 were ended ; then so eagerly seeking to catch her 
 eye, his own expression the while most sadly 
 supplicative ; holding her hand when he had once 
 secured it with a lingering pressure ; trying with 
 wistful earnestness to gain a gentle look or a kind 
 word from her; and repaying the light careless 
 sally, which instead of these she gave to him, with 
 a smile that so sorrowfully strove to be grateful. 
 I watched ail this, and, as I looked, a boding of 
 evil crept coldly over me. The sound of Helen's 
 still laughing voice in the emptied rooms irritated 
 me. When the doors were closed, and the carriage 
 wheels had died away, I made my brief good- 
 nights, and went up- stairs to my own room, glad 
 to shut out the sound of her merriment for »the re- 
 mainder of that night.
 
 MR. BEKESFOKD KEEPS SILENCE. 75 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. BERESFORD KEEPS SILENCE. 
 
 I DO not know whether the excessive intimacy 
 whicli there appeared to be between Helen Wynter 
 and the Wetheralls was or was not a thing of new 
 growth ; but certainly during the succeeding weeks 
 Helen more than half lived at Clifton. Morninar, 
 noon, and night found her there. She honoured ns 
 pretty generally with her company at breakfast ; 
 but, breakfast over, it was rarely that we saw much 
 more of her till night set in : day after day there 
 were skating parties, or riding parties, or excursions, 
 when the sun shone, to this or that place of local 
 note — to a ruin, or a bridge, a hill, or a waterfall ; 
 and day after day she would come home too late 
 for dinner, or more often would not come at all ; 
 and night rides with a gallant escort, a part at
 
 76 RIVERSTON. 
 
 least of whose composition I never found it difficult 
 to guess at, grew more and more common as the 
 mooUj which had been young when I first came to 
 Eiverston, rose nightly higher and fuller. 
 
 " Helen is a great favourite with them all/' gentle 
 Mrs. Wynter w^ould say half deprecatingly to me, 
 more than once, feeling instinctively perhaps — 
 though I gave small expression to my sentiments — 
 that Helen stood in need of some excuse. " And 
 you know, if she is a little too fond of gaiety noAv, 
 she will sober down when she is married, like the 
 rest of us. I was almost as merry as she is once 
 myself;" and she would look up to me with her half 
 anxious smile, seeming, I always thought, as though 
 she were searching wistfully in my face for a con- 
 firmation, Avhich I am afraid she never found. 
 
 Only once did I ever attempt to warn her as to 
 what Helen was doing. It was on a day when, 
 after lessons, Effie and I, walking in the Eiverston 
 grounds, came suddenly at the turning of a path 
 face to face with Helen and Captain Carlyon. 
 They were alone, and it hardly needed the sight of 
 Helen's heightened colour and involuntary start
 
 MR. BERESFORD KEEPS SILENCE. 77 
 
 to assure me how unwelcome our encounter was to 
 her. But, confused though she was for an instant, 
 she rallied her spirits immediately. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Haig, we shall get some information 
 from 7jou^ perhaps ! In the course of your peregri- 
 nations have you seen any trace of mamma ? Cap- 
 tain Carlyon and I are wandering ahout like two 
 stray sheep in search of her." 
 
 "Did you think you should find her hereV I 
 asked. 
 
 The retreating colour came back to Helen's 
 cheek : she knew well enough what I meant : she 
 knew how little her slow saunter along this unfre- 
 quented, mossgrown path looked like a search. She 
 turned my question off with a short, half embar- 
 rassed laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know — she is in the grounds 
 somewhere. We all came out together, and we 
 must have missed her and the others at some 
 turning." 
 
 " Very probably," I said drily ; and, as the case 
 did not seem one to require consolation, I thought 
 it was needless to prolong the interview ; so I took
 
 78 KIVERSTON. 
 
 Effie's hand, and we went on with our walk, and 
 met with no further molestation. 
 
 But in the evening, when Effie had gone to bed, 
 and, Helen being away at Clifton, Mrs. Wynter 
 and I sat together alone, I put a question to 
 her that I had been meditating for sonje time. 
 I asked her whether she knew if Captain Carlyon 
 was aware of Helen's engagement to Mr. Beres- 
 ford. 
 
 She flung a startled, uneasy look upon me as I 
 spoke, and began to answer wdth hurried hesita- 
 tion — 
 
 " Oh yes ! at least, you know, I have never 
 spoken of it ; but no doubt he knows. The 
 Wetheralls would tell him, I am sure. My dear, 
 what makes you ask ?" 
 
 " Because I think Captain Carlyon is allowing 
 himself to become attached to her," I said ; " and 
 because, if she sees this too, it is neither wise nor 
 right of her to throw herself in his way to the 
 extent that she does — unless " 
 
 I hesitated for a moment, half inclined to let 
 my sentence remain unfinished, but she urged me
 
 MR. BERESFORD KEEPS SILENCE, 79 
 
 on with a quick questioning *^ Yes ?" and I con- 
 cluded abruptly — " unless she may really intend to 
 maiTy him." 
 
 ^' To marry Jiim ! — to marry Captain Car] yon !" 
 Mrs. Winter exclaimed with nervous eagerness. 
 " Ohj my dear, she has no thought of such a thing. 
 It is just her way; I know it is very wrong, and 
 she should not do it ; but she is so fond of admi- 
 ration, that you see it carries her away a little 
 sometimes, and she does not think of what she is 
 doing. But, indeed, you must not fancy that there 
 is any thing wrong between her and Edward. She 
 does not like to be found fault with, and she gets a 
 little hasty sometimes with him, I know, but that 
 is it all : you would not believe, perhaps, how much 
 attached to him she really is — and he, poor fellow ! 
 why, Helen is the one thought of his life. Oh no, 
 my dear, I am sure the thouglit of marrying Cap- 
 tain Carlyon has never entered her mind for a 
 moment." 
 
 " Yet might it not be well," I suggested, " both 
 out of consideration for him — as he may not have 
 kept his thoughts in such good order as Miss
 
 80 EIVERSTON. 
 
 Wynter— and also for Mr. Beresford, that she 
 should be a little less at Clifton ?" 
 
 She looked up at me with her face of timid 
 perplexity. 
 
 " How could I manage it ? The Wetheralls 
 would think it so strange ; because, you know, 
 what reason could I give them ? And, Helen 
 herself — how could I get her to agree to it ? She 
 would not — I am quite sure she would not ! Oh, 
 my dear, I think it would do no good to try it. 
 I don't think any harm will come — it will be best 
 to let matters go their own course." 
 
 And assuredly matters did go their own course, 
 with little further hindrance from any one, except, 
 perhaps, a feeble expostulation or supplication 
 now and then from Mr. Beresford, which, like 
 many more good deeds and good intentions, was 
 certainly left to reap, as it best could, its own 
 reward. As much as it was possible, Helen, I per- 
 ceived, avoided him. She feigned to be ignorant 
 of the times when he was coming : she more than 
 once left the house when he was in it : she tried even 
 to conciliate me, that, by keeping me in the room
 
 MR. BERESFORD KEEPS SILENCE. 81 
 
 with her during his visit, she might escape the 
 tt'te-a-tctes that it was clear to me she shrank from. 
 As week after week passed on, I grew more and 
 more certain that she felt his presence as a con- 
 stant pain. She could not command her spirits 
 before him : uneasy, restless — her gaiety was forced 
 and unnatural ; lier sunny temper became uncer- 
 tain and sullen ; if she tried passively to submit 
 to his expressions of affection, she quickly grew^ 
 feverishly irritable; if she began by showing her 
 impatience, the scene sometimes closed in a fit of 
 remorse — once even in a passionate outbreak of 
 tears. They were both miserably unhappy whenever 
 they met, and yet Helen would listen to no en- 
 treaties for explanation ; there was nothing, she 
 persisted, to be explained — she could not hel[) 
 what Mr. Beresford chose to fancy. And slie 
 would leave him with her lip trembling nervously, 
 and a dark shadow in her eyes, to reappear per- 
 haps in half an hour in another scene, as gaily 
 decked in sunny smiles as though no tear had 
 ever dimmed her eye, or no cloud ever darkened 
 on her heart. 
 
 VOL. L o
 
 82 RIVERSTON. 
 
 But to Mr. Beresford there came no April 
 changes like these. Day by day the shadow upon 
 Ms face slowly but surely deepened : I could trace 
 the growing of the lines upon it — the darkening 
 of the eye — the thinning of the cheek — the settling 
 into it of the weary look of constant pain. He 
 made few complaints, I believe, even to Helen — 
 none to any one beside her : he was weak, and he suf- 
 fered with the inactive despondency of weakness : 
 her love was like his heart's blood to him, and yet 
 he seemed unable, even when every hour cried to 
 him that he w^as losing it, to rouse himself to one 
 vigorous effort : a feeble clinging to the hope that 
 her auection would return when she was left alone 
 with him again was the whole support he rested 
 on ; for even he, like Mrs. Wynter, through all and 
 in spite of all, persisted in believing that if Cap- 
 tain Carlyon was away all would be well — blinding 
 themselves to the fact, which to me was as clear 
 as dayhght, that Helen was not JiiHing with 
 Captain Carlyon, but in love with him. 
 
 The party at Clifton had long broken up, but 
 still Captain Carlyon stayed. Nearly six weeks
 
 MR. BEEESFORD KEEPS SILENCE. 83 
 
 had elapsed since my arrival, when one morn- 
 ing Effie gleefully hurst into the schoolroom, to 
 announce to me that the coming Thursday would 
 be Helen's twenty-first birthday, and that, in order 
 to celebrate her coming of age, her mother had 
 agreed to "ive a ball at Riverston.
 
 84 RIVEESTON. 
 
 OHAPT:h:R VII. 
 
 COMING OF AGE. 
 
 I SHALL not soon forget the brilliancy of that 
 Thursday evening. 
 
 Clear, frosty, and beautiful, the night closed in. 
 It was starlight such as we only see in winter — 
 starlight, that seems as if the stars had left the in- 
 finite distance of their spheres to lean down lov- 
 ingly in their unveiled glory towards our world, 
 making all heaven brilliant with their fires, and 
 all earth beautiful beneath their light. There 
 was a sprinkling of new-fallen snow hiding the 
 ground, and lying cold and white on leafless trees, 
 and delicately edging the dark green of laurel 
 leaves ; it lay upon them unstirred by any breath 
 of wind, for the night was stiller than a summer 
 evening — still as only winter death and winter
 
 COMING OF AGE. 85 
 
 frost coukl make ifc. As I stood looking forth 
 upon it from my window, a wild fancy came 
 to me, that the wide grounds of Riverston looked 
 like a corpse lying within a new-made shroud, 
 with the canopy of stars burning a silent watch 
 above it. 
 
 But if the night was still without, within tho 
 bouse there was no lack of life or motion. From 
 roof to basement, Riverston was that evening 
 one blaze of light — one unbroken arena for busy 
 preparation and gleeful merriment. All day wo 
 had found no rest for the soles of our feet, in din- 
 ing or breakfast or drawing room ; Mr. Wynter 
 had been imprisoned within the sanctum that was 
 styled his study ; I was condemned to wear out 
 the long hours within the confines of the school- 
 room, until, rebelling, I forced my way into un- 
 known lower regions, and constituted myself one of 
 the genii of the hour ; as for Mrs. Wynter — for 
 Helen — for Effie — throughout that day they bore 
 an omnipresent life. 
 
 It was a day of chaos and confusion worse con- 
 founded, until, when disruption had reacliod its
 
 8Q RIVERSTON". 
 
 climax, light at last broke upon our darkness ; 
 the jarring elements grew harmonized, order 
 worked itself out of disorder, and when at last the 
 winter's night lighted its stars, Kiverston too 
 blazed out in all the glory of its fresli-decked 
 splendour, glittering with waxen lights, and bril- 
 liant flowers, and gilded ornaments — a fairy scene 
 of bright enchantment that has left a mark upon 
 my memory. 
 
 We kept country hours ; by nine o'clock the 
 rooms were nearly full, the music had begun to 
 play, and all was active preparation for the 
 night's enjoyment. 
 
 I knew few of those who were there, and I was 
 content — perhaps more than content — to remain 
 in my obscurity, less a participator than a spec- 
 tator of the evening's festivities. But fortunately 
 my example had few imitators. The dancing 
 commenced solemnly, as English dancing always 
 does ; but, the ice once broken by a couple of 
 quadrilles, the right spirit began rapidly to assert 
 itself, and before little more than an hour had 
 passed the large drawing-room was as busy a
 
 COMING OF AGE. 87 
 
 scene of joyous and brilliant gaiety as the greatest, 
 ball-lover misjbt desire to see. 
 
 It was undoubtedly a merry evening ; and 
 gayest amongst the gay, and foirest amongst the 
 fliir, was Helen Wynter. Even in my eyes — not 
 blinded certainly by partiality — so beaming as 
 she was with pleasure, so flushed with triumph, 
 she bore away the palm from all others who 
 were there. I had seen her very lovely and bril- 
 liant at moments before; I have seen a higher 
 beauty in her since ; but never before or after, 
 by day or night, have I ever seen her wear the 
 look again, that, even in the midst of all her 
 wildest and most reckless folly, she never that 
 evening except for a few passing moments ceased 
 to wear. 
 
 It was late before we saw any thing of Mr. 
 Beresford ; and when at last he came, the quiet 
 figure, threading its slow way through tlie gay 
 throng, attracted little attention from any one. 
 Helen certaiiily did not even see him. Con- 
 spicuous in the midst of the dancers as he entered, 
 she and Captain Carlyon — he in full military uni-
 
 88 RIVERSTOX. 
 
 form — were figuring in a country clance : they, 
 two, by their gay merriment and laughter, as they 
 indefatigably exerted themselves to tire out every 
 other couple engaged in the dance with them, 
 drawing upon them the attention of one half of 
 the whole company. It was not an inspiriting 
 vision to greet Mr. Beresford's entrance, 
 
 " You are a tardy guest," I said to him, as he 
 came, less by seeking than chance, towards me. 
 " Do you not know that Riverston flung her gates 
 open two hours ago ?'' 
 
 " I am afraid I am an uncon2:enial gruest as well 
 as a tardy one/' he answered, with one of the 
 flickering smiles in which it was liis distressing 
 habit to indulge. " We, who are no dancers, feel 
 somewhat out of place in a scene like this." 
 
 He was forced to turn his back upon the dancers 
 while he spoke to me, for T was facing them, and 
 there was no room for him by my side. As his 
 position thus shielded him from the sight of Helen, 
 I determined to detain him there until the dance 
 was ended ; for I never could see any especial wis- 
 dom in preparing either man or woman for one
 
 COMING OF AGE. 89 
 
 gi'eat wound by a preliminaiy process of general 
 puncturing. 
 
 Helen and ber partner bad gained tbeir sougbt 
 for victory, and now, gaily talking and laugbing, 
 tbey began to promenade around tbe room. I 
 gave Mr. Beresford bis freedom, finding bis atten- 
 tion bopelessly gone from me, and we both watcb- 
 ed tbeir progress in silence. She passed in ber 
 first round witliin a step of us — and went by and 
 never saw him. Tbe second circuit tbat tbey 
 made tbey were talking- less eagerly, and, before 
 tbey bad reacbed wbere Mr. Beresford stood, tbey 
 botb perceived bim. Helen made a movement 
 to turn aside, and, burriedly calling up a smile, put 
 out ber band — 
 
 *' Wben did you come ? We bad almost given 
 up expecting you," sbe said. 
 
 ^' I liave only been bere a few minutes," be an- 
 swered. 
 
 *' You were too much alarmed at tbe tbougbt of 
 sucb a Babel to come at a decent bour like otber 
 folk, I suppose .?" sbe exclaimed laugbing. " Well, 
 if you don't intend to dance, I do pity you."
 
 90 ETVEESTON. 
 
 " And, if yoi(, intend to dance all niglit as yon 
 have begun, I pity you much more," I said half 
 jestingly. " If you have any thing mortal about 
 you, you must be longing to sit down." 
 
 "Yes, if I could find Miss Wynter a seat"— 
 Captain Carlyon began, looking round as if with 
 the intention of movino^ onwards. 
 
 " Miss Wynter may have my chair," I said, and 
 I rose up and made Helen take it ; ^- 1 am going 
 away." And I withdrew to another part of the 
 room, and left Helen with her two wooers : she 
 was quite capable of managing them both. 
 
 It was nearing twelve o' clock, and Effie's eyes 
 were growing heavy. 
 
 " I think we must send her away," Mrs. Wynter 
 said to me : " we can't have her up at supper. My 
 dear, would you kindly tell her that she must go .?" 
 
 I went therefore to her with this sentence of 
 banishment ; but, despite of sleepy eyes, I found 
 that she was not very eager to depart. 
 
 " There is nobody to go with me. Miss Haig. 
 Eliza is busy in the kitchen : I know she is ; so I 
 must sit up."
 
 COMING OF AGE. 91 
 
 " You must do nothing of the sort, Effie ! Come 
 away with me, and we will see if I cant get you 
 to bed as well as Eliza." 
 
 AVith a little murmuring, which the temptation 
 of a new nurse somew4iat mitigated, she prepared 
 to come with me. But our passage to the door w-as 
 slow enough, for they were in the middle of a waltz, 
 and all who were not dancing were confined to so 
 deplorably small a space around the walls, that 
 movement through their close masses, or even 
 upon the skirt of them, was not easy. As we 
 laboriously crept along, more than once the united 
 figures of Helen and Captain Carlyon swept past 
 us with a sort of flashing brightness, her light feet, 
 as his arm held her, scarcely more than touching 
 the ground, her whole face brilliant, and even her 
 voice, as its tones now and then reached us, all 
 musical with happiness. 
 
 Just as we reached the door she drew back from 
 the circle for a few moments' breathing, and 
 suddenly perceived us. 
 
 " Oh, Effie ! you poor victim, are you going off .^" 
 she exclaimed.
 
 92 RIVERSTON. 
 
 " Is Miss Effie so soon tired of dancing ?" 
 Captain Carlyon asked. 
 
 " No, I am not tired, but Miss Haig says I am 
 to go," Effie replied rather ruefully. 
 
 " Miss Haig is a tyrant, and I would not mind 
 her if I were you, Effie. I would never be ruled 
 by a despot ! '' Helen exclaimed, with reckless mer- 
 riment. 
 
 "Those who are not under despotic sway find 
 defiance a very easy thing," I said laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! you think if I was in Effie's place you 
 would break my spirit .^" she asked quickly. 
 
 " I would break something about you, or we 
 would not stay loug together." 
 
 She made no answer except to fling out a defiant, 
 mocking laugh, and, turning away, in another 
 moment she and Captain Carlyon were again in 
 the midst of the whirl of waltzers. 
 
 " How often Nelly and Captain Carlyon dance 
 together ! " Effie innocently said, as she lingered to 
 take a final gaze. 
 
 " Good dancers generally pair together," I an- 
 swered, and Effie's curiosity was satisfied.
 
 COMIXG OF AGE. 93 
 
 "We accomplished our exit, and, betaldng our- 
 selves up-stairs to Effie's little room, I put my child 
 to bed, and then watched by her pillow till she fell 
 asleep — not a long vigil, for the tired eyes were 
 ready enough to close. She was sleeping peaceably 
 and soundly, with the dark lashes lying heavily on 
 her still beautifully flushed cheek, when, as the hall 
 clock was striking the second quarter after twelve, 
 I softly stole from her room, and began to retrace 
 my steps across the gallery. 
 
 A busy hum of many sounds rose on my ears as 
 I passed onwards ; voices and music, and the 
 deadened footfalls of the dancers, all reached me in 
 an entangled buzz and murmur through the closed 
 doors ; but nearer than these, and not mingling 
 with them, one distinct sound came suddenly 
 towards me — the eclio of an imperious, hurried 
 footstep on the stairs. It approached with hasty, 
 irregular impatience : I had scarcely descended 
 two or three steps when I came face to face with 
 Helen Wynter. 
 
 But what had come over her ? Her eyes shot 
 out defiance, her cheek was dabbled with wet tears,
 
 94 mVERSTON. 
 
 her lips were tremulous with anger, her whole 
 face was flushed and disfigured by the thraldom 
 of some great emotion. She swept by me, and 
 would have passed without a word; but, as it hap- 
 pened, in her haste to proceed she entangled herself 
 suddenly in my dress, and, stumbling upon it, was 
 caught and forced against her will to pause a 
 moment. 
 
 I did not speak, but left her — though I suffered 
 by it — to disengage herself without my help : she 
 only opened her lips as she stooped down to mutter 
 something which might certainly have been an 
 apology, though to my ears it seemed to savour 
 more of the tone of an execration ; then im- 
 patiently freeing herself she darted from me, 
 without another word or look — and I was left to 
 work out of this vision what theory I chose. 
 
 My dress was so torn, that without some patch- 
 ing of it I could scarcely reappear amongst the 
 dancers. Helen, however, had a work-table in the 
 breakfast-room, and concluding that that apart- 
 ment would probably be vacant — for it had been 
 used as the coffee-room in the early part of the
 
 COMING OF AGE. 95 
 
 evening, and as far as I knew had been iinocciipiod 
 since — I bent my steps thither. 
 
 But I was deceived in my expectations. The 
 room appeared as silent as I could desire when I 
 first opened the door ; but I had scarcely crossed 
 the threshold when a head started suddenly erect 
 from the table, and Mr. Beresford's face, pale even 
 to ghastliness, confronted me. 
 
 He rose up, stammering some unintelligible 
 apology. How it was that I did not at once retreat 
 I hardly know : I was the intruder, and had no 
 right, when I saw his condition, to force my com- 
 pany upon him; but there was so much of the 
 weakness of a woman in him, that I always felt 
 instinctively that he was not fit, like other men, to 
 bear and struggle with his griefs alone; and it was 
 probably this feeling now — for I neither reasoned 
 the matter nor paused to consider — that made me, 
 instead of retiring from the room, quietly advance 
 to fulfil the intention with which I had entered 
 it. 
 
 I brought a candle to the work-table, and, taking 
 out needle and_ thread, prepared to commence my
 
 96 RIVERSTOX. 
 
 mending — for tlie rent that Helen had made was 
 only in an outer net skirt that I wore. 
 
 Mr. Beresford remained standing in the place 
 whence he had risen on my entrance, one hand 
 nervously leaning on the table, his eyes wandering 
 restlessly, as though he was uncertain where to 
 go, his face still wearing the same livid pallor, 
 the same stricken look of anguish, as when it first 
 was raised towards me. 
 
 I said to him abruptly — 
 
 " Miss Wynter tore my gown just now — look 
 what a rent her foot has made." 
 
 " Miss Wynter ! — where did you see her ? " he 
 exclaimed, turning towards me with suddenly 
 av\^akened eagerness. 
 
 " I met her on the stairs : she was going to her 
 own room, I suppose," I said. 
 
 He had come close to me ; I raised my eyes to- 
 wards hitn as I spoke, but my look was met by one 
 of such passionate dumb inquiry that I shrank 
 from it, knowing I had nothing to tell him that 
 could give relief or comfort. 
 
 Almost a minute passed in silence : he did not
 
 COMING OF AGE. 97 
 
 stir from my side, but I went on with my work 
 and did not raise my head again, until at last, 
 slowly and hesitatingly, he asked me — 
 
 " Did she say — I mean, did she stop to speak to 
 
 you ? '' 
 
 " She stopped to get her foot out of my dress,'' 
 I said, " and she spoke — but what she said I could 
 neither hear nor understand/' 
 
 *^ Good God ! was she so agitated ? " he cried, 
 his own white face working with emotion. 
 
 " I do not think it was agitation, Mr. Beresford," 
 I replied bluntly ; " what I saw in her was 
 far more like impatience and anger." 
 
 He gave a low groan of pain, and, turning from 
 me, began to pace the room, his head stooping upon 
 his breast, his chest heaving with deep-drawn 
 breaths, that broke from him almost with the 
 weight of sobs. I did not look at him: I bent 
 ray head before the wrestling of that agony, as I 
 would have closed my ears, had I had the power 
 to do it, to its stifled moans. 
 
 Our silence lasted for several minutes : it was 
 broken at last by his sudden return to where I sat. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 illVERSTON. 
 
 " Miss Haig," he burst forth, " you must bring 
 Helen back ! I want to see her again. I must 
 see her before I go. You can make her come — 
 will you go and look for her .?" 
 
 He spoke in sharp, abrupt sentences ; but his 
 intense and agonized eagerness clothed the bald 
 words with a glow of passion. 
 
 " Will you go and look for her ?" he repeated. 
 
 " Not till I am more persuaded of the service it 
 w^ould be to you to bring her/' I said. "Mr. 
 Beresford, take my advice, and do not seek Helen 
 again to-night : she is in no mood to make good 
 come of it." 
 
 " But I only want her for one moment ! " he 
 l)leaded with the same impassioned earnestness. 
 ^' You do not understand : we parted angrily just 
 now— she said something that she did not mean — 
 I only want her to unsay this — one w^ord would do 
 it — one instant, if she would come." 
 
 " Then let her unsay it to-morrow," I said. 
 
 " To-morrow will not do !" he cried ; *^ it must 
 be to-night — to-night ! Miss Haig, I tell you, I 
 cannot wait until to-morrow !"
 
 COMING OF AGE. 9^ 
 
 His eyes flashed with a wild fire, his colourless 
 cheek was spotted with a stain of crimson ; there 
 were fall veins like tight-drawn cords upon his 
 hrow, and on the clenched hand that he struck 
 upon the table by me. 
 
