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 POOE NELLIE
 
 POOR NELLIE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 'MY TRIVL\L LIFE AND MISFORTUNE 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBUEGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVII 
 
 All Riahts reserved
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/poornellie01bart
 
 
 
 
 PART I. 
 
 :^
 
 POOE NELLIE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Dowager Lady Eockhurst was well knowD in her 
 day as a perfect woman of the world. She had seven 
 daughters, and had intended making seven good 
 matches for them ; but whilst she was plunged in the 
 intricate diplomacy of brilliantly marrydng the second 
 in town, her third daughter, Elizabeth, whom she had 
 left in the country, fell in love with the Eev. Octavius 
 Lawlor, the handsome clever curate of Castleview. 
 This happened quite by accident, and much to Eliza- 
 beth's own surprise, as she had always intended mak- 
 ing the best match of the family. 
 
 " A poor curate," said Lady Eockhurst ; " an eighth 
 son, and only £2000 to his fortune! And Elizabeth 
 won't have more than three thousand, for there are 
 so many younger children. And I had always thought 
 Elizabeth as sensibly unromantic as I am myself !
 
 4 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Mr Lawlor is a man of family, or, notwithstanding his 
 cloth, I should have made my footman turn him out 
 of doors. He is a gentleman and is intellectually 
 clever, so I can trust Elizabeth to make a bishop of 
 him some day ; but in the meantime they will have 
 next to nothing to live upon. However, as Elizabeth 
 is no great beauty, if she is determined to do a 
 nasty romantic thing, let her do it quietly. There 
 shall be no persecution. My son shall certainly give 
 Mr Lawlor the living of Yellowmead when old Mr 
 Croft dies; it is worth exactly £500 a-year. When 
 Elizabeth has been married a twelvemonth, she can 
 be trusted to give her younger sisters the very best 
 advice. There is no way of developing a fine natural 
 capacity for worldly wisdom like making a thoroughly 
 unworldly match early in life. It opens your eyes 
 quickly and forces you to understand the immeasur- 
 able value of money, a title, fine places and houses, 
 and men-servants and lady's-maids." 
 
 When Elizabeth was married and finally settled in 
 Yellowmead Eectory with her husband and child, 
 Lady Eockhurst considered her decidedly a good 
 companion for her sisters at those rare times when it 
 was convenient to invite her and Octavius and little 
 Clara to Castleview. Octavius was always invited, 
 but the invitation generally came when it was im- 
 possible for him to leave his parish. Lady Eockhurst 
 only considered her own convenience, and naturally 
 did not think of his. 
 
 Fond as Elizabeth ever was of her husband, she
 
 POOR NELLIE. 5 
 
 preferred leaving him at home and only taking little 
 Clara with her to Castleview. Lady Eockhurst took 
 much notice in her own dignified way of the pretty 
 little grandchild, who was a very, very white, fair- 
 haired wax doll, of singularly sedate behaviour — a 
 curiously quiet, unemotional infant from birth, ap- 
 parently untroubled by the lively feelings and passions 
 of ordinary childhood. Lady Eockhurst was almost 
 pleased with little Clara, and was once heard to say, 
 " I think Clara is not unlike what I must have been 
 at her age." 
 
 The Dowager Lady Eockhurst had other grand- 
 children : they were in mortal terror of her — Clara 
 alone was without fear. The virtue of Clara's good 
 conduct was certainly enhanced by her excellence in 
 being an only child. When praising her good be- 
 haviour, Lady Eockhurst never failed to add, " And I 
 always thought Elizabeth would have at least twelve 
 children." It was Clara's fate in life often to get 
 credit for exemplary behaviour in which she had no 
 real part. From her cradle she had the knack of 
 wearing what was admirable in her surroundings, like 
 a pretty frock quite her own. 
 
 When the Bishop of Euxborough stayed at Castle- 
 view with little Clara in the house, he made a small 
 fuss about her, for she was just the sort of delicate- 
 looking white child that a kindly old Bishop would 
 think a little angel on earth. Clara was entirely 
 without shyness, and repeated hymns to the Bishop 
 very prettily.
 
 6 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Lady Eockhurst generally managed to have the 
 Bishop of Etixborough when Elizabeth came to Castle- 
 view, and this was the real reason Mrs Lawlor could 
 not help feeling it was just as well Octavius should 
 be obliged to stay at Yellowmead. Octavius was 
 worse than useless under the same roof with the 
 Bishop. He could not pay court to anybody, 
 
 Elizabeth did not mean Octavius to be always a 
 mere parish rector, for she knew he was clever, and 
 often said, " I never would have married a poor 
 clergyman who was simply good and handsome, for I 
 am quite aware a man must have brains if he has not 
 money." 
 
 As the Dowager had foreseen, Elizabeth meant 
 Octavius to be a bishop some day. 
 
 But whilst the Honble. Mrs Lawlor was awaiting 
 the bishopric, she made up her mind to begin with a 
 canonry in Euxborough Close. ISTow it so happened 
 that the Bishop of Euxborough was first cousin to the 
 then Prime Minister's wife : this lady took his advice, 
 and the Prime Minister took hers, on many little 
 matters of Church preferment. Those were the good 
 old times, and very different from these. It was well 
 known in the diocese that the Bishop of Euxborough 
 was virtually allowed to appoint the canons of his 
 own cathedral. 
 
 In the year 1 8 — , the aged Canon Beverly lay 
 dying in Euxborough Close. He was eighty ; yet he 
 took six months to die. Lady Eockhurst seemed to 
 think such lengthy dying quite a liberty on the poor
 
 POOR NELLIE. 7 
 
 old man's part, and indeed it put her to the incon- 
 venience of making room for the Bishop and for 
 Elizabeth and little Clara twice over in the course of 
 those six months. Elizabeth made no secret of her 
 desire to live part of every year in Paixborough Close. 
 It was more to her taste to gain her end by open 
 audacity than by underhand intrigue. 
 
 Canon Beverly died at last. And in due time the 
 Eev. Octavius Lawlor was appointed to the vacant 
 stall in Euxborough Cathedral. Never, never was 
 there a clergyman so astonished at his own prefer- 
 ment ! 
 
 " What have I done that I should be made a 
 canon ? " he said. 
 
 " Your sermons are good, Octavius," replied his 
 wife. 
 
 " But who has heard them except the farmers here- 
 about, and Thomas Xewsham, whose absent mind 
 never really listens to anything ? " 
 
 " All the same, Octavius, you are a canon. And 
 now you must show the world the appointment is a 
 good one. You must write a book." 
 
 " A book, my dear ! " 
 
 " You are far too modest, Octavius — far too mo- 
 dest. You don't know your own powers, but I do. 
 You must write a book about St Paul." 
 
 " St Paul ? " 
 
 " Yes ; St Paul is your strong point. A few new 
 readings in any one epistle will be quite sufficient for 
 a mere canonry."
 
 8 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Elizabeth was delighted with her canonry, and 
 would not have exchanged it just then for any dean- 
 ery in the Church, because you could be a canon of 
 Euxborough and hold the living of Yellowmead at 
 the same time. Elizabeth had determined not to 
 leave Yellowmead till she had married Clara to the 
 squire of the parish, Thomas ISTewsham, owner of that 
 extremely handsome old place Eastcourt, and a man 
 of large property as well. Elizabeth intended to 
 marry Clara at sixteen. She was confident of suc- 
 cess, because Thomas Newsham had providentially 
 lost his mother. 
 
 The late Mrs Newsham .h^d always said her excel- 
 lent Thomas was a man to be married and not to 
 marry. And she had taken good care not to let any 
 one attempt to marry him until he was thirty. She 
 had then provided a very suitable engagement for 
 him with young Lady Eanny Devereux ; but Lady 
 Fanny had jilted Thomas — who really was the best of 
 men — and thrown him over for a racing, betting, lively 
 good-for-nothing about town, excusing herself by say- 
 ing Eastcourt was a dull place, and Thomas so pro- 
 vokingly taken up in a misty sort of way with unin- 
 teresting fads and good works of a tiresome sort, that 
 if she were married to him she knew she would run 
 away from him, and so thought she had better run 
 away before the wedding and not after it. Poor 
 Thomas had never even suspected he bored the lively 
 Lady Fanny, but Thomas's absent eyes and mind 
 were singularly blind. So the shock was a very great
 
 POOE NELLIE. 9 
 
 one. It was said in Nossex that it had made a shy 
 man of Mr Newsham, and certainly, after his mother's 
 death no one in the county saw anything of Thomas 
 except the Lawlors who lived at his gate. His only 
 sister, Kate Crofton, happened to be in India with her 
 husband at the time. 
 
 Perhaps, in reality, it was merely that Thomas 
 forgot to go and see his county neighbours. He was 
 curiously forgetful. But it was impossible for him to 
 forget Mrs Lawlor, as he was perpetually seeing her ; 
 and he did not dislike meeting her, because she always 
 talked for him, and was not put out if he paid no 
 attention to her conversation. 
 
 He also, after his own hazy fashion, had a real 
 affection for the Canon. They were both truly good, 
 unworldly, simple - hearted men ; yet intellectually 
 they were very different. The Canon was extremely 
 clever; but there is really no knowing if .Thomas 
 were clever or not. Perhaps he might have been clever 
 if his own mind had clearly belonged to himself; but 
 the bits of it were rarely in one place, for they had a 
 way of straying loosely about the world, and what- 
 ever bits there might be at home, would be fixed on 
 some engrossing fad. Thomas always had some fad 
 on hand. 
 
 Elizabeth was clever at inventing entertaining fads 
 for Thomas, and good works which could be performed 
 under her own eye, while Clara was rapidly approach- 
 ing sixteen. It would not be politic, she felt, to let 
 Mr Xewsham fall into the hands of other good people
 
 10 POOR KELLIE. 
 
 with intentions of their own. Xow no one could 
 suspect her of any intentions, when Clara was still so 
 very small, and looked such a mere child in her short 
 petticoats — really not more than eleven or twelve 
 years old ! When asked Clara's age, Mrs Lawlor 
 would frequently say a year or two younger than she 
 was, and if corrected, would exclaim .quite naturally, 
 " Is it possible ? But now really you are right ! How 
 time passes ! Yet Clara is quite a child still, and will 
 be a child till she is twenty." 
 
 " It might, perhaps, be well to wait till Clara is 
 seventeen, as Mr Newsham is so very much older 
 than herself," thought Elizabeth. " But it would not 
 be safe. I had better do it at sixteen, for who knows 
 what may happen while we are in residence at Eux- 
 borough. I was frightened two years ago, and terri- 
 fied last year. Those underbred people round Slumby 
 are dreadfully forward when I am away, and poor 
 dear Mr Newsham is not aware those Thompsons 
 nearly caught him last summer." 
 
 So Clara was married to Thomas Newsham at six- 
 teen, and Thomas was married to Clara. He was twenty 
 years older than her. To the day of his death he never 
 knew how he had got married, for he did not remem- 
 ber ever having proposed. But he considered himself 
 the most fortunate man on earth, and tenderly loved 
 the exquisitely fair little angel who had so kindly 
 fallen in love with him. Clara was persuaded that she 
 herself had fallen in love with Thomas, and the good 
 Canon thouoht so too. Elizabeth found them all very
 
 POOR NELLIE. 11 
 
 easy to manage. There were no romantic notions in 
 her daughter's head. 
 
 Living at the gates of Eastcourt, Clara thought the 
 fine old Elizabethan house and the large park and lake 
 the grandest in England ; and young as she was, the 
 prospect of being mistress of so handsome a place was 
 very pleasant to her. Thomas, too, was a nice kind 
 man, still good-looking. She had no dislike of him, 
 and was accustomed to dreamy men, for when the 
 Canon was much occupied with St Paul he was for- 
 getful and not interesting to talk to, unless you talked 
 about the Epistle to the Eomans, which Clara, though 
 brought up in a rectory, thought a very dull subject. 
 
 The Honble. Mrs Lawlor was far from beinc^ without 
 a sense of duty, and to do her justice, she would not 
 have made up this match unless she felt sure Clara 
 would be happy with Thomas. " Thomas has an affec- 
 tionate heart, and wants some one to love in that big 
 lonely house, and Clara will be quite satisfied with 
 Thomas. It is not in her nature to love passionately ; 
 the love that is given her she takes calmly as her due. 
 She is like me in many ways, but not in this ; nor in 
 this is she like her own father or mine ; but she is very 
 like my mother, who though loved by my father, never 
 seemed even to suspect what love might mean, yet was 
 a good wife. Social position, a fine place, and large 
 estates made her happy, and they will make Clara 
 happy too. All Thomas wants is a title, and that his 
 wife will get him some day. Thomas has made good 
 settlements on Clara ; and so if, being much older, he
 
 12 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 dies first, Clara won't break her heart for him, as I 
 should break mine if Octavius died before me. What 
 might not have suited me will quite suit Clara." 
 
 Elizabeth said all this to herself. She was not a 
 hypocrite, and would have said it openly to the Canon, 
 only experience had taught her it really was no use to 
 talk what she called " common sense " to that " dear, 
 good, simple soul Octavius." He never understood it ; 
 it only seemed to bewilder him. 
 
 The Dowager Lady Eockhurst was on her death-bed 
 at the time of Clara's marriage. A fatal disease, sud- 
 denly developed, was taking her very rapidly away 
 from Castleview — Castleview which had been left to her 
 for life instead of to her eldest son ! The Dowager was 
 loath to leave this pleasant world for one in which she 
 might not perhaps hold quite the same social position ; 
 though, indeed, she did seem to feel that Jier death 
 could not possibly be like that of a common person in 
 the eyes of Heaven, and that a lady of quality must 
 hold a certain rank beyond the grave. 
 
 Lady Eockhurst marked her approval of Elizabeth's 
 worldly wisdom in marrying Clara so young and so 
 well by adding a codicil to her will which gave Mrs 
 Lawlor £6000 instead of £3000 to her fortune. 
 
 If Elizabeth had had twelve children the Dowager 
 would not have left her this money.
 
 13 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 " Mamma," said Clara, when she had been married 
 some little time, " dear Thomas is so kind to me that 
 I feel just as if he were papa ; and he says the same 
 sort of good charitable things when he is not too 
 absent to talk. I am sure it is very nice to be married 
 to a really good man, only it is rather dull, because 
 Thomas has taken up the temperance fad, and has 
 thought it right to speak at all those meetings we have 
 been going to ; and he does not speak easily, for he 
 is apt to forget what he is going to say, so he writes 
 out what he calls notes beforehand, but I call them 
 speeches, and he reads them to me in the evening. I 
 think it would be much pleasanter if we had more 
 people in the house. It was delightful at Castleview 
 when we went there — much livelier than in grand- 
 mamma's time ! but Thomas, unfortunately, thought 
 poor dear Eockhurst had what he would call a wild 
 set in the house, and he begged me not to have any of 
 them at Eastcourt, and I thought perhaps I had better 
 not, mamma, though I should have liked to ask them." 
 " Quite right, Clara — quite right ! As you are so
 
 U POOR NELLIE. 
 
 very young, it would weaken your position in the 
 county and the world as a good man's wife if it were 
 thought you did not share your husband's views. The 
 Newshams of Eastcourt have been so long settled in 
 this county, that they and their views and their hobbies 
 are things of importance here. But, Clara, you may 
 have plenty of society if you only begin in the right 
 way. Entice Thomas carefully into the world. Have 
 the right sort of people for Thomas first ; and then, if 
 all goes well, you can end up with the Eockhurst set. 
 They will be glad to have you or go to you at any 
 time, my dear, now you are well married. You have 
 married well, Clara, and that is the important point. 
 Everything comes easy after that." 
 
 " But Thomas only likes dull people and dull things," 
 sighed Clara. 
 
 " Then begin with an elderly philanthropist, my dear, 
 a temperance enthusiast, or something of that sort, but 
 let him be a man of family and position. He ought to 
 be a benevolent peer. Don't on any account let Thomas 
 get amongst second-rate people, or the nice ones won't 
 come to you. Then you might have a bishop to meet 
 the peer ; or better still, Clara, have the Archbishop." 
 
 " But, mamma, do you think an archbishop would 
 be pleasant to talk to ? because I always think the 
 old Bishop of Piuxborough talks as if he were preach- 
 ing a sermon." 
 
 " Never mind, my dear ; it is the right way, and the 
 only way, to begin with Thomas. And, Clara, you can 
 talk to the Archbishop about St Paul and your papa's
 
 POOR NELLIE. 15 
 
 clever little book; it will be good for your father's 
 prospects. If only read by the right people, St Paul 
 would make him a dean." 
 