 I was little inclined to work him to a higher 
 pitch of passion : I made no further attempt to 
 reason with him, but, striving to add as little as 
 possible to his excitement, I asked him coldly — 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? Will it be 
 enough if I bring you a message from her ?" 
 
 He looked up to me with a hesitating suspicion, 
 which, in spite of the wrong it did me, touched my 
 heart with pity. I interrupted the words that 
 were rising to his lips, that I might answer it 
 before he spoke. 
 
 '• You need not fear to trust me/' I said ; " I 
 will Ijring no false message. You shall have what 
 Helen says, be it what it may." 
 
 " I believe you — thank you \" he said, eagerly. 
 " But oh ! Miss Haig," he cried passionately ; " if 
 she will come to me, do not only cheat me with a 
 message. Ask her first to come — tell her I ask
 
 100 RIVERSTON. 
 
 her, for tlie sake of all my love : and if you bring 
 her," he abruptly added, " or if you but bring one 
 word of kindness from her — God for ever bless 
 you!" 
 
 He grasped both my hands in his, and wrung 
 them together : I bore the pain silently, and, when 
 his convulsive pressure loosened from them, with- 
 out any further delay I set out on my strange 
 errand.
 
 AFTER SUPPEE. lOl 
 
 CHAPTER yilL 
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 
 
 I RETUACED my way up-stairs ; musing upon 
 this matter, I bent my steps towards Helen's room, 
 but when I reached it, I found the door wide open, 
 and no trace of her within. I sought her with 
 equal success within the school-room ; then, con- 
 cluding that she must have masked her emotion 
 with greater expedition than I had thought was 
 possible, I again descended, hoping to find her 
 in the drawing-room. But the drawing-room was 
 half emptied of its guests when I entered it ; one 
 portion of the company I found had adjourned to 
 supper, and amongst the number that remained 
 Helen was not. 
 
 I addressed myself to one of the Misses Wetherall 
 who happened to be seated near the door.
 
 102 RIVEESTON. 
 
 r 
 
 " I am looking for Miss Wynter ; can you tell 
 me if she is in the dining-room ? " 
 
 " Helen ? oh, yes ! she went in just now with 
 Captain Carlyon. I don't know where she was 
 when ivG had supper, but she re-appeared a few 
 minutes ago, and they went in together." 
 
 I returned to give this information to Mr. 
 Beresford, for I could not pursue Helen to the 
 supper table. I found him still, as I re-entered 
 the room, continuing his perturbed walk to and 
 fro, but it ceased as soon as he perceived me, 
 and before 1 could speak he was facing me, and 
 bursting into his eager, almost reproachful, excla- 
 mation — 
 
 '* You have not brought her ! " 
 
 " I have not even seen her," I said. " I came 
 back to tell you that you must have patience for a 
 little while, for it may be half an hour before I 
 shall be able to speak to her." 
 
 " Will she not admit you ? Will she not open 
 her door .?* " he demanded hurriedly. 
 
 I would have spared him if I could, but he 
 forced the truth from me.
 
 AFTER SUPPEK. 103 
 
 " She is not in her room, Mr. Bercsfor J ; she 
 has come clown-stairs again." 
 
 He said nothing as I spoke, but the spasm of 
 pain that flashed across his face was pitiful, Theie 
 was a moment's silence : then he asked faintly— 
 
 " Is she dancing ? " 
 
 ^' No," I said ; " she is in the dining-room." 
 
 His eyes shot out one gleam of their weary sor- 
 row upon me ; then he turned from me without a 
 word. I waited till his slow walk brought him 
 back to where I stood ; then I said to him firmly — 
 
 " Mr. Beresford, despair never helped man or 
 woman in this world." 
 
 He looked up to my face with a wild start ; he 
 did not answer me for a moment, then he broke 
 forth passionately — 
 
 " It never helped them — no ! but when they are 
 on the brink of losing their whole earth's treasure, 
 what can they do but despair ? " 
 
 " They can fight and conquer," I said, " as thou- 
 sands are doing, and tens of thousands have 
 
 done." 
 
 * 
 
 " Not in the first hour," he said rapidly — " not
 
 104 PJVERSTOX. 
 
 wlien tlie blow is but half struck — when the hope 
 is but half dead ! " 
 
 " Will certainty give you strength, then ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 There came no answer ; I saw that from such 
 an examination his very soul shrank. As I spoke 
 his lips parted in a convulsive shiver, his breath 
 sank back ; he raised one look of deprecating 
 anguish towards me — then turned away, with his 
 head bowed down upon his hands. 
 
 " Canst thou drink of this cup V Solemn words 
 fcame stealing over me ; solemn thoughts of 07ie 
 unutterable suffering, when earthly agony broke 
 in sweat as drops of blood, and yet the prayer 
 was. " Not my will be done." And this was a 
 minister of God ! and with that cup of earth- 
 renunciation barely on his lips, the cry that tore 
 liis soul was that he could not drink it ! But I 
 held my peace : whatever his weakness was, 
 assuredly my part was not to rebuke him. 
 
 I went away, and waited in the drawing-room 
 for Helen's coming. A dance was in progress, 
 and those who were not engaged in it were gathered
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 105 
 
 round the room in groups : I took my seat in a 
 vacant and lialf-liiddcn cornei'j and was grateful 
 for the solitude in which I was left. 
 
 The time passed slowly enough, but at length 
 tlie door of communication opened, and, as the 
 brilliant troop flocked in, their merry buzz of 
 entrance for a moment half drowned our music. 
 And there, in the midst of them, was Helen 
 Wynter, without a trace remaining in her of her 
 stormy anger — without the crease of one frown on 
 her white brow — without one trace upon her 
 laughing hps of the sullen pride that had so 
 lately swollen and distorted them. God have 
 pity on that other's weakness ! — for I knew, as I 
 looked at her, that the blow was not lialf^ but 
 toholhj and without hope, fallen. 
 
 My errand was nevertheless still to be done, so 
 I began to wind my way through the throng 
 towards where she stood ; but before I was half 
 way towards her she was abruptly carried off by 
 Henry Wetherall, to join a set of quadrilles that 
 was forming. I was vexed at my ill fortune — 
 but doubly so when, again at the end of the dance,
 
 106 RIVEESTOX. 
 
 I missed her ; for I had taken up my position by 
 the door, meaning to arrest her as she promenaded 
 round the room, and it so chanced that she never 
 once crossed the spot where I stood ; for the music 
 striking up again as she stood amongst a Uttle 
 group of talkers, Captain Carlyon came quickly 
 up to her, and claimed her hand, and before an 
 interposition was possible she was whirling with 
 him round the room. 
 
 I was beginning to lose patience, and, without 
 waiting for the termination of this second dance, 
 I began to endeavour, as she flew past me, to attract 
 her attention. And in this I indeed found it not 
 difficult to succeed ; but unfortunately, when accom- 
 plished, it brought me very little nearer to my end, 
 for to all my signs she only laughingly shook her 
 head, protesting in dumb motion that she could 
 not come to me. Still I chose to persevere, and I 
 beckoned to her, till at last, tired out by my perti- 
 nacity, she allowed herself to be beaten from her 
 opposition. 
 
 She fell back from the circle, and leaving Cap- 
 tain Carlyon with a shrug of the shoulders, to
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 107 
 
 wliich he seemed to make a sympathetic response, 
 she came towards me, following after me as I re- 
 treated further into the empty hall. 
 
 " Well, witch ! " she exclaimed, '^ what are you 
 weaving your spells about now ? Can t you take 
 a human way of calling me, instead of beckoning 
 at me in that ghostly fashion, until you begin to 
 make my blood curdle ?" 
 
 '^ I am forced to take the only fashion I can 
 lay hold of," I said. " I have been waiting to speak 
 to you till I am thoroughly tired ; come back here, 
 I have a message for you." 
 
 " A message, have you ? Well, who sends it ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 She spoke with an affectation of perfect careless- 
 ness ; but, as she glanced up, a half-uneasy suspicion 
 dawned in her eyes, belying the coolness of her 
 tone. 
 
 " Mr. Beresford," I said. 
 
 Her whole manner chan2:ed in an instant. There 
 was no more affectation of indifference ; she flung 
 up her head, and lier eyes flashed out a suddeu 
 blaze of pride.
 
 108 RIVEESTON. 
 
 " And may I ask how Mr. Beresford comes to 
 make you liis messenger ? " slie demanded with the 
 coldest haughtiness. 
 
 " Simply because I chanced to come in his way/' 
 I said quietly. " You had better let that matter 
 alone, and attend to the message that I have brought 
 from him." 
 
 " I will attend to no message ! " she cried impe- 
 tuously. " I have heard ten times more from him 
 already then I want to hear, and he has had my 
 answer : he can want no more from me." 
 
 The lowering flush had risen to her brow ; with 
 a swift motion she tried to escape from me, but I 
 was on the watch and caught her arm. 
 
 '' Stand still : you are not going ! " I said. ^^ I 
 promised Mr. Beresford to give you his message, 
 and you shall stay until you have heard it. He 
 wants you to return and speak to him — will 
 you go ? " 
 
 She burst into a bitter disdainful laugh. 
 
 " I look as if I wanted another scene with him, 
 do I not ? " she exclaimed mockingly, and she 
 struggled to free herself from my grasp by a
 
 AFTER SUPrER. 109 
 
 sudden wrench, but my liand held her wrist 
 firmly. 
 
 " I don't want you to go," I said. " You would 
 give him little consolation I think if you did." 
 
 "What do you want then?'"' she cried vehe- 
 mently. " What are you keeping me here for ? " 
 
 " Because I have something you can grant more 
 easily to ask from you. Helen Wynter, listen to 
 me for a few moments. You have said something 
 to-night to ^Ir. Beresford that has half-maddened 
 him : so far as I can understand, you have told 
 him a bitter truth in most bitter and cruel words. 
 Will you soften these ? Will you send him some 
 message through me, by which he may comfort 
 himself with the thought that you have some 
 compassion for the misery you have thrust upon 
 him — that you are not altogether so heartless and 
 hardened as you seem ? " 
 
 I saw the anger that was flashing through her 
 eyes ; I felt, as I held her, how she writhed in her 
 feverish and angry impatience. 
 
 " So this is what I get," she broke out, '^ for 
 having been idiot enough to make myself wretched
 
 110 RIVERSTON. 
 
 for months past in trying to play the hypocrite 
 before him ? It was because I was so hardened and 
 heartless, was it, that day after day, and week after 
 week, as you know well, I delayed and shrank back 
 from saying this thing that he has /orcec? me at last 
 to say to him to-night ? It was because I had no 
 compassion for his misery? because I liked the 
 feeling of going about the world as a liar ? Let 
 me go, Miss Haig ! You shall not keep me here 
 to listen to your insults ! " and she struggled with 
 me again. 
 
 " I have httle desire to insult you," I said. " I 
 am not meddling with the past ; it is for what you 
 have done and are doing to-night that I call you 
 heartless." 
 
 '^ For what I have done to-night ! For my 
 having broken loose from the falsehood I was act- 
 ing — is thai what you mean ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Helen Wynter, don't act a falsehood, now ! " I 
 said, impatiently. 
 
 There was a moment's silence between us. An 
 almost tigerish glitter was in her eyes : we stood 
 nearly facing each other ; she was much taller and
 
 AFTER SUPPEK. HI 
 
 perhaps stronger than I, but my fingers had closed 
 round her wrist with a gripe that she could not 
 shake off. 
 
 " Do you mean to let me go ? " she said. 
 
 The tone was smothered and threatening ; I 
 knew too surely that no good would come of it, 
 but I made one other effort in Mr. Beresford's 
 behalf. 
 
 " You have given me no answer yet. Will you 
 send such a message as I ask to Mr. Beresford.?" 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 The storm was rising ; my own blood was grow- 
 ing hot, but I kept my indignation down, and even 
 tried to soften my manner and the tone of my 
 voice to conciliate her — 
 
 " I may have spoken to you too harshly ; if I 
 have, give me some proof that I was wrong. 
 You were angry when you spoke to Mr. Beresford ; 
 give me something to say to him — one word of 
 pity or kindness will be enough, and I will ask 
 your pardon." 
 
 " I am not a child to be coaxed by soft speeches," 
 she cried " You shall have no word from me. If
 
 112 mVERSTON. 
 
 I re2:retted what I have said to Edward Beresford 
 a thousand times, you should never be the mediator 
 between us. Once more. Miss Haig, will you let 
 me go ? " 
 
 I flung her arm from me. " Yes — for I am well- 
 nigh weary of you." 
 
 I fell back from her — I left her free to go back 
 to that wild waltz — or to whatever else she chose 
 — and she was going ; she had turned and taken 
 one swift step, when suddenly, hard as she was, 
 she stopped again, for a whisper struck upon her 
 ear — a struggling utterance of her name, freezing 
 the very air w^ith its wild agony of wretchedness. 
 She stood arrested by its passionate cry — not 
 willingly, but awed against herself by its great 
 misery. Before she could regain her self-command, 
 Mr. Beresford had sprung forward to her side ; he 
 had seized her hand in both of his ; their eyes had 
 met in one full gaze. He was flushed, and his lips 
 were parted and his 'eyes bright with eagerness, 
 and something which, however faint, had still a 
 fellowship with hope. The miserable dejection, the 
 livid anguish, were past ; there was nothiDg in the
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 113 
 
 feverish excitement of his look now to move a 
 beholder to any unusual pity. And Helen was not 
 moved. 
 
 " Give me only one moment I " he panted. " Helen, 
 I am only going to make one prayer to-night — you 
 know what it is. I only ask that one denial from 
 you now — for mercy's sake, tell me I may forget 
 those words ! Helen — Helen — let me hear you say 
 that the past has not been all a mockery ! " 
 
 He paused for her answer ; I do not think that 
 she was moved by pity, but there was a tremor on 
 her lips as she opened them, that seemed to hold 
 the words back for a moment. When she did 
 speak, her voice, vehement though it was, was tone- 
 less. 
 
 " I have nothing to deny," she said. " Do you 
 loth want io force me into lying ? " 
 
 " It would not be a lie !" he pleaded passionately. 
 '' Helen — think — remember ! long ago, when you 
 gave me your promise first — Oh — Helen, remem- 
 ber ! it was love tlien I " 
 
 " It was not ! " she cried, fiercely — she was like 
 a wild animal at bay. 
 
 vol.. L I
 
 114 KIVERSTON. 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 The voice was not a cry, but a whisper cold as 
 ice with despair. As though its frozen breath had 
 crept over her, she stood motionless and silent, with 
 her wild passion all stilled before him. It was the 
 last appeal ; his final words fell from him, hollow- 
 toned and passionless — 
 
 ^' I have received my answer. It has all been 
 a delusion from first to last ! " 
 
 She bowed her head ; slowly and without a word 
 he turned from her, like one struck with death. I 
 saw his face for a moment — haggard as though he 
 w^as an old man stooping to his grave ; a second 
 more, and he had passed me, and fled forth with 
 head uncovered into the winter's night. 
 
 She stood where he had left her, a wandering 
 look, half of alarm, half of irresolution, in her eyes ; 
 I do not know what she might have said or done — 
 that hesitating tremor of remorse might possibly 
 have brought forth some fruits — but it was crushed 
 in the first weak movement of its birth. There 
 came suddenly a merry call for her — 
 
 " Helen, Helen ! what on earth are you about ?
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 115 
 
 Don t you hear they are playing the Lancers — and 
 here is Mr. Gordon disconsolate because he can't 
 find you ! " and, with a gentleman following at her 
 heelsj Caroline Wetherall burst from the dancing- 
 room upon us. 
 
 Helen turned lightly round, and never on a 
 human face did I see a quicker transformation. 
 All fear, all anger, all emotion, were swept away 
 from it ; she faced Miss Wetherall with a lip 
 wreathed with smiles — with a brow as smooth, and 
 calm, and open, as though no storm of wrath had 
 ever hung upon it. 
 
 " I will make Mr. Gordon fifty apologies, if he 
 wants them ! " she exclaimed ; "though, indeed, I am 
 sure he would excuse me if he knew the durance 
 vile in which I have been kept out here — absolute 
 bodily imprisonment !" and she joined them v/ith 
 a gay laugh, replying to their joking inquiries with 
 some mocking nonsense, in which, as she tripped 
 away, I could hear my own name playing a part. 
 
 Perhaps her gaiety was feigned then — I believe 
 it was ; but the mask soon lost its falseness. The 
 ball was at its gayest as she rejoined it : the lights
 
 116 RIVERSTON". 
 
 seemed to burn with an increased blaze of brilliancy; 
 tlie music swelled into still merrier and louder 
 strains ; the laughter and the gaietj^ were at their 
 height ; and it could scarcely be that; in the midst 
 of such a scene, and finding herself, wheresoever she 
 went throughout the room, the chosen star and 
 queen, Helen should let that one dark blotch upon 
 her merriment stain the whole of the night's bright- 
 ness to hei*. 
 
 Yet I do not think that she forgot it. The 
 gaiety to which she rose was not the light-hearted 
 joy of the hours that were past ; but it became an 
 intoxication — an unnatural exuberance of merri- 
 ment, wild and unrestrained even to folly and 
 recklessness. The last hours of that night live in 
 my memory as one continued dazzling vision of 
 glancing lights and flashing figures, a mingled con- 
 fusion of voices and laughter, and music rolling over 
 them ; and in the midst, brilliant and flushed with 
 excitement, that radiant figure of Helen Wynter, 
 decked in the wild merriment and the proud beauty 
 that she never wore again. 
 
 It was all over at last : the guests were gone, the
 
 AFTER SUPPER. 117 
 
 lights were extinguished, the music had ceased ; 
 silent and weary we stood together a few moments 
 in the empty room, then went our ways with short 
 words of good-night. 
 
 I was too tired to sleep. The starry night had 
 gained a moon — a pallid silvery crescent, hanging 
 low on the horizon ; I stood awhile resting in the 
 new sense of silence to look forth on it. There was 
 no ray of dawn yet, and the night lay unstirred, 
 calm and clear : once more that fancy smote me of 
 the death-shroud on the earth, and over it the silent 
 stars burning their solemn \yatcli in heaven.
 
 118 EIVErvSTOX. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NORTH WIND S WAIL. 
 
 I WAKENED to perceive a dusky crimson glow 
 upon the eastern sky ; but, ere the sun had passed 
 the horizon, a phalanx of low clouds came trooping 
 from the north, and swiftly hung all heaven with 
 a grey drapery. A gust of wind impelled them ; 
 but that ceased as suddenly as it had risen, and 
 spreading themselves in one huge stratum, from 
 north to south, from east to west, they made a 
 dingy screen across the sky, which all tlmt day 
 hung low and motionless. The snow lay still upon 
 the ground, but, sparkling no longer in the diamond 
 light of jewelled stars, its purity looked tarnished : 
 the leafless trees stood cold and bare, vainly desi- 
 rous of an azUre heaven to warm their naked 
 branches into purple ; the evergreen leaves hung
 
 THE NORTH WIND'S WAIL. 119 
 
 dead upon their stems, their glossy green dimmed 
 by the vapour of a half-thawed frost. It was so 
 keenly cold, too — a morning that cruelly nipped 
 one's fingers' ends— that, chilled alike by the depress- 
 ing gloom which, shed down from that grey sky, 
 seemed to wrap all nature in a universal sorrow, 
 and by the piercing coldness of the atmosphere 
 around me, I was fain to perform my toilette ex- 
 peditiously, and hasten to the welcome comfort of 
 a fire. 
 
 '' How the wind wailed this morning before sun- 
 rise — did you hear it, Miss Haig ? I am afraid it 
 is a token of stormy weather coming." 
 
 Mrs. Wynter stood by the large bay window in 
 the breakfast room, and looked out upon the leaden 
 stirless clouds, in whose bosom the summit of the 
 grass-covered hill, low as it was, was hidden. 
 
 "It was like some living creature sobbing," 
 Helen said. '^ It wakened me, and I could not 
 sleep again," and she shivered as she bent over 
 her last night's flowers. 
 
 "How still it has left every thing!" Mrs. 
 Wynter mused. " There is not a breath stirring !
 
 120 EIVERSTON. 
 
 Look — every branch of those trees is as still as 
 death!'' 
 
 "Well, never mind the wind, mamma !" called 
 out Mr. Wynter's hearty voice. '^ Come here ! 
 and let ns have our breakfast. I do not know 
 how you feel after all your dancing, young ladies ; 
 but our late hours have made me hungry this 
 morning." 
 
 " / am too tired to be hungry," Helen said. 
 *' Do you know, papa, I danced sixteen times last 
 night ?" 
 
 Tired she was certainly ; but, as I noticed her 
 look and tone, it struck me that something more 
 than common weariness ailed her. The intoxica- 
 tion of last night was beginning to bring its re- 
 action : I saw that, and with little pity. 
 
 Yet, whatever her conscience might be whisper- 
 ing, she did her best to drown its voice. As we sat 
 round the breakfast-table she talked so incessantly, 
 that, in the course of one five minutes, I three times 
 noticed Mr. Wynter look up from his newspaper 
 as though about to speak, and twice turn back, 
 baffled by her volubility, before he could finally
 
 THE NORTH wind's AVAIL. 121 
 
 succeed in delivering himself of the question with 
 which he was laden. But it came out at last. 
 
 *' Now, in the midst of all this," he said, " is there 
 any one who can tell me what became of Edward 
 Beresford ? AVas he hiding himself all last night, 
 or where was he ?" 
 
 Helen's lips gave out no sound ; the only sign 
 that she heard her father's question appeared in 
 lier risen colour. I was the only other person wlio 
 was capable of giving a reply to Mr. Wynter's ques- 
 tion ; when, therefore, she did not speak, I said — 
 
 " He came late and went early ; I saw both his 
 entrance and his exit." 
 
 Again 3Ir. Wynter addressed Helen, and there 
 was in his tone a mixture of gravity and jesting. 
 
 " What did he do that for, Nelly ? Because he 
 did not get much encouragement to stay; was 
 that it ?" 
 
 She was in no mood yet to bear any thing ap- 
 proaching to reproof ; in the haughty raising of the 
 flushed face, and the scornful curling of the parted 
 lip, I guessed the kind of answer she was prepar- 
 ing herself to give.
 
 122 EIVERSTOX. 
 
 But that answer was never spoken. Before a 
 word had fallen from her, the door was slowl}^ 
 opened ; one of the servants, mute and hesitating^ 
 stood upon the threshold. There was a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 ^^Well, Eichard.?" 
 
 The summons opened the man's lips. 
 
 "Could you come out into the hall, sir ?" 
 
 " Out into the hall !— what for ? " 
 
 *' There was some one wanting to speak to you, 
 sir — Mr. Beresford's servant — if you would come 
 out for a minute, sir." 
 
 There was something — it might be in the man's 
 look or tone, or both — that called for attention; 
 without a word, rising quickly from his chair, Mr. 
 Wynter went out. 
 
 Mrs. Wynter turned about and looked nervously 
 towards the re-closing door. 
 
 " Dear me ! what is it, I wonder V 
 
 "My dear mother, what do you suspect ?" and 
 Helen laughed ; but her merriment I thought had 
 a strange sound in it. "It is only some message 
 from Edward."
 
 THE NORTH WIND's WAIL. 123 
 
 " Well, I suppose so, but yet it is odd — What is 
 that ? Hush ! " she cried. 
 
 God knows what it was ! It w^as a sound in 
 the hall, neither distinct nor loud — a murmur 
 rather than a cry ; but, such as it was, it sent 
 the blood rushing from Helen's cheek. With a 
 Avild startled look she glanced round — she half 
 rose — 
 
 " Mother ! " she cried. " Miss Haig ! go to the 
 door!" 
 
 There was no need. I rose up, but I had not 
 taken two steps when the door re-opened : there 
 before us again, but with his broad face blanched, 
 stood i\Ir. Wynter. 
 
 " ^Ir. Wynter ! — Frank ! — oh, my God, what is 
 it ? " 
 
 His wife stood up before him : in silence he 
 took both her hands and put her back : stern- 
 faced, as I had never seen him before, without a 
 s}llable, he went up to Helen's chair. She had 
 risen and stood facing him, her eyes wild with a 
 terror beyond all utterance : she never spoke : the 
 only words that broke the silence — and their tone
 
 124 EIVEKSTOI^^. 
 
 I sliall remember while I live — were these, that 
 came from him — • 
 
 ^' Helen, it is all over between jo\i. God forgive 
 you ! Edward Beresford has shot himself dead V 
 
 There came a great convulsive cry — but not 
 from her. Dumb, white, and stiff she stood, her 
 lips drawn back, her large, wild darkening eyes 
 distending into a great unutterable horror ; like a 
 statue but for her gasping breath ; immovable, 
 frigid, fixed ; ghastly in her deathlike agony, with 
 all the horror and all the hideousness of despair. 
 
 '' Oh, Nelly !— oh, my poor Nelly ! " 
 
 Bursting into a passion of tears, Mrs. Wynter 
 flung herself upon her daughter's neck, but no 
 tears did her weeping bring from Helen. Insen- 
 sible alike to the sound of her emotion or the 
 touch of her embrace, the white, marble figure 
 never moved — till on a sudden, throwing her 
 mother off, she flung her arms up in the air and 
 shrieked aloud. Thrice that cry rang, curdling 
 the blood within our hearts : when it ceased, like 
 one felled suddenly by a blow, she sank upon the 
 floor — a huddled mass — ^her white face pressing on
 
 THE NORTH wind's AVAIL. 125 
 
 the ground, and when we stooped to raise her iij) 
 bhe was quite lifeless— as cold and motionless as a 
 corpse. 
 
 Tempest clouds had swept across the sun ; 
 night eclipse had come at midday. To all of us, 
 this day at Riverston was a day never to he for- 
 gotten : what it was to Helen, God only knows ! 
 Outwardly she lay almost in the stillness of death ; 
 but in the white ghastly face, and in the distended 
 unclosing eyes, there were written sach signs of 
 terror-struck agony as no words could picture. 
 Throughout the whole day she only spoke once : 
 that single raising of her voice was a piteous ap- 
 peal, uttered shivering, with clasped hands, not to 
 be left alone ! — and we obeyed it to tlie letter, 
 fehe was never left to herself, either for that day, 
 or for many days and nights following. 
 
 During the whole of those succeeding days her 
 suffering never showed itself beyond the limits of 
 a low, piteous, tearless sobbing. Even this was 
 rare. Generally, she lay quite motionless, her eyes 
 wide open, her white fingers pressed togctlier, her
 
 126 RIVEESTON. 
 
 pallid thinning face growing hourly less and less 
 like its former self— her whole look Uke that of one 
 creeping slowly into a living death. 
 
 I could not long see her thus and remain 
 silent. The spring was near at hand ; the tokens 
 of its advent filled the earth, and its spirit came 
 gushing over me like the sound of music ; I could 
 not check it— it welled up like a spring of water 
 in my heart — it swept across me like the gush of a 
 great stream — it came, piercing even through the 
 very centre of all the gloom at Kiverston. I say 
 I could not check it : I w^as young and full of 
 energy and hope, and the death-like silence, the 
 inactive suffering, the passive unstirred gloom 
 within that chamher, were terrible to me. 
 
 I bore it till I grew restless even to feverishness. 
 Then at length one day I strove to break it. We 
 had boen left together in the room alone ; having 
 sat for an hour in unbroken silence. I at last rose, 
 and going to the window silently drew up the blind, 
 and let a slanting ray of sunshine fall across the floor. 
 This done, without a word, quietly as I had risen, I 
 came back, and took my seat again beside her.
 
 THE NORTH WIND'S WAIL. 127 
 
 She sail], in the faint low voice in which, when 
 she ever spoke at all, she spohe now — 
 
 "^^^lydid you do that?" 
 
 " Because the room was so dark." 
 
 '' But it has been so — all the time." 
 
 All the time ! Poor Helen ! 
 
 " Very true," I said quietly, " but not by mij 
 will." 
 
 She made no answer, but after a few moments 
 she silently raised one of her hands, and placed it 
 a,s a shield over her eyes. I was sewing, but I put 
 down my w^ork, and leant towards her. 
 
 *• Do you mean that the liglit really pains you ? " 
 
 There came a feeble — " No," and then almost 
 immediately the slight frame began to tremble with 
 low sobbing. 
 
 " You think I am unkind ? You are angry 
 with me ? " 
 
 I bent over her, waiting her answer. Some 
 feeble words tried to struggle up. 
 
 '' I cannot dispute with you now — I must bear 
 what you choose to do." 
 
 "And you mean to bear it as if I was doing you
 
 128 RIVERSTOX, 
 
 a wrong," I said, with some sharpness ; " reserving 
 your thanks for those who are helping you to dig 
 your grave." 
 
 ISTot seeking to answer me, she only wailingly 
 began to moan out my last words — 
 
 "My grave! — my grave!" she sobbed: "oh, 
 that it ims dug, and that I was lying in it ! " 
 
 " You may thank God that you are not," I said. 
 
 But probably she did not hear me : she was 
 lying perfectly motionless, her eyes closed, her 
 clasped hands tightly pressed together upon her 
 bosom, dreaming too much perhaps of that grave 
 of rest towards which her weary soul was stretching, 
 to pay much heed to my suggested thanksgiving. 
 I had to speak again — 
 
 " Helen, do not seek to shift your burden off 
 i nlo your grave. Stand up, and bear it : your 
 life is given you that you may work it into a 
 lighter weight." 
 
 She lifted up her large sad eyes upon me — one 
 mourning, wistful, helpless look, but there came no 
 words : with a heavy broken sigh she turned away, 
 and the thin lids fell again with their old weari-
 
 THE NORTH AVIND'S WAIL. 129 
 
 ness. But I wished to make her speak. I called 
 her. 
 
 "Helen!" 
 
 She did not look at me^ but, as I bent down 
 waiting, the poor lips presently began to move. 
 
 " What could I do ? " she whispered plaintively. 
 "T feel as if I had no place left in the world. 
 Every door that used to be open seems closed 
 against mc now\" 
 
 " Then try other doors." 
 
 " I cannot — I cannot ! " she sobbed. " It is very 
 easy for ?/ou to talk — you who are well and happy ; 
 but you cannot understand what /feel. Honor," 
 — she looked up wildly, and the words broke 
 shiverinirlv from her — " Honor, I feel as if a whole 
 mountain was lying on my bosom, and I w^as 
 pressed down — down into the earth ! " 
 
 She hid her face upon her hands, not crying, 
 but with a low dry feeble sobbing that was more 
 piteous to me than any tears. It moved my heart ; 
 I said nothing, but I raised her head into my arras, 
 and let the poor lips sob out their weakness on my 
 bosom. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 RIVEESTON. 
 
 Perhaps I gained more influence over her thus 
 then I might otherwise have had ; for when I 
 again spoke to her, urging anew that she must rouse 
 herself from this lethargy — ay, even though a 
 thousand mountains lay upon her with their leaden 
 weight — she did not seek to interrupt me with 
 one dissentient word. 
 
 " If I could^^ she murmured at last ; " if I had 
 only some hope — some courage — if — God help 
 me ! " she sobbed. 
 
 I said " Amen ! " and our conversation ceased ; 
 but on the next morning, silently and of her own 
 accord, she rose up from her couch. One step was 
 gained, but our difficulty was still great to know 
 in what way to find occupation for her. She was 
 patient and passive and gentle ; but we had to 
 thhik for her, and to set her tasks as if she had 
 been a little child. She spent great part of the 
 day in the schoolroom, for she shrank with such 
 visible pain from the sight of any of the rooms 
 below, that we never encouraged her entrance into 
 them ; and occasionally I made Effie go to her 
 with a few of her lessons, or we read to her, or
 
 THE NORTH WIND'S WAIL. 131 
 
 engaged her with sewing, generally carrying her 
 such odds and ends of useful work as we really 
 wanted done, and could make her feel that we 
 were obliged to her for doing ; and we soon per- 
 ceived that this occupation gave her a kind of 
 feeble pleasure. 
 
 But still, in spite of employment, in spite of all 
 
 that we could devise to rouse or interest her, she 
 
 found no rest. Day after day, I saw the slow 
 
 torturing working of the inner fever; I saw it in 
 
 the hollowed wandering eye, in the quickening 
 
 nervous breathing, in the tremor that sometimes 
 
 palsied her fingers while she sewed, until the 
 
 needle dropped from them. But her lips were 
 
 closed, and, anxiously as I regarded her, I had, I 
 
 thought, from most of our former intercourse, too 
 
 little reason to believe in the kindliness of her 
 
 feelings towards me, to justify me in seeking to 
 
 gain her confidence. I judged that, disapprovingly 
 
 and perhaps even harshly as I had looked on her 
 
 conduct before Mr. Beresford's death, / should be 
 
 one of the last persons from whom she would 
 
 willingly have received consolation. And probably
 
 132 PtIVEESTOX. 
 
 it might have been so had she had other friends 
 about her : but I ought to have remembered how 
 solitaiy she was, and have sought her before, in 
 her anguish, she came at last to me. 
 
 I was on the point of dropping asleep late one 
 night, when the stealthy opening of my door sud- 
 denly aroused me, and starting up. I became awar(^ 
 of H elen's white figure advancing towards me in 
 the moonlight. 
 
 "I am afraid I have wakened you/' she said 
 with a hurried timidity, as she saw me move. " I 
 thought I could have come softly : I had meant 
 if you were asleep to go away." 
 
 ^' I was not more than half asleep/' I said. " But 
 what is it .? " 
 
 •I spoke more calmly than I felt, for the sight of 
 the pale shivering figure, creeping at this hour 
 from its bed to steal into my room, alarmed me 
 more than I chose that she should see. 
 
 '• I wanted to speak to you, " she began, with a 
 strange hurried nervousness of tone — " at least — I 
 mean I had something to say — about — about " 
 
 She had come up close to my bedside ; suddenly
 
 THE NORTH WIND'S WAIL. 133 
 
 tlie broken sentence ceased ; there came a gurgling 
 sob, a convulsive spasm across lier lips, and before 
 I could prevent Tier she had sunk down upon her 
 knees, hiding her face, and stretching out her 
 arms across the bed, and bursting out into the 
 bitter, feverish cry — 
 
 " Oh ! Honor, I cannot rest ! I cannot rest/ 
 she cried, " all through the night ! I can keep 
 the thought still sometimes in the day vy^hen you 
 are all about me, but in the nights it drives me 
 mad ! I could not stay with it to-night — it would 
 not let me lie still in my bed — it gives me no rest 
 — no rest from night till morning ! " 
 
 There was a wildness — an excited terror in her 
 tone, such as I had not seen in her even at the 
 first • and as she raised her head, and turned her 
 pallid face to me, its convulsive look of tortured 
 suffering, made more ghastly by the pale light, 
 thrilled me with pity for her. But she was too 
 excited for me to be willing to give any encourage- 
 ment to her emotion. 
 
 " Come and sleep with me, then — there is room 
 for you here."
 
 134 EIVEKSTOX. 
 
 " No, no — let me stay where I am/' she pleaded. 
 *' I could not lie down just now. I am not cold 
 — look — I have got my dressing-gown on." 
 
 Poor child, she was not cold, indeed ! As I 
 touched her brow I found it burning with fever ; 
 but I felt that opposition would only increase her 
 excitement. 
 
 " Well, what can I do for you ? What was it 
 you came to say ? " 
 
 She looked up full in my face, her great eyes, 
 as they fastened upon mine, dilating and darken- 
 ing^ till their cold fear chilled me. Her words 
 came bursting forth, breaking the silence tliat fell 
 between them and my question, less like speech 
 than a wild quivering scream — 
 
 " He seems crying to me from hell ! " she said. 
 " I hear his voice all night ! " she cried, the rapid 
 words pressing with a panting terror on each other. 
 *• It comes even through my sleep ; wakiog or 
 sleeping, it is all the same ; all night long, he 
 cries to me that I have murdered both body and 
 soul!'' 
 
 She flung her arms wildly across the bed again,
 
 THE NORTH WIND's WAIL. 135 
 
 shaking it in her strong shivering like one trem- 
 bling in an ague fit. 
 
 I waited until the paroxysm had passed before 
 I spoke. When I saw something like return- 
 ing calmness coming to her, I addressed her 
 quietly. 
 
 '' There is no punishment by proxy in heaven, 
 Helen. If the greatest sin in this business was 
 yours, as it assuredly was, depend upon it, it will 
 not be lie who will have to bear the heaviest pun- 
 ishment." 
 
 She gathered in my words, gazing at me with 
 her wild, hungry, piteous eyes. 
 
 " But he must suffer for his own deed ! " she 
 broke in impetuously. " That was his ! I drove 
 him to it — but oh. Miss Haig, the deed itself was 
 his own ! " and she wrung her hands. 
 
 " But was the deed all that God saw ? '' I asked. 
 " Do you think it was we only who knew the 
 anguish that came before, or the bitterness of the 
 last struggle ? " 
 
 "He had no time to repent," she panted, her 
 white face working and quivering in every nerve.
 
 136 RIVERSTON. 
 
 " How do you know that ? Upon the brink of 
 eternity time seems sometimes as though it stood 
 still, and made hours of moments. It might have 
 been so with him." 
 
 There had been a feeble ray of hope in her face 
 wrestling with its passionate fear, but as I spoke 
 it faded out. The look she raised to me was black 
 with despair. 
 
 " Is it this that I am to comfort myself with ? " 
 she asked bitterly. 
 
 '• Does it give you no comfort ? " 
 
 " When we are in despair we catch at straws," 
 she cried ; " but they break from our fingers when 
 we try to grasp them. ISTo, no — I cannot lay hold 
 on this ! " 
 
 " Lay hold, then, of a better consolation,'' I said. 
 " Trust in that mercy which I for one cannot be- 
 lieve would thrust Edward Beresford down to hell, 
 because the faith, the patience, the endurance, ihQ 
 self-denial that made his ten years of ministry 
 spotless and noble, were sullied at their close by 
 one weak and cowardly deed." 
 
 I had kindled the hope in her face anew ; it
 
 THE NORTH WIND's WAIL. 137 
 
 sprang up tremblingj like a flame blown in the 
 wind. 
 
 " Oh, tell me again ! " she cried, snatching at 
 my arm in violent agitation ; '' speak to me again ! 
 I see some hope — if it w^ould stay — if it w^oiild 
 stay ! But I cannot keep it ! " she moaned. 
 " These doubts — oh, these doubts ! — they come 
 pressing on my brain — oh, Honor, help me ! " 
 
 She strained both hands upon her brow wdth a 
 wild look of terror, and pressed her lips till they 
 grew bloodless. I tried to speak to her, but I 
 think for a few moments she scarcely heard my 
 voice. 
 
 Suddenly her hands dropped down, her lips un- 
 closed, and rigid and white she faced me. 
 
 " Where is he, then ? " slie demanded. " If he 
 is not in hell, w^iere is he ? " 
 
 She spoke almost fiercely ; her eyes, as they clung 
 upon mine, glared with the intensity of their ex- 
 pectation. 
 
 I could not tell her where he was, certainly ; the 
 secrets of heaven were as closed to me as to her ; 
 but, as I doubted how to answer her, a few words
 
 138 MVERSTON. 
 
 came to my mind that were not my own. I spoke 
 them to her reverently — 
 
 " ^ In my Father's house are many mansions/ " 
 
 The accents fell on her strained ears. She gazed 
 earnestly upon my face a moment, then gathei'ed 
 up and clasped her outspread, hands, and burst into 
 a broken cry of hope — 
 
 " Honor," she whispered, " dare I cling to the 
 thought of that ? " 
 
 " I have clung to it in other cases than this, 
 Helen. When I have seen death come suddenly 
 to some who have not been prepared to die, leaving 
 no time to them for thought of God or of eternity — 
 leaving no space for repentance — I have clung to 
 those v/ords. Somewhere among those ' many 
 mansions,' I think, there has been room found for 
 them. God knows ! but I believe it." 
 
 She gazed at me while I spoke, and for lono- 
 afterwards, kneeling by me motionless and mute ; 
 but her face was slowly losing its restless wildness, 
 and her eyes gaining a softer and less fevered look. 
 At last she spoke — 
 
 " If it were so/' she said, ^' I could bear my own
 
 THE XOETH wind's WAIL. 139 
 
 punishment. God/' she suddenly cried^ " give 
 me this hope ! My God — my God ! give me this 
 hope I " she cried. 
 
 She threw her arras upon me, and burst into a 
 passion of tears. For ten minutes I let her weep 
 unrestrained. When her sobs grew fewer and 
 fainter^ weary and exhausted I drew her into my 
 bed — and before I myself slept her eyes were 
 closed, and her head at rest upon my bosom, 
 
 ISTot suddenty, but, after this night, gradually and 
 slowly there came something like peace to her, and 
 to peace, when a few weeks had passed, dawning 
 strength was added. When that budding spring 
 had reached to summer, Helen Wynter stood 
 amongst us a beautiful and noble woman. Out of 
 her agony she had awakened to a new being : the 
 aspect that had quelled her, quelled her now no 
 longer ; quail she might still before it, but she ^ 
 shrank from it no more. Silently and sternly 
 towards herself, she traced out the course of her 
 future life, and entered on it. There was no delay, 
 no flinching, no hesitation, no holding back ; she 
 chose a life that left room for no self-indulgence ;
 
 140 RIVEESTON. 
 
 wherever deeds of mercy were to be done, wherever 
 help was needed or comfort sought for, in distress 
 or sickness, thither she went. Body and soul, she 
 gave herself to her work of expiation. Hers was 
 no playing at world-renunciation ; sternly and 
 utterly she severed herself from the life that she 
 had led, breaking every former tie except those of 
 blood : self-denial, self-sacrifice — these were hence- 
 forward her watchwords ; faith, obedience, endu- 
 rance—these were the beacon-lights by which she 
 steered her course. 
 
 Keader, do you ask her reward ? jSTay, she 
 worked not for wages in this world ; happiness is 
 no penitent's goal ; it was not hers, nor did she 
 ever reach it. In tJiis world her lot has been re- 
 morse and pain ; where the arrow pierced, there its 
 barb has rested; she never learnt to forget her 
 wound — only to hide it — to draw her garment 
 silently over its red stain. 
 
 One other word, and then I leave her. 
 
 Once more, and once only^ did I ever again see 
 Captain Carlyon. On the fatal morning after Mr. 
 Beresford's death he came to Riverston, and as he
 
 THE NOETH WTND's WAIL. 141 
 
 turned away from the door, that for the first time 
 refused to give him entrance, I saw him. Slowly 
 and reluctantly he departed, and once, pausing 
 and looking back, glanced wdth grave anxious 
 searching from window to window, faintly hoping, 
 perhaps, to find some face that would recall him ; 
 but there was none, and he turned again and went 
 on his way — and finished the last journey that he 
 ever made to Kiverston. 
 
 I have often since recalled that final look of the 
 brave handsome face, wondering on what new scenes 
 its bright frank eyes were gazing, and musing if per- 
 chance the thought of Helen and that short love 
 tragedy ever came across his vision, as a dark spot 
 between him and the sun. For her, if thoughts of 
 him, as I think they must, returned to her when 
 the bitterest anguish of her grief had passed,, she 
 kept them in her own heart ; his name never more 
 crossed her lips.
 
 142 RIVERSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 EFFIE, 
 
 I HAD thought my pupil Effie very handsome 
 when I saw her first, yet that night's meeting 
 had scarcely prepared me for the powerful in- 
 fluence her beauty soon grew to have upon me. 
 Before less than a week had passed, the pleasure 
 that I took in tracing every delicate line, and 
 watching every varying look upon her face, was so 
 intense, that, passionately as I love all beautiful 
 things, the power she exercised over me surprised 
 even myself 
 
 It was not an ordinary childish loveliness; there 
 was something in the face such as in a child's I 
 never saw before — a depth of almost matured ex- 
 pression, grave, earnest at times, even wistfully 
 pleading, that often made me think of her more as 
 a glorious idealized picture, than an actual living
 
 EFFIE. 143 
 
 child. It was not a face ever to grow weary of. I 
 never looked upon her as she came newly towards 
 me, I never returned the long gaze of her grave 
 dark luminous eyes, but the sense of her beauty 
 thrilled me with a delight that never wore away. I 
 would not have had one line of her face changed ; I 
 would not even have had its imperfections altered — 
 the mouth large in proportion to the other features ; 
 the slightly straightened upper lip — for faults, 
 though these certainly were, they gave a character 
 and individuality to the face, whose loss would 
 have been recompensed by no perfectness of form. 
 I am not speaking lightly, reader, in common 
 terms of novel-writing exaggeration, when I call 
 EfHe Wynter the most beautiful of all children I 
 have ever seen ; for, even while I say this delibe- 
 rately, I still do not put her forward as any miracle 
 of loveliness (many might have passed her by, 
 calling her a handsome child, and never have 
 thought of her again) : I tell you only what 
 she was in my eyes ; even to me she was not 
 dearer than all other children, or more loveable 
 than all.
 
 144 RIVERSTOX. 
 
 I am not an indiscriminate lover of children. I 
 have no desire whatever to take every cliild I see 
 into my heart, or even into my arms, or to pour 
 kisses upon every pair of lips, baby or otherwise, 
 that may be ready to receive them. But when it 
 does so happen that a child meets my fancy, be it 
 what it may, beautiful or plain, attractive or unat- 
 tractive to other people, I love it with all my soul. 
 I love it with a kind of hungry yearning, a longing 
 to take possession of it, and bend its heart to me : 
 I love it with a reverence that leads me to lie 
 humbly at its feet, and kiss its little white pure 
 hands, blessing it in the voiceless depths of my 
 soul for every dear caress it gives me. Some of 
 my best and purest — I do not speak about my hap- 
 piest, though I might say these, too — some of my 
 best and purest hours of life have been spent alone 
 with children. I thank God for them ! I think 
 with sorrow and humility, that had the number of 
 them l)een greater, in years that are gone, I might 
 be nearer heaven than I am now. 
 
 Effie Wynter grew very dear to me. She was 
 not a faultless child by any means, or one whom
 
 EFFIE. 145 
 
 it was very easy to manage ariglit. Even my 
 knowledge of her character was for some time im- 
 perfect enough ; it was not very easily read, and 
 she somewhat retarded me at first in my observa- 
 tions, by the adoption in her manner towards me 
 of a grave, watchful, suspicious reserve, which it 
 was not easy to penetrate. I made little of her 
 for a day or two. She was very earnest at her 
 lessons, full of intelligence and eagerness, very 
 quick to learn, and, though self-willed and capri- 
 cious enough, by no means so obstinate, I found, 
 as to be at all unmanageable : but, lesson- time 
 over, she became impenetrable, and through the 
 rest of the day her grave suspicious eyes would 
 follow me in all I did or said, with a silent watch- 
 fulness that nothing could divert. I did not 
 trouble myself much about this reserve ; I saw 
 that she would come to a conclusion about me 
 presently ; and therefore, until this time should, 
 arrive, I thought it best to make no active efforts 
 to secure her affections. 
 
 One day when school time was over — it was the 
 tliird day after my arrival — Mrs. Wynter came 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 RIVEESTOX. 
 
 across us as we were preparing to set out on our 
 daily walk. 
 
 ^^ Effie, when are you going to take Miss Haig 
 to see aunt Grace ? " she asked. 
 
 The child caught at the proposal with eagerness. 
 
 '' May we go now ? Miss Haig, will you go 
 now ?" she said. 
 
 I had no objection, so with mutual agreement 
 we presently set forth. 
 
 They had spoken to me before of this aunt 
 Grace — Mrs. Grace Kamsay, as her full name was. 
 She was a half-sister of Mr. Wynter's, and her 
 husband had been Mrs. Wynter's brother; conse- 
 quently her connection with the Riverston family 
 was a double one. Mr. Ramsay had, however, 
 been long dead, and she was a widow now, and, 
 besides this, an invalid and a cripple. *' She met 
 with an accident long ago," Mrs. Wynter told me ; 
 " she has not walked for many years." 
 
 Our way lay through the Riverston grounds, for 
 Mrs. Ramsay's house adjoined one portion of them, 
 and, to avoid the round that taking the high-road 
 v< ould have occasioned, a door had been opened in
 
 EFFIE. 147 
 
 the soufhern boundary wall, which afforded a direct 
 communication with her residence. 
 
 I had been but three days at Eiverston, and was 
 little familiar as yet with much of its surround- 
 ings. I had explored the garden, and, with Eiiie 
 for guide, had climbed the grassy hill, and from 
 its summit looked down upon the nestled house, 
 which even now in mid-winter seemed to bid de- 
 fiance to all winter s storms, so still and green it 
 lay in its garmenting of laurel-leaf and ivy ; and I 
 had made acquaintance with some sheltered walk^^, 
 where giant skeletons of trees spread out their 
 naked arms to embrace the keen north winds, let- 
 ting us walk beneath their great bared branches, 
 hearing, yet scarcely feeling, the gales that bent 
 them : but this was all, and the way our walk 
 took us to-day was altogether new to me. 
 
 We went along a path that led us to a wooded 
 dell, all brown yet underfoot with the last autumn's 
 fallen leaves : we might have skirted it, following 
 the pine-belted pathway marked along its summit ; 
 but the ground was dry with frost, and the wintry 
 afternoon brilliant with a glowing sunlight, which,
 
 148 RIVERSTON. 
 
 far down in the bottom of the dell, danced on the 
 new-thawed waters of a stream, whose tiny trick- 
 ling reaching to our ears filled me with a spring 
 yearning, and made me, almost before it was well 
 uttered, give willing assent to the petition which 
 Effie made, that we might make our way down the 
 rough bank to t'ne bottom of the hollow. 
 
 It was almost warm there when we reached it. 
 The place was so sheltered that not a breath of 
 Avind disturbed us : high up we saw the bare 
 boughs swaying to and fro, but where we were 
 each branch and twig and blade of grass was 
 motionless as in a picture. It was a little spot of 
 rougii and rugged nature — a corner cut off from 
 the surrounding cultivation, to live alone in its 
 own native loveliness and wildness. No training 
 hand had been at work upon it ; the wooded banks 
 were even now a tangled jungle, with long prickly 
 brandies of wild bramble matting the young pine- 
 trees together ; the grassy bank that sloped on one 
 side down to the stream was broken into innume- 
 rable knolls of earth and jutting fragments of grey 
 rock ; the stream itself leaped at its o\mi sweet will
 
 EFFIE. 149 
 
 from stone to stone, and danced with joyous free- 
 dom alono; its pebbly bed. We sat down upon a 
 stone that had been flung out from it, and listened 
 to the soft murmur of its waters, with no other 
 sound from far or near disturbing us, except the 
 occasional low sobbing of the wind far overhead 
 in the pine branches. 
 