 " Well, mamma, I do think having the Archbishop 
 would be livelier than only having Thomas reading 
 out his speeches in the evening, and we should be 
 obliged to ask a large party to meet his Grace. Then, 
 too, it would be delightful if papa were made a dean. 
 But " — and young Mrs Xewsham hesitated — " but how 
 can I ask the Archbishop when I don't know him ? " 
 
 " My dear Clara," replied her mother, " Thomas has 
 often said he would restore the tombs in the chancel 
 of that old church on the hill. "We will make him 
 do it immediately, but we will insist on liis consulting 
 the Archbishop first." 
 
 " Do you suppose one of the tombs can have be- 
 longed to anybody connected with St Thomas-a-Becket? 
 It would be lucky if it did, mamma." 
 
 " The Archbishop will know, Clara ; and if he does 
 not, he will be interested all the same." 
 
 "I might take Thomas up to Lambeth," mused 
 Clara, " and make him call. And if he won't go," she 
 added, " why, mamma, you and I can." 
 
 And, indeed, this is what finally happened. The 
 Honble. Mrs Lawlor had brilliant powers of descrip- 
 tive eloquence, and the Archbishop was easily inter- 
 ested in the restoration of the ancient tombs. His 
 Grace knew Mr Newsham of Eastcourt by reputation 
 — he was the one gentleman of large fortune who 
 then supported the temperance cause in the arch-
 
 16 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 diocese. His Grace accepted an invitation to East- 
 court with mucli pleasure. 
 
 " Octavius, my dear," said Mrs Lawlor, after calling 
 at Lambeth, and before the Archbishop's visit to East- 
 court — " Octavius, my dear, I do not think the family 
 prayers at Eastcourt as simple and Scriptural as they 
 might be. I have taken notes of the eloquent prayers 
 you have offered up from time to time in the school- 
 house, and of one you used when poor old Polly Parker 
 died, and here they are. With a few more added, and 
 these ones properly arranged and adapted for everyday 
 use, they would make such a very nice present for you 
 to give dear Thomas on his birthday. They need not 
 be printed — there is not time ; but write them out 
 clearly, and I will make a cover for them, like one of 
 your sermon covers, only a smart one of blue velvet." 
 
 The Archbishop's visit proved a success in more 
 ways than one. 
 
 Clara invited all the nice people in and out of the 
 county to whose houses she thought she would like to 
 go in return. " For if they come here, whether he 
 wishes it or not Thomas will have to go to them." 
 Mr Newsham was so bewildered at finding his house 
 invaded to the very attics, that he never knew who 
 came and who did not. 
 
 Clara showed by her invitations that she had en- 
 tirely grasped the possibilities of the situation. Mrs 
 Lawlor was actually surprised, and exclaimed, " Clara, 
 you are astonishing ! But you were born a woman of 
 the world — you have the instinct of the thing by
 
 POOR NELLIE. 17 
 
 nature ! and far, far more than I had at your age ; 
 yet you look like a white angel, Clara ! " 
 
 This was the wonderful thing ahout Clara ; she did 
 look like a white ancrel, or a Madonna of fair holiness, 
 especially at first sight and at a little distance. In 
 nine cases out of ten, the first impression you get of a 
 person is absolutely right; but the first impression 
 Clara made on most people was the wrong one. 
 
 The Archbishop himself was struck by the spiritual 
 beauty of Mrs Xewsham, and in kindly complimenting 
 Mr Xewsham on the bride he had wisely chosen, his 
 Grace spoke of her as having the " beauty of holiness." 
 Hazy as Thomas is, these words were remembered by 
 him for quite a long time. The "beauty of holiness" 
 was exactly his own impression of his young wife's 
 fair and coldly serene loveliness. 
 
 Her cold serenity of look, like her marble white- 
 ness, was that of a statue untouched by the moving 
 joys and sorrows of life, for it was only at rare times 
 that any emotion tinged her pale cheek with colour. 
 Her way was to grow paler, and not less pale, with 
 emotion. There was nothing warm about Clara. Her 
 light hair was cold in hue, and cast cold shadows on 
 her brow and neck; it had no touch of golden 
 warmth in its abundant tresses. Her grey-blue eyes 
 were just a little cold in colour too, although there 
 were times when they would seem to melt into their 
 softened whites, as the azure of the sky melts into 
 the summer haze ; they would look, when sleeping 
 thus wrapped in blue mystery, as if they might be 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 dreamiDg of heaven, with a soul attuned to all its 
 harmonies. But there were other times when the 
 sudden wakefulness of these eyes, come perhaps 
 quite close to you, could startle you. Usually, they 
 were veiled by their drooping eyelids. It was these 
 very full, drooping eyelids which more especially gave 
 Clara the Madonna look. The eyebrows and lashes 
 were marked in tender brown — some thought they 
 were not dark enough. But there was no want of 
 character in Clara's countenance and look. Her head 
 was perhaps a little large for the delicately cut fea- 
 tures, the top and sides and back having marked de- 
 velopment ; yet it was a well-shaped head, and be- 
 tokened power of intellect, and especially a strength 
 of will which the thin, firmly closed lips did not belie. 
 There was much character (I had almost said obstin- 
 acy) in that small, tightened, finely chiselled mouth. 
 But who looks with critical eye at a very white, 
 fair-haired woman in the heyday of her beauty ? In 
 youth she is the very emblem of innocent, heavenly 
 simplicity, far more than if she were dark-haired and 
 brown. Clara was slight of form, and of that height 
 which makes a man feel his strength and size were 
 given him for the protection of so fair and tender a 
 creature ; and tender she did look in youth to most 
 men's eyes. This air of fair tenderness increased the 
 resemblance her drooping eyelids gave her to one of 
 Kaphael's Madonnas. But she was a Madonna who had 
 had the Dowager Lady Eockhurst for a grandmother. 
 It took a mother and a very remarkable grand-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 19 
 
 mother to invent Clara ; for, with all her talent — her 
 genius, I may call it — Clara could not quite have 
 invented herself. She was born with much heredi- 
 tary worldliness already in her constitution. 
 
 When the Archbishop was at Eastcourt, Mrs Law- 
 lor did not in the least intrude herself upon his 
 notice — rather the contrary. She could trust Clara 
 to mention St Paul, and to draw liis Grace's attention 
 to the family prayers, with a tact enhanced by the 
 beauty of holiness. 
 
 At first the Canon avoided the Archbishop ; but 
 when his Grace singled out Mrs Newsham's father 
 for special kindly notice, and quoted a new reading 
 of a certain passage in the Epistle to the Eomans, the 
 single-minded Octavius, never suspecting any one had 
 primed his Grace on the subject of St Paul, grew 
 warm, and proved conclusively to the Archbishop 
 that his new reading was wrong, and would bear an 
 interpretation favourable to agnosticism. The Eev. 
 Mr Lawlor was altogether so eloquent, so learned, 
 so enthusiastically in earnest, tliat whilst he himself 
 feared he had contradicted the Archbishop with a 
 flatness amounting to rudeness, he had really im- 
 pressed the good Archbishop strongly in his favour. 
 
 It was not the modest Canon, but Clara, who pre- 
 sented a nicely bound copy of 'A Few New Pieadings 
 in the Epistles of St Paul ' to the Archbishop ; and it 
 was to Clara that his Grace expressed the wish that 
 her father's family prayers should be published, pre- 
 faced by a dedication to himself.
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Canon Lawloe never became a dean, but in due time 
 he became a bishop. 
 
 And a very popular bishop he was, being a really 
 pious, unworldly, clever man, with a wife who, in her 
 own way, proved nearly as good a bishop as he. The 
 Honble. Mrs Lawlor undoubtedly did become most 
 popular in the diocese. The higher clergy liked her 
 because she was quite a lady, and the lower clergy liked 
 her for the same reason ; and then she was hospitable 
 and never unkindly. With all her worldly wisdom, 
 there was a soft spot in Elizabeth's heart. Besides, 
 Lord Eockhurst's daughter gave herself no airs, and, 
 unlike some Episcopal ladies, could see a curate's wife 
 as plainly as a dean's ; and if she met the curate 
 himself taking a holiday in town during the season, 
 could recognise him there just as easily as in the 
 country. 
 
 Mrs Lawlor was never supposed to interfere in 
 Church affairs. As a fact, she was consulted by the 
 Bishop on all difficult matters, and invariably gave 
 him excellent advice, advocating compromise in a
 
 POOR NELLIE. 21 
 
 pleasant manner. She was neither " High " nor 
 " Low " ; she held that extreme views were a mistake 
 in a bishop. Once or twice, when her Eight Eever- 
 end husband's strong religious enthusiasm seemed to 
 be carrying him rather far, the calm moderation of her 
 views saved him from trouble. The Bishop never 
 regretted following her advice ; she was cleverly clear- 
 sighted, and of admirable tact. During her lifetime 
 nobody recognised her as a power in the diocese, 
 simply because the moderation of common -sense is 
 not easily traced to a woman's mind. 
 
 When Elizabeth attained the summit of her ambi- 
 tion she ceased to be restless. " I have made Octavius 
 a bishop, and I am satisfied. I will not think of 
 Lambeth." Moderation was strangely joined to dash 
 in the character of this remarkable woman. 
 
 The quiet enjoyment of her bishopric softened 
 Elizabeth, and she was more j)op^^lar as an elderly 
 lady than she had been as a young one. She was a 
 kind, indulgent grandmother to Clara's many children, 
 and they were fonder of her than of their own mother. 
 
 Elizabeth had one great advantage over her daughter ; 
 she had married for love, and true love improves every 
 woman's heart. When Mrs Lawlor had intrigued, she 
 had done so for a man she loved and believed to be 
 good, and not for herself alone. 
 
 Now, when Clara laid down far-stretching plans, 
 like the lines of an underground railway, it was not 
 poor dear Thomas she cared to make a peer, but for 
 herself that she desired a coronet. Clara never loved
 
 22 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 the kind, good, absent man she had married in early 
 youth. Perhaps her mother was right, and she was 
 not made really to love any one ; for though she 
 showed much imagination of the practical sort in the 
 clever contrivance of her underground lines, she never 
 seemed to have that other more spiritual kind of ima- 
 gination which craves to idealise some human being. 
 
 After her own fashion, Clara was quite happy in 
 her marriage, and, like her grandmother, Lady Eock- 
 hurst, made a good wife. She was much admired for 
 her pale, fair beauty ; yet, to her honour be it said, 
 she never flirted with any nobleman or gentleman or 
 useful dully more than was just necessary to make a 
 friend of him in her progress towards the peerage. 
 
 That quite, quite charming Mrs ISTewsham of East- 
 court was invariably spoken of as a model, ideal sort of 
 mother, and especially by Clara herself, for she had a 
 prettily tender way of doing the ideal mother, generally 
 when she was out in society and her children were not 
 by. But it must be allowed, the children showed to 
 great advantage on state occasions. They had good 
 manners, and were kept in admirable order. Clara 
 would have the best nurses and governesses ; and the 
 children were always well dressed. The six girls were 
 exceedingly pretty ; the eldest boy very handsome, and 
 the younger one not bad-looking. 
 
 Yet, admirable as Clara undoubtedly was in the 
 outward, visible maternal aspect, the divine passion of 
 the true mother's love found but little place in her 
 heart. You are thought a cynic if you seem to doubt
 
 POOE XELLIE. 23 
 
 that upon every woman who is a mother a sort of holy 
 spirit does not come down direct from heaven. On 
 many, many souls, and rugged ones, it does descend, 
 and sometimes, like a solitary star amidst the clouds, 
 will shine where all else is coldly dark ; but it is a 
 beautiful delusion, most untrue, to think the divine 
 passion comes to all. Less rare than other kinds of 
 pure unselfishness, it still is rare. 
 
 However, it was not any distaste for the society of 
 her children which made Clara see so little of them 
 when they were young. She merely could not be 
 bothered with them, because she was too much occu- 
 pied in managing Thomas and Thomas's affairs to the 
 best advantage. 
 
 But you would be doing her clear-sighted mind the 
 grossest injustice if you imagined she did not begin, at 
 the very, very earliest opportunity, to think of her 
 children's worldly prospects. Her eldest daughter, 
 Adela, was barely thirteen when a certain idea first 
 entered the mother's head. 
 
 " Sir Cuthbert Crofton is ill. If the illness should 
 prove to be what one of the doctors thinks it is, George 
 Crofton would be decidedly a good match for Adela. 
 I will sound his stepmother on the subject." 
 
 So Clara invited her sister-in-law, Kate Crofton, to 
 come and spend some time at Eastcourt. George was 
 invited too, and kindly enough, but only in the post- 
 script. It was dear Kate who was made to feel she 
 would be really welcome. 
 
 Kate was pleased, yet certainly surprised, to find
 
 24 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Clara so hospitable. She had never felt happy or at 
 home in her house before, though Thomas was always 
 intensely kind to his only sister. But a brother's 
 house is really a sister-in-law's. It was Clara's pres- 
 ence you felt at Eastcourt, Clara's power. You seemed 
 to meet her at every turn, and it was in her house, 
 not in Thomas's, you dreaded staying too long. 
 
 Kate felt more at ease with Clara during this visit 
 than she had ever done in her life ; she almost felt 
 really at ease till quite, quite at the end of her visit, 
 when a curious change suddenly came over her sister- 
 in-law. All of an instant Mrs Newsham turned mys- 
 teriously severe. Clara could be very severe in a 
 quiet, coldly silent way, and at such times not only 
 every child, but every grown person in the house, 
 would instinctively be cowed before her ; and even 
 Thomas, who never noticed anything, would seem to 
 feel uncomfortable, though certainly without clearly 
 knowing that he was so. 
 
 Clara appeared to give no orders ; but all was 
 altered in the twinkling of an eye, as if the grand 
 Inquisitor of ancient Spain had come in the night. 
 George, who had spent half his time in the school- 
 room, found the door locked against him. The chil- 
 dren had run more or less loose for the last fortnight ; 
 now they were kepfc strictly at lessons from morning 
 till night. George could not for the life of him 
 imagine what had occurred, hard as he tried to hit on 
 some explanation. The Newsham children were just 
 as much in the dark as he, but they accepted the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 25 
 
 mystery in fear and trembling : they never dared to try 
 and understand their mother ; for, rightly or wrongly, 
 it was to her they attributed all that happened — they 
 felt her instinctively in everything. To George's 
 perplexed astonishment, without having been know- 
 ingly naughty, they all seemed to feel in disgrace — 
 and particluarly Adela. 
 
 When the schoolroom door opened for a short hour, 
 Adela no longer rushed off to play lawn-tennis, but 
 let herself be marshalled out by Miss Smith, the 
 governess, for a staid and proper walk, much like a 
 convict with her warder. 
 
 " What has happened, Adela ? " cried George, run- 
 ning up to her. 
 
 "Nothing has happened, Mr Crofton," said the 
 governess, who had called him " George " until then ; 
 " nothing has happened, Mr Crofton. Adela is merely 
 taking a walk with me." As to Adela herself, she 
 did not even dare to speak. 
 
 The discomfort and the awkwardness of the mys- 
 tery were unbearable. George began to feel as if he 
 had been convicted of crime ; so did Kate. They 
 both settled to leave Eastcourt immediately. And 
 they went and packed up their things, giving some 
 excuse for instant departure. 
 
 George was secretly much afraid of Mrs Newsham. 
 But as he was going away, he managed to summon 
 just enough courage to say to her, "Why has that 
 Miss Smith suddenly turned into an awful dragon ? 
 And 1 say, Mrs Newsham, do you know, Adela has
 
 2S POOR MELLIE. 
 
 got queer too; what on eaith is the matter with 
 her?" 
 
 daia raised her drooping eyelids, and, coming near 
 to George, fixed upon him that penetrating glance 
 with which she can astound at dose quarters those 
 who haire only seen her eyes veiled in their nsnal 
 mysteiy. Poor George was confonndedl Whatever 
 had he done I for that look made him feel goiLty. 
 
 Oaza was silent; so was the bewildered George. 
 When at last she did speak, it was in that tone of 
 repressive seveiity she can command at will — a voice 
 which startles yon away from her veiy beantj, and 
 makes yon feel yon can dread a fair, slight woman 
 ninre than yon ever feared a man. 
 
 " Geoige," she said, " I cannot tell yon what is the 
 matter with Adela. Bnt^ npon reflection, I have come 
 to the condnsion that it is my onpleasant dnty to 
 have a few words of explanation with your step- 
 mother before she goes away. Geoige, you do right 
 to leave this house immediately.'' 
 
 To her sister-in-law Oara whispered, " One word, 
 Kate, belore you go ; but it must be in private. I 
 wm^ speak to you alona In here, in hero .' " And 
 daia took the alarmed Kate from a crowded hall 
 filled with diildren, and nurses, and servants, and 
 luggage, into her own boudoir dose by, and there 
 amazed her by saying in exactly the same voice whidi 
 had «hakCTi George's nervous system so uncomfortably, 
 " I am very sony, Kate, but I cannot ask George to 
 here again until he has sense and discretion.
 