 " We must come away, Effie, or Mrs. Eamsay 
 will see little of us this afternoon/' I said with 
 some reluctance ; for the balmy air in that keen 
 wintry weather greatly tempted me to stay longer ; 
 but we had already lingered a quarter of an hour 
 or more, and the shy, as I saw, was beginning to 
 show signs of sunset. 
 
 We retraced our steps therefore up the steep 
 banh, and walked once more onwards under the 
 pine-trees, until, in the southern wall, we came at 
 last to a small door which admitted us within the 
 trim and pretty garden that surrounded Mrs. 
 Ramsay's house. 
 
 We found Mrs. Ramsay in an up-stairs sitting- 
 room, whither Effie led me. 
 
 She was a small slight woman. She was not
 
 150 EIVERSTON. 
 
 old, but the face was worn and pale with pain or 
 sorrow, and the brown of the braided hair that 
 peeped from beneath her widow's cap was thickly 
 mixed with white. It was a gentle earnest strong 
 face, very lovely in a calm and pure and deep se- 
 renity, that, lying on it like a veil of light, smoothed 
 down the lines of its sharp sufferiag. She sat lean- 
 iog back in a cushioned chair ; she made no attempt 
 to rise when we entered ; it was evident, although 
 as she sat there was no sign of deformity in her, 
 that she was unable to stand upright. 
 
 We stayed with her above an hour, though the 
 winter's day even when we came was verging to- 
 wards its close ; but as we sat in her warmed and 
 j)erfumed room, I by her side and Effie at her feet, 
 the time went quickly. Invalid as she was in ap- 
 pearance, this Mrs. Grace Kamsay, her bodily 
 maladies had cast no shadow of sickness on either 
 her mental or moral temperament. In all she said, 
 quiet and even a little subdued though she was, 
 there was a tone of healthy and serene cheerfulness ; 
 a spirit of clear, calm, pious wisdom; a warm and 
 strong affection for, and a full sympathy with, those
 
 , EFFIE. 151 
 
 around her — wliicli I always thought both beautiful 
 aod refreshing to hear and see in one who had so 
 much both of pain and sorrow to bear in her own 
 life. 
 
 I soon perceived that a very earnest love sub- 
 sisted between her and Efhe. During our whole 
 visit the child sat at her feet, her hands stretching 
 up to clasp and often to kiss the thin pale fingers 
 that were surrendered to her caress ; and while we 
 talked, though her own lips were seldom opened, 
 her beautiful face was either raised in a long stead- 
 fast loving gaze to Mrs. Kamsay's, or buried with a 
 shower of kisses on her knees. 
 
 I had never yet seen such demonstration of affec- 
 tion in her, but it surprised far less than it pleased 
 me; for though I had not been able to hide from 
 myself that there was a certain coldness in her 
 manner, as well towards her mother as towards 
 Helen, I had by no means yet parted with the 
 belief that she was capable of forming very deep 
 attachments. The truth was, that her immediate 
 environment at home was not such as to call her 
 strongest affections into play. A clever, daring,
 
 152 RIVEESTON. 
 
 self-willed cliilclj fall of strong and ill-regulated 
 passions, intensely in earnest in all she did and 
 felt, proud, sensitive, and reserved, slie was not 
 likely to receive much sympathy from any of those 
 Avho surrounded her — not certainly from Helen, 
 vain, gay, and frivolous as she was then — not from 
 her dreamy, quiet, gentle mother, who, love her as 
 dearly as she might, had it not in her to reach to 
 the heights or fathom the depths of a nature so 
 earnest and passionate as Efi&e's ; and, as for 
 Mr. Wynter, his honest, rough-hewn mind would 
 have been about as much at home in dissecting 
 the intricacies and refinements of hers as his 
 fingers in undoing the delicate machinery of a 
 timepiece. 
 
 I had been intensely sorry for the child; for the 
 dumb yearning I had seen in her for some other 
 companionship had touched me deeply, and already 
 drawn my heart more towards her than perhaps I 
 was even myself quite conscious of The sight of 
 this strong affection between her and Mrs. Eamsay 
 gave me no small satisfaction. I rejoiced for the 
 happiness that it must give to her : I rejoiced in
 
 EFFIE. 153 
 
 the confirmation it afforded to my hitherto unproved 
 belief, that she had the capacity in her of loving 
 very strongly : lastly, it stirred me up to endeavour 
 to gain a similar affection from her, for the sight 
 of her lavished caresses roused something in me of 
 the wild-animal jealousy wliich I have often thought 
 slumbers at most times lightly enough in my bo- 
 som. 
 
 " You must come and see me again/' Mrs. Kam- 
 say said to me as we were taking our leave. " I have 
 nothing, as you see, to offer you except a cordial 
 welcome ; but you shall have that as often as you 
 like to come for it. I am very glad you came to- 
 day. You have relieved me from what has been a 
 greater anxiety than I feel it ought to have been 
 to me. Thank you, my dear — thank you, very 
 heartily ! " 
 
 There was no lingering on our homeward jour- 
 ney : w^e had scarcely allowed ourselves time to 
 reach the house before the dinner-hour, and our re- 
 turning walk through the darkening grounds was 
 in consequence a very hurried one. Its haste, indeed, 
 gave so powerful an impulse to a headache with
 
 154 RIVERSTON. 
 
 which I had been slightly threatened all the morn- 
 ing, thatj when dinner was over, I found myself 
 obliged to retire to my own room and lie down for 
 a few hours. 
 
 I had been there for some time alone, when I 
 was roused from a state of partial dreamy repose 
 into which I liad fallen, by the sound of a light 
 timid tap outside my door. It dissipated the thin 
 cloud of sleep which had crept over me, and, raising 
 my head, I bade the intruder come in. It was Effie, 
 as I could just distinguish through the gloom, for 
 it was a cloudy night, and the young moon was 
 veiled. She came up to my bedside before she 
 spoke to me. 
 
 " JVIiss Haig, are you any better ? " 
 
 She had a slow, almost dreamy way of speaking 
 to me at most times ; I could not tell now, as she 
 asked this question in her low measured voice, 
 whether she had any interest in the answer I 
 should give. 
 
 '■ Not very much, Effie," I said. 
 
 She stood for a moment or two twisting the 
 bed-curtains in her fingers — she had a restless
 
 EFFIE. 155 
 
 habit of never letting her hands be still ; then she 
 asked again — 
 
 " Is there not any thing that would do you good ? 
 Could not I get you any thing ? " 
 
 '' ^0, dear, I think not. I shall be better pre- 
 sently." 
 
 My headache had made me languid, or I should 
 have done more than merely reply to her questions. 
 She might, perhaps, have thought my manner 
 cold, poor child, and have fancied herself repulsed, 
 for in some things she was wonderfully timid; 
 at any rate, when I answered her she said no more, 
 but, lingering only for a few moments longer, 
 turned silently round to go away. But her motion 
 of departure roused me ; I could not afford to let 
 her go so. 
 
 " Effie ! " I said. 
 
 '' Yes," and. she looked back, and stood still. 
 
 " Effie, come here." 
 
 She came again slowly ; I felt for her hands 
 as she stood, and took them both in mine, and 
 .kissed them. I held them on my lips with mine 
 above them, and kissed, them twice — thrice.
 
 156 KIVERSTON. 
 
 She stood by me for a moment or two quite 
 passively — I did not, in truth, expect any demon- 
 stration from her ; but, when I was almost about 
 to free her hands and let her go, she all at once, 
 without a word, crept close to me, and crouching 
 to my pillow, laid down her ftice on mine. 
 
 I took her in my arms and held her ; there was 
 no confession of love on either side — we did very 
 well without that ; the silent covenant that we 
 made with one another that night was firm enough 
 to remain thenceforward unbroken during all the 
 time I stayed at Riverston.
 
 APPEARS lERELEVANT. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 APPEARS IRRELEVANT. 
 
 AVe were sitting one April evening after dinner 
 ill the drawing-room, wlien the quiet of our small 
 party was broken by the entrance of an unexpected 
 visitor. Mrs. Wynter started up to meet him. 
 
 " Ohj dear me — William Eupert ! " she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 '^ You are surprised to see me, I suppose ? " Mr. 
 Rupert said. " I should have written had I thought 
 sooner about coming, but my mind was only made 
 up this morning. How are you all ? How do 
 you do, Miss Haig ? " 
 
 The Wynters had known ^Ir. Rupert from his 
 boyhood — he was the son of an old friend (now 
 dead) of Mr. Wynter's — a London banker ; nor 
 was this the first time that I had seen him at
 
 158 EIVERSTON. 
 
 Riverston. Two or three weeks after my arrival, 
 lie having then newly returned from a sojourn of 
 several years upon the continentj he had been with 
 us for a couple of days, and had during that time 
 expended upon us so large an amount of genial 
 warmth and sunshine, that I for one confess to 
 have felt a sincere regret at his departure ; nor was 
 I ill-disposed to greet this his second advent with 
 'a hearty welcome ; for in truth Riverston was not 
 too cheerful at this time, and I had been living for 
 the last month with a curb upon me, that in the 
 brightening and lengthening spring days galled 
 me at times not a little. 
 
 But the pleasure I experienced during the first 
 moments of his re-appearance became quickly 
 damped ; for, before five minutes had elapsed, I 
 perceived that either he or his mood had changed 
 greatly since his former visit. He had been sin- 
 gularly light-hearted then, full of life and energy 
 and high spirits, his cheek bronzed with health, 
 and his bright hazel eyes for ever alight with 
 mirth. But a change that bailed my compre- 
 hension had come over him. It was not only that
 
 APPEARS IRRELEVANT. 159 
 
 he was out of spirits, or that lie looked ill, but liis 
 very bearing was changed. Before, it had been 
 frank and proud as ever was that of English gen- 
 tleman ; now, to my eyes, the whole man seemed 
 shrunl^en. 
 
 As soon as I could, I left him alone with the 
 Wynters, for I concluded that he had scarcely made 
 this sudden visit without some special object ; and 
 if, as I presumed, he had come to acquaint them 
 with the cause of his depression, the sooner he had 
 this satisf.iction, I thought, the better. Very 
 shortly, therefore, after Effie went to bed, I made 
 some slight excuse for following her example, and, 
 bidding them good-night, took my departure. 
 
 When I saw Mr. Kupert again on the following 
 morning, he was on the point of starting to catch 
 the early coach to London. He bade me farewell 
 with somewhat, as it appeared to me, of a lightened 
 manner, and I was glad to see that the hurry of 
 departure, or perhaps the freshness of the morning 
 air, had called back a portion of the old warm 
 glow to his cheek. 
 
 " I really think he looks better than he did last
 
 1 GO RIVEESTOX. 
 
 night — does he not ? " Mrs. Wynter said, as she 
 stood at the opened door, looking with kindly 
 interest after the retreating figure. 
 
 " Decidedly ! " I said ; and I added smiling, 
 ^' Eiverston would grow famous if it worked many 
 such cures." 
 
 '^ Ah — but it is not a cure — I wish it was !" she 
 said quickly. " Poor fellow — he is so out of spirits 
 just now about some bad news he has heard ! I 
 never saw such a change as it has made in him ; 
 really, he quite frightened me last night, till he 
 told me what it was." 
 
 " Poor fellow^ ! " she again repeated aftei: a few 
 moments' silence. '' It is so sad for him ; but still 
 it might have been worse — oh, yes ! it might have 
 been worse ! Well, dear, let us come in ; it is 
 rather cold standing here." 
 
 And in accordingly we went, and closed the door, 
 and I heard no more on the mysterious subject of 
 Mr. Pupert's sorrows. 
 
 I had been struck w^hen I saw him first by a 
 certain generous unselfishness of character, and 
 kind and considerate thoughtfulness for other
 
 APrEARS IRRELEVANT. 161 
 
 people, which I perceived very strongly marked in 
 him. I was still more impressed by these traits 
 after his second visit, on account of an incident 
 which came shortly afterwards to my knowledge. 
 
 I was one day — about a week after that unex- 
 pected appearance of his — making my way to the 
 breakfast-room, when I heard Mrs. Wynter's voice 
 calling to me from the further end of the passage I 
 was crossing. When I w^ent to her, I found her 
 standing in the centre of an empty room — one 
 which I had been told, when soon after my arrival 
 she showed me over the whole house, had not been 
 put to any use for many years — surveying its 
 capabilities with a look of considerable perplexity. 
 " My dear, will you come in ? Look here — 
 what do you think can be made of this ? " she 
 said. 
 
 I thought a good deal might be made of it, for 
 it was a tolerably-sized and very cheerful room ; 
 but as I had no conception for what purpose — it 
 might have been any thing, from a drawing-room 
 to a store closet — she was requiring it, my answer 
 was naturally obliged to be rather ambiguous. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 EIVERSTON. 
 
 *' I think it might be turned to account in many 
 ways," I said. " It seems quite dry, and the aspect 
 is very good." 
 
 "Yes, it was always intended for a housekeeper's 
 room — only, you see, I have never kept a house- 
 keeper ; but I have been thinking lately — or 
 rather it has been proposed — that is, dear, Mr. 
 Wynter and I have been talking the matter over, 
 and we have almost come to the conclusion that it 
 would be best perhaps to have one/' 
 
 I was too well used to Mrs. Wynter's timid 
 nervousness in carrying out, or at times in even 
 speaking of, some new plan, to feel any surprise 
 now at her hesitating and half-confused manner of 
 conveying this small piece of news to me ; I merely 
 inquired — 
 
 ^^ Do you know of any one who would be likely 
 to suit you ? " 
 
 « "Why— yes," she said. " Why— in fact, if I 
 had not heard of some one, I don't know if I should 
 have thought about the thing at all just now — but 
 this is how it is. William Rupert, amongst other 
 things that night he was here, was speaking to us
 
 APPEARS IRRELEVANT. 163 
 
 about some one — about a poor girl that he is a 
 good deal interested in. It is a long story, and, as 
 it was told me in confidence, I must not repeat it 
 all; but this poor thing — she was brought up 
 quite as a lady — made a wretched marriage, and — 
 and the end of it is that she has left the man — and 
 it was quite right of her — quite right of her ! — and 
 now some of her relations have turned their backs 
 on her, for they were against the whole thing from 
 the first, and indeed, poor thing, it seems she is 
 half heart-broken ; and when Mr. Rupert told us 
 all this sad story — he had — he had known her 
 father, and was very anxious to do something for 
 her — well, then, it seemed to us that we might take 
 her here as housekeeper, and so William Rupert 
 was to speak to her — or at least to communicate 
 with her about it ; and the end of it is that we had 
 a letter from him this morning — and, in fact, the 
 matter is now pretty well settled." 
 
 " So Mr. Rupert did not find his own griefs 
 enough to fill his head that night," I said, with 
 some warmth. *^I wish all the world was as 
 unselfish ! "
 
 164 RIVERSTON. 
 
 It was a bright afternoon in May when our ex- 
 pected housekeeper Mrs. Hammond arrived. We 
 were sittin2: with Helen when a servant came to 
 announce that she was below. Poor Mrs. Wynter 
 rose up ver}^ nervous and flurried. 
 
 " I had better go down — don't you tliink ? You 
 would rather not have her brought up here, 
 Nelly.?" 
 
 " Not unless you washed it." 
 
 " Oh nOj dear ! " — and, meekly resigning her 
 hope of countenancCj awoy the timid little woman 
 went. 
 
 She came back to us in less than a quarter of 
 an hour, and sat down without a word. 
 
 "Well, mother .?" 
 
 " Well, dear — she is come " — rather nervously. 
 
 ^^ And what do you think of her ? " 
 
 "I hardly know — I can scarcely tell yet — she 
 does not say much ; but she is so pretty ! — oh 
 Nelly, she is so pretty — poor thing ! " 
 
 When I saw Mrs. Hammond, which vv^as not 
 until the following day, I fully agreed in Mrs. 
 Wynter s report of her good looks. But the face
 
 APPEAES IRRELEVANT. 165 
 
 shocked me — it was like a face turned into stone. 
 I never sliall forget the look of those marble, blood- 
 less, rigid featm^es, fixed and passionless as if the 
 life had gone out of them at some sudden shock, 
 and left them for ever sealed with one motionless, 
 stern look. I do not call it expression^ for express 
 sion in the face there properly was none : the 
 dogged proud will, that had triumphed to the sup- 
 pression of even tlds dumb evidence of her sorrow, 
 was the one sole characteristic that was legible 
 upon it. And yet this stern determination to 
 wipe off the very flesh-marks of her suffering, 
 always appeared to me to defeat the very purpose 
 which she laboured to accomplish ; for I think 
 no natural or unrestrained expression, let it speak 
 as poignantly as it might either of sorrow or anger, 
 could ever have impressed me, as her rock-like, 
 passionless face always did, with such certainty 
 of the intense rage and bitterness that lay seething 
 in her masked soul. 
 
 She was a woman whom it was hard to like, or 
 even with heartiness to respect : / never attempted 
 to do either the one or the other. In spite of my
 
 166 RIVERSTON. 
 
 knowledge of much that she had suffered, and the 
 genuine pity for her which I had at first, I very 
 soon became convinced that I should, with as much 
 likelihood, find myself indulging in an epanchement 
 de cceur towards one of the stone figures that stood 
 in the entrance hall, as towards this stony, impene- 
 trable, sealed woman. 
 
 The Wynters themselves made little more of 
 her than I did. They were exceedingly attentive 
 and kind to her; they even at first, knowing 
 what her bringing up had been, would have treat- 
 ed her almost as an equal, but she repulsed them 
 in every attention that they tried to show her, by 
 the assumption of such cold and even haughty re- 
 serve, that at last, from sheer inability to know 
 what else to do, they were forced to leave her to 
 herself, and allow her to fall quietly into the posi- 
 tion amongst the household which her title assign- 
 ed to her — a position from which, it was very 
 evident, she had no desire to be raised. 
 
 There is little more, reader, concerning my 
 first year at Riverston which for my present pur- 
 pose I find it necessary to tell you. Our life was
 
 APPEARS IRRELEVANT. 167 
 
 quiet enough : the one great event that had 
 stamped its gloomy stain upon the year's com- 
 mencement brought a lull after it, which was 
 unbroken for many succeeding months. 
 
 During the summer we saw a good deal of 
 Mr. Kupert : he came to us several times, and 
 rarely remained less than a few days with us. 
 As the months went by, I was glad to perceive 
 that he regained a good deal of his former cheer- 
 fulness. The spirit was indeed too elastic to 
 be crushed by one blow, however severe; and 
 I noted with hearty pleasure how, at each new 
 visit, he was rising from his first depression, 
 and growing more into the likeness of his former 
 self 
 
 In the beginning of November he came to bid 
 us farewell for a time, as he was going north- 
 wards for some months. He intended in the 
 course of the winter, he told us, to be in Edinburgh, 
 and presently we heard through Sydney Wynter 
 that he had arrived there, and presented himself 
 to her. 
 
 There was some talk of Sydney's coming home
 
 168 KIVERSTON. 
 
 this Christmas; her visit had already been a long 
 one ; but when the time drew near the weather 
 was stormy, and it was agreed that it would be 
 better to delay her return until a more propitious 
 season.
 
 MAY-DAY. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIT. 
 
 MAY-DAY. 
 
 Sydney Wynter came home at last. 
 
 It was in the full flush and beauty of my second 
 spring at Riverston that she came, upon that 
 " gladdest day of all the glad new year " — the 
 opening day of ^lay. 
 
 She travelled home by sea — in. those days it was 
 still the most usual manner of passing between 
 London and Edinburgh — and two days before we 
 expected to see her Mr. Wynter journeyed up to 
 London, to be in readiness to meet her. She was 
 expected to arrive there upon the evening of the 
 30th of April; we therefore looked for her at 
 Riverston some time upon the following day. 
 
 It was a beautiful May day. Our spring was 
 backward, for the winter had lingered long ; it
 
 170 mVERSTON. 
 
 had laid its frozen hand on April shower and sun- 
 shine, it had quenched the April breezes in its 
 lion's roar. The earth was already stirring to its 
 resurrection, when, heralding its coming with 
 tempest blast, back swept the wintry storm, and 
 for a week wild wailing winds tore over us, rain 
 dashed on our window panes, mass upon mass of 
 brooding clouds hung out their dusky pennons 
 over heaven. It was the final struggle of the 
 grim old winter : when his battle ceased, from out 
 the last sobs of his threatening the young fresh 
 spring once more arose — a sunny gladness wafted 
 from the south in soft sea-breezes, and all budding 
 green with bursting leaves, and golden with a 
 dawning of pale flowers. 
 
 In the afternoon of this May-day it was that 
 Sydney Wynter came. I saw her arrival, though 
 I was not near to her. I had gone with my im- 
 patient Effie down the avenue that we might 
 watch for her at the gate, when, before we had 
 half-reached that post, a sound of far off wheels 
 struck on my ear. 
 
 "Efiae— hark!"
 
 MAY-DAY. 171 
 
 Slie stood still, breathless witli hope : undoubt- 
 edly there was a carriage on the road. 
 
 '* We can see from the acacia-trees," I said. 
 
 She was at them in a moment ; it was a small 
 clump of trees, from which, until the clothed sum- 
 mer branches made a screen, we could catch a 
 short, imperfect glimpse of the high-road. The 
 carriage had not passed yet ; it came as we stood 
 — a chaise driving rapidly. 
 
 "Oh, it is Sydney V Effie cried, and she clap- 
 ped her hands : as I looked at her, she was pale to 
 her very lips with excitement. 
 
 " Away with you then, and tell them ! " I said. 
 *^ Don't break your neck, dear child — there is 
 time enough." 
 
 But she burst from me, and sped to the house 
 like a young fawn. 
 
 I did not follow her. I left the avenue, and, 
 making a circuit, brought myself facing the house, 
 but at a distance from it. From thence I watched 
 the arrival, but I was too distant to achieve more 
 than the mere sight of the figure of Sydney as she 
 alierhted, and was received into her mother's arms.
 
 172 EIVERSTON. 
 
 In a few moments tliey all disappeared within tlie 
 liouse ; and I, leaving the shadow of the trees, 
 continued my afternoon's walk alone. 
 
 We were to dine at half-past five. I had re- 
 turned to the house some time before that ; but I 
 remained in my own room till within a few minutes 
 of the dinner hour. When I at length descended to 
 the drawing-room, I found them all assembled 
 there before me. 
 
 The first object that my eye fell upon was 
 Sydney. The rest were seated; she alone, the 
 most conspicuous amongst them, was standing 
 beside the fire, resting one arm upon the broad 
 marble mantel-shelf, with her head half turned, 
 and thrown upon her shoulder. The attitude was 
 perfectly easy and perfectly graceful ; yet there was 
 in it an air of studied arrangement that made me at 
 the first glance more than half-incHned to smile. 
 
 She raised her head as I came in, and looked at 
 me for a moment without moving ; then, as if by 
 a sudden recollection, roused herself, and stepping 
 forward interrupted her mother as she was going 
 to speak —
 
 MAY-DAY. 173 
 
 ^' I do not need any one to introduce me to Miss 
 liaig/' she said, very composedly. 
 
 She smiled a little gravely, and put out a hand, 
 the sparkling glitter of whose ahundant riDgs 
 attracted me to ohserve its own excessive beauty, 
 and, at the same time, raised a pair of dark eyes 
 to my face, which sent a quick glance of examina 
 tion like a flash across me. 
 
 " No — our names at least, are pretty familiar, I 
 suppose, to each of us," I said. 
 
 I moved on, and took my seat a few paces from 
 the others, and, as I left her, Sydney again returned 
 to her first position. 
 
 I could see her very well from v.diere I sat. 
 She WIS not pretty. She was middle-sized and 
 slightly made ; the face v/as rather small, squarely 
 formed, and spare. She had a broad, compact, 
 well-developed forehead, dark brows and eyes — 
 the last, though not remarkable either in size or in 
 general colouring, yet singularly, and even at times, 
 as I afterwards knew, startlingiy expressive ; a 
 small, not ill-formed nose ; a mouth large, firm, 
 and sharply chiselled. She was pale, and rather
 
 174 KIVERSTON. 
 
 dark, but her complexion had^ none of the rich 
 warm softness of a brunette ; except for the faintest 
 tinge of brown, it was cold and colourless. She 
 had dark, thick, fine hair, dressed in a crop of short 
 curls round her head — so short, that at a first glance 
 they gave something almost of a boyish character 
 to her appearance ; but this was a defect which 
 decreased daily. It had been occasioned by her 
 being ordered, after a severe illness she had gone 
 through before leaving home, to keep her head 
 shaved for some months, and the hair had only 
 been allowed to grow again since the past 
 summer. 
 
 I said slie was slight in figure, but the figure 
 itself was not good. It was graceful and easy in 
 its action ; but in an artistic point of view it had 
 many faults. She was aware of them evidently — 
 as indeed I soon perceived she was of every good 
 or bad point in her whole appearance ; and she 
 dressed so as to make them as little conspicuous 
 as possible. Her present attire was a robe of blue 
 silk, rich and darkly full in hue, made high to the 
 throat, with the open-cuffed sleeves, which were
 
 MAY-DAT. 175 
 
 then beginning to come into fashion, cut wider 
 than were yet customary, so as to display some 
 portion of the arm. She had good reason for 
 adopting this form, for the one thoroughly beauti- 
 ful point about her was her hand and arm. Most 
 beautiful they certainly were ; I have looked 
 on many a handsome hand before and since, 
 but the beauty of Sydney's remains with me yet, . 
 supreme above that of any woman I ever knew. 
 What its loveliness was to her I soon learnt to 
 know. 
 