 POOR yzLin: 27 
 
 He has lived in the schoolroom and has paid Adela 
 marked, yes, marked attention." ^ 
 
 -Adeiar gasped Kate Crofton; "Adela! Adela? 
 Whj, Adela is a child I — a child in short petticoats I 
 And Greoige a boy at sdiool ! George of all people I 
 Greorge, the least impressionable of hnman beings 3 
 My dear Clara : "^ 
 
 The idea was so preposterons, so ont of all reason, 
 that its Indidonsness oTercame every other fediog in 
 Kate's mind, and she burst ont lang^iing. Oaia felt 
 disposed to be angry, and, as nsnal when pnt ont, was 
 coldly silent 
 
 **0h, Claras'* laughed Kate, "this extraordinary 
 notion can't be yours. It mnst, it mnst be that 
 ridicnlons Miss Smith's. Half the govemesses have 
 their brains staffed with nonsense; bnt this is in- 
 sanity showing itself plainly where the history and 
 the globes and the grammar should bcL" 
 
 Until this moment Clara had not thought of put- 
 ting Miss Smith forward, but instantly the idea be- 
 came a new manoeuvre pleasiog to her tactician's eye ; 
 so she then and there adopted the notion, malring use 
 of it just as far as appeared desirable. Qnite re- 
 covering her disturbed temper, she said with a sweet 
 sort of half-pitying smile, "Ah, poor Miss Smith! 
 poor dear creature I Well, I do think, Kate, you may 
 be right, and Miss Smith may have been a little over- 
 anxious, and just a little foolish perhaps." As a fact. 
 Miss Smith, poor dear creature, had never noticed 
 anything, but had been inexpressibly amazed by
 
 28 POOE NELLIE. 
 
 Torquemada's grand discovery. In snubbing George 
 ^sbe had only obeyed Mrs Newsham's strict orders. 
 
 But Clara now came to the point, and said quite 
 affectionately, "All the same, my dear Kate, I did 
 think it was only right to give you a little word of 
 kindly warning for fear of future complications, as 
 George and Adela will not always be children. And 
 I well know, my dear Kate"— the full eyelids were 
 uplifted, and that near glance of Clara's searched Mrs 
 Crofton's open mind — " I well know, my dear Kate, 
 you would be quite as much against this match as I 
 am. No fortune on either side, and only the vaguest, 
 most improbable expectations." 
 
 " I am very glad you would be so much against it, 
 Clara," replied Kate, with perfect, simple trust, and 
 speaking now quite seriously. " And I shall never be 
 offended if you do not ask George here again. And if 
 you do ask him, I shall understand you are quite, 
 quite sure there is no danger in having him and 
 Adela together." Kate smiled a little, — " ISTot that I 
 think there is any danger now, except in that curious 
 Miss Smith's imagination." Then becoming grave 
 once more, she said, " Thank you, Clara, for having 
 warned me of the possible danger, because I know 
 you can only mean to be kind. And as you truly 
 say, George and Adela will not always be children. 
 Thank you, Clara, especially for understanding the 
 very, very delicate position in which I am placed." 
 Kate had a sensitive delicacy of nature which made 
 her blush as slie added, " You know what Cuthbert
 
 POOR NELLIE. 29 
 
 would certainly feel if George were to think of marry- 
 ing young and without fortune, and above all, if he 
 were to think of marrying Adela." The blush deep- 
 ened — " Cuthbert would certainly feel I considered 
 my stepson's prospects made him a good match for 
 my niece. And George has no prospects — none ! — if 
 Cuthbert gets well and marries, as I sincerely hope he 
 may, because he has been good, — oh ! Clara, Clara, 
 you cannot imagine how good and noble and generous 
 he has been to George and to me since poor Henry 
 lost his money in that bank and died, leaving us 
 with nothing in this world but my small fortune. 
 No widow, no fatherless child, ever had a kinder 
 friend than we have had in Cuthbert." 
 
 This was too much for Clara's patience. " I de- 
 clare you are quite ridiculous, Kate ! " she exclaimed, 
 irritably. " You immensely exaggerate what you owe 
 Sir Cuthbert ; and as to George, I really don't see 
 that he owes him anything." 
 
 " George not owe Cuthbert anything ! " cried Kate, 
 aghast. " No one could owe his father more ! " 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and George rushed 
 excitedly in. The conversation had taken so entirely 
 the wrong turn, that Clara was glad of the interruption. 
 
 " The carriage has been here this ever so long ! " 
 George called out, " and we shall be late for our 
 train. Come, mother, come ! Good-bye, Mrs New- 
 sham," he added shortly, and literally dragged his 
 stepmother out of the room. 
 
 Poor George was in an agony for fear they would
 
 30 POOR KELLIE. 
 
 miss the train, and have to return to Eastcourt. He 
 had been in a fever of discomfort in that mysterious 
 house, and was so anxious to get away that he forgot 
 to say good-bye to Adela, for she did not follow him 
 like the rest of the children to the doorstep, but stood 
 in the hall handcuffed, as it were, to Miss Smith. 
 
 Thanks to George's lively persecution of the coach- 
 man, the horses were driven so fast that the Croftons 
 did catch their train. 
 
 "Awfully glad we've nicked it," said George. 
 " What an awful sell it would have been if we had 
 had to go back to Eastcourt — awful 1 " After a short 
 silence, he continued, " I say, mother, do you think 
 Mrs Newsham good-looking ? Why, I heard a fellow 
 the other day speak of her as if she were a beauty." 
 
 " And so she is, my dear George. She has the 
 most beautiful white complexion I ever saw." 
 
 " Then I don't admire her one bit," said George, 
 decidedly. "Awfully disagreeable way of looking 
 through a fellow when she gets up close to him. 
 Looks at you and shuts you up just like Snorter, my 
 old form master. Awfully mysterious, too ! Snorter 
 was always mysterious when he meant to report you 
 to old Swisher. I hate people a fellow can't under- 
 stand. But I say, mother, j\Irs ISTewsham looked as 
 if she were blowing you up in that boudoir. Awful 
 shame ! " he cried, indignantly. " But what was she 
 jawing about ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear George, what language 1 what 
 extraordinary language ! But do not be angry, dear
 
 POOR NELLIE. 31 
 
 boy ; Clara was merely saying sometliing a little un- 
 pleasant to me. She thought it right to say it, George, 
 and she meant to be kind." 
 
 " T don't believe it," interrupted the boy, with 
 much decision. " Just like Snorter, who always pre- 
 tended to be kind when he slanged you most. What 
 right has Mrs Newsham to slang you at all ? " 
 
 " Oh, George, George 1 such curious expressions as 
 you do use ! And really, I can assure you, my dear, 
 Clara did not scold me in the least." 
 
 " Looked awfully slangy, then. I'm sure she was 
 in a wax ! " 
 
 Kate Crof ton hesitated. She did not want to put 
 a certain notion into her young stepson's head, and 
 yet she had grown very anxious to discover if there 
 was any foundation, however slight, for Miss Smith's 
 hallucination. After a moment's reflection, she said 
 nervously, " Well, my dear George, perhaps you are a 
 little right in thinking " 
 
 " I know I am right, mother." 
 
 " Well, well, my dear, I daresay you are not alto- 
 gether quite wrong. I do think Clara was a little 
 — yes, a very little — not much, my dear George, but 
 perhaps a little — annoyed." 
 
 " Annoyed ? Bosh ! She was in a regular wax ! 
 And it was something about Adela — tell me, what ? " 
 
 The directness of the question flustered the timid 
 Kate. " Oh, nothing, really nothing ! that is, my 
 dear George — I — I mean nothing in particular ; only 
 I think Clara thought — no ! it was Miss Smith
 
 32 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 thought. Yes ; I forgot, George ! it was Miss Smith 
 thought " 
 
 "Awful duffer that Miss Smith! But I say, 
 mother, do be quick." 
 
 " I think, my dear boy, Miss Smith thought you — 
 you played too much lawn-tennis with Adela." 
 
 " E. 0. T ! " exclaimed George, emphatically. 
 
 Kate let the inelegant expression pass without 
 remark, for it gave her such relief that it was j)leas- 
 anter to her ear than the purest Addisonian English. 
 
 " When Adela had been playing all day," she sug- 
 gested, " I daresay Miss Smith found her tired and 
 inattentive at her lessons, George." 
 
 " I am sure I did not want to play with Adela. I 
 always played wdth Eockhurst till he and Tom were 
 sent away to stay with their grandmother. Eock- 
 hurst and I were awfully well matched. It was Mrs 
 Newsham, Mrs Newsham herself, who made me play 
 with Adela. Adela is an awfully bad shot — awfully ! 
 I liked playing with Nellie best ; but Mrs Xewsham 
 said Nellie was not to play, because she was not strong 
 enough, though Nellie vowed that was all bosh. Adela 
 is a shocking duffer ! Catch me ever playing with her 
 again ! And I say, mother, if Adela does not take 
 care she'll be just as queer as Mrs Newsham. She is 
 beginning to get mysterious like her." And the lad 
 repeated what he had said before — " I hate people 
 a fellow can't understand ! " adding this time, " By 
 Jove, I do ! I am awfully glad, mother, we've left 
 Eastcourt. We'll never cjo there a^ain. When
 
 POOR NELLIE. 33 
 
 Mrs Newshara asks us, we'll always go somewhere 
 else." 
 
 Kate Crofton was so perfectly, perfectly satisfied by 
 the unmistakable sincerity of George's words and 
 look and manner, that she never again troubled her 
 head about Miss Smith's hallucination. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 Foe excellent reasons of her own, Clara never men- 
 tioned to Mrs Lawlor the little idea which had 
 entered her brain of a possible match between George 
 and Adela, until more than two years after that sud- 
 den Grand Inquisitor's mystery at Eastcourt. 
 
 Elizabeth was staying with Clara — and as it hap- 
 pened, for the last time in her life — when her daughter 
 said to her one day, " Do you know, mamma dear, that 
 Adela was fifteen her last birthday. She will soon be 
 sixteen ; and I was married at sixteen." 
 
 "Clara, will Adela really have only £2000?" 
 asked Mrs Lawlor, before making any further remark. 
 
 "She will have exactly £2500," replied Clara, de- 
 cidedly. " Two thousand five hundred to the six girls 
 makes £15,000. That will only give Tom £10,000 
 out of the £25,000 we intend to leave the younger 
 children. We cannot charge the property more highly, 
 because of the imperative necessity of making Eock- 
 hurst really an eldest son. This election, and all 
 the local philanthropy, and that temperance fad of 
 Thomas's, have cost laro-e sums ; and Thomas will
 
 POOR NELLIE. 35 
 
 certainly not get a peerage unless it is known lie can 
 leave Eocldiurst at least £15,000 a-year clear at his 
 death. My jointure of £5000 a-year may not fall in 
 till Eockhurst is quite an old man." 
 
 Clara had no intention of becomino- a real ansrel 
 sooner than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 " It is a pity you cannot leave the poor girls a little 
 more," urged the grandmother. " Clara, leave them 
 my £6000 and your father's £2000." 
 
 " That has been settled on me," answered Clara, very 
 shortly. " I may want the ready money for other 
 purposes." 
 
 This was said with dropped eyelids and a tighten- 
 ing of the small mouth — an expression of countenance 
 Elizabeth well understood. She pressed the matter 
 no more. When angry, Clara would generally be 
 repressively silent. 
 
 The pause of uncomfortable silence between the 
 mother and daughter was broken by Mrs Lawlor. 
 " Well, my dear," she said, trying to speak pleasantly, 
 " even with so little fortune, you will not have much 
 trouble in marrying Adela. She is so pi ok and white, 
 that some very young man of good prospects might 
 easily be brought to fancy her. There will not be 
 much difficulty with quite a young man — the trouble 
 will be with his parents. An orphan of position and 
 means is what you want, Clara ; six desirable orphans 
 for the six girls I But they will be hard to find 1 " 
 
 " Yet, mamma," answered Mrs Newsham, recovering 
 her usually self-possessed temper, "when I married
 
 36 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 I had no fortune whatever, and still I married Thomas 
 very easily ; and Thomas is rich, and has an extremely 
 fine place, and is undoubtedly in love with me." 
 
 " Clara, Clara ! " cried out the Bishop's wife, " you 
 will ruin the girls' prospects if you start with the 
 notion of finding a Thomas for each or any of them ! 
 Thomas was a most exceptional circumstance. I have 
 never known another like him." 
 
 " But of whom shall I tliink for Adela ? " asked 
 Clara, as if she had never, never thought over the 
 subject before. " Let me see ; there's — there's James 
 Howard." 
 
 " He'll never have a penny, Clara — never ! " 
 
 " Then there's Frank Vincent." 
 
 "Not at all well off!" 
 
 " Ah ! no, no, to be sure ! I forgot that — I was 
 only thinking how handsome Frank is. Victor Murray 
 is not half as good-looking, but shall I try him ? " 
 
 " Those Murrays are not a nice connection. I 
 don't like one of them," said Elizabeth. 
 
 jSTow Clara had never even thought of Victor Mur- 
 ray before. He was not much of a catch. She did 
 not really tliink of him now, and had merely men- 
 tioned him as she had done James Howard and Frank 
 Vincent, because she wished to lead up to George 
 Crofton quietly. She now said, " Ah yes, mamma ! 
 you are right. Those Murrays would not be a nice 
 connection." And then she went on very gently, 
 " But, mamma — mamma dear, wdiat — what would you 
 say to George Crofton ? "
 
 POOR NELLIE. 37 
 
 " George Crofton ? Oh, Clara ! do you really 
 mean Kate's stepson George ? " 
 
 " I do/' said Clara firmly, her whole manner quite 
 changing. 
 
 Elizabeth was taken aback. She understood by 
 instinct this was no chance idea, but a well-considered 
 plan. " Clara, Clara ! " she exclaimed, " I implore you 
 not to think of maldng up this match ! Kate Crofton 
 would intensely dislike it for her stepson — it would 
 place him in a position of painful awkwardness with Sir 
 Cuthbert, as it would certainly seem to Sir Cuthbert a 
 match made up on the speculation of his death ; and 
 George is a mere boy still ! Clara, it would not be right, 
 and above all, it would not be honourable, to do this 
 thing secretly against Kate's will ; and if she clearly 
 knew of it, she would not permit it. She is Thomas's 
 only sister — you owe her some consideration as such. 
 Thomas is very fond of her, and she is so fond of 
 him, that for his sake she will trust you, and even if 
 she has a misgiving, will put it far from her, and 
 think it wrong to doubt you. And then for years 
 Kate has been very good to you and to your children." 
 
 " My first duty is to think of my daughter's pros- 
 pects, and not of my sister-in-law's sentimental over- 
 delicacy," answered Clara, with a kind of soft dogged- 
 ness peculiarly her own. The daughter had faith in 
 her mother's worldliness, and so did not let the matter 
 drop, but said, " Perhaps you are not aware, mamma. 
 Sir Cuthbert is very seriously ill again. lie will 
 certainly not marry now, and George will have his
 
 38 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 uncle's baronetcy and the fortune and Crofton 
 Place." 
 
 " Sir Cuthbert may recover and marry ! Yes, Clara, 
 he may recover and marry ! " cried Elizabeth, feeling 
 this was a very strong argument. 
 
 " If I thought Sir Cuthbert would get well " 
 
 mused Clara, slowly. 
 
 " Settle on somebody else, my dear," urged Mrs 
 Lawlor ; " Adela will fall sufficiently in love with 
 any one you choose. It would be different with 
 Nellie. Let I^ellie choose for herself. But you 
 will have no trouble with Adela. Try Eupert Tor- 
 rings — he will be really well-off ; or, "as Lord Marleigh 
 is already caught, try the Harchesters' second boy who 
 will have his mother's fortune." 
 
 " There are difficulties you do not understand," 
 replied Clara shortly. " Lady Harchester is a sus- 
 picious scheming woman — a very scheming woman ! " 
 Mrs Newsham said this as if there was nothinijj 
 on earth she disapproved of so much as scheming 
 women. And it is quite true she did hate them ; 
 she liked simple, childlike people whom she could 
 manage as easily as Thomas. 
 
 " Lady Harchester," continued Clara, " never seems 
 to forget a stupid speech Thomas made about her 
 model school the year after we were married. Be- 
 sides, George will be a better match than either Paipert 
 Torrings or the Honble. Fred, and he is much easier to 
 get hold of. I shall be able to manage Kate perfectly," 
 Clara said calmly ; " she will never realise anything."
 
 POOR NELLIE. 39 
 
 At this Mrs Lawlor was really indignant, and ex- 
 claimed warmly, " Poor Kate ! I cannot bear the idea 
 of your deceiving her ! and you must deceive her, 
 Clara, if you are to bring about this match." 
 
 Clara answered petulantly, " Things would be sim- 
 pler if Thomas were any other sort of man, but he 
 will never exert himself to find good matches for 
 the girls, or to invite the right people." And then 
 tenderly sighing, she added, '' Ah dear ! ah dear ! I 
 must leave the poor girls' prospects in the hands of 
 Providence." 
 
 " Then you could not have a worse matchmaker 1 " 
 called out Mrs Lawlor. With all her shortcomings, 
 Elizabeth never canted, and heartily disliked cant in 
 others. She resented, as a Bishop's wife should, 
 having Providence mixed up with a purely worldly 
 calculation. " Providence rarely makes the good 
 matches with the good settlements," she said sharply. 
 " Women of the world make them, Clara. Provi- 
 dence would give you a poor curate for a son-in- 
 law, and no one of the girls is clever enough to 
 marry a curate — she could not make a bishop of 
 him as I did of her grrandfather." 
 
 Clara was in no wise ruffled. " Quite true," she 
 said ; " none of my children are really clever. They 
 are all like poor dear Thomas — except perhaps Tom. 
 Tom is the least amiable of all my children. He 
 and Eleanour are unamiable." 
 
 " That is cruel, Clara — cruel ! You wrong dear 
 Nellie ! indeed you do ! and poor Tom is not un-
 
 40 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 amiable. All the children are amiable — all ! " said the 
 grandmother ; " and they all have quiet tempers like 
 you, Clara. You have a very quiet one ; and yet, do 
 you know, Clara, your children seem afraid of you. 
 I can't conceive how you manage it ! You never 
 were afraid of me, and yet I am rather quick-tem- 
 pered. No, my dear, you never were afraid of me ! " 
 
 Elizabeth had tears in her eyes. " Ah, Clara, 
 Clara ! " she said, " with all your tender looks and 
 ways, you never were so fond of me as I am of you ! 
 Nor will you ever be so fond of any child you have 
 as I of you. Poor things ! " 
 
 " You are ill, dear," said Clara composedly ; " you 
 are ill, dear, or you would not talk like that." 
 
 " Yes, I am ill ; I know that I am very ill — I am 
 dying. That is why I want you to love me more 
 than you have ever done before. But I will lie down 
 and rest now, for I am tired." 
 
 It was a strano'e sio'ht for those who had known 
 my lady bishop in the full vigour of her perpetual 
 energy, and a pitiful one, to see her now lie still for 
 hours overpowered by bodily weakness. 
 
 Clara was leaving the room when her mother lay 
 down on the sofa, and so pale and worn and over- 
 excited did Elizabeth look that Clara's heart smote 
 her just a little, and, turning round, she went back 
 and kissed her mother. Clara had a very pretty 
 clinging way of embracing. Her manner could be 
 more tender than her heart. 
 
 Mrs Lawlor did not stay much longer at Eastcourt.
 
 POOR XELLIE. 41 
 
 Her illness increased alarmingly, and she wished to 
 be at home with her husband. 
 
 Poor Elizabeth had only enjoyed her bishopric 
 eight short years ! How short they seemed ! The 
 same rapidly-fatal disease which had seized Lady 
 Eockhurst long before the Dowager had any intention 
 of dying, now seized poor Elizabeth, and, like a grim 
 relentless executioner, dragged her suddenly face to 
 face with all the torturing uncertainties of death. 
 
 " If I had been a curate's wife, it would now have 
 been the same," she said. " Clara, if I had to live 
 again, I would not be so worldly. But I am glad, 
 now that I am dying, that at least I never was a 
 hypocrite ; I never said it was God, and not I, who 
 made your father a bishop." Then again she said, 
 " You look like a white angel, Clara : do not try to 
 make people think you are one." 
 
 When feverish, she annoyed Mrs Newsham by 
 repeating more than once, " Do not deceive people, 
 Clara." Her last words to her daughter were, " Be 
 loving to the children, Clara — be kind to ISTellie ; she 
 will want your love." 
 
 To the Bishop, Elizabeth said, " Octavius, I die 
 before you, and so am spared the greatest sorrow I 
 could have had on earth ; I am glad that I die first. 
 But, Octavius, when I am dead, do not praise me on 
 my tombstone or write a memoir of me making me 
 all a bishop's wife should be. I have not been as 
 unworldly or as really good as your kind, simple 
 soul has thoudit me."
 
 42 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Elizabetli died sincerely. It is well to be sincere 
 in death. 
 
 Now, had Clara died a bishop's wife with a whole 
 diocese by her bedside, there is no doubt she would 
 haye died more beautifully than her mother.
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 " Poor mamma ! " thought Clara, when the first mourn- 
 ing was really quite over, and she had got Adela a 
 very becoming light-grey dress ; " poor, dear mamma ! 
 with all her talent, her very great talent, she certainly 
 was wrong-headed about George and Adela." 
 
 Now this is what had happened. Sir Cuthbert 
 Crofton's mysterious internal malady had taken a 
 decided turn for the better about the time of Mrs 
 Lawlor's death ; so as soon as ever Clara decently 
 could, she had invited Eupert Torrings to Eastcourt, 
 though he was by no means an orphan. He was 
 asked to come and stay " in the quietest manner pos- 
 sible." However, before long, Mrs Newsham was 
 thoroughly disgusted with him. He never seemed 
 to see that Adela was virtually grown up, and he 
 actually told the young lady that he liked fair-haired 
 girls best; and Adela was just such a white, white 
 lily as her mother. 
 
 When Eupert Torrings went away, Clara much 
 desired to ask the Honble. Fred to come also " in the 
 quietest manner possible." You cannot have com-
 
 44 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 pany in deep affliction, but you can always have an 
 eligible young man. But Mrs Xewsliam could not 
 get hold of the Honble. Fred. His mother, Lady Har- 
 chester, proved a wily sentinel quite on the alert. 
 The truth is, Lady Harchester was one of those people 
 about whom Clara had been perhaps just a little too 
 clever. At the beginning of her career, before her 
 great talents were fully developed, Mrs Newsham was 
 at times undoubtedly rather too astute. 
 
 The Countess of Harchester was a cousin of the 
 Lady Fanny Devereux who had jilted Mr Newsham. 
 Clara, on her marriage, found a coolness existing 
 between Eastcourt and Harchester House, and a de- 
 cided disinclination on Thomas's part to go there or 
 let her go. " Thomas is quite ridiculous ; he avoids 
 Lady Harchester," thought Clara ; " yet no one can 
 be more useful to us in London when I make 
 Thomas take a house in town." Clara patronised all 
 Lady Harchester's pet charities, and bought largely 
 from her stall at the model -school bazaar. Clara 
 did not take Thomas to this bazaar, but she said 
 to Lady Harchester in her sweetest, most artless 
 manner, " My husband is so interested in your model 
 school, Lady Harchester, so very, very much interested ! 
 and he would like to study it in detail, and person- 
 ally analyse its excellent management." 
 
 The coolness had been entirely on Mr Newsham's 
 side. Lady Harchester was glad to fix an early day 
 for the inspection of the school. 
 
 " Pray tell Mr Xewsham, with my kindest regards,"
 
 rOOll KELLIE. 45 
 
 she said most graciously, " that I shall hope to meet 
 him at the school on Tuesday morning, and myself 
 do the honours of our new wing ; and you must both 
 come and lunch with me afterwards, Mrs Newsham." 
 
 When Clara got home, she praised the model school 
 to Thomas. He had never heard of it before, but he 
 was easily interested in any good work, and most 
 works seemed good to him. In due time, Clara said — 
 
 " Lady Harchester knew you would be interested in 
 her school, Thomas, so she has kindly asked you and 
 me to meet her there on Tuesday morning, when she 
 will herself show us over the new wing ; and she has 
 also asked us to luncheon. This is really very civil 
 of Lady Harchester, considering how you have — well, 
 my dear Thomas, do you know I had almost said, how 
 you have cut her for the last few years ? Xow, now, 
 Thomas," Clara exclaimed in her very prettiest little 
 way — " now, my dear Thomas, you have, you know 
 you have been a little, just a little tiny bit, rude 
 to poor dear Lady Harchester. But bygones are 
 bygones ! so you must be particularly civil next 
 Tuesday." 
 
 Thomas always meant to be kind and civil to every- 
 body, but he was generally very absent-minded ; and 
 though he would often go to a place intending to 
 make a polite speech to the lady of the house, when 
 the right moment came he invariably forgot to do so. 
 Clara naturally never expected him to say anything 
 to Lady Harchester, nor would he have done so had 
 Lady Harchester not been intimately connected in his
 
 46 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 mind with his ill-fated engagement to Lady Fanny. 
 The circumstances and people connected with the 
 bewildering shock of being jilted stood out in curious 
 relief to the usual dimness of Mr Newsham's mental 
 haze. He recollected distinctly the last time he had 
 seen Lady Harchester, and knew it was a long time 
 ago ; and when Clara told him he had been rude to 
 her, he did not forget he had purposely avoided her. 
 
 So it came to pass that when Thomas went over 
 the model school and met Lady Harchester again, his 
 mind was unnaturally clear, and he remembered to 
 make a little speech. He warmly praised the school, 
 for his kind heart was ever sincerely pleased with any 
 work intended for the help or reclamation of the 
 young, and he said, " I am surprised that, living in 
 the same county, I should never have heard of your 
 model school. Lady Harchester. No ! no ! never ! 
 never until Clara gave me your invitation. It was 
 kind of you, yes ! yes ! Lady Harchester, it was kind 
 of you to wish to renew the acquaintance of past 
 years, interrupted by . . . by what was at the time a 
 ... a tragedy — yes ! yes ! yes 1 a tragedy to me, but 
 one in which I now fully recognise, as I should have 
 done at first, that you had no part." 
 
 The naive sincerity of this speech was as unmistak- 
 able as its genuine emotion. The angel of fair white 
 beauty that Thomas JSTewsham had married, stood 
 revealed to the astute Lady Harchester as a born 
 little woman of the world, whose precocious talents 
 v/ould be fully developed by the time her daughters
 
 POOR NELLIE. 47 
 
 were beginning to grow up. Being herself a woman 
 of the world, Lady Harchester did not think much the 
 worse of Clara, and when the two ladies met, the 
 cordiality of her manner to Mrs Xewsham, and of ]\Irs 
 jSTewsham's to her, might easily have been mistaken 
 for warm affection. Yet my lady was on her guard. 
 She was always glad to let her girls go to Eastcourt. 
 Eockhurst Xewsham would be the best match in the 
 county, after her own son, Lord Marleigh. But Lady 
 Harchester managed to prevent, almost from infancy, 
 Lord Marleigh, who would have the earldom, and the 
 Honble. Fred, who was to have her fortune, from going 
 to Eastcourt. Clara was not blind to the fact, that 
 whereas the two elder boys were always " occupied 
 with their tutor," or " going out fishing or riding with 
 their father," the other children had no engagements. 
 
 It was in Mrs Newsham's nature to persevere where 
 she was thwarted. But when Ptupert Torrings proved 
 a failure, and the undaunted Clara tried once more to 
 angle for the Honble. Ered, she was forced, much against 
 her will, to recognise that the provoking, stupid speech 
 Thomas had made fully fifteen years before was still 
 unforgotten, and stood an impassable barrier between 
 the Harchesters' eligible second son and Adela. Owing 
 to the cleverness of his mother. Lord Marleigh was 
 already engaged to be married the day after he came 
 of age. The county was decidedly annoyed at this 
 premature engagement : there were but few good 
 matches in Nossex. 
 
 So when Adela was quite sixteen, indeed just
 
 48 POOH XELLIE. 
 
 seventeen, and had gone into second mourning, Clara 
 calmly surveyed surrounding circumstances. 
 
 " Sir Cuthbert is worse again, certainly worse than 
 he has ever been before. That Shropwich doctor must 
 be right. If so, George Crofton will be a better match 
 than any I could find in town, as Adela has virtually 
 no fortune. I will try George first, and save the 
 expenses of a season for another year. Then, if George 
 fails, Thomas shall take a house in town whether he 
 likes it or not. J^ow that I have got Thomas into 
 Parliament, I have really carried this point." 
 
 Clara thouoht a little more : Yon Moltke thinks much 
 beforehand, and foresees the possibilities of a campaign. 
 
 " I must begin — yes, I must begin immediately, 
 before George's prospects become visible to the world. 
 What I said to Kate nearly four years ago, will be just 
 enough to put her off her guard." 
 
 And then Clara once more exclaimed, " Poor, dear 
 mamma ! poor, dear mamma ! she certainly was wrong- 
 headed about George and Adela ! " 
 * When Mrs Newsham had suggested to her mother 
 the idea of this match, she had not told her how she 
 had already sufficiently prepared matters to make the 
 boy and girl feel awkward together. This omission 
 was highly characteristic of Clara. In consulting you, 
 Clara w^ill not unfrequently tell you half the truth ; 
 sometimes she will tell you three-quarters of the truth, 
 b\it it is only on the very rarest of rare occasions that 
 she tells you the whole truth. 
 
 It is alwavs a little difficult consciouslv to manage
 
 POOR NELLIE. 49 
 
 circumstances and force things to take place which 
 never would take place naturally, and yet at the same 
 time to make them all appear perfectly accidental. 
 But Clara had a remarkable talent for this kind of 
 diplomacy. 
 
 Admiral Crofton, Sir Cuthbert's uncle, had a small 
 cottage and shrubbery, and a big flagstaff and sema- 
 phore, in that out-of-the-way little fishing village, 
 Bluehaven. When on shore, the Admiral spent the 
 summer vacation at Bluehaven, with his boy Charlie. 
 The Admiral's young wife, much younger than himself, 
 had died when Charlie was born. He had never 
 married again, so Kate Crofton, his niece by marriage, 
 used to come and keep house for him in the summer 
 at the cottage, and bring her stepson, George, as a 
 playmate for Charlie : the boys were about the 
 same age. 
 
 As a rule, navy men in domestic life are either 
 martinets to whom their home is a quarter-deck, or 
 else they are the most amiable, affectionate, and simple- 
 hearted of human beings. Such was that perfect 
 gentleman. Admiral Crofton, the dearest, the nicest of 
 all elderly men ! and quite charming to look at ! His 
 hair had turned very white when he was comparatively 
 young, so that you thought him older than he really 
 was ; but his figure was remarkably erect, and, unlike 
 many naval officers, he was extremely tall. He had 
 a bright, a very bright complexion, and the kindest 
 blue eyes ever seen. It was a handsome face, with 
 well -cut features — a high nose, a firm but sweet- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 tempered mouth, and a marked chin. He was strong, 
 and jet tender of nature ; clever, yet guileless as a 
 child ; and delightfully good-tempered, though, it is 
 true, there were a few subjects on which he was pep- 
 pery : uncourteous manners, especially towards ladies, 
 made him angry ; and there were two or three nautical 
 matters it was not quite safe to discuss with him. 
 He had his own ideas about ironclads and the educa- 
 tion of naval officers ; and he fired up dangerously 
 when told of the increase of the French navy. 
 
 It was keen sorrow to him that the prestige of 
 England in the world is not what it used to be, and 
 angiy pain to him to feel that England is no more 
 what England was. 
 
 " Whilst our people squabble in a public-liouse on 
 shore, and our statesmen inflame the mean envies of 
 classes, by God ! " the Admiral would cry, " we im- 
 potently lose the kingdom of the world." The Ad- 
 miral's love for England, his pride in her fame and in 
 the glorious honour* of that empire bequeathed to us 
 by the genius of our greater forefathers, was not the 
 cold abstraction, the apathy, that patriotism lias become 
 to most of us. It was a living passion within him, as 
 warm, as real as the true love he had borne his wife 
 and bore his only son. 
 
 The decay of patriotism in England is like the 
 decay of an old man apathetically sinking into the 
 grave, and ceasing, before he actually dies, to be a 
 really living thing — so dim of sight, so indifferent to 
 all interests but the draught about his own chair, so 
 
 I
 
 POOR NELLIE. 51 
 
 dead of energy, so ruled by mean dependants does he 
 become. 
 
 Strangers who heard the Admiral speak on this 
 sore subject, and knew no more of him, thought him a 
 violent-tempered man. 
 