 " My dear, I cannot think why you don't sit 
 down," Mrs. Wynter said, in a tone almost of 
 distress. " Just think — after you have been 
 travelling all day ! " 
 
 " But, my dear mother, it is quite a rest to stand 
 up; I am tired out with sitting." 
 
 " You always did like standing about so strangely, 
 Sydney. Dear me, lassie, it is like old times to 
 see you ! " 
 
 " Is it, mother ? " and Sydney smiled, ^but the 
 question was asked somewhat sadly. 
 
 " It is very pleasant to have you again, dear.
 
 176 RIVERSTOX. 
 
 When you were away, did you ever think of us at 
 home ? " 
 
 " Very often, mother." 
 
 " But did you ever want to be back amongst us? 
 Ah, Sydney ! " cried her father, laughing, " there 
 was not too much of that, I am afraid !" 
 
 She turned round with her bright eyes towards 
 him — 
 
 ^' Papa, sometimes I wanted to be home more 
 than I wanted any thing in the world." 
 
 " Did you ? Well^ — I am sure we wanted you. 
 The house has never been quite right since you 
 went. William Rupert would tell you that, I am 
 sure. By the way, Sydney, you saw a good deal of 
 him, did you not ? " 
 
 Pier mother's question, simple as it seemed, pro- 
 duced a curious eflPect on Sydney. A slight start 
 was followed by a swift momentary glance shot 
 out from under her drooped eyelids, and a sudden 
 flusliing of the blood to her cheek ; but that this 
 involuntary emotion in her sprang from any 
 pleasurable feelings, a peculiarly impatient and 
 even angry contraction of the brows forbade
 
 MAY-DAY. 177 
 
 the belief. She evidently, too, wished to conceal 
 its signs from other eyes, for she hastily used means 
 to shade her face. 
 
 "Yes," she said coldly, but with perfect com- 
 posure ; " we saw him rather often ; grandmamma 
 liked him.'' 
 
 " And did not you ? " I felt sorely inclined to 
 ask, but I prudently restrained my curiosity, and 
 held my peace. The rest possibly considered it a 
 superfluous question. 
 
 " He has gone somewhere about Ayrshire, has 
 he not ? " 
 
 " Yes — I believe so," 
 
 " Did he not tell you, dear ? " 
 
 " I did not see him the last time he called ; I 
 was out — at least I had to go out." 
 
 ^' Oh — that was a pity ! " 
 
 Iso response. 
 
 " There was a letter from him here a fortnight 
 ago," Mr. Yfynter said. '' He was just leaving 
 Edinburgh at that time. I suppose he will be 
 back in London before long ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 mVERSTON. 
 
 " He is in tolerably good spirits now, is he not, 
 my dear ? " Mrs. Wynter asked. 
 
 " I believe so ; he is in as good spirits as most 
 people." 
 
 " Bat you know, Sydney, a year ago one would 
 have said much more than that of him.'' 
 
 "Well but, dear mother" — laughing a little 
 scornfully — " / can't compare him with what he 
 was a year ago. He is not as high-spirited as he 
 was when he was a boy, certainly ; but I suppose 
 that may be said of most men." 
 
 " Very probably, my dear ; but come away to 
 dinner now, and show us what sort of appetite 
 your Edinburgh air has given you;" and Mr. 
 Wynter put Sydney's arm within his, and carried 
 her off to the dining-room. 
 
 " Is she like what you expected ? " Helen asked 
 me a few hours afterwards, as I paused for a 
 moment at her opened door on the way to my 
 own room. 
 
 '^ Not the least," I said. " I expected some- 
 thing girlish, and high-spirited, and lively " 
 
 " She used to be all that, Honor," Helen inter-
 
 MAT-DAY. 179 
 
 rupted ratlier sadly ; " but I don't know — she is 
 very much changed. I have been trying in vain 
 all night to imagine her quite the same Sydney 
 who went away." 
 
 " The old Sydney will come back more vividly 
 in a day or two." 
 
 " Yes, in some things ; but she has grown so 
 womanly and so grave, and, above all, so much 
 more self-dependent than she used to be." 
 
 " These are changes for the better. Go away 
 to bed, Nelly, and think no more of Sydney for 
 to-night"*
 
 180 EIVERSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BY A BROOK. 
 
 I COULD ill have borne it had Effie thrown off 
 her allegiance to me when her sister came ; for, as 
 I have told you, I am keenly jealous of love that 
 I have a right to, and the child had w^ourtd herself 
 by this time so closely about my heart's fibres that 
 they would have bled, and caused me many a sore 
 inward spasm, had she attempted to take herself 
 from me : fortunately she did not. 
 
 They had been together, the morning after Syd- 
 ney's arrival, to see Mrs. Ramsay. I had given 
 Effie a holiday, and, for almost the first time since 
 I came to Riverston, I neither saw nor heard her 
 for the space of several hours. It was another 
 bright day, and, having no business that detained 
 me in the house, I took my case of painting mate-
 
 BY A BKOOK. 181 
 
 rials out with me, and, remembering a long unful- 
 filled intention to make a sketch of a certain por- 
 tion of that Avooded dell into which^ on our first 
 day's visit to Mrs. Kamsay, you may recollect that 
 we penetrated, I bent my steps thither, and was 
 soon — a stone my seat, and a larger stone my table — ' 
 pleasantly employed upon my work. 
 
 My sketch was a bank by the stream's side, 
 steep, rugged, rocky ; the bare stone projecting 
 here and there in dark rough blocks, stained from 
 their natural grey to a darker hue by the action 
 of many winters ; but the effect of the picture was 
 not sombre. Spring's tender foliage flung over it 
 a smiling beauty ; prodigally she clothed it, richly 
 she shook her full hand over it ; moss crept over 
 its browned rock, wild-flowers starred its crevices, 
 primrose and violet roots crowded its hollows ; at 
 its foot, dazzling in May sunshine, the tiny river 
 leapt over a bar of stone, and sent its spray, a fairy 
 shower of rain, over the budding leaves and mossy 
 rock. 
 
 I sat and painted through the afternoon. The 
 subject pleased me ; I was in a mood to do it
 
 182 EIVEKSTON". 
 
 justice ; I felt it growing beneath my hand with a 
 keen satisfaction. I bestowed more pains than 
 usual upon it. I brought out the lighls and sha- 
 dows well, I drew the forms carefully of leaves and 
 flowers, I borrowed my purest tints to represent 
 their colours ; my work pleased me. 
 
 I was still employed in putting the final touches 
 to it when I heard Effie's voice overhead, coming 
 from the entrance to the pine walk. I had been 
 expecting her for some time ; as she came nearer, 
 I made a trumpet of my hands and called her. 
 She was quick of hearing, and came at my fi.rst 
 summons, plunging into the midst of the brush- 
 wood, and leaping down the steep, half-marked 
 path with the fearless security of a wild fawn. 
 Foreseeing the probable termination of her im- 
 petuous descent, I hastily laid aside my drawing, 
 and pushed my palette of wet colour from me, 
 hardly accomplishing even this small preparation 
 before she sprang upon me. 
 
 " Oh you dear thing, to think of you being here 
 alone!" she cried. " I could not think where I was 
 to find you ! " And she flung her arms about my
 
 BY A broob:. 183 
 
 neck, and clasped me in them with an energy that 
 threatened to be dangerous. 
 
 " And now that you have found me, you need not 
 make an end of me," I said. '^ Let go, you mon- 
 key — I don't want to be smothered by you ! There, 
 keep your hands where I put them. Now, what 
 have you been doing ? Where is your sister ? " 
 
 ^' I don't know ; I left her up at the top. Oh, 
 there she is !" and Effie pointed upwards. 
 
 Sydney was standing on the edge of the bank 
 looking down on us ; when we turned to her, she 
 made a laughing signal of recognition, and began 
 immediately to descend, coming down the steep 
 path less swiftly certainly than Effie, but with an 
 unhesitating firmness and grace, that aroused no 
 little admiration in me. 
 
 *^ So you haunt this dell of mine ?" she ex- 
 claimed as she came near. " I did not know I 
 was to have a rival in my dominions." 
 
 " I was not aware that this was an appropriated 
 territory," I said laughingly; ''however, if you 
 insist upon it, I will pay you tribute.'' 
 
 " But suppose I require absolute possession ?"
 
 184 EIVERSTON. 
 
 "Then we must declare war, for I refuse to 
 evacuate." 
 
 ^^Youdo?" 
 
 '' Absolutely/' 
 
 " Effie, what must we do with her ? Shall we 
 turn her out ?" 
 
 " Turn Miss Haig out !" Effie exclaimed, open- 
 ing her great eyes. She had seated herself on the 
 ground at my feet ; she turned round as she spoke, 
 throwing her arm across my knees, and pressing 
 me to her with a half-caressing, half-protecting 
 movement. 
 
 " Yes," Sydney said laughingly, " if she won't 
 go peaceably." 
 
 " It will be two against one then," I said, *' for 
 EfiSe will join with me." 
 
 " Eh, Effie, you wouldn't do that — would you, 
 lassie ? " And Sydney stooped her beautiful hand 
 on Effie's head. 
 
 " I don't know, if you were unkind to her ! " 
 
 The hand was withdrawn rather quickly; some- 
 thing that was not altogether satisfaction dawned 
 for a moment in Sydney's face ; but she concealed
 
 BY A BKOOK. 185 
 
 the expression almost immediateljj and answered 
 with a careless laiigli — 
 
 " I must swallow my dignity then, I suppose ; 
 it is no use declaring war if my only ally threatens 
 to go over to the enemy. Well/' and she turned 
 quickly to me, " what are you going to offer me 
 for tribute ?" 
 
 " There is something for a first payment," — and 
 I gave her my morning's work. 
 
 She received it with a little cry of surprise, the 
 whole face changing in an instant, from its look 
 of half-dissatisfied jesting to an expression of 
 the frankest pleasure ; she threw herself upon the 
 grass, keeping possession of the drawing, and com- 
 paring it again and again with its original, with 
 a curious delight that made her eye dilate and 
 sparkle. She placed it at last upright against a 
 stone, and, turning round, regarded me with a 
 gaze of the utmost earnestness. 
 
 " Miss Haig," she exclaimed abruptly, " I 
 would give five years of my life if I could do 
 that!" 
 
 " I thought that you did draw," I said.
 
 186 EIVEHSTON. 
 
 She flung a glance upon me that was almost in- 
 dignant. 
 
 " I ! yes — ^I draw certainly !" 
 
 " Wellj what is the matter with your drawing ? " 
 
 ''Every thing! You should see my portfolio 
 to get your question answered. I have not the 
 power to draw a thing as it ought to be done. I 
 don't believe I ever drew the form of a hillj or the 
 outline of a tree, but it came wretchedly short of 
 what I meant it to be. I could no more make a 
 sketch like that, than I could paint one of Raphael's 
 cartoons." 
 
 " With this only difference/' I suggested coolly, 
 '' that a few months would teach you to do the 
 one, while your life's study would never make you 
 capable of the other. If you want to draw, why 
 don't you work at drawing .?" 
 
 '^ Because my incapability disgusts me ; an hour's 
 drawing makes me feverish for the day ; I wear 
 myself out in vain efforts to repair the faults I 
 commit." 
 
 " That can only be the case if you have no one to 
 direct you."
 
 BY A BEOOK. 187 
 
 " In great measure — yes." But I fancied that 
 she had not been prepared for the admission, and 
 made it with some reluctance. 
 
 '• You could draw, if Miss Haig would correct 
 your drawings, Sydney," Effie said. 
 
 The answer came promptly, with a good deal 
 both of coldness and hauteur in its accent — 
 
 ^' 1 am not going to lay the correction of my 
 faults upon Miss Haig, Effie." 
 
 I smiled, but said nothing: we were as yet too 
 much strangers to one another for me to press offers 
 of service upon her. I left her for the present to 
 the indulgence of her little spirt of pride — not lik- 
 ing her the less for it. Perhaps she felt some little 
 curiosity to ascertain what its effect had been upon 
 me ; for after a few moments she raised a rather 
 uncertain glance to my face, and swiftly read 
 enough of the feeling that was written there to 
 send the colour rather suddenly to her cheek. That 
 sign of detection was, however, quickly suppressed. 
 Shaking back her hair, she sent another curiously 
 keen look upon me ; and then both lips and eyes 
 broke into a half-defiant smile. With this she
 
 188 EIVERSTON. 
 
 turned away, and, leaning back, lay down with 
 her head resting on her arm, listening for some 
 minutes in silence to the ripple of the stream, and 
 following its motion with her eyes. 
 
 Bright reflections lay on the water of sky and 
 cloud ; sunshine pierced its lucid depths ; ceaseless 
 life stirred its current; breaking over the stones 
 with its tiny dash and foam, on it flowed — im- 
 petuous, restless, beautiful. 
 
 " I wonder if any one was born to live in idle- 
 ness !" Sydney exclaimed presently. " If I could 
 reconcile my conscience to that pleasant creed, I 
 think I should spend my life by some river's side, 
 lying under the shadow of some great tropic tree ; 
 or become a lotus-eater, perhaps, and fairly bury 
 myself in dreams." 
 
 "I should not think that you were made for 
 lotus-eating," I said quietly. " It is an occupation, 
 or I am mistaken, that you would weary of" 
 
 "Do you tkink that T' She paused a moment. 
 " Well — Grod knows ! " she cried abruptly. " I 
 should like to think it, too ; but I am not like you. 
 I have no occupation — I have nothing to do."
 
 BY A BROOK. 189 
 
 " Make an occupation, then — if you want one." 
 
 " How can I ? " 
 
 " Go on with your education : I daresay you have 
 plenty to learn. Kead ; there are more good books 
 to be read than you will ever get through : work 
 at your drawing ; if I had your leisure I would 
 make myself an artist : you sing ; practise at your 
 music — learn it as a science; if you like — study 
 counterpoint — that will give you work enough." 
 
 She had partly risen up ; she sat as I spoke bend- 
 ing her head upon her knees : she did not answer 
 me until after some moments. When she did at 
 length speak, changing her attitude and looking 
 up, her tone indicated strong though suppressed 
 feeling. 
 
 " Miss Haig, with an object before me I could 
 work day and night ! If for some great object I had 
 to reach a special goal, I would reach it though the 
 race killed me : but I cannot work steadily without 
 a fixed aim ; I cannot spend months and years toil- 
 ing for no definite return. I want a fixed work : 
 something that I must do — something whose success 
 from day to day would be a thing that my well-
 
 190 KIVERSTON. 
 
 being depended on^ Miss Haig ! " she exclaimed 
 abruptly. " I could almost find it in my heart 
 to envy you." 
 
 " Is earning one's own bread, then, so noble an 
 object to toil for ?" I said — perhaps a little bitterly. 
 " Can yoUj surrounded as you are by some of God's 
 greatest blessings, find no higher end to desire for 
 your work than than that of keeping body and soul 
 together ? What do you envy in my life ? I am 
 not complaining of it — God knows, I have little 
 reason to do so now ! but do you think I would be 
 a governess if I could help it ? And yet you, who 
 are free to despise your liberty — you to talk of 
 offering your back for the burden whose long, daily, 
 endless pressure grinds out the very life and spirit 
 from thousands ! Object do you want ? You may 
 have object enough. Take some one thing — let 
 your object be to master it to the utmost of your 
 power : make your own will and sense of right a 
 necessity for working. Fix upon what you please, 
 if only you keep to it ; but the higher your aim the 
 better, so that you set to work humbly and with 
 patience. I have told you already what / would
 
 BY A BROOK. 191 
 
 do had I your freedom and your advantages. I 
 would make myself an artist : I would throw all the 
 strength I have into that object : I would make 
 my will a law to myself: I would study day after 
 day — month after month — year after year, till my 
 hand should have power to obey my mind ; till the 
 thoughts that I conceivej and the images that fill 
 me, should glow as clear upon my canvass as they 
 glow now within my brain." 
 
 Sydney's dark eyes had kindled : her face was 
 turned to me, and their wildly glorious light threw 
 such a gleam of radiance over it, that the whole 
 seemed almost beautiful : she had swept her short 
 curls back, and the bared, broad brow, the elo- 
 quent eyes, the mouth with its firm, proud, curled 
 lips, formed together a countenance that would, 
 could its expression have been well seized, have 
 made a striking picture. 
 
 " I wanted something to stir me up — you have 
 touched me!" she said abruptly: " I wanted a spur — 
 you have given me one that sets my blood leaping ! '' 
 
 "You like it, then?" 
 
 " Did not I tell you that I would give five years
 
 192 EIVERSTON. 
 
 of my life even to be able to paint a sketch like 
 like that of yours ? " 
 
 " Do not be so prodigal with the years of your 
 life : keep your five years for studying instead of 
 offering to fling them away ; you will have some- 
 thing of a better bargain of them so, I imagine." 
 
 " You take every thing I say literally. Well, 
 never mind ! I will be an artist ! " 
 
 " You are in earnest ? " 
 
 " I will give heart and soul to it : if the power 
 is in me, it shall come out ! " 
 
 "But, consider — the power may be long in 
 coming : you may be cast down a hundred times ; 
 you will work to the end of your life, and still see 
 m^ountain upon mountain piled around you, to 
 whose summit no foot of yours will ever reach." 
 
 She faced me with one of her proud smiles. 
 
 " They may reach above the clouds, and I may 
 be a molehill on the earth — but I will try ! " 
 
 " Try, then — you are strong enough, I think." 
 
 She sat with her arms folded round her knees, 
 her head thrown a little back, her whole face — 
 from its flushed cheek to its closed lips — eloquent
 
 BY A BROOK. ] 93 
 
 of the firmness of her purpose. I was pleased to 
 have put her in this mood ; I Uked the traits I had 
 called forth. 
 
 " Since you really mean to work/' I said, ^' you 
 must have a teacher. If, as you say, I draw 
 better than you do now, will you let me assist you 
 for the present ? " 
 
 I disturbed her ; she looked round to me with 
 a little uneasiness and embarrassment. 
 
 " I should like to take lessons from you very 
 much," she said, after a moment's hesitation ; " that 
 is — if you would let me receive them as — as I 
 should from any one else." 
 
 " By paying for them, I suppose ? — that is your 
 condition ? Very well, then, go and seek your 
 lessons elsewhere ; you don't get them from me 
 upon such terms." 
 
 " But, Miss Haig " — eagerly — ^^ your time is 
 valuable to you. I could not take it up in that 
 way without making you any return ; it would 
 make me most uncomfortable." 
 
 " Miss Wynter, do you imagine that you are the 
 only proud woman at Kiverston ? You may do 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 RIVERSTON. 
 
 as you like about this matter — accept my aid or 
 reject it, as you please — but understand, at least, 
 that if you are too proud to take it freely, / am too 
 proud to be paid for it." 
 
 She turned to me, and, before I was prepared 
 for so swift a response, laid her hand lightly 
 upon mine. 
 
 " I beg your pardon — I will take it," she said 
 quickly, almost in a tone of humility. 
 
 If I felt pleasure at having bent her to me — ■ 
 and I did — I kept my satisfaction to myself: I 
 merely took her offered hand, and thanked her 
 quietly for her acquiescence. 
 
 Her fingers lingered for a moment in my clasp 
 after I had spoken; she looked up to me with 
 great sweetness and feeling. 
 
 " Miss Haig," she said, " forgive me for what I 
 said so thoughtlessly a while ago about envying 
 your life : believe me, if I had not lain on eider- 
 down until I have sickened of it, I should not 
 have had the folly to hanker after a straw pallet." 
 
 ^' I believe you heartily : but for the future con- 
 fine your longings to the acquisition of a wholesome
 
 BY A BROOK. 195 
 
 horsehair mattress," I said laughing. " You will 
 find that pleasanter for resting on than either 
 straw or eider-down." 
 
 She laughed with me, and our talk ended ami- 
 cably. It was half-past four o 'clock, and full time 
 for us to be wending our way home. I roused my 
 bonnie Effie, and the three of us returned to the 
 house together. 
 
 My lessons to Sydney commenced immediately. 
 I found her an excellent pupil. Earnest, deter- 
 mined, persevering, abounding in quiet untiring 
 energy, no teacher could have desired a more docile 
 recipient of her instructions than I found in her. 
 She had very considerable talent, too : her taste 
 was pure, her eye keen and correct, her apprecia- 
 tion of colour especially good, her facility of 
 delicate imitation considerable, her enthusiasm 
 exhaustless. I soon became convinced, in my own 
 mind, that in making painting for the present her 
 chief study, she had chosen wisely. 
 
 She spent the principal hours of every morning 
 at her work. Her lesson with me was usually early 
 — before I went to Effie ; for the time that I gave
 
 196 EIVERSTON. 
 
 her I liked to devote to her exclusively, sitting be- 
 side her and watching her hand constantly ; and 
 at these times she was invariably as gentle, sub- 
 missive, humble as a child. Our intercourse at 
 other times of the day was not, however, always 
 conducted with a similar velvet mildness. We 
 were together a good deal, and, as we harmonized 
 on some points with about the accordancy of fire 
 and water, our encounters were not always placid 
 ones. Her wrath, however, always amused infinitely 
 more than it angered me ; for, cautious and haughty 
 and intensely reserved as she was beyond a certain 
 point, there was yet always upon the surface such 
 a fresh sunny energy and life in her — such open 
 hearty frankness, such general sweetness and 
 kindliness of nature, that even in her hottest moods 
 her presence was at all times welcome and plea- 
 sant to me. Riverston w^as certainly the brighter 
 for her.
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 
 
 The post-bag was unusually full one morning 
 some weeks after Sydney's return home; there 
 were letters for all of us that day except Helen 
 and Effie. They were distributed to us as we sat 
 round the breakfast table, and we forthwith — not 
 an uncommon habit at Kiverston — proceeded to 
 peruse them, leaving poor Effie, for Helen seldom 
 joined us at breakfast, to conclude her meal in 
 silence. 
 
 My letter was from my mother. It told me of 
 changes in a long familiar place, amongst old 
 familiar people, and my thoughts had travelled 
 away from Kiverston to a far off spot, where from 
 ray childhood it had seemed to me that the world 
 and the world's troubles had never pierced — to an
 
 198 EIVEESTON. 
 
 old house, grey with timej mantled with lichen, 
 moss, and ivy — to antique low-roofed rooms, whose 
 every piece of furniture, whose every ornament, 
 to the vase of homely flowers upon the mantel- 
 shelf, I knew — to faces that had heen around me 
 from my hahyhood — ageing in all those years so 
 little through their placid life, that I seemed older 
 now in my two-and-twenty summers than they : 
 my thoughts, as I said, had travelled far from 
 Riverston, dwelling on the strange news that at 
 last the fiat had gone forth which was to tear the 
 current of this sluggish life into new channels — 
 when my musings were ahruptly, for the moment 
 at least, dispelled by an almost simultaneous ex- 
 clamation that came from Mr. and Mrs. Wynter. 
 
 " Rupert is coming to us for a week, my dear," 
 Mr. Wynter said. 
 
 " And Gilbert is coming ! " Mrs. Wynter cried. 
 " Would you believe it ? Gilbert has actually 
 made up his mind to come ! " 
 
 Both Sydney and I raised our eyes as they 
 spoke, but not in the same direction, for she had 
 looked at the speakers — I at her. Both these
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 199 
 
 announcements I found were received by lier with 
 some emotion. At the first her lips were com- 
 pressed, and a look of annoyance that was almost 
 distress flitted across her face ; at the second this 
 gave place to an expression of half-ludicrous, half- 
 serious dismay, and her lips parted as suddenly as 
 they had closed, with a 'sort of gasp of half-sup- 
 pressed amazement. But not a word fell from 
 her, and in the buzz of the others' mutual expres- 
 sions of pleasure her silence seemed to be unob- 
 served. As for me, not being peculiarly called 
 upon to express either satisfaction or the reverse, I 
 returned to the perusal of my letter. 
 
 Half an hour later I was in the school-room, 
 correcting an exercise of Efl&e's before lessons begau, 
 when I was joined by Sydney. She came in and 
 dropped into a chair opposite me without a word. 
 I went on with my work for a few moments, till, 
 wondering at length what she had come for, I 
 looked up. She seemed only waiting to catch my 
 attention. 
 
 " I am in despair," she said. 
 
 " Indeed ! on what account ? "
 
 200 EIVERSTON. 
 
 "Did not you hear wliat they were talking 
 about at breakfast ? " 
 
 " About Mr. Kupert's coming ? " I asked. 
 
 I do not know if the inquiry hit the truth too 
 nearly, but certainly as I spoke the blood rose to 
 her cheek. It was, however, her only sign of emo- 
 tion, for her slight laugh was quite unembarrassed ; 
 and her tone quite easy and natural as she an- 
 swered — 
 
 " Oh no ! that won't throw me into despair. It 
 is Uncle Gilbert's visit I am thinking of. Miss 
 Haig, you know " — she hesitated an instant—" you 
 know about him— do you not ? " 
 
 " I know a little." 
 
 " You know that he is deformed ? " 
 
 "Yes— what of that.?" 
 