 But as Clara's diplomacy had nothing to do with 
 the prestige or policy of Great Britain, she had no fear 
 of the Admiral, but looked upon him as a kind of 
 tractable ba-lamb whom she could lead about with 
 rose-coloured ribbons and hoodwink quite easily. 
 She knew the Admiral and Charlie and George 
 Crofton would certainly spend August and part of 
 September at Bluehaven ; but, before finally settling 
 her accidents, she determined to make quite sure Sir 
 Cuthbert was really so ill that Kate would be obliged 
 to stay on and nurse him at Crofton Place. So Clara 
 invited the Admiral to Eastcourt, and though not a 
 hospitable person, was very hospitable to him. At 
 convenient moments she cross-questioned him fully 
 about Sir Cuthbert and Kate. You might cross- 
 examine the Admiral for ever without his perceiving 
 you were doing so. Dear, guileless creature ! Clara 
 was actually fond of him ! and felt he suited her and 
 her plans to perfection. Clara never likes people who 
 do not fit quite easily and naturally into her numerous 
 arrangements — in fact, she has a tendency to hate them. 
 
 When quite satisfied on the most important point 
 at one side of the matter which she had at heart, Mrs 
 Xewsham turned her mind entirely to the other. She 
 quickly foresaw a pretext for going to Bluehaven, and 
 
 UBRARI 
 
 UNiVERSiTY or UIMM
 
 62 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 for taking Thomas and Aclela there in the most natural 
 way possible. 
 
 This was extremely clever, because Bluehaven was 
 a most difficult place to go to by accident — being a sort 
 of end-of-the-world that could lead nowhere. Then, 
 also, Thomas hated leaving Eastcourt in the summer. 
 
 But Clara settled to go to Bluehaven from the best 
 and highest of motives — solely to restore her poor, 
 dear father's health ! 
 
 A brilliant idea ! And it was quite true the good 
 Bishop was ill : he had never been well since the 
 shock of his wife's death. 
 
 Clara discovered that what the poor, dear Bishop 
 wanted was change of air — change of air and rest ; 
 and she said so to Dr Fozzle, who was the chief med- 
 ical " opinion " in the diocese. Dr Fozzle agreed with 
 her, but recommended a bracing inland air, like that of 
 Eastcourt. 
 
 One of Clara's most remarkable characteristics is 
 the power of persuasion she can exercise at will over 
 most medical men. The old-fashioned family doctor 
 purrs to her voice by instinct, like a soft - coated 
 fatherly tom-cat. Half the spell lies in her look 
 and in the tenderness of manner with which she 
 will discuss the " case." Her suggestions to the med- 
 ical faculty are so gently, so beautifully made, or 
 rather insinuated, that the doctor will feel as if they 
 were his own. Clara never contradicted a doctor : 
 she always began by agreeing with him. 
 
 Yes ; her dear father did want a bracing, a very
 
 POOR NELLIE. 53 
 
 bracing air. Dr Fozzle was quite right : it was a 
 really dry, bracing air the jjoor dear Bishop required. 
 Clara perceived that Dr Fozzle understood the case 
 admirably ; and it was so very, very wise of him not to 
 recommend a relaxing place, — a relaxing air had never, 
 never agreed with the dear Bishop. Dr Fozzle was 
 undoubtedly correct in considering inland to be gen- 
 erally more bracing than sea air. Mrs Newsham had 
 never known but one exception to this rule. Yet she 
 had known one ; but Dr Fozzle could never, never 
 have heard of Bluehaven. Nobody had ever heard of 
 Bluehaven. It was such a dull, out-of-the-way place. 
 But if only the great doctors knew of it, it would be 
 the seaside place — the one only seaside place — they 
 would send their patients to. Clara called the air " a 
 breezy quinine, a nerve tonic, an ozone stimulant," and 
 said it was so exceptionally dry and bracing that it was 
 only people of exhausted nerve-power who could stand 
 the climate long — persons in the state the poor dear 
 Bishop was. Dr Fozzle was so very, very right, Clara 
 was sure, so perfectly, so unmistakably right in think- 
 ing it was wear and tear of the nerve-tissues and ex- 
 haustion of nerve-power which ailed the Bishop. 
 
 Finally, it was Dr Fozzle — Dr Fozzle himself — who 
 ordered the Bishop to Bluehaven. 
 
 Bluehaven is seven miles from a railway station, 
 and such an insignificant place, that at first sight it 
 seems to consist of Admiral Crofton's flagstaff and 
 semaphore ; you can see them miles off. When you 
 come near, you perceive his tiny cottage and his patch
 
 54 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 of shrubbery ; and then in a cleft down below, nest- 
 ling like a sea-bird on the rock by the side of the 
 haven, are a little fishing village, rather a tumble- 
 down church with a low tower, a poor sort of rectory, 
 the surgeon-apothecary's house, about six trees, a very 
 small pier, and nothing else. 
 
 Clara had first to get rid of the rector and his 
 family ; and this required no little diplomacy, for the 
 rector decidedly wished to stay and preach to the 
 Bishop, and he proposed the surgeon-apothecary should 
 take a change of air. The surgery was a mile from 
 the Admiral's cottage, while the rectory was quite 
 near ; its one field crept over the hill-top to the flag- 
 staff and shrubbery, and touched the flint w^all of the 
 semaphore. 
 
 Though Clara was rich, she was not naturally open- 
 handed ; but she offered twelve guineas a-week for 
 the rectory house, and the clergyman's wife forced 
 her husband to accept the offer — pointing out to him 
 also that he might go by train every Sunday, walk the 
 fourteen miles, and perform the service and preach at 
 Bluehaven. Clara did not mind seeing the rector once 
 a-week ; but she was particularly glad to be com- 
 pletely rid of his wife, as she thought this lady a 
 gossip. 
 
 So the Bishop, being ordered by Dr Fozzle to Blue- 
 haven, was very kindly taken there by Clara ; and 
 never was there a poor bishop squeezed into a smaller 
 or more uncomfortable house ! Luckily he was a 
 most amiable Eight Eeverend, for now, really, there
 
 POOR NELLIE. 55 
 
 was hardly room for liis apron, and no place whatever 
 for his chaplain ! 
 
 Clara did not want the chaplain, as lie might have 
 flirted with Adela ; and it was for Adela she had taken 
 the rectory. She brought her second daughter Nellie 
 there too, so as not to make Adela conspicuous — in- 
 deed she said it was Eleanour who required the sea- 
 bathing, and thus made Adela seem an accidental 
 circumstance — merely a companion for the sea-bathing 
 Nellie. 
 
 To the Bishop, Clara said — " But now, really, dear 
 papa, do you know it is as a special, particular pleas- 
 ure for yourself that the two girls are here ? as a 
 quite especial pleasure for dear grandpapa ! " How 
 prettily Clara could say those kind of little things ! 
 
 Thomas was also drao-o-ed to Bluehaven. " As to 
 Thomas," thought Clara, " he will be useful in many 
 ways, and he never sees anything. He will be with 
 my father, and do as well as the chaplain ; and he 
 need not take up any room, for he will sit in the study 
 with the Bishop. If Thomas wants to go home, I will 
 make him give a temperance lecture to the fishermen. 
 He is so slow in preparing a speech, that I can man- 
 age it shall occupy him the whole month." Clara had 
 only taken the rectory for four weeks, having dis- 
 covered in her preliminary cross-examination of the 
 Admiral that George Crofton was to go up to a cram- 
 mer in London on the 1st of September. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert had become very ill, and Kate Crofton 
 was so engrossed nursing him, and so truly unhappy
 
 56 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 about him, that she had neither heart nor leisure to 
 be surprised at hearing Dr Fozzle had ordered the 
 Bishop to Bluehaven ; for that is what she did hear. 
 It was even in the newspapers. 
 
 Clara wrote from the rectory to Kate : " How very 
 unfortunate it is, my dearest Kate, that the only year 
 we should ever have come to Bluehaven should be the 
 one, one summer you are not here ! My dear father 
 can stay away from his diocese just a month ! but, I 
 fear, no longer ! However, as the last accounts of poor 
 dear Sir Cuthbert are so much more favourable"— 
 they were really no better — " are so much more favour- 
 able, so hopeful ! I may say, I certainly do expect to 
 have the great pleasure of seeing you here before we 
 leave ! for you must come, my dear Kate — you must 
 come while we are here ! It would be too naughty if 
 you did not ! I am glad to say this air really does 
 agree wonderfully with my father. Dr Fozzle was 
 certainly right in sending him here, though it is such 
 a dull place ! But a gay place would not have suited 
 the dear Bishop ; he requires comjMe rest I And, as 
 Dr Fozzle wisely said, in cases of nervous exhaustion 
 it is most beneficial to be seven miles from a railway 
 station, and to have but one post in twenty-four hours ; 
 so we do not complain ! " There was a P.S. to the 
 letter : " The sea-bathing agrees quite wonderfully with 
 dear Nellie." 
 
 Kate would never have known Adela was at Blue- 
 haven, only George happened to write one of the rare 
 letters which a deep affection for his stepmother
 
 POOR NELLIE. 57 
 
 squeezed out of him in the holidays ; and in it he 
 chanced to say : " It is an awful sell having Mrs 
 Newsham here, but I keep out of her way as much as 
 I can. I like Mr Newsham and the Bishop, and they 
 don't make a fellow feel as if they were always look- 
 ing through him. But Adela and Nellie are an awful 
 nuisance, particularly Adela, and they take possession 
 of the Dancer, and only go dodging about the bay, and 
 Charlie and I have had no sea-fishing." 
 
 " Adela at Bluehaven ! Adela ! So Clara has ac- 
 tually taken Adela where she knows the girl must be 
 all day long with George ! " And the remembrance 
 of Miss Smith's extraordinary notion flashed back 
 •across Kate's mind, and for an instant she was aston- 
 ished ; but the short surprise quickly melted into the 
 thought — " I am glad of this : it shows Clara has 
 quite got over that preposterous idea. After what 
 Clara said to me, I know she would think it dishon- 
 ourable to bring George and Adela together unless she 
 was quite sure there was no risk. I recollect dis- 
 tinctly her saying she was against the match — yes, I 
 do." And Kate looked back mechanically at Clara's 
 letter. Her eye was caught by the words : " The last 
 accounts of poor dear Sir Cuthbert are so much more 
 favourable, so hopcfid! I may say." 
 
 " Clara thinks he is better than he is, and will 
 recover." Then, for a moment, a slic^ht instinct of 
 mistrust, like a summer cloud, overshadowed Kate's 
 pure mind. The transitory feeliug, which passed as 
 quickly as it came, was painful. Though alone, Kate
 
 58 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 reddened as we do when an ignoble thought has dark- 
 ened our mind. " I am hard on Clara, and she is 
 my only brother's wife. Dear Thomas loves her, so 
 she must be as truthful and good as her fair beauty 
 would make you think. I feel she does not warmly 
 care for me, and I should like Thomas's wife to love 
 me satisfactorily ; and no doubt that is why I am 
 unjust to Clara. I will not wrong her any more." 
 And Kate turned from the passing suspicion, and 
 afterwards forgot it. Sir Cuthbert would have no 
 nurse but her, and she had no time to think. Then, 
 too, it was a pleasure to Kate nobly to trust Thomas's 
 wife.
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 If Adela was an " awful nuisance " to George at Blue- 
 haven, George was an agonising discomfort to poor 
 Adela. Torquemada's sudden mystery four years ago 
 had never been clearly understood by Adela, but had 
 been felt by her with all the perplexity of unconscious 
 guilt. Miss Smith, without clearly telling her any- 
 thing, had made her feel as if she had committed a 
 crime. 
 
 It was from " mamma " she had discovered the horrid 
 puzzle was connected with George. She never would 
 have guessed it if left to her own slow imagination. 
 Mamma had spoken to her, and what mamma had said 
 sounded awful to the young girl's fluttering mind, 
 partly from Clara's severely alarming manner, and 
 partly because Adela, though only grasping a dim 
 sort of instinct rather than meaning from her words, 
 had yet been filled by them with a strange shyness 
 and a curious kind of vague shame. She was barely 
 thirteen at the time of the grand mystery, and had 
 the unimpressionable, slowly developing nature you 
 often see in a very blonde, stolidly placid girl. Nellie
 
 60 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 was quite different : at thirteen she would have seized 
 the idea Adela could not rightly grasp. 
 
 To do her justice, Clara had felt a little ashamed of 
 putting notions into Adela's innocent young head ; 
 and so, when she had said to the child, " George has 
 been paying you marked attention, and, Adela, you 
 have dared to encourage him. I am very angry ; I 
 can never allow this thing," she had also made her 
 little daughter promise never to mention these words 
 or to speak of George to any one. And Adela had 
 kept the promise through fear of her mother, and also 
 because of the bewildering, awkward shame she felt in 
 even mentioning George's name. She would blush if 
 others mentioned it ; and it was really this discomfort 
 about George which had kept her from telling Nellie, 
 as a dead secret, the curious thing mamma had said. 
 
 However, when one whole year passed and George 
 did not come to Eastcourt, and a second long year 
 went by slowly, as years do when we are young, and 
 Adela did not meet him, and then a third year passed, 
 Clara saw the girl was forgetting her awkwardness, 
 and noticed she had even ceased to blush at the men- 
 tion of George's name. At first the judicious mother 
 made no remark, for she happened just then to be 
 thinking of inviting Eupert Torrings to her house, and 
 was trying to get hold of the Honble. Fred. But 
 when she found Eupert Torrings only liked black- 
 haired girls, and that Lady Harchester was a fortified 
 stronghold protecting the Honble. Fred, while Sir Cuth- 
 bert Crofton's disease was so rapidly creating expecta-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 61 
 
 tions for Georc^e that Dr Fozzle had to order the 
 
 o 
 
 Bishop to that bracing place, Bhiehaven, Clara con- 
 sidered the moment had come when it would be wise 
 to make Adela feel awkward again. 
 
 So, before leaving Eastcourt, she had warned Adela 
 to beware of George Crofton's attentions. This had 
 revived the old discomfort, and thrown the poor girl 
 into such a perplexity of shyness, that she had im- 
 plored her mother with tears to let her stay at 
 home. 
 
 " jSTo, Adela,; you nuist go to Bluehaven," Clara 
 had said, in that voice of hers no child ever disobeyed. 
 And Adela was still a child in nature and character, 
 if not quite in years. " Xo, Adela ; if you stayed 
 away, George would think you had purposely avoided 
 him. And when a young lady — you are grown up, 
 quite grown up, Adela — when a young lady of your age 
 avoids a young gentleman, he thinks ... do you 
 know what he thinks ? ... he thinks . . . she is in 
 love with him 1 " 
 
 " Oh, mamma, how dreadful ! " cried the young girl, 
 in an agony of shame. 
 
 " You do well to blush, Adela ; that is what George 
 would think if you remained at Eastcourt. So I in- 
 sist upon your coming to Bluehaven, and behaving 
 perfectly naturally to him. Do you hear ? Perfectly 
 naturally. I shall watch you, Adela, and see you 
 neither avoid nor encourage him. You must be natu- 
 ral, but you must also be distant in your manner to 
 him now, because you are grown up. He is grown
 
 62 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 up too." And Clara had again repeated, " Remember, 
 Adela, I shall watch you ! " 
 
 Stolidly unimaginative and placid as Adela was, 
 the terrible feeling of being watched by " mamma " 
 was nervous torture to her. 
 
 When she arrived at Bluehaven, she would have 
 given all she possessed to have met George when 
 mamma was not by ; but mamma was by. The girl 
 was always feeling Clara's presence now. She felt it 
 intensely on meeting George for the first time, and 
 she shook hands with her old playmate in a state of 
 such painful, blushing trepidation, that he very natur- 
 ally exclaimed, " I say, Adela, what's the matter ? 
 you look awfully queer." At this the unfortunate 
 girl turned white, and thought she would faint ; and 
 the kind Admiral thought so too, and placed her on the 
 sofa, brought her water, and made quite a fuss about 
 her. From pallor she blushed into the deepest red. 
 
 " Adela is a little overtired. We had a very hot 
 and dusty journey," said Clara calmly ; but Adela only 
 blushed the more, and George was suddenly made un- 
 comfortable by feeling Mrs Newsham's near glance 
 searching him. 
 
 Adela turned white again. She was thinking, 
 " What will mamma say afterwards ? " She was 
 curiously afraid of that white angel her mother, and 
 she trembled all over. 
 
 " Why, Mrs Newsham, the poor child has got the 
 ague ! " cried out the Admiral, who believed in the 
 acfue, and believed in no other disease, for it was his
 
 POOR NELLIE. 63 
 
 own particular malady. " That's exactly the way an 
 attack comes on. AVhen I was off Vera Cruz, I was 
 seized with the shakes all of a sudden. Just like 
 this — shook from head to foot : never was more sur- 
 prised in my life. Such piping hot weather, and 
 there was I shiverim; ! But I was cured in no time 
 by some quinine pills I have kept about me ever 
 since. I have some boxes of them now up at the 
 Lookout." The Admiral called his cottage " The Look- 
 out." '' Nothing like taking one of those pills in 
 time," he said to Adela, " so I will go up to the Look- 
 out and send you one down by Charlie ; take it im- 
 mediately, my dear, and you will be quite well soon." 
 
 This is what Clara said to poor Adela afterwards : 
 " Adela, did not I expressly tell you to be perfectly 
 natural with George ? " Adela began to cry. 
 
 " Stop crying this moment, Adela, and answer me. 
 Did I not tell you to be natural with George ? " 
 But Adela really could not speak for sobbing. " How 
 dare you disobey me, Adela ? I told you to be per- 
 fectly natural with George, instead of which you were 
 most remarkable, most extraordinary in your be- 
 haviour. You made a regular scene. I am shocked 
 at you, Adela ! — shocked ! You have no dignity, no 
 proper girlish sensitiveness of modesty, or you would 
 have been ashamed to attract George's attention, and 
 make him ask what was the matter with you. Your 
 manner betrayed what a young lady should never, 
 never betray ! And I could see from George's look 
 what idea it was crossed his mind."
 
 64 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 At these words poor Adela felt as if she could die 
 of shame. Clara saw she had made the right impres- 
 sion, so continued — " By letting George feel his pres- 
 ence has the power to unnerve you, you are provok- 
 ing — yes, Adela, you are provoking attention on his 
 part. You are asking him to pay you marked atten- 
 tion. Now listen to me " — Clara spoke in her most 
 repressive tone of voice — " now listen to me. I am 
 determined, firmly determined, you shall not encour- 
 age him, Adela. You must never play more than two 
 games of lawn-tennis with him. You must refuse if 
 he asks you to play a third, but without giving any 
 reason. And if you go out boating with the Admiral, 
 and George is there, you must not be taking George's 
 hand and letting him help you in and out of tlie 
 Dancer. You can climb up from the punt or walk 
 along the gangboard by yourself. It is quite different 
 for Eleanour; she may do as she likes, for she is not 
 yet grown up, but you are old enough to be married. 
 Now remember, Adela," were Clara's last words — " re- 
 member I shall know if you obey me or not, for I 
 will keep my eye upon you ; and though I shall not 
 go out boating, as it makes me sea-sick, I will watch 
 you through the spy-glass from the Admiral's sema- 
 phore." 
 
 If Adela had not been naturally phlegmatic, she 
 would certainly have got a nervous fever. Notwith- 
 standing the quinine pills, she looked really ill ; so 
 the Admiral insisted on her taking them for ten days. 
 He himself had taken them for three weeks that
 
 POOR NELLIE. 65 
 
 memorable time off Vera Cruz. But this kindly 
 m.eant doctoring only made Adela worse, for the 
 Admiral was always inquiring after her symptoms. 
 
 " Had she a recurrence of that trembling ? Was she 
 still constantly turning white and red, and feeling hot 
 and cold ? " And one day the Admiral asked these 
 questions out boating, and George was sitting face to 
 face with her. 
 
 Adela answered with such blushing cheeks and such 
 a curious confusion of manner that both George and 
 Charlie exclaimed, in one breath, through sheer aston- 
 ishment, " I say, Adela, what a fool you are ! " 
 
 Even Nellie, who hardly ever made a disagreeable 
 remark, said, "Adela, you are queer! so queer ever 
 since you came to Bluehaven ! And it is all because 
 mamma tells you you are grown up. I know it is ! 
 AVlien I am grown up," she added, with a decision that 
 was quite unusual to her, — " when I am grown up, I 
 will be just what I am now. I won't change a bit. 
 No, I won't." 
 
 " Nellie, you are a brick ! " exclaimed Charlie, warm- 
 ly. " I am sure you will never be a fool." 
 
 And though civil speeches were not in George's 
 " line," he actually said, " You always had some sense, 
 Nellie. Even that ridiculous Miss Smith could not 
 make an ass of you." As he spoke he looked with the 
 utmost contempt at poor Adela. 
 
 There was something in his look which made Clara's 
 agitating words, " George will think you are in love 
 VOL. L E
 
 66 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 with bim/' rush upon her mind, and the young girl 
 then and there burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, poor Adela ! poor Adela ! I am afraid she is 
 sea-sick," cried Nellie, sympathetically. 
 
 " E.O.T ! " mumbled George, audibly. 
 
 " Land her this instant, father," said Charlie, firmly 
 — he was a young fellow of strong character. 
 
 But tears — a woman's tears — were infinitely dis- 
 tressing to the kind Admiral's tender soul. He had 
 not reproved the boys for that first exclamation of 
 theirs, because, although he himself had not the heart 
 to chide Adela, he could not help thinking it was no 
 harm others should make her feel she was getting fun- 
 nily self-conscious in her ways. " It must be affecta- 
 tion," he had thought, " for the child was quite natural 
 at Eastcourt." Yet when tears were streamino; down 
 Adela's blushing cheeks, and were reddening her eyes 
 and distorting her pretty face, the Admiral suddenly 
 waxed indignant, and gave the boys a fine scolding ; 
 he was particularly severe upon George, because he 
 had seen the contemptuous look of dislike the lad had 
 given Adela. 
 
 George thought he was being unjustly " blown up," 
 and got sulky and disagreeable, and wanted, rightly or 
 wrongly, to go out beyond the bar sea-fishing in the 
 rouQ;h water, and he muttered loud enough for the 
 Admiral to hear, " Serve the girls right if they are 
 sea-sick. Girls are a horrid bore in a boat." 
 
 The Admiral was incensed at such ungallantry. 
 " Come, come, sir ! no more of this, sir ! You ought to
 
 POOR NELLIE. 67 
 
 be ashamed of yourself, sir." When the Admiral said 
 " sir," it was a sign he was really angry. " In my day 
 a young man of eighteen — d n it, sir, just nine- 
 teen — a man of nineteen was a gentleman, and had 
 the manners of a gentleman towards ladies. We should 
 have kicked him out of the service if he had behaved 
 like a booby schoolboy." 
 
 From the instant the Dancer's head would be turned 
 towards land, Adela's whole mind would be taken up 
 thinking how she could best jump into the punt and 
 ashore without a helping hand. So far she had con- 
 trived to do this successfully and without attracting 
 attention. 
 
 But to-day the Admiral was on the alert. He was 
 a man who always did what he considered his duty ; 
 and on this occasion he thought it his bounden duty 
 to see tlie " vounc,^sters " had f^ood manners. 
 
 The Dancer wanted some little thing doing to her 
 that required her to be run up for an hour or two on 
 the sandy beach, instead of being left as usual at her 
 moorings off the pier. 
 
 Charles Crofton handed jSTellie down from the yacht 
 like a perfect Lord Chesterfield. 
 
 ''' Xow, sir," said the Admiral, turning to George — 
 " now, sir, give your hand to Adela. Behave like a 
 gentleman, sir. Help her out carefully, sir. Adela, 
 give your hand to George." 
 
 The startled Adela was obeying mechanically, for 
 the Admiral spoke sharply, and he was generally so 
 mild, when, with her hand almost touching George's,
 
 68 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 and her foot on the gunwale, she suddenly remembered 
 that terrible spy-glass. She turned, drew back, looked 
 up at the cliff above, caught sight of the semaphore, 
 and in the flutter of the moment lost her footing, and 
 slipped down between the yacht and gangboard. For- 
 tunately the tide was not full in, and the Admiral had 
 run the Dancer well up on the beach, so she was only 
 wet to the waist. But if she had been drowned by 
 George, the Admiral could hardly have been more in- 
 dignant. He reprimanded his nephew as he would 
 have done a midshipman who was a disgrace to her 
 Majesty's navy. George made matters worse by angrily 
 repeating that Adela was an awful duffer, and had fallen 
 into the water because she was a fool. This was more 
 than the Admiral could stand ; he actually raised his 
 right hand, in which he flourished a rope-end, exclaim- 
 ing, " How dare you, sir ? How dare you, sir ? " 
 
 At this Adela, all dripping, rushed forward and 
 caught his arm, and cried out, " George is right. It 
 was my fault, not his. I would not take his hand. I 
 would not ... on purpose." 
 
 " On purpose ! " stammered the astounded Admiral. 
 
 " Because," cried Adela — " because ..." Good 
 heavens ! she had almost said, " Because of mamma ; 
 she is looking through the spy-glass." But she stopped 
 short, glanced up nervously at the semaphore, seemed 
 to feel that awful near presence of Clara, just as if her 
 mother could hear as w^ell as see her, and, blushing 
 scarlet, and with infinite embarrassment, said instead, 
 " Because I — I — I am now grown up ! "
 
 POOR NELLIE. 69 
 
 The Admiral reeled round in the intensity of his 
 astonished amusement at Adela's words and ridiculous 
 self-conscious look, like a shy highly proper white rat 
 dripping in the water; and he laughed, and laughed 
 as only an old tar or a young boy can. Charlie with 
 Eleanour came running back to know what the Admiral 
 was laughing at. Adela looked at him so piteously 
 that he did not tell them then ; but he laughed more 
 and more, and George, forgetting his ill-humour, began 
 to laugh to. 
 
 When George laughed — '' He is laughing because he 
 thinks I am in love with him ! " — the draggled Adela 
 wished she had really been drowned, so overpowered 
 with shame and vexation did she feel, and she sprang 
 from the waterside up the beach, and took to her heels 
 and ran towards home as quickly as she could. 
 
 " I say, Adela has had a ducking," cried Charlie 
 cheerily, almost as if he were pleased. 
 
 " And Adela hates even wetting her feet. And, oh 
 dear ! oh dear ! she has got her light-grey dress on ! 
 What will mamma say ? " exclaimed ISTellie. " I think 
 I had better run after her, Charlie," she whispered ; 
 " she will be so dreadfully afraid of mamma." 
 
 " You are horrid cowards ! you all are ! " said 
 Charlie, scornfully ; but he ran after Xellie, who was 
 already off. 
 
 The Admiral found himself standing alone with 
 George. He took his hand and shook it warmly. " My 
 good fellow, I was hard on you. I am sorry I gave 
 it to you so hotly, George, for the child is a precious
 
 70 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 little fool. Ha ! ha ! lia ! Such notions for a baby's 
 head ! " 
 
 Adela was so slim and tiny — she was shorter than 
 Nellie — and had such a very youthful pink and white 
 face, that the Admiral thought her much younger than 
 she was, and never in the slightest degree realised she 
 was just seventeen. She certainly had the look and 
 manner, and to a great extent the mind, of fourteen.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The horrid discomfort of George grew worse than ever 
 to Adela after that unlucky ducking. 
 
 Notwithstanding the ruin of the light -grey dress, 
 " mamma " insisted on her going out boating every day ; 
 while, if only the girl had been allowed to remain on 
 shore, she would never have met George at all, because 
 he did not come down to the rectory in the evening. 
 The Admiral and Charlie came every night, but George 
 stayed up at the Lookout, and declared that he was 
 " sapping " for the new crammer. He was never to be 
 seen in the morning, for he vowed lawn-tennis a bore, 
 and disappeared all by himself till luncheon-time, and 
 he lunched up at the Lookout. Oh, if only " mamma " 
 would have let Adela stay at home and not go out 
 boating ! 
 
 The getting in and out of the Dancer was now 
 even more painfully awkward than before the unlucky 
 ducking. Charlie and Xellie were sure to laugh ; so 
 George must have told them everything. It was quite 
 clear he had, for he always looked towards them when 
 he said, " Now, Adela, the tide is full in. Come !
 
 72 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 now is your time. Flop right clown into the water, for 
 you know you are grown up. By Jove, you do ! " 
 
 And the Admiral — the Admiral, who was gener- 
 ally the kindest of men — would call out, " Clear the 
 2:anohoard ! Here comes Adela ! Stand back. Char- 
 lie ! Out of the way, George ! — out of the way, sir, 
 or we all know what will happen ! " And the same 
 sort of banter would confuse her again, as she climbed 
 up the companion-ladder from the punt into the yacht ; 
 and Adela was sure that if she slipped then she would 
 be drowned — and she had a horror of being drowned. 
 
 When you have tickled an old tar's fancy, it is not 
 easy to make him forget the joke : it is rather as if he 
 had been accustomed to take a joke, like his ship, round 
 the world, and bring her back all spick and span to 
 port again. The Admiral seemed to Adela to be al- 
 ways smiling now. She had no sense of the ridicu- 
 lous herself, and took her young life very seriously. It 
 was misery to her to look up and catch the Admiral's 
 amused glance, and see his lively blue eyes twinkling 
 with fun like a mischievous schoolboy's. Then Blue- 
 haven was such a very, very dull place, that even a 
 small joke was an event, and lasted longer there than 
 elsewhere. There were jokes in the little village which 
 had descended from father to son. 
 
 The Admiral believed implicitly in Clara. He 
 thought her exactly what she looked, and took it for 
 granted that any little story about " the children " 
 must be dehghtfully interesting to such a sympathetic 
 mother ; so before long he confided to Clara the amus-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 73 
 
 ing little joke about Aclela. " And now, Mrs ISTew- 
 sham, take care ! The child will soon be discovering 
 how pretty she is, and we shall have her wondering 
 if all the young fellows are in love with her. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " For shame, Admiral I for shame ! " said Clara ; 
 but she smiled with much self-possession, though she 
 was really taken aback at his words. 
 
 " How Adela will blush when that day comes ! " 
 continued the amused old sailor. " Ha ! ha ! " And 
 then he added, more seriously — for the ague was a 
 serious subject to him — " I expect this touch of ague 
 has upset the child's nerves. The ague does upset 
 the nerves, Mrs Newsham. I never felt so shaken in 
 my life as that time off Vera Cruz ; and I used to 
 turn white and red, till I had all the youngsters laugh- 
 ing at me. Strange disease ! strangest disease under 
 the sun ! and the curious part of the matter is, that 
 hundreds of people have the ague, and think they have 
 something else. And it is an extraordinary complaint, 
 for one attack quite changes the constitution." 
 
 Clara was crlad the Admiral had started off on the 
 ague, and so encouraged him. " Indeed ! How very 
 curious ! Now really, quite singular ! " 
 
 " Yes ; it is a fact, an undoubted fact, that one bad 
 fit will change the whole constitution. My constitution 
 has never been the same since that first attack off Vera 
 Cruz. And do you know, Mrs Newsham, there's Adela 
 — her whole nervous system has been changed ! When 
 I was at Eastcourt a month ago, she was like a piece
 
 74 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 of white duck — hardly ever had a bit of red in her 
 cheeks ! I remarked her particularly, because Nellie 
 is always changing colour, and has a new face every 
 two minutes ; but Adela is quite altered now. And I 
 am rather surprised those pills have not set her right 
 by this ; though they will cure her in the end," he 
 said stanchly, like a true believer, — " I never knew 
 them fail." 
 
 " Take no notice of Adela, my dear Admiral," said 
 Clara softly, and she smiled again, as if pleasantly 
 interested ; but she did not like all this observing and 
 remarking. " You are quite right, my dear Admiral. 
 It is just what you say : Adela's nerves are a little 
 overdone, and this attack has certainly upset her. 
 But, my dear Admiral, just take no notice of her." 
 
 " Take no notice of her ! Take no notice of her ! 
 Wliy, I defy you not to notice the child, Mrs New- 
 sham ! for there she goes blushing and blushing, just 
 as if the Dancer were her first admirer, and the ropes 
 and spars were paying her marked attention. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 Clara hesitated. She did not know quite what to 
 say. 
 
 The Admiral grew serious again. '*' But joking 
 apart, Mrs Newsham," he said, '" I am getting rather 
 anxious about the child. Those pills ought to have 
 had more effect. I think Bluehaven is too relaxing 
 for her. It is a very relaxing place." 
 
 " Eelaxing ! My dear Admiral, Bluehaven is a very, 
 very bracing place. Dr Fozzle considers it an exceed-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 75 
 
 ingly bracing place. That is why he sent the Bishop 
 here." 
 
 " Dr Fozzle ! " cried the Admiral, with the sort of 
 look he would have cast upon an " old tub," for whose 
 seagoing capacity he had an unutterable contempt — 
 " Dr Fozzle ! " 
 
 " Dr Fozzle is the first opinion in the diocese. I 
 think very highly of him," said Clara, shortly. 
 
 But the Admiral was not easily suppressed on the 
 subject of doctors. He was in the habit of saying, 
 " When the dosers find a cure for the yellow jack, 
 I'll believe in them ; but not till then." He himself 
 had enjoyed wonderfully good health, and had never 
 had any illness but the ague ; so he thoroughly believed 
 in the ague, and indeed thought that whoever was ill 
 must have the ague, and could have nothing else. But 
 it was no doctor cured him of the ague. Dr Molony, 
 of H.M.S. Crasher, was about as great an old quack 
 as you could find anywhere. Wliy, he could not even 
 cure his own sea-sickness ! He was the w^orst sailor 
 the Admiral had ever known ; and on the rare occa- 
 sions when he was not ill over the side, he was half- 
 seas over. Lord bless his soul ! it was not Molony 
 had cured him. It was those wonderful quinine pills 
 had pulled him through ! And the pills were a patent 
 medicine given him by a messmate, wlio had bought 
 them in New York, on the strength of a glowing ad- 
 vertisement. This advertisement was wrapped round 
 every box, and being frequently read and re-read by 
 the Admiral, tended to confirm his own idea that the
 
 76 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 pills which had cured him would cure the whole 
 world. 
 