 I asked the question coolly enough, but Sydney 
 was far from bringing the same calmness to her 
 answer. 
 
 " What of that ! " she echoed. " Is it nothing 
 to be deformed, do you think ? " 
 
 " Did I say it was nothing ? " 
 
 " You spoke in a tone as if it was."
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 201 
 
 " You mistook the meaning of my tone. I 
 merely wanted to know what his deformity 
 liad to do with your excitement concerning his 
 coming/' 
 
 She rose up without answering me, and going to 
 the window stood there in silence for some 
 moments : when she left it she did not return to 
 the chair she had occupied, but stood, as it was 
 her favourite habit to do, leaning on a corner of 
 the mantelpiece. 
 
 " Miss Haig, I hate deformed people ! " 
 
 '' A most reasonable hatred." 
 
 " I don't call it reasonable ; it is only in- 
 stinctive." 
 
 " You had better get rid of your instinct, then, 
 as fast as you can." 
 
 " And you will give me no sympathy ? " 
 
 " For the instinct, if you like, a little ; for the 
 indulgence of it none whatever." 
 
 ^* But I don t indulge it. Miss Haig : I have 
 tried to overcome it, and I cannot. I assure you I 
 have tried hard to get over the feeling I have about 
 Uncle Gilbert."
 
 202 EIVEESTON". 
 
 "Perhaps there is something besides the de- 
 formity to get over ? " 
 
 ^^ I think, if I got over that, I could bear the 
 rest/' 
 
 ^^WhatzsUherest?'" 
 
 " I don't know how to tell you. He frightens 
 me : he is so ill-tempered ; he is so miserably sus- 
 picious. Do what you will to try and please him, he 
 will never believe but that you have some selfish 
 end of your own to gain by what you do." 
 
 " If I were you, I would persevere in my good 
 deeds till I forced him to see that he was in the 
 wrong/' 
 
 *• Ah, yes ! — I could do that if I liked him." 
 
 "Could you not do it out of compassion for 
 him.?" 
 
 " He makes no appeal to my compassion. I do 
 not think he wants to be converted." 
 
 " Never mind what you think he wants ; try 
 him.'' 
 
 ^•' I have — as well as I can — but it does no good. 
 I tell you he frightens me, and he shocks me : he 
 neither Hkes me, nor I him."
 
 NEWS FEOM THE NORTH. 203 
 
 ^' Other people like him : Effie does." 
 
 " Yes — Eflie is his pet," — and she gave a sup- 
 pressed shudder. 
 
 " Is he suspicious of her ? " 
 
 " Noj I don't think he is — oh no ! unless he was 
 absolutely insane, he could not be." 
 
 " Who, besides you, does he suspect, then .? " 
 
 " He used to suspect Helen — he suspected her 
 horribly. I don't think he ever believed a sentence 
 she said to him — unless when she spoke angrily. 
 Poor Nelly ! She did not like him— she was so gay, 
 you know, at that time, and they did not get on 
 well together at all." 
 
 " Well— who else .? " 
 
 " Every stranger he comes near." 
 
 " Poor Mr. Kingsley ! " I said. I turned round 
 again to my exercise, for it was growing close upon 
 our lesson hour, and continued the correction of 
 it. Sydney did not take her departure, but, glid- 
 ino: back after a few moments to her first seat, took 
 up a piece of E file's sewing that lay upon the table, 
 and occupied herself with it till my work was 
 ended.
 
 204 mVEESTON. 
 
 " You seem to have very little to do this morn- 
 ing," I said, as I put the slate away. 
 
 " My system has received such a shock that I 
 can't settle down to my usual employments," she 
 said, laughing. ^' I want to calm myself by the 
 contemplation of your industry." 
 
 '^ You had better summon Effie, then; for my 
 industry is likely to panse now until she makes 
 her appearance." 
 
 '^ I will call her if you like ; but, if she comes, I 
 must take my departure, for I shall get no calming 
 influence from her. She is more excited than I am 
 myself. Miss Haig, every body in the house is 
 excited more or less this morning, except you." 
 
 " How do you know that / am an exception ? " 
 
 " Don't you give every sign of being one ? " 
 
 " Do you always trust to outward signs ? " 
 
 '• Not always. Do you know," she looked up 
 quickly, " I have been speculating on that very 
 question in regard to you for the last month ? " 
 
 " Have you ? And may I know what conclu- 
 sion you have come to ? " 
 
 " Ah ! unfortunately, I have not come to a
 
 NEWS FROM THE NOETH. 205 
 
 conclusion at all ; I wish you would help me to 
 one ? " 
 
 " If I did, you could not assure yourself that it 
 was true." 
 
 She glanced up half-laughing, yet with a keen 
 .inquiry in her eye ; then, stooping her head with- 
 out speaking, drew a book towards her, and began 
 absently turning over its pages. It was one that 
 belonged to me, and my name was written at full 
 on its fly-leaf, ^' Honor Sybil Haig/' She came 
 upon that presently, and read it apparently, for the 
 next moment her face was again quickly raised. 
 
 " I did not know that you were called Sybil," 
 she exclaimed. '^ Honor Sybil — who on earth 
 gave you such a conjunction of names .^" 
 
 " My father and mother, I suppose. What is 
 your objection to them ? " 
 
 ^' I don't object to them, I rather like them ; 
 but is Honor a name in your family ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ''And Sybil, too.?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah ! I thought not. And so, when they had
 
 206 KIVERSTON. 
 
 called you Honor out of compliment to somebody 
 or other, they were obliged to tack Sybil on to the 
 end of it, that you might have some shadow of 
 affinity with your name?" 
 
 " Does Sybil give me that affinity ? " 
 
 *' Don't you feel that it does ? What could you 
 desire more uncanny or weird-like ? — more like 
 you in every way ? But as for Honor — you are 
 no more like an Honor than a witch is like the 
 cardinal virtues. And yet, I like Honor!" she 
 exclaimed ; " I like the two names together, they 
 are quaint and queer and contradictory — exactly 
 what a name for you oaght to be — if they would 
 only stop there ; for as for that final abomina- 
 tion " 
 
 *' Is that your civil designation for my sur- 
 name ? " 
 
 " Exactly ! That hideous Haig is an absolute 
 distress to me. I hate names without any euphony 
 in them. Why can't you cut off the g at the end, 
 and make it Hay ? Though, to be sure, it is in a 
 manner like you too, as it is," she added, bluntly. 
 
 " You are unusually complimentaiy to-day," I
 
 NEWS FROM THE KOETH. 207 
 
 said, but she composedly went on without heeding 
 my interruption. 
 
 " It is certainly characteristicj ugly as it is. The 
 g gives a sort of biting spice to the end of the word 
 that perfectly suits you, for you have exactly the 
 same kind of spice in your own composition (I 
 don't know what sort it is — is is not fiery enough 
 for cayenne pepper) ; but the sound is hideous — I 
 never say it without thinking of the process of 
 wrins^ino^ a chicken's neck." 
 
 "Well, you had better not say it, then," I 
 suggested. " You can call me what Helen does." 
 
 "Ah — that is just what I wanted to ask if I 
 might do ! " she exclaimed, with a sudden change 
 of voice. " I should like to call you Honor!" 
 
 " Very well — do it." 
 
 She glanced at me a moment without speaking ; 
 then, rising, glided round to the back of my chair, 
 and stooping over it, put her arm across my neck 
 and bent my head upwards. 
 
 " Say something more to me than that," she 
 began pleading in the most softly coaxing tone — 
 and Sydney's voice at her bidding could become
 
 208 EIVEKSTON. 
 
 singularly musical and sweet. " Don't just say, 
 ^ do it ' — like a piece of adamant — as if you didn't 
 care a straw for what I call you." 
 
 " Suppose I don't ? " 
 
 " I woTit suppose it ! Every body cares what they 
 are called. / care very much what you call me ; 
 you called me Sydney last night, and I felt quite 
 grateful to you." 
 
 " Did I never call you Sydney until last night ? " 
 
 " Never — to myself." 
 
 " And you want me to do it ? " 
 
 " I w^ant you to do it." 
 
 " Very well — I will. And I want you to call 
 me Honor. Is that polite enough ? " 
 
 " I don't want politeness,' quickly. 
 
 '^ What, then?" 
 
 She stooped lower down, leaning one arm upon 
 my shoulder till her cheek touched mine. 
 
 ^•' Give me a kiss, and you may keep all your 
 politeness to yourself; I don't like such an un- 
 natural commodity in you/' she said, half laughing. 
 
 " There, then — I give you one — two— three 
 kisses. Now, be content and get away."
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 209 
 
 " Did you kiss me to get rid of me ? " 
 
 " Are yoa going to turn as suspicious as your 
 Uncle Gilbert ?" 
 
 " No, I am not suspicious a bit ; only tell me 
 what I am to go for ?" 
 
 " Because I want Effie." 
 
 " But she is not here." 
 
 " You may go and hunt her out for me, then." 
 
 " Miss Haig, you won't tell any body what I said 
 about Uncle Gilbert ? " 
 
 " I don't think it is worth repeating." 
 
 " Would you repeat it if you did." 
 
 '' Go and find Effie." 
 
 " Honor," — coming quite back to the table — " I 
 get into a habit of saying things to you that I 
 never say to any body else : — is it a bad habit, do 
 you think.?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "Why .?" quickly. "No, no — ^you don't think 
 so !" half laughing. 
 
 " I do : it is very dangerous." 
 
 " Not with you." 
 
 " And why not with me ?" 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 RIVERSTON. 
 
 " Because I don't believe you would betray any 
 body." 
 
 ^' Very well : it is not my interest to contradict 
 you. Gro and call Effie." 
 
 " You want me away — really ? " 
 
 " I want you away — most decidedly." 
 
 '^ Well, I am going," and she got the length of 
 the door. " Honor/' she turned round once more 
 — " is she not a dear pet ?'' 
 
 " Effie .^— yes, far the best amongst you. Now 
 be off with you, or I shall turn you out." 
 
 Gilbert Kingsley was Mr. Wynter's half-brother 
 — the son of his mother by a second marriage. 
 This marriage had produced three children — Mrs. 
 Kamsay, or, as her maiden name had been, Grace 
 Kingsley — Gilbert — and another sister who lived 
 with him, the youngest of the three, Ursula. 
 
 Gilbert Kingsley, as I heard, had been deformed 
 from his birth. It was not a deformity that un- 
 fitted him for moving about amongst men : he had 
 the free use of all his members, but nature had 
 imposed a hump upon his back, and placed a head 
 upon his shoulders seriously out of proportion with
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH. 211 
 
 the remainder of his body. The face belonging to 
 this mis-sized head was also, according to Sydney's 
 assurance, exceedingly unprepossessing — wild, fierce, 
 and dusky : dark as night at ordinary times, but 
 when stirred by any passion or emotion, gleaming 
 out into strange flushings of sudden light, fire- blaze 
 of lightning, or — but far more rarely — soft, star- 
 beaming radiance. 
 
 He and his youngest sister lived together. He 
 had rather a valuable estate on the east border of 
 the great coal-field of South Yorkshire, and a pit 
 was worked upon his property ; but the place it- 
 self was desolate and bleak, bare of wood, wild, 
 cheerless, uncultivated. 
 
 " Unless you could see it, Honor," Sydney told 
 me, " I doubt if you could possibly conceive any 
 thing so terribly depressing as the place is." 
 
 *' How does it suit your Uncle .?" I inquired. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I never asked him : we are not accustomed to 
 be confidential together : I know about as much of 
 what the coals think of the place as of what he 
 does. He goes wandering about amongst his
 
 212 EIVERSTON. 
 
 grimy colliers from morning till night, scarcely no- 
 ticing or speaking a word to another human being — 
 and what he thinks of all the time, heaven knows ! 
 They are not very merry thoughts, or he would 
 hardly have the look upon his face that he has, I 
 suppose. But what could you expect, Honor, when 
 he never associates with any one but those rough, 
 half-humanized colliers from one year's end to an- 
 other ? There is no society in the place : all the 
 time I was there, I never saw him speak to a gen- 
 tleman except the clergyman ; and, as for Aunt 
 Ursula, I don't suppose he and she have two ideas 
 in common. Oh, Honor, it is a mournful kind of 
 life ! I would rather be free of mine altogether 
 than lead such a one ! " 
 
 Her account might be exaggerated, but yet the 
 sketch she drew of that barren, stunted, joyless ex- 
 istence — so dreary, monotonous, lonely — impressed 
 itself vividly on my mind : I pictured to myself the 
 waste, bleak, unbeautiful country, with its strange, 
 savage, underground population of rude, begrimed 
 workers : I imaged the unresting, misshapen figure 
 wandering through the midst of them, with his
 
 NEWS FKOM THE NORTH. 213 
 
 unspoken thoughts, and his now quenchedj now 
 kindling eyes : I painted to myself the homeless 
 house to which he returned at nightfall, the com- 
 panionless sister, the friendless hearth; and my soul, 
 too, shrank up before such a phantasmagory of a life. 
 Had it by possibility any attraction for Mr. 
 Kingsley ? any peculiar rude or wild charm that 
 knit him to it ? It was hard to get him to leave 
 it — that I knew : necessity and not free choice was 
 the only thing that drew him from it now. A 
 month ago he had caught a virulent fever that had 
 attacked some families amongst his work-people, 
 and he was ordered, for his convalescence it seemed 
 was slow, to leave his choked and impure northern 
 air for a milder climate. Yet he had not yielded 
 to his fate even now without a struggle : he would 
 still have remained at home and braved both fever 
 and physician, had not a new force in the form of 
 his sister arisen at length to oppose him. The 
 fever was still amongst the people : she had no de- 
 sire to ran more risk of catching it, she said : let 
 him go to Riverston, she would go to some relations 
 further north : the house might be shut up until they
 
 214 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 both returned. Thus it was settled — " though he 
 was very reluctant," so Miss Ursula wrote. But 
 could it have been affection for that dreary home 
 that made it so hard to wring an assent to quitting 
 it from him ? 
 
 " What day do you expect him ? " I asked Mrs. 
 Wynter. 
 
 *' Ursula says the 9th or 10th, dear." 
 
 "And Mr. Kupert .?" 
 
 " Oh ! he will come in the beginning of the 
 week — I think upon Tuesday." 
 
 It was Friday now, the 4th of June.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 215 
 
 CHAPTEK XV. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 
 
 I WAS in the drawing-room on Tuesday morning, 
 searching for some article that I wanted, when a 
 gentleman, a stranger to me, was ushered in. He 
 believed Miss Wynter was at home, he said with 
 a bow as he perceived me. I believed she was, I 
 replied, and, having found what I was seeking for, 
 I took my leave, and returned to the school-room 
 whence I had descended. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards Effie, as she sat learn- 
 ing a lesson in the window-seat, broke suddenly out 
 with an exclamation and a request — 
 
 " There is Sydney and some body going into the 
 garden ! Miss Haig, may I go arj^ see who it is ? 
 Oh yes ! she wants me — she is beckoning ! May I 
 go, please .^ "
 
 216 RIVERSTON. 
 
 " You may go if you like, you little piece of 
 curiosity; only, recollect that lesson must be known 
 by to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh yes ! " — and in hot haste away she stowed 
 books and slate, and made her escape. 
 
 The trio did not return indoors until half an 
 hour past luncheon time. They had been a long 
 way round the grounds : the day was so fine, and 
 Eiverston, the stranger said civilly, boasted so 
 many beauties that every turn tempted one further. 
 He only hoped his enthusiasm had not caused too 
 much fatigue to Miss Wynter. 
 
 No one to see Sydney as he spoke would have 
 accused her of being fatigued; so bright and 
 fresh I had scarcely yet seen her. Her dark eyes 
 were kindled, her usually sallow cheek glowing : 
 as she came in, talking with animation, her lips 
 smiling, and her short curls blown into rather 
 a graceful disorder, she looked almost pretty. 
 
 I had not long to wonder who this gentleman 
 might be whose presence seemed to be so pleasant 
 a cordial to her. His name was Leslie, I was 
 told: Sydney had been acquainted with him in
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 217 
 
 Edinburgh; since they had met there he had 
 been in London, and was now, it seemed, at 
 Hastings, in capacity of nurse, according to his own 
 declaration, to an invalid or hypochondriac uncle 
 there. He had been too delighted to find himself 
 within so short a distance of Riverston, he told us, 
 to be able to resist the temptation of renewing his 
 acquaintance with Miss Wynter. 
 
 This was what I gathered respecting him from 
 Sydney and himself: my own observation carried 
 me a little further. This showed me, in the first 
 place, that Mr. Leslie was a man of very striking 
 appearance — tall, well made, handsome: the 
 figure slight yet muscular, the face a little bronzed, 
 and chiselled with great clearness and regularity, 
 the head adorned with a thick mass of closely- 
 curling chestnut hair. In my lifetime I have seen 
 few men so handsome ; and yet, comparing him 
 with others of his own kind — with Mr. Rupert for 
 instance, as I did — for I had by degrees growil 
 accustomed to consider Mr. Rupert somewhat as a 
 standard of measurement for other men — he did not 
 altogether please me. True, the face was singu-
 
 218 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 larly finely cut, the features strong even while 
 delicate, the brow well built, the eyes brilliant and 
 rich-coloured, the entire face quite devoid of any 
 tincture of effeminacy ; moreover, both mouth and 
 eyes wore a pleasant smile to-day, open, cordial, 
 courteous — a smile that sat well on his handsome 
 lips ; but with all he yet failed to stand well when 
 I arraigned him by Mr. Eupert's side. In my 
 eyes the one was to the other what a shallow river 
 is to a wide sea — beautiful, sunny, pleasant on 
 the surface, but giving to the diver, instead of 
 gemmed bed or soundless depth, a little, deceptive, 
 sparkling sand. 
 
 His manner was easy and animated ; in conver- 
 sation he was to my mind a little too much given 
 to courtly speeches; he dealt out his courteous 
 compliments in doses rather larger than I cared to 
 swallow ; yet I confess that he talked agreeably and 
 well, and he bestowed some portion of his attention 
 in turn upon all of us, though a Benjamin's portion, 
 I quickly perceived, fell to Sydney's share. It was, 
 I noticed, an amount greater than the simple fact 
 of former acquaintanceship could have made
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST, 219 
 
 necessary ; it amounted to a degree of deferential 
 gallantry — it was marked, unmistakeable. 
 
 Was Sydney conscious of it ? Did her interpre- 
 tation of it pair with mine ? I watched her closely: 
 she was in excellent spirits — in excellent temper : 
 she was pleased and animated, her eyes sparkled 
 and her cheek glowed ; yet she baffled me ; I could 
 not read her. Through all her animation, in spite 
 of the evidences of high spirits that I saw in her, 
 there was yet a show of composure and self-posses- 
 sion — a quiet, undemonstrative manner of accepting 
 Mr. Leshe's attentions, such as seemed scarcely to 
 betoken either depth of feeling in her, or a con- 
 sciousness of deep feeling in him. But I might be 
 wrong. Sydney's reserve was made of wonderfully 
 impenetrable stuff: she could suppress emotion at 
 times with inimitable sang-froid, and act a part, 
 when it pleased her to do so, better than most 
 women I have ever known. 
 
 Mr. Leslie remained to luncheon, and, mutually 
 pleased as each one of our small party seemed with 
 the other, the afternoon was lengthening ere he 
 took his leave ; nor, even when we had at length
 
 220 RIVERSTON. 
 
 risen to bid him farewell, were our adieux al- 
 lowed at once to proceed, for, as we stood up, we 
 were interrupted by the arrival, at that moment 
 UQlooked for — of Mr. Bupert. Not a sound had 
 we heard beforehand of his approach : neither 
 carriage roll nor horse's tread had warned us of 
 his vicinity : the drawing-room door was opened, 
 and he stood smiling his good-morrow on the 
 threshold ere one of us within knew that a step 
 had entered the hall. 
 
 I had looked forward to this moment : my eye 
 now, passing the others, caught Sydney and fixed 
 itself on her : my ear grew awake to catch her 
 welcome. How would she meet him ? — how look 
 on him ? Alas ! both ear and eye gained a starved 
 meal. Not a step did she move, not a glance did 
 she give him : coolly and coldly, as she might have 
 greeted the most indifferent acquaintance, did she 
 extend her hand to him as he advanced to her ; 
 glibly, without an instant's faltering or hesitation, 
 were the chill words of her welcome spoken. 
 
 " Good-morning. We scarcely expected to see 
 you so soon," she said.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 221 
 
 " You forgot that I should come by rail^ I sup- 
 pose? — How are you? You are looking very 
 well," he said cordially. 
 
 " I am quite well, thank you." 
 
 She drew her hand from his coldly, and turned 
 away. There was neither confusion in her, nor 
 the least appearance of discomfiture in him : his 
 lips, as he came to her, had been clothed with an 
 unconcealed smile of pleasure, which survived the 
 coldness of her reception, and beamed as brightly 
 upon me when he turned from her as though her 
 chill welcome had borne no shadow of repulse. 
 
 "That is an Edinburgh friend of Sydney's," 
 Mrs. Wynter explained, as the door at length 
 closed upon Mr. Leslie. 
 
 " Indeed ! I never met him in Edinburgh,"^ 
 Mr. Rupert said. 
 
 " He was not there when you were," Sydney 
 interposed. " He does not live there : he is not an 
 Edinburgh man at all." 
 
 " Is he not, dear ? But he is Scotch, at any 
 rate. Leslie is such a very Scotch name." 
 
 " What did you say the name is — Leslie ? "
 
 222 RIVERSTOK 
 
 and Mr. Kupert tarned to Mrs. Wynter with an 
 eagerness of tone and look that struck me with 
 surprise ; but in her his excitement seemed abruptly 
 to awake something of a similar emotion, for, 
 raising to him a glance of quick and startled un- 
 easiness, she answered hurriedly — 
 
 " Yes, Leslie — but I never thought — oh ! you 
 know there are so many Leslies," she said. 
 
 " Yes," — and I thought that, in order to negative 
 his former .eagerness, he made his tone purposely 
 careless now — " yes, certainly, the name is common 
 enough in Scotland." 
 
 He was turning away, but she spoke again — 
 
 " I asked him to dinner on Thursday," she said 
 half-deprecatiugly. 
 
 " Did you ? " and the same look of interest 
 flashed a second time into his face. Neither of 
 them, however, spoke again. She left the room 
 almost immediately : he, after a few moments' 
 somewhat grave silence, quietly turned to where 
 Sydney was seated, and took his station at her side, 
 a little in her rear — a position, I took notice, whence 
 he could see her face better than she could his.
 
 THE BEGINNmG OF A CONTEST. 223 
 
 " How did you come from Edinburgh ? " he 
 inquired abruptly. 
 
 " By sea." 
 
 " What ! are you not reconciled to railways 
 yet ? " 
 
 " I don't like long journeys by railway." 
 
 " Yet it is the least fatiguing mode of travel- 
 ling." 
 
 "Not to me. The sea and I are very good 
 friends." 
 
 " So I remember," he said. 
 
 It was a remark spoken very quietly, but for 
 some reason known to herself it brought a flush, 
 with which I guessed she was little enough pleased, 
 to her cheek. It evidently aroused some recollec- 
 tion in her at whose power to force her to the 
 betrayal of emotion her quick pride was stung ; for, 
 with a tone of mingled irritation and defiance — 
 angry, I could see, both with herself and him — 
 she answered quickly — 
 
 " You are thinking of my boasting that morn- 
 ing on the Forth, when we played hero and 
 heroine, and planned magnificent voyages — a
 
 224 EIVERSTON. 
 
 grand scheme of castle-building on the sea ! " — and 
 she laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Yes, I was thinking of that morning. And, 
 if I recollect aright, your heroine's part was to be 
 an easy as well as a picturesque one — was it 
 not ? " he asked gaily. " There was something 
 in the plan about a couch of velvet cushions, on 
 which you were to lie and drink in the sea breezes ; 
 while I, as hero " 
 
 " I have given up velvet cushions, Mr. Kupert," 
 she interrupted, with an impatience which I more 
 tlian suspected she betrayed unwillingly : " Miss 
 Haig has provided me lately with a horsehair 
 mattress, which I find suits me admirably : pos- 
 sibly, if I feel that too luxurious, I shall resort to 
 a straw pallet. It is wisest, I have learned, to 
 make our bed hard with our own hands before 
 others begin to throw stones into it." 
 
 She was in a strange, bitter, reckless humour ; 
 I did not understand her : I do not know if Mr. 
 Eupert did ; I found it difficult to read what were 
 his thoughts. He stood leaning a little over the 
 high back of her chair, his bright grey eye keeping
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 225 
 
 a keen watcli upon her face, taking in her mood 
 apparently, yet letting no sign of what he thought 
 of it escape him, except that only at her last words 
 a slight smile, that vanished before its interpreta- 
 tion grew clear to me, curled his lips. But he 
 made no reply to her. 
 
 " Do you remember," he asked her after some 
 seconds, '' the last time that we were together in 
 this room ?" 
 
 I thought the moment strangely ill-selected for 
 such an inquiry; but he knew her and his own 
 reasons for questioning her better than I did. She 
 was clearly, however, not in a melting mood to- 
 day, and what he asked, I could see, vexed her, 
 though she answered it — for she was honest and 
 straightforward in all things — without an attempt 
 to prevaricate. 
 
 " Yes," she said, after a moment ; " you mean 
 when I was a child, the night before you went to 
 Italy : I remember it perfectly." 
 