 " I am amazed, Mrs Newsham," said the Admiral, 
 indignantly — " I am amazed you can think highly of 
 a man who could send the Bishop to Bluehaven, and 
 call it a bracing place. Dr Fozzle ! arrant old hum- 
 bug, Mrs ISTewsham ! arrant old humbug ! Just like 
 the rest of them. Now I should like to meet Dr Foz- 
 zle, and tell him how thoroughly this place disagrees 
 with the Bishop. I wonder you don't see it yourself, 
 Mrs Newsham ! The Bishop was looking compara- 
 tively well when he came here, and we have all re- 
 marked the change in him. All the children see it. 
 And I was only speaking to Newsham on the subject 
 yesterday ; and even he sees it, and strongly advises 
 an immediate change to Eastcourt. I intend speaking 
 to him again to-day ; for it is quite clear the Bishop 
 will be seriously ill if he stays on here. Dr Fozzle is 
 preparing a nice case for himself. Dr Fozzle indeed ! 
 Best opinion in the diocese ! Calls Bluehaven a brac- 
 ing place ! Lord bless my soul ! " 
 
 A mutiny on board the Admiral's own ship could 
 never have astonished him more than the state of his 
 own mind now astonished Clara. The Admiral was 
 becoming a dangerous man ! And he had actually 
 meddled with Thomas. He had put notions into 
 Thomas's blind head, and intended to put more. And 
 no doubt he had called Dr Fozzle a humfeug to the 
 Bishop ! 
 
 But a moment's reflection brought an idea into
 
 POOR NELLIE. 77 
 
 Clara's mind : it was not a bad one to find in a hurry. 
 " Well, my dear Admiral," she said, thoughtfully — 
 and though very angry with him, she did manage to 
 smile quite prettily upon him — " well, my dear Ad- 
 miral, do you know, I too have been feeling just, just 
 a little anxious about the dear Bishop, and I am not 
 quite, quite certain Dr Fozzle has altogether perfectly 
 understood the case." 
 
 " I am sure he has not," cried the believer in one, 
 and only one, sort of pill. 
 
 " You see, my dear Admiral," continued Clara, " un- 
 fortunately, most unfortunately, Dr Fozzle has no opin- 
 ion of tonics. He never seems to give quinine." 
 
 " I should think not indeed ! would have no pa- 
 tients if he did. Ha ! ha ! ha 1 " 
 
 " Poor Dr Fozzle ! Poor, dear Dr Fozzle ! " And 
 Clara laughed with the Admiral ; and then Clara put on 
 such a prettily coaxing little manner, that the Admiral 
 could not help feeling she really was the most charm- 
 ing of charming women. And Clara said what she had 
 intended to say for the last two minutes. 
 
 "Xow, my dear, dear Admiral, do you know — do 
 you know what I am going to propose to you ? You 
 are such a very dear kind man that I would ask you 
 to do quite an unpleasant thing — what I would not 
 think of asking anybody else in the whole world to 
 do. Now I know it is very difficult to get my dear 
 father to take anything he does not fancy, and he has 
 no faith at all in medicine, none whatever ! The dear 
 Bishop is really very, very naughty in that way. But
 
 78- POOR NELLIE. 
 
 if only, if only, my clear Admiral, you could manage 
 to make him take just one little box of your quinine 
 pills, I am sure you would find Bluehaven would 
 agree quite well with him. And I should think you, 
 oh, my dear Admiral, I should think you such a very 
 clever man ! And so very, very kind ! " 
 
 The Admiral was delighted at the idea 1 quite de- 
 lighted ! He instantly, without any delay whatever, 
 set to doctoring the Bishop. 
 
 In an incredibly short time he informed Mrs Xew- 
 sham that he no longer thought Bluehaven disagreed 
 with her Pdght Eeverend father, although he still con- 
 sidered Dr Fozzle was entirely wrong in calling it a 
 bracing place. 
 
 However, there were drawbacks to the Admiral's 
 pill practice ; he took such an extraordinary interest 
 in his patients that he was perpetually visiting and 
 watching them. He insisted on doctoring Thomas 
 too. The consequence was, that unless he happened 
 to be out in the Dancer keenly watching Adela's 
 symptoms, he was sure to be in the rectory study 
 closeted with the Bishop and Thomas. 
 
 Clara thought the half -pay system a national mis- 
 fortune, as it stranded men accustomed to an active 
 life when their superabundant energy was still un- 
 pleasantly vigorous ; and she wondered if her cousin. 
 Sir Cutlass Cutter, one of the sea lords, could not put 
 the Admiral on full pay and order him out of the 
 country. She began to wish him off the west coast 
 of Africa, for there was the Bishop taking a violent
 
 POOR NELLIE. 79 
 
 faucy to him ! People would not unfrec|uently fall in 
 love with the Admiral. 
 
 Clara was getting thoroughly provoked with the 
 vigorous sailor. He spoke his mind so freely, told 
 the Bishop exactly what he thought of Dr Fozzle 
 and of Bluehaven, and then enlivened the Eight Eev- 
 erend grandpapa with stories about the " children " 
 and their sayings and doings — ^just those little stories 
 which Clara would rather not have had repeated. 
 And he even enticed Thomas out for a sail in the 
 Dancer, so that Thomas might see all the fun. The 
 childlike innocence and openness of nature which 
 had once made Clara fond of the Admiral, were now 
 what she most disliked in him. It was this very 
 guilelessness and his perfect faith in herself which 
 threatened to endanger the success of her little plan. 
 Clara felt that the ba-lamb gambolling without cun- 
 ning, as instinct prompts its simple heart, is a de- 
 cided mistake in matters of intricate diplomacy. She 
 determined to G^et rid of the Admiral. 
 
 She seized the first opportunity of doing so. It 
 would not have seemed a very promising one to any- 
 body but herself. The Admiral showed her a letter 
 he had got from Kate Crofton giving rather a better 
 account of Sir Cuthbert. And what did Clara do but 
 instantly persuade him, with a sort of melancholy ten- 
 derness of manner infinitely disquieting to his appre- 
 hensive kindliness, that from the supposed nature of 
 the disease it was really a worse one ! 
 
 " To my mind, the worst account we have yet had ;
 
 8a POOR NELLIE. 
 
 for you see, my dear Admiral, Kate does not say poor 
 dear Sir Cuthbert's strength is keeping up. She does 
 not wish to make us too unhappy ! " 
 
 The Admiral was devotedly attached to his nephew 
 Cuthbert, who was like a second son to him; and 
 Clara worked upon his feelings to such a degree, that 
 he actually started that very afternoon for Crofton 
 Place ! though it went to his heart to leave Blue- 
 haven while the Dancer was " out." He only had 
 " her " out for seven weeks of the year, during 
 Charlie's holidays. She had been built on his own 
 lines, and there never was so perfect a little nine- 
 tonner ; she had a flying jib that was not exactly like 
 any other jib, and no vessel of her size ever sailed as 
 she did. 
 
 Clara accompanied the Admiral to the railway 
 station, being afraid he might change his mind and 
 get less unhappy about Sir Cuthbert if he took that 
 seven miles' drive alone without any one to depress 
 his spirits. Her last words to him were, " I am sure 
 poor dear Sir Cuthbert wants a tonic. Now, my dear 
 Admiral, I am sure he does ! " 
 
 " If only," thought Clara, " the Admiral could per- 
 suade himself Sir Cuthbert has the ague, he would 
 certainly stay away for the next ten days, and then 
 George would have gone to his crammer, and we 
 should all be leaving Bluehaven." 
 
 Clara was perfectly aware George kept out of her 
 way. " If I were not here, he would be a great deal 
 more with Adela than he is, for he would come down
 
 POOR NELLIE. 81 
 
 from the Lookout with Charlie every evening. I can 
 see he is afraid of me, and perhaps thinks I am 
 against this match. I quite remember I told Kate 
 I was against it, that time four years ago, at Eastcourt. 
 Kate may have told him. I meant her to tell him." 
 
 So Clara, having got rid of the Admiral, proceeded 
 to get rid of herself. She said she really must — now 
 really she must — go home, just for a day or two, to 
 see how Rockhurst and Tom were getting on with the 
 tutor who was coaching them during the holidays. 
 This " coach " had been invented — to the boys' intense 
 disgust — by Clara entirely in order to keep them at 
 Eastcourt out of the way. 
 
 Clara went home " to look after the boys and their 
 tutor," and also to see Miss Smith and the younger 
 children. Clara has a particular talent for finding 
 plausible excuses, and invariably has the best reasons 
 for doing whatever she wishes to do. 
 
 The careful mother left Thomas at Bluehaven " as a 
 chaperon " to the two girls, but with no orders to look 
 after them ; she only gave him injunctions to read 
 certain excellent books aloud to the really spiritual- 
 minded Bishop. Though not a good reader, Thomas 
 read better than he talked, because he paid more 
 consecutive attention to his reading than to his con- 
 versation. 
 
 VOL.
 
 82 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 When the Admiral went away, the Dancer had to be 
 left at her moorings : she was not safe for the boys to 
 handle alone. Indeed there were wiseacres down in 
 the village who shook their heads and declared she 
 was not over-safe for the Admiral in a breeze : these 
 were certain very knowing superannuated old salts, 
 who apparently passed their life on the tiny pier, per- 
 petually looking through a spy -glass, usually at nothing. 
 Wet or dry, there they were 1 and they never wore a 
 coat — only trousers, a jersey, and a pair of braces. 
 They liked having the Dancer to look at, and would 
 follow her through the spy-glass for a whole afternoon. 
 They really took a pride in her, and were on cordial, 
 even affectionate, terms with the Admiral ; and yet, 
 after an oracular fashion peculiarly their own, they 
 were always damping the enthusiastic admiration the 
 Admiral felt for his nine-tonner. He had actually 
 risked the danger of taking the Dancer over to Cher- 
 bourg in breezy weather, in order to show them what 
 sort of craft she was. Still, though secretly impressed 
 by this feat, they would never say so, but continued
 
 POOR NELLIE. 83 
 
 to disparage her. Then they none of them liked that 
 new-fangled jib. Now the jib was the joy of the 
 Admiral's heart. 
 
 " We'll miss the Dancer," said Tom Bracer, the old 
 salts' chief spokesman. " That we 'ull. But Master 
 Charlie, he never could handle her ; and Master George, 
 he's no good. The likes of them couldn't manage that 
 'ere jib. That 'ere jib 'ull sink her some day. Ay, 
 ay ! she's none too safe with the Admiral on board — 
 none too safe ! " And the other oracles chimed in as 
 was their wont, " That 'ere jib 'ull do it ! " 
 
 The Admiral, on leaving, had given his son Charlie 
 the key of the boathouse, and had told him he might 
 make use of the punt or the gig. George only cared 
 for sea-fishing ; and that, he declared, was impossible in 
 tlie gig. So the day after Clara's departure for East- 
 court, when George felt he might once more be com- 
 fortable on shore, he begged the kindly Thomas to let 
 him ride one of the carriage-horses, as nobody w^ent 
 out driving now. He borrowed a saddle from the 
 surgeon-apothecary, and, to the disgust of Harper the 
 coachman, rode one horse in the morning and the 
 other in the afternoon. He was so w^ell amused that 
 he got into very good humour, stopped " sapping " in 
 the evening, came down to the rectory, and as he had 
 not seen the girls all day, and Clara was not there 
 to watch him, did not mind joining in a round 
 game so long as he had not Adela for a partner. 
 Whenever the Bishop could be enticed to play, Adela 
 was given to him, and George took Thomas. As for
 
 84 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Charlie and Nellie, they would only play with each 
 other. 
 
 N'ow that George was perpetually riding the car- 
 riage horses on shore, Adela liked boating better than 
 she had ever done before, especially as she thought 
 Charlie would not dare to take the gig over the bar. 
 Charles Crofton and Nellie would have liked Adela to 
 stay at home ; but they did not say so — no, not even 
 to each other. Nellie would have been ashamed to 
 confess so unkindly a feeling, and she tried hard to 
 think she liked having Adela very much indeed ; yet 
 she could not help agreeing with Charlie, who had 
 cordially adopted George's opinion, that Adela was an 
 " awful duffer." 
 
 " I say, Nell, did you ever see such an awful duffer 
 as Adela ? She is always in a funk for fear she would 
 be drowned. By Jove, what a fuss she will make 
 to-morrow when I rig up the sail I've found at the 
 back of the boathouse ! And what a glorious lark we 
 shall have shaving those islands ! I can tell you, I 
 mean to astonish the men in the village and show 
 Tom Bracer and old Jack Piullock I know how to 
 steer ! " 
 
 Next day Charlie hoisted his sail, to Adela's horror. 
 The " glorious lark " of " shaving the islands " terrified 
 her. Her practical mind saw the great danger very 
 clearly. As a fact, they really did run a fearful risk. 
 For Charlie's sake, Nellie had thrown herself into his 
 grand ambition of showing Tom Bracer and Jack 
 EuUock he could steer, and, for the moment, it ab-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 85 
 
 sorbed her, like him, to the exchision of all other 
 feelincfs. 
 
 o 
 
 Charlie was so immensely elated at having shaved 
 the islands successfully, that he proposed to go back 
 and shave them again. 
 
 Poor Adela loudly protested — " I don't want to be 
 drowned." This sent the other two into fits of 
 laughter. 
 
 "Adela, you always do think you are going to be 
 drowned ! " cried Nellie. 
 
 " Adela, you are a duffer 1 You funk everything," 
 cried Charlie. 
 
 But Adela said with much truth, " You know very 
 well, Charlie, that if you come to grief in the straits, 
 with those high rocks at each side, and deep water all 
 round, you'll save Xellie, and you won't save me, and 
 I can't swim." 
 
 Charlie was intensely amused at this idea, so 
 laughed the more. 
 
 " I insist on your landing me," said Adela with 
 much decision. 
 
 " Can't ! " said Charlie ; " we are too far from 
 shore. By the time we had gone in and come out 
 again, it would be too late for the straits. You can 
 only shave through at half tide." 
 
 " But you must land me. I won't be drowned ! 
 I won't ! " cried Adela piteously. 
 
 Nellie was moved to compassion by her frightened 
 look, and although she thought her fears ridiculous and 
 groundless, she pleaded for her with Charlie : " Do
 
 86 POOE NELLIE. 
 
 land her ! do, Charlie ! Land her, as she is 
 frightened." 
 
 Charles Crofton had set the rudder straight for the 
 islands, and had not swerved an inch at Adela's 
 prayer, but at Nellie's voice a wavering look crossed 
 his firm countenance. Adela saw it. 
 
 " Land me ! Land me anywhere ! Land me here, 
 Charlie — here, on Eocky Islet ! Stop I stop ! There's 
 time." 
 
 And there was time — just enough, but only just, to 
 lower the sail and stop the gig's way with an oar. 
 The oar caught a crab. Adela thought they were 
 over, and she gave such a jump out of the boat that 
 she landed half-way up the islet, and uttered such a 
 scream that Charlie and Nellie sailed away with 
 renewed merriment. Adela stood on the rock and 
 watched them gliding along, and their laughter came 
 back to her across the water. 
 
 Charlie was right ; half tide was the time for 
 shaving the islands. Later on the rush of water 
 made the small channel too dangerous. There was 
 more risk in going west towards Bluehaven than east, 
 as you entered the straits by the narrower end, where 
 they were but six feet wide ; and the current was 
 against you. 
 
 One of Charlie's chief reasons for wishing to " shave 
 the islands " again, was that as yet he had only done 
 so from the less dangerous side. 
 
 The breeze had freshened. The little gig flew 
 swiftly before the summer wind like a joyous bird on
 
 POOR NELLIE. 87 
 
 the wing. They were almost upon the islands when 
 Charlie suddenly saw he had miscalculated the tide, 
 and saw his little craft could not stem the strong: 
 current of the risen water rushincr throuQ-h the nar- 
 row opening between the rocks. Quick as thought 
 he put tlie rudder round, thrust the tiller into Nellie's 
 hand, crying out to her to hold it fast, and tried to 
 lower the madly flapping sail. For one full minute 
 it seemed as if the shivering boat must be caught by 
 the current and hurled against the rocks. There is a 
 long suspense in sixty seconds when suddenly they are 
 stopped like a wound-out watch, in the presence of death. 
 