 There was no softness in her tone ; she might 
 have liked him in those old days ; I believe she 
 did ; but the recollection of them wakened no 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 KIVEESTON. 
 
 visible emotion in her ; quietly and coldly she gave 
 her answer and was silent. 
 
 ^' What a glorious evening it was ! What a 
 shower of sunshine had been pouring all the 
 afternoon through that bay window there ! 
 Do you remember how it stood open all the 
 evening, and the breeze brought the scent of 
 the honeysuckle into the room ? I was sorry 
 to find that honeysuckle-tree cut down when I 
 came back." 
 
 " There are times now," Sydney had said to me 
 one day, ^' when I can scarcely bear the perfume 
 of honeysuckle ; I had once such associations con- 
 nected with it." 
 
 I looked at her as Mr. Kupert spoke, and there 
 was a quiver passing over her cold lip ; its lin- 
 gering tremor was on her voice too when she spoke, 
 careless as she sought to make its tone. 
 
 '^ Some disease got into the bark, I believe ; 
 they hoped at first that it would grow up again, 
 but I suppose the root is dead now." 
 
 ^^ They had better perhaps have let it remain 
 standiDg."
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 227 
 
 '* I don't think so : better to root it out al- 
 together than to leave its dead tendrils hanging 
 where the green leaves used to be." 
 
 There was a singular and sudden energy in her 
 tone as she spoke the last words, that made me 
 suspect something more than the destruction of 
 honeysuckle-trees to be in her thoughts. He ap- 
 prehended her meaning probably ; for, though his 
 reply was simple enoughj it too had its peculiar 
 tone. 
 
 '^ I doubt whether the old root is really 
 dead," he said ; " before I go, I will see if I can 
 find it." 
 
 8he made no answer ; it was he again who re- 
 commenced their talk — harping still upon the 
 same string. 
 
 " How did they let you sit up so long that 
 night ? Midsummer eve though it was, we talked 
 for more than an hour in the twilight — did we not ? 
 — before they called you away. Do you remember 
 how very warm it was ? how you shook back all 
 your hair — you wore long curls then — and made a 
 pillow for your head on the window-sill; and lay
 
 228 KIVERSTON. 
 
 there looking up to the stars, and teaching me 
 certain ones to " 
 
 She interrupted him suddenly before his sen- 
 tence closed. There was a flush upon her cheek 
 as she spoke, but it was of anger, not of any 
 softer emotion, and her voice, lowered though 
 it was almost to a whisper, betrayed unmistakeably 
 the irritation that she could not suppress. 
 
 " Mr. Kupert," she said, '^ you need not go over 
 each separate item of the account ; I remember 
 that night — but you had better select some other 
 subject to converse upon; it can be no satisfaction 
 to either of us to recall it now." 
 
 He received her haughty repulse with perfect 
 composure ; lowering his voice into unison with 
 her's, he only put the question to her gravely — 
 
 ''Why can it not.?" 
 
 ^^ Because we were friends then !" she answered, 
 with bitter though suppressed vehemence. She 
 scarcely spoke above her breath, yet the hiss of her 
 words reached me clearly. 
 
 " And now ? Have you not forgotten yet .?" 
 
 ^'Is it a thing to forget?" she asked fiercely,
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 229 
 
 yet still in the same suppressed tone. "No; I 
 have not forgotten — and I never will, while I 
 live!" 
 
 '^ Sydney ! " he said. 
 
 His tone was meant to quell her ; rather, I 
 thought, its accent of authority would have roused 
 her, for authoritative, and neither tender nor sup- 
 plicatory, was it ; but, whatever her inward state 
 of feeling might have been, outwardly she did not 
 resent it. With a hasty movement she only rose 
 up from her seat, and, moving a few steps aside, 
 rested her arm on the mantel-shelf, standing there 
 for several minutes afterwards as motionless and 
 undemonstrative as stone ; standing there, indeed, 
 until Mr. Rupert chose to leave the room, and 
 she and I were left together as its only occupants. 
 Then presently she came noiselessly towards me, 
 where I sat in that bay window, to which Mr. 
 Rupert had lately made such unacceptable refer- 
 ence. 
 
 " I wish one could be a child all one's life long, 
 Honor/' she said abruptly, in a queer tone, half 
 plaintive, half angry ; and, waiting no response,
 
 230 EIVERSTON". 
 
 down she sank upon a stool at my feet, and turn- 
 ing her face laid it on my knees. 
 
 I said nothing to her. I knew her reserve too 
 well to make the smallest attempt to force her con- 
 fidence : I knew that she wanted neither to talk 
 nor to be questioned : I let her remain in perfect 
 silence, showing my consciousness of her proximity 
 only by once or twice touching her hair, and 
 after ten minutes she looked up with the traces 
 of tears, which she was alike too proud to speak 
 of, and too proud to hide, upon her cheek. She 
 rose from her low seat with something between 
 a sob and a laugh, and put her arm round my 
 neck. 
 
 " Give me a kiss, Honor." 
 
 Then, while I kissed her, still between jest and 
 earnest — 
 
 "It is a hard, cruel, unkind world : if any body 
 said any thing bad about you, Honor, I would fight 
 them for it. I wonder if any one would do as much 
 for me ! Heigh ho ! I wish you would come out 
 Honor : I feel stifled with the hot air of this room 
 That is four o'clock striking: come out for half
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A CONTEST. 231 
 
 an hour before dinner, and give me another kiss 
 first — I like to be kissed— it is comforting. Yes- 
 thank you : noWj come away." 
 And, linking her arm in mine, we went.
 
 / 
 
 232 BIVEKSTON, 
 
 CHAPTER XVT, 
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 
 
 " Wlien does your uncle come ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, I believe. We expect to hear cer- 
 tainly in the morning." 
 
 It was after dinner, and Sydney sat sketching 
 in the bow window. She did not often paint in 
 the evenings, but I had suggested that she should 
 attempt the portrayal of some sunset colours, and, 
 as the sky gave promise of a warm glow this even- 
 ing, she had brought her drawing materials down- 
 stairs, and was now at work on a group of elm- 
 trees, whose green wreathed branches were deep- 
 dyed with the splendour of a red declining sun. 
 
 " It is eleven years since I have seen him," Mr. 
 Rupert said. " I shall be heartily glad to meet 
 him again."
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 233 
 
 No response from Sydney : to her mind gladness 
 at seeing Mr. Kingsley was an idea hard to be 
 entertained. 
 
 " He will hardly recognize me, I suppose. These 
 years must have made much more change in me 
 than in him. 
 
 " I don't believe they have made the least change 
 in him : as far back as 1 can remember, he has 
 always been the same : he never seems to me to 
 grow one year older or younger." 
 
 " Yes— I suppose you can remember little change 
 in him ; but to m^j mind two very different pictures 
 are presented when I call up the image of Mr. Kings- 
 ley as he was at my first and last meeting with 
 him." 
 
 I felt an inclination to ask in what this diiference 
 lay ; but it struck me that my question might be an 
 intermeddling in what I had no business with, and 
 I therefore held my tongue. I was rewarded 
 presently for my self-denial. 
 
 " I suppose he was quite a young man when you 
 first saw him/' Sydney said. 
 
 " Yes — he was not more than three or four and
 
 234 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 twenty. It was before that cruel blow fell upon 
 him." 
 
 Sydney's head started up — her eyes full of broad 
 amazement. 
 
 " What blow ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I thought you knew that story." 
 
 " I know no story. Tell me." 
 
 " I cannot tell you much. I only know that he 
 was attached to a girl who behaved very heartlessly 
 to him." 
 
 "Uncle Gilbert!" she cried. 
 
 He went on, taking little notice of her surprise. 
 
 " It was a shameful business from the beginning, 
 I believe. The woman did all in her power to en- 
 tangle him — she gave him every possible encourage- 
 ment, and then made a jest of the whole affair. 
 They say it nearly drove him mad." 
 
 " How could any woman pretend to love him ? " 
 and Sydney shuddered. 
 
 " Yes — it was a most heartlessly cruel thing." 
 
 I smiled at Mr. Kupert's misconception : it was 
 not the cruelty in this case that was shocking 
 Sydney — that was by no means her foremost
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 235 
 
 thought ; with her, I saw clearly, the first impulse 
 was siraply horror that any woman could feign 
 love for a being so unlovely : indignation at the 
 wrong done was altogether a secondary feeling. 
 Yet as a secondary feeling it did arise. 
 
 " The thought of such women always makes my 
 blood stir. I should like to know what became of 
 that one." 
 
 " I never heard. She would marry some one, no 
 doubt. She was very beautiful.'' 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " And it was before this happened that you saw 
 him first ? " 
 
 " Before he made the discovery — yes. He came 
 here for a single day ; and it is strange that at 
 that first sight of him I scarcely recollect his 
 deformity making almost any impression upon 
 me." 
 
 " How old were you ? " 
 
 ^' A mere child : nine or ten, probably." 
 
 ^' Then by the time I can remember, it was all 
 over ? " 
 
 " It was over within two months from that time."
 
 236 mvERSTON. 
 
 " Mr. Kupert " — presently — " was he like other 
 people then ? — when you first saw him, I mean ? " 
 
 "If he was unlike it was only in appearing 
 lighter-hearted. He seemed to me to carry sun- 
 shine about with him. He had in those days one 
 of the most full, hearty, genial laughs that I ever 
 remember to have heard." 
 
 " Strange ! And how long passed before you 
 saw him next ? " 
 
 " Two years or so. Give me that brush," Mr. 
 Kupert demanded suddenly ; " you are making a 
 singular daub of those trees." 
 
 She raised her head with a quick movement, and 
 a look shone in her dark eyes that plainly denoted 
 a somewhat haughty surprise at his interference ; 
 but a moment afterwards the brush had left her 
 fingers for his, and her drawing-board had assumed 
 a position that brought it far more beneath his 
 hand than her own. Rapidly pointing out a few 
 principal errors that she had committed, he quietly 
 set himself — he had drawn a seat beside her — 
 without a word of apology, to alter or to improve, 
 she meanwhile, in passive and I thought sullen
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 237 
 
 silence, retaining her seat without either a move- 
 ment or a gesture^ except, as I noticed, a half 
 visible pressure of her teeth upon her under lip — 
 a sign sufficient, however, to me, as I sat watching 
 her, to denote that some feeling not of the most 
 amiable or submissive kind was at work within 
 her. 
 
 I looked on in some surprise. The remedy for 
 what she disapproved seemed to me very simple : 
 I waited, momently expecting to hear her request 
 the restoration of her implements; but no such 
 requisition came from her : doggedly still she sat 
 for full five minutes, and when at length her words 
 came, unmistakeably irritated as was their tone, 
 all that they conveyed was simply a suggestion. 
 
 " You had better stop — the sun is quite set. It 
 is too late to do any more good with it now." 
 
 " Presently," and motioning her hand back as 
 she advanced it, without even looking up, he con- 
 tinued his work, accompanying it as at first with 
 /a running comment on her failings. 
 
 Not a word more spoke she. For ten minutes 
 did she sit motionless, angry I believe alike with
 
 238 KIVERSTON. 
 
 herself and him, yet making no single further sign 
 of resistance. She sat forwards, leaning her elbow- 
 on the table, and her brow upon her hand, never 
 raising her head, but silently with her eyes follow- 
 ing the movements of his pencil, watching the 
 process which was changing her faulty sketch into 
 a clear and vigorous delineation — for I examined 
 it on the following day, and saw evidence upon it 
 of a hand stronger and firmer than hers — with an 
 expression of cold impassiveness that covered what- 
 ever keener feeling there might lie beneath. 
 
 As the light began to fade, he at length leant 
 back and pushed the board from him. 
 
 " It is too late to make much of it : you began 
 badly. However, you have made a great advance 
 in drawing lately. Who has been teaching you ?" 
 " Miss Haig." 
 
 " I compliment Miss Haig upon her pupil, then," 
 and he sent a bright look over upon me. It was 
 one of a kind that I knew and liked well — not 
 altogether a smile, for the eyes only spoke, yet 
 warm, genial, cordial, as though lips and eyes had 
 both been eloquent.
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 239 
 
 " Sydney has worked well," I said. " She must 
 show you something better than this feeble attempt 
 of to-night; you must not judge her by this." 
 
 Sydney rose up suddenly » 
 
 " Honor, do you know where they all are ? 
 Effie did not go with papa, did she T' 
 
 *' No, I saw her five minutes ago : she is out of 
 doors somewhere." 
 
 Without another word Sydney turned and left 
 us : half a minute afterwards we heard her foot- 
 step on the gravel beneath the window. I rose up 
 and looked after her. 
 
 " What a warm sky the sun has left ! The 
 evening looks pleasant." 
 
 " Very: will you come out .^" 
 
 " I was going to propose that we should : I 
 grudge any part of a June evening indoors." 
 
 I thought when we gained the open air that Mr. 
 Kupert would have hastened to fall into Sydney's 
 track, but, so far from this, I found him more 
 inclined to linger than myself; again and again he 
 paused to call attention to the sky, the trees, the 
 stars, the various spectacles that the summer
 
 240 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 evening was creating or beautifying, and when ten 
 minutes had passed we were still not in sight of 
 Sydney. But at last his admiration of nature 
 abruptly ceased: turning to me after a few 
 moments' silence he asked me suddenly — 
 
 " What do you think of Helen? How is she ?" 
 
 " She is as she will probably always be now. 
 Hers is the calm that lives with the signs of wreck 
 and tempest around it." 
 
 " Poor girl ! And you think this state will 
 last?" 
 
 '^ I think that it will — except that in some the 
 genius for forgetting is very strong." 
 
 " Not in her, I think. From what I have seen, 
 I should rather dread that her memory might be 
 too intense." 
 
 " It seems to me," I said, '^ that this grief of 
 Helen's has deepened her whole nature. I did not 
 give her credit, when I knew her first, for possessing 
 such power of suffering as she lias shown. I 
 thought, pampered as she was, that she would 
 have striven to thrust the bitter draught away 
 from her lips — that she was far likelier to have
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 241 
 
 sought for forgetfulness in dissipation than for 
 strength in endurance." 
 
 " You did her injustice." 
 
 " I did. She has shown me that my first judg- 
 ment was a harsh one. Yet some harshness she 
 did deserve, Mr. Eupert." 
 
 " She must have done so, or she would not be 
 suffering now. Their meeting must have been a 
 shock to Sydney." 
 
 The words were rather a remark than a question ; 
 but, as he spoke, his eyes turned a quick and keen 
 side glance of inquiry on my face. I laughed 
 inwardly at the sight of it. ^^ So," methought, 
 " I perceive your cue, Mr. Rupert." 
 
 " Yes," I answered aloud, " of necessity it was. 
 I think she was hardly prepared for finding her so 
 greatly altered. But she is tolerably accustomed 
 to the change now ; in fact, she can bear a shock : 
 she has no want of elasticity in her. I should 
 imfigine, too," I subjoined — for I thought within 
 myself, I will be even with you, Mr. Rupert : 
 if vre talk about Sydney it shall not be solely for 
 your gratification : — " I should imagine, too, that 
 
 VOL. L R
 
 242 RIVEESTON. 
 
 she moulded herself quickly to new conditions: 
 she is flexible." 
 
 « You think so ?" 
 
 He asked tlie question with a swift scrutiny of 
 eye ; I saw his object was to extract my opinions 
 rather than to express his own. But simply to 
 satisfy him by no means suited me, 
 
 ^' Do you not ?" 
 
 He faltered a moment: he was not prepared 
 apparently to give a direct reply ; I had no inten- 
 tion however of letting him off: I repeated my 
 question. 
 
 ^' I am hardly a fit judge/' he said at length ; 
 " since she was a child I have seen little of 
 her." 
 
 " And in childhood how did you find her ?" 
 
 " Not generally flexible, I think. She had 
 decided opinions and a strong will: it was not 
 every hand that could bend her." 
 
 " If I thought it was every hand that could bend 
 her now, I should not call her flexible, but weak. 
 However, when I used the word it was scarcely of 
 her strength of will I was thinking : it was of her
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 243 
 
 geneial power of growing into harmony with new 
 states of being that I spoke." 
 
 " Hm — m ! — is she flexible in that way ?" 
 " I have thought so. She certainly fell into the 
 life that she at present leads with scarcely a visible 
 thi'oe of transition : there was no period of unsettle- 
 ment ; two days after her return from Edinburgh, 
 she was as full of quiet home business as though 
 she had never been away from Eiverston, or had 
 come back and found no chan'ie in it." 
 
 o 
 
 '^ She would have felt the void of want of 
 intercourse with Helen more if it had not been for 
 you. You are a good deal together ?" 
 
 " A good deal. Yes, she makes a sort of occu- 
 pation out of me : she has got a few odd fancies in 
 her head concerning me, and pleases herself with 
 spending her spare time in working them out/' 
 
 A quick speculating glance queried whether 1 
 spoke in jest or earnest ; but, as my face probably 
 failed equally with my tone to enlighten him, his 
 scrutiny ended in a spoken question. 
 
 " What do you mean.? What fancies .?" 
 
 '' That is information I withhold," I said laugh-
 
 244 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 ing. " They are too uncomplimentary for me 
 to declare them." 
 
 " Then I must ask information from Sydney?" 
 
 " You are welcome. But I have faith in her : 
 she would abuse me to no second person so harshly 
 as she does to myself." 
 
 " Does Sydney find more fault with her friends 
 before their faces than she thinks would be truth 
 to say of them behind tlieir backs ? " 
 
 Was that a theory propounded to give consola- 
 tion to himself, I speculated ? I would try him. 
 
 " I do not know : Sydney is honest," I replied : 
 *' if she says less behind her friends' backs than to 
 their faces, it is more from tenderness perhaps than 
 a fear of overleaping the truth." 
 
 Did he look dejected? I glanced stealthily up- 
 wards. Not he ! More serene never man looked. 
 My arrow seemed to have had but a blunted 
 point. 
 
 "YeSj honest she has always been: from her 
 earliest years that was one of her characteristics. 
 I would trust Sydney to speak the truth where it 
 was required before most other women !"
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 245 
 
 He was growing complimentary to one of us, at 
 any rate : I, however, as a fractional portion of 
 that lot and parcel, civilly referred to as " most 
 other women," gave a slightly dry cough : I 
 could have had two words to say respecting that 
 dogmatic praise of Sydney's honesty. But Mr. 
 Kupert's enthusiasm was clearly mounting : my 
 humble token of dissent was suflPered to pass unno- 
 ticed. Flinging his preliminary reserve away with 
 a gesture of royal frankness — he felt emulous, 
 doubtless, to imitate this admirable honesty of Syd- 
 ne/s — he forthwith broke into a scarcely suppressed 
 eulogy concerning her — her talents, her sweetness 
 (he did not experience much of it, I thought) — her 
 warm affections — and various other virtues which 
 he held her to possess. 
 
 " It is a character," so he told me, " which re- 
 pays the time spent in studying it. She is not 
 highly educated : you will have found, I daresay, 
 that she is ignorant enough on many points, but 
 wherever you penetrate her you come on vigorous 
 intellect. With the powers of mind and the fa- 
 culty of perseverance that she possesses, there are
 
 246 RIVERSTON. 
 
 few things that she might attempt to do in which 
 she would fail." 
 
 '' Yes — her capacity is fair enough, and, as you 
 siy, she has perseverance. She sticks to her paint- 
 ing, though I do my best to discourage her. She 
 keeps her temper too, so that her steadiness pro- 
 bably does not arise from obstinacy." 
 
 Our conversation was growing too sweet, I 
 fancied ; a little acidity, it seemed to me, would 
 temper it pleasantly. Mr. Kupert's palate, how- 
 ever, appeared to reject that ingredient. 
 
 ^' From obstinacy — no — she has too much good 
 sense for that. I believe that her perseverance in 
 painting evinces some degree of real taste for art : 
 even that sketch she was attempting to-night — 
 faulty as it was, I assure you, Miss Haig, it dis- 
 played a feeling for her subject that surprised 
 me." 
 
 " It did not surprise me in the least," I answered 
 drily. ^' It was an excessively bad sketch. I 
 should have recommended her thrusting it in the 
 fire, had you not been good-natured enough to put 
 a few touches to it."
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 247 
 
 *• Wellj certainly in itself it was poor enough ; 
 yet it gave promise. But I see you are a severe 
 mistress, Miss Haig ! " and he turned the sunshine 
 of his bright glance upon me. 
 
 "Not more severe than Sydney needs. She 
 would not do with one who could not hold the 
 reins over her." 
 
 " They may be held over her, but not drawn too 
 tightly." 
 
 " She must feel them. For my part, while I 
 pretend to have authority over her, I like to keep 
 the bit in her mouth — and to touch her too at 
 times with whip and spur." 
 
 *^ Is she submissive ?" 
 
 "What is your own experience, Mr. Rupert?" 
 
 ^' Mine?" and he laughed lightly, though to my 
 watching eyes an instant's glance of consciousness 
 betrayed him. " What experience can I have ? 
 I pretend to no authority over her." 
 
 " I thought your experience might have dated 
 from much farther back than mine. So far as 
 mine goes, I should say that she submits whenever 
 she finds that resistance will end in conq^uest.
 
 248 BIVEKSTON. 
 
 Make the hand strong enough, and the struggle 
 with her will never be long." 
 
 " And when she is conquered — what colour does 
 her mood take ? " 
 
 " That depends upon who conquers her : with 
 me she is seldom very vicious : perhaps my strength 
 is too little beyond her own to vex her much." 
 
 " May it not rather be that her love for you 
 keeps her from taking offence ? " 
 
 " Her love, Mr. Kupert ? I assure you Sydney's 
 love for me is very problematical. No — we get on 
 together ; but as for the love that there is between 
 us, I would not answer for it.'' 
 
 " Do yoic profess no affection for her ?" he 
 asked quickly. 
 
 " Professions of affection are not greatly in my 
 way. No ! as far as I can recollect, I have never 
 professed any love for Sydney." 
 
 He half smiled at the indirectness of my answer, 
 but there came no immediate reply. When at 
 length, however, he spoke, it was clear that his 
 mind had caught up the delusion that I was 
 in a woful state of ignorance and darkness con-
 
 A SUMMEK EVENING. 249 
 
 cerning Sydney's character ; for, in an accent of 
 anxious and earnest persuasion, this was how he 
 proceeded to speak to me : — 
 
 '' You must not think that she is cold-hearted, 
 Miss Haig," he began ; " you may think you know 
 her better than I do now, but in warmth of heart 
 people do not change with their years, and I can 
 give you my testimony of what she was when she 
 was a child. I have never known man or woman 
 with warmer affections than she had ; I have never 
 known a child so unselfish and self-sacrificing as 
 she was. She has faults," he admitted this grudg- 
 ingly, '^ but they spring from the generous warmth 
 of her nature. They are faults of temper or of 
 judgment — never of heart. I have known Sydney 
 often in the wrong, but never have I known her 
 do or say an ungenerous or an unkind thing.'* 
 
 " Pretty well ! " 1 thought, with an inward 
 laugh, as the conversation of the afternoon rose to 
 my mind. " A most truthful eulogium we are 
 having ! Let me see what will come next;" and 
 I waited expectant. " Will he need a fillip from 
 me to lead him on .^" I questioned with myself.
 
 250 KIVERSTON. 
 
 Not he : I might have been a born mute for 
 any notice my silence got from him. 
 
 ^' There is so much genuine sweetness of nature 
 in her/' he recommenced again ; ^* so much gen- 
 tleness and patience, too ; so much generous, 
 almost chivalrous feeling. She is one who would 
 stand — who has stood — ^by a friend's side, alike 
 through good report and evil report, with a ful- 
 ness of faith that would neither know hesitation 
 nor doubt. Flexible you called her, Miss Haig," 
 and suddenly he looked down on me, with a sin- 
 gularly irrepressible smile curling his lips ; " on 
 some points you would scarcely think her flexible. 
 I have known occasions on which arguments and 
 persuasions alike have fallen on Sydney's ears with 
 as little effect as rain-drops upon glass. Believe 
 me, where she wills it, and especially where her 
 affections prompt her, she is both resolute and 
 proud. Have you never found her so ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I have found her wilful enough ; and I 
 can imagine her, as you say, very unreasonable 
 when she has got some crotchet in her head. As 
 for her pride, that is not to be gainsaid. I con-
 
 A SUMMEE EVENING. 251 
 
 sider it indeed as a many-headed monster; its 
 ugly horns protrude themselves in a dozen different 
 directions." 
 
 " A woman is the better for a little pride : 
 Sydney would lose a portion of her piquancy if 
 she lost hers." 
 
 " Is Sydney piquant ? " 
 
 I essayed to give my question a tone of inno- 
 cent inquiry, but I half fear it failed to deceive. 
 There was a laughing glimmer of light in Mr. 
 Kupert's eyes as they shot out their side glance at 
 me, that spoke a keener consciousness of my inner 
 thoughts than I altogether cared to see. I had 
 no mind to let him get the better of me : very 
 demurely ignoring all perception of his amuse- 
 ment, I subjoined — 
 
 " It is a dangerous gift — that of piquancy. 
 Women who possess it always run the risk of be- 
 coming coquettes. And, by the way, I have 
 noticed a tendency to coquetry in Sydney more 
 than once : if she had been pretty, I dare say she 
 would have been as bad as Helen." 
 
 His eyes asked, " What have you seen T' but
 
 252 EIVERSTON. 
 
 incredulity and happy composure sat still on his 
 unclosed lips. I did not choose to answer any 
 question put to me in that ambiguous fashion ; 
 quietly walking on, I gathered a rose, and fixed it 
 in my waistband, and, when this was done, seeing, 
 I suppose, that no words were likely to come from 
 me, he at length condescended to put his meaning 
 into words. 
 
 " Sydney's good heart would never suffer her 
 to become a coquette," he said, with a little not 
 altogether un-anxious gravity : " but even an ap- 
 pearance of coquetry should be guarded against. 
 I would hardly say that that is a fault Sydney is 
 likely to fall into ; but if Miss Haig has seen more 
 clearly than I " — and that side glance, that he could 
 make at times eloquent enough, fell keenly and 
 swiftly on me — " I think that womanly kindness 
 might prompt her to give warning and advice." 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, Mr. Rupert. Whether 
 the moving power be or be not womanly kindness, 
 advice at least, and plenty of it, Sydney gets from 
 me. I rate her soundly, I assure you : her faults 
 will never lie upon my conscience."
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 253 
 
 " Are you so hard with her ? And how does 
 she take your rating ?" — laughing now. 
 
 " According to her mood : sometimes with gen- 
 tleness, oftener she gets abusive in turn. Mr. 
 Knpert, do you observe how that star is glowing 
 now ? I wonder who named it Venus ; it should 
 rather have been called Juno, that it might mate 
 with Jupiter, and so gain its lawful title of Queen 
 of Heaven." 
 
 " It would be worthy of it. It is wonderfully 
 beautiful to-night. How it lights up that soft 
 amber sky ! never were gold or diamond more 
 brilliant." 
 
 I had brought him back to the stars purposely; 
 for a slight sound that my ears had caught had 
 given me warning that some other life beyond 
 our own was stirring within no great distance of 
 where we stood : soon the eye as well as the ear 
 caught signs. 
 
 " Sydney has been up the hill," I said ; " that 
 wild pupil of mine takes no delight in a walk on 
 level ground. Well, Eftie," for they were already 
 close at hand. '• what has been your last exploit ?
 
 254 EIVERSTON. 
 
 how many adventures have you had since we 
 parted last ? " 
 
 " We went up the hill, and there was a rabhit 
 in amongst the trees, and I nearly got my hand 
 upon it, only Sydney came and frightened it when I 
 was quite close," Effie reported, with very eloquent 
 chanires of tone and look, 
 
 " You untruthful puss, you frightened it your- 
 self I You don't know how to walk softly. Honor 
 is the one amongst us who ought to be set to 
 catch rabbits : she can move like a cat. Do you 
 think steps are characteristic, Honor ? " 
 
 "Very." 
 
 " What does yours denote, then ? " 
 
 '' Cunning, I suppose, if it resembles cats : will 
 that suit you ? " 
 
 " I don't know," slowly — " no, I don't think it 
 will " — hesitating ; " no, it won't, Honor ! " — with 
 sudden repentant warmth ; and then swiftly she 
 had her arm about my shoulder, and the sentence 
 ended — as many similar sentences with her did — in 
 a sudden, close, vehement kiss upon my cheek, such 
 as had many a time before now nearly lost me
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 255 
 
 my balance ; the extreme vigour of these salutes, 
 added to their abruptness, making their infliction 
 no slight shock upon a frame not very sturdily 
 built. 
 
 As I recovered from this one, I perceived that 
 Mr. Eupert was observing us — observing Sydney, I 
 should rather say — with a gusto of expression that 
 a good deal tickled me. " How graceful she is ! 
 how gentle, tender, womanly ! " thus I could 
 imagine him to be inwardly declaiming ; but his 
 spoken words, I am forced to confess, when they 
 at length were uttered, were by no means of this 
 tender sort. 
 
 " You will catch cold if you stand still here, with 
 nothing on your shoulders, after running down 
 the hill," was his sole remark. ^* If you want 
 to be out longer send Effie in for a shawl," and 
 he turned round as though to return towards the 
 house. 
 
 " Yes," I said, for Sydney took no notice of his 
 suggestion ; " you will be catching cold — both of 
 you. Come in with me, Effie ; you have got a 
 colour like a red rose : come, there is to be no
 
 256 RIVERSTON. 
 
 more racing to-night, so you need not stand hover- 
 ing about Sydney," and I took her hand and turned 
 her homewards. 
 
 Sydney alone amongst us still stood motionless. 
 Would she be obstinate enough to let us go without 
 her ? Well, as to her obstinacy, I know not how 
 far that might have carried her ; but, while I won- 
 dered, suddenly the question of going or remaining 
 was decided for her. Mr. Kupert stepped to her 
 side. 
 
 " Come in," he said quietly, and he drew her 
 hand within his arm. 
 
 " But it is a shame ! " she exclaimed, half 
 irritated : " I can't bear to be indoors on such a 
 night." 
 
 " Well, come and get a cloak, and I will walk 
 with you till midnight," he answered laughing. 
 
 That was a threat that put an effectual stop to 
 her resistance : she took her hand away from his 
 arm, but she walked back to the house, and she 
 let him walk beside her without another audible 
 murmur. For my part, I did not interrupt them 
 any further by my presence, but for the remainder
 
 A SUMMER EVENING. 25? 
 
 of the way kept myself and Effie in tlieir rear. 
 What talk they had together, or whether they 
 talked at all, I do not know. In fact, Effie contrived 
 to keep both my ear and my attention engaged — 
 she being at any time full employment for one 
 person — until our walk was ended. 
 
 VOL. L
 
 258 RIVERSTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A HOT DAY. 
 
 The expected letter came next day from Mr. 
 Kingsley, and, as we had anticipated, it bade us 
 look for him that same evening. Sydney sighed 
 as the announcement of this nearly approaching 
 advent v^as read aloud, but to all the other inmates 
 of Riverston the news, I believe, brought more or 
 less of satisfaction : even / had a small amount of 
 interest and curiosity respecting Mr. Kingsley, 
 sufficient to turn the balance of my mind in favour 
 of his speedy coming. 
 
 " The truth is, that you don't give credit to a 
 word I have told you about him!" Sydney ex- 
 claimed half petulantly, as I chanced in the course 
 of the morning to give expression to this feeling. 
 " Well, take your own way : you will soon see 
 whether I have exaggerated."
 
 A HOT DAT. 259 
 
 '• Exactly ; that is what I am curious to know. 
 But now, are you coming with us or not ? — be- 
 cause we don't want to stand here," for it was in 
 the hall that we had met, as Effie and I were 
 preparing to take our afternoon's stroll. 
 
 '^ I don't know : will you lie under a tree ? " 
 
 " We will deposit you under one if you like. 
 But what is the matter with you ? Why can t you 
 walk.?" 
 
 " I have got a headache : it is so hot." 
 
 " It is hot, certainly ! Well, come along : we 
 will find a shady place for you. Have you been 
 alone all the morninii; ? " 
 
 " Yes — I was painting." 
 
 " Where is Mr. Rupert ?" 
 
 " Papa and he are together. Papa has taken 
 him to get his advice about cutting down those 
 trees. Grim \" and Sydney stopped short, " what 
 are you doing there ? Come —Grim— Grim ! — 
 Why don't you come when you are called, 
 sir ? " 
 
 It was certainly no general fault of Grim's to 
 refrain from coming when he was called ; his more
 
 260 RIVERSTON. 
 
 ordinary failing was, that he came whether called 
 or not. He was a small wiry Scotch terrier be- 
 longing to Sydney — an especial pet of hers — one 
 of two treasures (the other was an -^olian harp) 
 which she had brought with her from Edinburgh. 
 He had received this designation of " Grim '' in his 
 puppyhood, from possessing a singularly insalubri- 
 ous physiognomy, and the opprobrious epithet had 
 stuck to him through life. He was a starched, 
 wiry, uncompromising little terrier : there was no 
 coming round Grim on his weak side ; attentions 
 were wasted on him ; flattery and caresses were 
 alike thrown away: throughout his existence he 
 was said to have looked on life with a solemn eye, 
 and to have performed his part in it with a grave, 
 not to say sour, decorum. He had had other 
 masters and mistresses in his day, but they had 
 passed aud been forgotten ; his present mistress was 
 now his sole concern and care, and with her, to 
 all appearance, he was satisfied : certain it is, that 
 all the small portion of dog-affection that Grim's 
 undemonstrative nature permitted him to display 
 was conveyed in one lot and parcel to Sydney:
 
 A HOT DAT. 261 
 
 scarcely so miicli as a friendly wag of the tail was 
 reserved for any other creature — man or woman — • 
 at Riverston. And Sydney, who, had it been pos- 
 sible, would have been first with every living thing, 
 loved the dog who had chosen her for his sole 
 friend. 
 
 " Grim, Grim ! why don't you come ? You 
 foolish old fellow, to lie broiling there till you are 
 so hot that you can't move! Grim, I say, why 
 don't you come ?" 
 
 Yery lazily and drowsily at last he came, follow- 
 ing in Sydney's steps with trailing tail and pen- 
 dant tongue. 
 
 " I think he has got a headache," Effie said. 
 
 '' No doubt he has. Poor Grim ! you are not 
 used to such summers in your own land, are you ? 
 Frosts and snows are what suit you. It is a bad 
 business, this sunshine — isn't it .?" and Sydney 
 stooped down to pat his rough grey head. 
 
 I had never yet known Grim resist the touch of 
 Sydney's hand, but to-day he did : as he felt her 
 caress a low growl came from him. I did not like 
 he sound of it.
 
 262 EIVERSTON. 
 
 " Let him alonej Sydney : he is not in a good 
 state." 
 
 " Nonsense ! he is only hot and cross. Grim 
 has a temper." 
 
 "The more reason that you should be careful 
 with him." 
 
 "But he never snaps. Honor: he is perfectly 
 harmless." 
 
 " Well, don't touch him, at any rate : there — he 
 is going off — now, don't call him back, Sydney/' 
 
 " Why, what a little coward you are ! Do you 
 know, Honor, I always gave you credit for the 
 bravery of a lioness." 
 
 "Did you.?" 
 
 " I always imagined that, in cases of danger, 
 you would have been a perfect heroine." 
 
 " Is this a case of danger .?" 
 
 ^' You seem to think it so " — ^lauo^hing:. 
 
 " If I did, you may be very certain Grim should 
 not have gone off just now alone." 
 
 " Ah, there is the true heroine's tone ! I thought 
 an accusation of cowardice would bring it out. 
 You little piece of iron ! You morsel of deception,
 
 A HOT DAY. 263 
 
 looking as if a puff of wind would blow you away ! 
 Honor, I wonder you never feel ashamed of walk- 
 ing so like a lie through life !" 
 
 " If I was created a lie, how can I help myself ?" 
 
 " You look like something one would put in a 
 hothouse, and only keep alive with perfumes and 
 sunshine/' 
 
 " I warn you against attempting that course of 
 treatment: I should break the hothouse win- 
 dows." 
 
 " I know you would — especially those at the 
 east end. You would let in a gust of wind that 
 would kill every other living thing there but your- 
 self. But it would be meat and drink to you. 
 Honor ; " — abruptly, " I should like to know how 
 many storms you had weathered in your life- 
 time ? " 
 
 " Why 7 — do I look storm-beaten .r*" 
 
 *^ Storm-beaten ! Atom of vauity ! Come — 
 how many .? " 
 
 " I had a long voyage once," I answered, after a 
 moment, but more gravely than she had asked the 
 question ; ^* where storms were about me day by
 
 264 RIVERSTON. 
 
 day, and I was left to fight my way through them, 
 or to perish in them— as I could ; now I have 
 come into harbour and furled my sails. I almost 
 fear they may be rotten when I have to hoist them 
 and weigh anchor again." 
 
 '^ You shall not hoist them ; let them lie by and 
 rot into powder, if they choose ! " Sydney cried. 
 " Do you think we would let you go ? Do you 
 think we would send you out on the wide sea 
 again, you poor white bird ? " and, half in earnest, 
 half in jest, she caressingly clasped her hands 
 about my arm. But I shook my head. 
 
 '' Not even the smallest craft was made to lie 
 all its days sheltered in harbour, Sydney. Some- 
 where 1 shall steer presently, if I live — God knows 
 where ! " 
 
 " No — Honor, dear !" 
 
 " Yes, Sydney ! You foolish child, don't try to 
 believe that Kiverston can be my resting-place for 
 more than a few years at the utmost. If you will 
 keep me till Effie's school-days are over, I will stay 
 with you gladly, but when they close so does my 
 life here." 
 
 ^>-':^
 
 A HOT DAY. 265 
 
 We walked on for a few moments in silence. 
 
 '^ Ah ! you will marry — that will be the end of 
 it/' she said, at last. 
 
 " That is very uncertain ; the majority of go- 
 vernesses do not marry." 
 
 " You are much like the majority of governesses, 
 certainly ! " 
 
 " My position in society is." 
 
 " Not your position here. Honor.'* 
 
 " No, my darling — bless you all for it ! But still 
 your kindness cannot raise me in the world's eyes." 
 
 '^ Hold your tongue about the world's eyes ! 
 Do you think no people have eyes of their own ? " 
 
 " Hold your tongue about the whole matter, 
 Sydney. And, if you please, do not be imagining 
 matches for me ; for I tell you beforehand that 
 your schemes would be thrown away." 
 
 " Do you think / would interfere with your love 
 matters, you little spitfire ? Not but that I should 
 like to see you in love — heartily ! " 
 
 *' There would be little to see— trust me for that, 
 Sydney." 
 
 " Ay — I suppose you would take care of that.
 
 266 RIVERSTON. 
 
 Honor, / should not like to be in love with 
 you!" 
 
 " I should not think you would." 
 
 "You would be so cruel. With your witch 
 ways you would go leading me on and on — making 
 me lay every thing I had in the world, and myself 
 with it, down at your feet, and the whole time I 
 should never be able to know whether you -v^ould 
 not laugh in my face at the end of it." 
 
 " You are wrong, Sydney." 
 
 " Am I ? Well — perhaps you would not laugh, 
 but you would shake me off when the time came, 
 as pitilessly as though the rending of all my heart's 
 fibres was of no more moment to you than the 
 snapping of so many threads." 
 
 " Again you are wrong." 
 
 "Am I unjust.?" playfully, and with the 
 caressing hands about my arm again. " Well —I 
 imagine all kinds of odd fancies about you. Tell 
 me something true of yourself.? I wish you 
 would." 
 
 " Eead the truth for yourself, Sydney. It would 
 be easy enough if you would leave off perplexing
 
 A HOT DAY. 267 
 
 yourself with your strange methods of proceeding. 
 The pages are all numbered and arranged ; but 
 how can you hope to understand them if you turn 
 them upside down, and read them backwards ? " 
 
 " Is that what I do ? " 
 
 She was silent for a few moments ; then looked 
 up and shook her head. 
 
 " The pages may be numbered, and I may read 
 them as they lie ; but the book is a mysterious book 
 still to me. Arguments won't lighten my dark- 
 ness, Honor. Never mind — let me go stumbling 
 on — I like it. As long as you seem to stand half- 
 shrouded, there is excitement in piercing into what 
 is hidden ; possibly if you were all discovered — 
 like a revealed mystery — your charm would be 
 gone. Let me be, Honor — I like to work my own 
 way into you." 
 
 " Work away, then, and grope in your imaginary 
 darkness while you can ; for perhaps, when the 
 light breaks on you, it will show you only a waste 
 field where your fancy pictured a rich garden." 
 
 "No — rather it will show me high mountain 
 peaks, to which I cannot climb ; deep valleys, into
 
 268 mvERSTON. 
 
 which I can only longingly gaze ; streams, whose 
 beds lie hidden where no eye of mine can pierce." 
 
 With sudden emotion her dark eyes swam in 
 tears ; her arms were lifted and thrown about my 
 neck, she pressed my cheek to hers, she set her 
 lips to mine in a close passionate kiss. I put her 
 from me ; to be valued above what I deserve, is 
 pain not pleasure to me. 
 
 '' Sydney, if height and depth were to be measured 
 between us two, it would not be to me that the 
 palm would be given. You have powers that I 
 have not ; emotions and aspirations tbat, put 
 beside mine, would dwarf some of my mountain 
 peaks to molehills. You are purer and simpler and 
 nobler than I ; with all your faults nearer heaven, and 
 further from hell. Now, hold your peace ! We 
 began in jest and have finished in earnest. You 
 wanted me to tell you something true about my- 
 self I tell you this — that you are better than I 
 am : it is the truest thing I have to tell you. And, 
 believing it or not, hold your tongue." 
 
 We had been walking slowly, and were scarcely 
 a quarter of a mile yet from the house ; but, as
 
 A HOT DAY. 269 
 
 Sydney's head ached, I did not take her further. 
 The green shaded grass below the trees looked 
 tempting; she lay down presently, tossing back 
 her hair to let the air blow on her bared temples, 
 and there Effie and I left her, for one of those 
 frequent erratic rambles together in which my 
 pupil's wild young spirit took delight. As usual, 
 however, she wearied me out to-day, while she her- 
 self was still in full vigour and freshness ; and leaving 
 her, at length, to work out the rest of her super- 
 fluous energy alone, I again returned to where we 
 had parted from Sydney, and, finding her asleep, 
 took a seat quietly by her side. 
 
 For a quarter of an hour no sound except the 
 hum of summer life came near us ; it was, as I 
 said, a sultry day, and the breeze scarcely stirred 
 the branches. Sydney slept without a movement : 
 even my own eyes after a time, as I leant back 
 against the great oak trunk, were beginning par- 
 tially to yield to the influence of the drowsiness 
 around me — when on the sudden my dreamy 
 mood was startlingly broken, and Sydney's sleep 
 as rudely dispelled, by the abrupt breaking forth
 
 270 EIVERSTOX. 
 
 of a wild, sharp cry. It came in Effie's voice : 
 with one simultaneous shock of alarm we both 
 sprang to our feet ; in one quick instant the whole 
 matter had painted itself before us. 
 
 Effie stood alone on the green slope of the hill ; 
 for her the worst was already either effected or 
 escaped from — ivMcIi we could not tell; but for 
 us the danger was to come, and it was imminent. 
 Snorting, panting, furiously biting at the air, 
 Sydney's terrier dog was blindly rushing towards 
 us, its mouth white with foam, its body writhing, 
 its glassy, starting, terrified eyes bloodshot : what 
 had come over it we did not need to ask each 
 other : once before my eyes had seen such a sight : 
 one swift, terror-struck instant brought the truth 
 to us — that the dog was mad. 
 
 I think, if we had sprung quickly aside, it might 
 possibly have passed without attacking us — its 
 wild race seemed so blindly run ; but, alarmed as 
 we were, escape for ourselves was certainly at that 
 moment not our first thought ; tliat^ urged by a 
 swift remorseful fancy of conscience — God knows 
 the bitterness of that pang, flinging, as it did, its
 
 A HOT DAT. 271 
 
 agony over the uncertainty of my child Effie's 
 fate ! — was to stop its course at all hazards, if by 
 any means whatsoever it was possible. 
 
 One instant only was ours : ere we had time to 
 prepare for him he was close upon us. We both 
 had our hands ungloved ; to cover them was the 
 first most indispensable thing, yet to do so except 
 in the rudest manner was impossible. I tore oft 
 the shawl I wore and flung it about one of mine 
 — not an instant had I to do more — the creature 
 was at my side ; I stooped and darted on him, 
 and, with the strongest gripe I ever laid on any 
 living thing, I caught him on his shaggy back 
 and held him down_, howling, with hand and 
 knee. 
 
 " Honor, what are we to do with him ? " 
 
 '' God knows ! " 
 
 This was all we spoke. 
 
 I had to bend over him to hold him, and as I 
 bent the animal suddenly flung up its head, and I 
 felt my face in an instant spattered with the 
 poisonous saliva from its white lips. So far as I 
 myself was concerned, this was the only moment
 
 272 EIVERSTON. 
 
 when my danger pressed keenly on me : in that 
 sudden agony I almost loosed my hold; my fingers 
 had even began to unclasp, when the spring the 
 creature tried to make recalled me to my senses : 
 with new force I grasped at him ; I wiped the 
 deadly moisture from my face, throwing my dress 
 over my disengaged hand ; then, springing up, I 
 held him struggling and writhing in the air. 
 
 " Give him to me : I am strongest." 
 
 Short and sharp came Sydney's words ; the 
 voice so changed from its accustomed silver music 
 that its tone fell strangely on my ear. 
 
 " Keep back a minute yet — I can hold him." 
 
 She held back, ready prepared ; as we stood so, 
 Effie's voice came to us. 
 
 " Miss Haig, what is it ? Oh ! Sydney, what 
 is it ? " 
 
 " Effie, did he touch you ? " 
 
 " I was patting him, and he snapped at me." 
 
 " Did his teeth touch you ? " 
 
 "No — he only tore my sleeve." 
 
 " Effie, my darling, run in-doors and send some 
 one to us. Quick ! Now, Sydney ! "
 
 A HOT DAY. 273 
 
 I gave the creature up to her; I leant back 
 against a tree ; the struggle had only lasted for 
 one minute, and my strength was exhausted 
 already. To hold him till help came, or even 
 to carry him between us to the house, I knew 
 to be all but impossible. 
 
 There was a pause that to my strained nerves 
 seemed long, though its duration could not have 
 been many seconds: at the close of it my eyes 
 and Sydney's met. Marble still and white she was, 
 but the unuttered agony of that look of hers I have 
 never forgotten : I knew, as I glanced on her, that 
 the same thought had come into both our minds. 
 
 She had opened her lips to speak ; the words 
 that, before many moments had passed, must have 
 been spoken by one or other of us, were almost 
 uttered : suddenly, in that last instant's silence, 
 there came a sound — a cry fell on our ears. It 
 was distant, far off behind us ; but it was a signal 
 of human help. We heard ; and swift at its first 
 faint utterance I turned : then my voice too rose 
 in a cry of joy, for he who came near was Mr. 
 Rupert. 
 
 VOL. I. , T
 
 274 RIVEKSTON. 
 
 There was hope now — there was certainty even 
 of relief, could we hold out. I went to Sydney's 
 side, and together we gathered up our remaining 
 strength. On William Kupert came with winged 
 steps ; yet that strength was used almost to its 
 last grain and fibre before he reached us. When 
 at last he came, neither of our lips had power left 
 to speak. 
 
 He, too, had no time for words. In silence he 
 seized the writhing animal from our fainting 
 grasp ; then our task was over ; I saw no more. The 
 pause that followed was broken once by one single 
 cry, almost human in its agony ; after that there 
 was no other sound : we were left alone for two or 
 three moments more ; then Mr. Rupert returned to 
 us, empty-handed. 
 
 Neither change nor relief had come to Sydney's 
 look till now ; the marble face had stayed fixed ; 
 but now it altered, — it all began to waken up into a 
 strange tremor. As Mr. Kupert stood before her 
 — he himself not without agitation — she raised her 
 eyes; then suddenly she stretched out both her 
 hands to him. She spoke, too. " Oh, William ! "
 
 A HOT DAY. 275 
 
 she sobbed hysterically — and one moment I saw her 
 so — those offered hands held fast in his ; then — and 
 well might I open my eyes wide to assure myself 
 that they saw aright — she was weeping as if her 
 heart would break, with her face lying upon his arm. 
 "She will be the better for some sal- volatile/' 
 I said quietly ; " I will go and get her some," — and 
 I went. When, after a quarter of an hour, I 
 returned, I found the scene considerably changed. 
 Sydney was sitting on a bench alone, with eyes 
 upon the ground, not crying now, but very silent 
 and very shy : Mr. Eupert was away from her some 
 dozen paces, bending over the mutilated remains 
 of poor Grim. He, however, on my approach 
 rejoined us, and began to talk readily enough ; 
 asking questions concerning our late adventure, in 
 a tone at first grave and anxious, until the parti- 
 culars of the capture, as I detailed them one by 
 one with as little seriousness as I could assume, — 
 for it was an object with me to make the matter less 
 tragic if I could in Sydney's eyes — brought first a 
 flickering smile, and finally an irrepressible laugh, 
 to his lips.
 
 276 RIVEESTON. 
 
 '^And meanwhile, Miss Haig," lie said, when 
 my narration was finished, " you look exceedingly 
 as if you were going to faint. Do not stay here 
 any longer : come in, both of you." 
 
 He spoke as though he meant to accompany us 
 himself; he came, too, in another moment to 
 Sydney's side, and stooped to offer her his arm ; 
 but I had watched her face as he came near, and 
 something in its expression as I looked caused me 
 to interfere. 
 
 "Never mind Sydney — I will take her home," I 
 said. " There is Kobert coming, Mr. Kupert ; will 
 you stay and tell him what to do with poor Grim's 
 remains ? Now Sydney, come." 
 
 I took her hand and drew it within my arm : 
 without a word I carried her home. Quite subdued 
 she let me take her to her room, and obeying 
 my command she lay down upon her bed. There, 
 as I was on the point of leaving her, she at 
 last looked up with a feeble, piteous effort at a 
 smile. 
 
 ^' What an attempt to be a heroine ! Are you 
 quite ashamed of me, Honor ?"
 
 A HOT DAY. 277 
 
 " You had better go to sleep before you make a 
 simpleton of yourself," was my curt response ; 
 and I closed her eyelids with my lips, and left 
 her. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 SMITH, ELDEE, AND CO., 65, COBNHILL.
 
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