 "We are safe," said Charles Crofton at last, with 
 a pale and deathly sort of calm ; and he quietly took 
 the tiller out of Nellie's shakins; hand. 
 
 She was trembling violently. The death-scare was 
 still in her face. " We were a long, long time in 
 awful danger," she said, and heaved a sigh of deep 
 relief. Charlie did not speak again. " I thought of 
 so many things," she said ; " some of them I had for- 
 gotten years ago." He did not speak. " Charlie," she 
 whispered, " when you and I do really die, I hope we 
 shall die quickly. It was horrible to be so long." But 
 Charlie still was silent. His face was sternly set, and 
 his awestruck, absent look made Nellie grow silent too. 
 
 The gig sailed on towards Bluehaven, quite in safe 
 water now. The little waves, parted by the boat, 
 rippled loudly to Nellie's ear ; the small mast creaked, 
 and she heard the curlew cry : but these sounds only 
 seemed to mark the more intensely that silence which
 
 88 POOPt NELLIE. 
 
 overpowered lier and stayed the flow of words which 
 would have eased the strange emotion of renewed life. 
 
 At length it was Charlie and not she who broke 
 the long silence. He spoke as if awaking from a 
 dream, and unaware how long that dream had been. 
 " Nell," he said eagerly, coming quite back to life — 
 " oh, Nell ! you would have been drowned ! That 
 current must have sucked you down." 
 
 " But you would have tried to save me, Charlie ; 
 I know you would ! " 
 
 " I could not have saved you, Nell," he said in a 
 low voice. " But we should have died together." 
 
 Her large sweet eyes met his with a look of holy 
 trust, and her voice was very tender as she answered — 
 
 " I knew you would have laid down your life in 
 trying to save mine. I knew you would have died to 
 save me. Ah, Charlie, I knew you would ! " 
 
 " I am glad you knew it, Nell," said he simply, 
 and silence once more fell upon them, but this time 
 like a pleasant dream to both. It was unfelt by 
 Nellie. 
 
 How softly the hushed mind will sleep while we 
 sail onwards before the breeze upon a summer sea ! 
 The gurgling wavelets which soon get so vaguely 
 monotonous of sound, the languor in the air, the 
 voices coming over the water like dreams from the 
 land, all lull to an unthinking rest. 
 
 The gig went straight before the wind, past Blue- 
 haven and down the creek beyond to the point where 
 that first bend of laud takes place, and there it became
 
 POOR NELLIE. 89 
 
 necessary to tack, and the spell of unconscious silence 
 was broken. Dreamland vanished away. 
 
 " We have forgotten Adela ! " said Charles Crofton 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Adela ! " cried Nellie, aghast. She had never 
 once thought of her. 
 
 " It will take some time to beat back to Eocky 
 Islet again," said Charlie, looking out anxiously over 
 the bay. Nellie's eyes followed his, and she realised 
 how far the scudding sail had carried the little ofisf. 
 
 " The water never covers Eocky Islet — never, 
 Charlie ! " But there was a great fear in Nellie's 
 heart which her words in vain belied. 
 
 The stern, set look came over Charles Crofton's face 
 again. " It is covered during the spring tides," he 
 said hoarsely ; " but I do not know how much. We 
 have the spring tides now." 
 
 When Adela had seen the gig put back at the very 
 mouth of the island straits, her joy in being relieved 
 from a horrid certainty had been great ; but when she 
 saw it scudding before the breeze towards Bluehaven, 
 then passing the village, and still flying onwards down 
 the creek, her first feeling gave place to a growing 
 uneasiness. l^v^H 
 
 " Nellie has forgotten me, and Charlie is glad to be 
 rid of me. Nellie forgets so quickly when she is 
 pleased, and she will enjoy running before the wind 
 with Charlie. She and Charlie like to be together. 
 It is not awkward for them, because Nellie is not 
 grown up, so Charlie can never think she is in love
 
 90 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 with him ; and you can be so happy and comfortable 
 if people don't think that. I wish I were not grown 
 up," sighed Adela ; and she whiled away two whole 
 minutes thinkins^ how much she would dislike to 
 be sailing all alone with George as her sister sailed 
 with Charlie, — " though George," thought she, " would 
 not do the dreadful dangerous things Charlie is so 
 fond of." 
 
 But Adela had not the sort of mind which lives by 
 nature in the picture-land where every passing fancy 
 paints itself, and where your dreams stand out before 
 you in such vivid colours that, gazing, you beget fresh 
 thoughts and see new tints, and so turn to look once 
 more, then look again, and yet again, till the moment 
 of some rude awakening comes. Nellie could thus 
 dream hours away ; but Adela never stayed long in 
 dreamland — practical realities always stood too clearly 
 before her^mind. 
 
 She now was wide awake, and saw the tide was 
 coming in, and had already covered the little strip of 
 sand which fringed the crescent-shaped hollow of the 
 rock. The islet was just like a horse-shoe, only one 
 end was round, and rose much higher out of the water 
 than the other, and at a distance looked like a big 
 ball forgotten accidentally upon the narrow ledge, as 
 if on some stormy day the waves had been at play, 
 and had left their rough ball behind them. 
 
 Adela was dreadfully bored sitting all alone and 
 with nothino- to thhik of. It was not till after what 
 seemed to her an endless time of dreary waiting that
 
 POOR NELLIE. 91 
 
 she saw the gig put round and begin to tack towards 
 her. " They have remembered me at last ! but they 
 have been a long time about it." And naturally 
 enough she was vexed, especially as the tide was run- 
 ning in so quickly. " I shall wet my feet getting 
 into the boat when it does come/' thought the prac- 
 tical Adela. 
 
 She was seated on a level with the water, looking 
 out over the bar into the open sea beyond the haven's 
 mouth, and as the tide got higher it seemed as if the 
 whole sea were rising to flow in upon her, and one 
 wave bigger than the rest rushed up so far upon the 
 rock that it almost caught her feet. But Adela was 
 not frightened. She was sure that at the highest tide 
 the round projecting boulder never could be covered, 
 " because grass grows on the flat top, and there is no 
 seaweed." With untroubled presence of mind, and 
 carefully picking her steps where there were pools on 
 the rocky ledge, she climbed up on to the small grass- 
 grown plateau, some five feet broad, and sat there 
 looking down upon the sea, which from that height 
 seemed calm enough. She quietly watched the gig 
 slowly tacking up the bay. 
 
 Adela was never tortured by imaginary fears. She 
 did not think, as many would, " To-day the tide may 
 come a little higher than it ever has before ; a large 
 wave may roll in, as waves have done upon a calm 
 sea when a storm was coming from the ocean, or an 
 earthquake had convulsed some foreign shore. With 
 all her horror of being drowned, it was only of
 
 92 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 what she considered sure danger that she was 
 afraid. 
 
 She little suspected the anguish Charlie and her 
 sister were suffering on her account. It surprised her 
 to see they had lowered the sail and were rowing 
 quickly towards her, and it greatly pleased her, for she 
 said to herself, " Perhaps Charlie will now allow I 
 have some common-sense. I told him he was sure to 
 be drowned if he went through the straits again, and 
 he would not believe me, but he had to turn back 
 after all. I told him the sail was dangerous, and now 
 he has lowered it of his own accord." 
 
 Adela liked to be thought very sensible. That 
 was the chief reason why the awkwardness about 
 George and the Admiral's little jokes had been so 
 painful to her. She had been made to feel silly, and 
 this hurt the pride she took in her own common-sense. 
 Adela had always felt she was sensible and Xellie 
 foolish ; but of late everybody and everything seemed 
 to have conspired to make her appear silly and Nellie 
 sensible. This cruel injustice had been very hard to 
 bear. 
 
 When Charlie and Eleanour at length came near 
 enough to be sure Adela was safe, Nellie was so over- 
 come by revulsion of feeling from terror to joy, that 
 she stopped rowing and sobbed aloud. Charhe, too, 
 was moved, though not to tears. They were like two 
 murderers reprieved, for they had felt like guilty mur- 
 derers all this long, long time, since first they remem- 
 bered Adela. Ages seemed to them to have passed
 
 POOR NELLIE. 93 
 
 since then. " But what," they had thought over and 
 over again — "what must this horrible, dragged -out 
 suspense be to poor Adela ? " 
 
 For one minute — they now knew it could really 
 have taken them no longer to have lowered the sail, 
 unshipped the oars, and put round the gig at the 
 islands, — so for one minute, and only one, they 
 had been face to face with death this day, and yet 
 there had been a lifetime in those slowly passing 
 seconds. What then must the last long hour have 
 been to Adela ? 
 
 Fearing Adela might have lost her senses through 
 terror, Charlie, as he neared the rock, shouted out to 
 her, " Don't jump ! don't jump ! You will sink the 
 boat. For God's sake, Adela, don't jump ! " 
 
 " I have not the very slightest intention of jump- 
 ing," said Adela, in a self-possessed, piqued little 
 voice. " But I really beg you will bring the boat 
 near enough for me to get into it without wetting my 
 feet. I will stay where I am sooner than wet my 
 feet." 
 
 Ghosts unexpectedly come back amongst living 
 men have said startling things, but no speech of a 
 returned spirit ever surprised two people more than 
 these composed annoyed little words of Adela's now 
 astonished her sister and Charlie, They were dumb 
 with amazement; Adela astounded them. The only 
 emotion she seemed to feel was the fear of wetting 
 her feet ! 
 
 She climbed down slowly and deliberately from the
 
 94 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 round projecting rock ; but in getting into the boat 
 she did wet one foot, and for several minutes this 
 misfortune seemed to engross her whole attention. 
 " I hate getting my feet wet," she said ; and she 
 scolded Charlie for not having held the boat-hook 
 steadier, and Xellie for having caught a crab just as 
 she was stepping into the gig. Her fretfulness about 
 her wet shoe and stocking sounded to her dazed com- 
 panions as the complaint of some one buried alive 
 might do, if the living corpse sat up in her coffin and 
 found fault with the people who had undone the lid 
 awkwardly in their hurry. " We nearly murdered 
 her, and she says nothing about it," thought the con- 
 science-stricken culprits. 
 
 Adela had all the talk to herself. She wondered 
 if it would be better to take off her stocking: or leave 
 it on ? She would take off the boot at any rate. 
 Then, after hesitating if she would not take off the 
 stocking too, she finally did take it off. To her sur- 
 prise, Charlie pulled off his flannel jacket, and insisted 
 on making a warm nest, and he wrapped up her little 
 foot in it quite tenderly. 
 
 " How polite you are, Charlie ! You are not gener- 
 ally so polite to me, but only to Nellie. How verj 
 extraordinary ! " And Adela looked up in naive aston- 
 ishment at Charlie ; and then she looked at her sister. 
 " Something has happened," she said ; " why, Nellie, 
 you have been crying ! " 
 
 " Oh, Adela, Adela ! " exclaimed Nellie, passionately, 
 " forgive me, forgive me ! I forgot you ; we both for-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 95 
 
 got you. And we thought Eocky Islet was covered 
 at the spring tides, and we — we thought you would 
 be drowned ! " 
 
 " Adela," said Charlie, looking at her wdth admira- 
 tion — yes, unmistakably with admiration, — " I will 
 never call you a duffer or a funk again. You have not 
 felt one bit afraid. You have not," he added, though 
 the avowal cost him a great deal — "you have not 
 been as much shaken by seeing death quite near as 
 Nellie and I were to-day." 
 
 Adela 's fair face flushed with pleasure. She forgot 
 the boredom and vexation of the last hour, so delighted 
 was she to be thought sensible once more ; but she 
 was perfectly truthful by nature, and never wished to 
 take more credit for anything than was exactly her 
 due. " I knew the rock was never quite covered at 
 high-water, or I should not have asked you to land 
 me there." 
 
 " But in a storm," cried Nellie, " a big wave would 
 cover it." 
 
 " There was no storm," said Adela, shortly. 
 
 " But an earthquake's wave might have rolled in." 
 Nellie had thought of the earthquake possibility. 
 
 " So like you, Nellie, to think of that ! " exclaimed 
 Adela, with an air of immense superiority to her 
 younger sister. " Earthquake ! ridiculous nonsense ! 
 Now, Charlie, that is silly, is it not ? " 
 
 But dreadful possibilities had entered his head too, 
 and he repeated, " Adela, I am awfully sorry I ever 
 called you a duffer."
 
 96 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Adela felt just like her own sensible self again. 
 How delightful it was to be recognised as a person 
 who had no silly fanciful fears ! She began to im- 
 prove the occasion. " And now, Charlie," she said, " I 
 think for once you will allow I was right and you were 
 wrong. The island straits were really dangerous ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Charlie, humbly enough. 
 
 " And it was quite sensible of me not to wish to be 
 drowned ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Charlie. 
 
 "All right," said Adela. "And now we'll row 
 home." 
 
 " We had better sail," said Charlie ; " the wind is 
 in our favour, and Nellie is dead beat." 
 
 But Adela was strangely frightened at this proposal, 
 and protested loudly against it. 
 
 " Well, Adela," cried Charlie, " you are odd. You 
 will face danger calmly one moment, and be terrified 
 the next when there is none. It is quite safe 
 sailing." 
 
 " Oh yes ; to be sure, quite safe ! And it was 
 quite safe shaving those islands ! " said Adela, trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 At this the otlier two felt awkward, and Adela had 
 her own way about the sail. But Charlie and Eleanour 
 eased their burdened feelings by exclaiming, "Adela, 
 you are odd ! " 
 
 " ]N'ot odd at all," replied Adela ; " only sensible. 
 I am not afraid when there is no danger, and I am 
 when there is. I am always frightened going up the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 97 
 
 Diincer's side, because if I slipped I should be drowned ; 
 and I knew the straits were dangerous before you both 
 had the sense to know it ; and I now know there will 
 be an accident with that sail, and then I should cer- 
 tainly be drowned, for you would both forget me and 
 only save each other." 
 
 It was in vain her sister and Charlie vowed they 
 would never forget her again, and faithfully promised 
 always to remember her. 
 
 " jSTo ; you will forget me all the same," said the 
 practical Adela ; " I know you will. You will forget, 
 just as you did to-day. I don't want to be drowned ; 
 so I am quite determined never to go out boating with 
 you again. When I was waiting for you on Eocky 
 Islet, I made up my mind on that point, and settled I 
 would stay at home in future, and ride that broken- 
 winded pony who has been eating his head off in the 
 rectory field ever since we came. If you don't make 
 a silly fuss, papa will never know I am not out boat- 
 ing, or poor dear grandpapa either — they never know 
 where we are or what we are doing." 
 
 Cliarhe and Eleanour implored Adela to trust them 
 again. They felt in honour bound to beg her very 
 warmly not to stay on shore in future. But Adela 
 was firm. And if the real truth be told, they liked 
 her all the better for her stanch refusal. 
 
 " No, no ; I'll never go out in the gig again," she 
 declared, and then suddenly changed colour and 
 added nervously, " not — not unless mamma should 
 come back unexpectedly, for then I know she would 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 make me go out boating — I know she would ; and 
 she would not let George ride the carriage-horses any 
 more." 
 
 " But I say, Adela," said Charlie, somewhat mali- 
 ciously, " if George came out boating too, you would 
 be quite safe. He would save you." 
 
 " No, he would not," replied the girl decidedly, and 
 then coloured violently. 
 
 " You must not tease Adela, Charlie. You mustn't ! " 
 cried Nellie ; " we have been so cruel to her to-day. 
 Oh, it was very cruel to forget you, Adela 1 and I 
 don't know what made us forget you. I never for- 
 got you before." 
 
 From that day forth, for a whole week, Adela rode 
 the rector's broken - winded pony every afternoon. 
 George still continued to ride the carriage-horses, but 
 whilst he trotted off in one direction, Adela went the 
 opposite way. They managed so well, and had such 
 good sight, and saw each other such a long, long dis- 
 tance off, that they never once met.
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 How full of happy chance is life to some ! Fate 
 seems by little kindly acts to woo them on to joy. 
 The very sun will shine for them, while the evil acci- 
 dent of rain will part two others who might have 
 loved as well as they. 
 
 August so often ends in storm and wet, as if the 
 dying summer were in tears, and wept because its 
 pleasant days had passed away. But this year the 
 summer lingered smiling to the last. There was no 
 chill of coming autumn in the air. 
 
 The soft breeze which moved upon the blue sea by 
 day would fall to rest with the setting sun, and at 
 night would sleep with the moonlight on the w\ater ; 
 but only to rise again next day and fill the white sails 
 that now for long hours would waft Charles Crofton 
 and the young girl he loved far away into a pleasant 
 world of their own. A change had come over Charlie. 
 He no longer attempted dangerous feats of adventure, 
 but seemed content to let the little gig drift quietly 
 before the light wind. 
 
 " I am glad we are alone together," he would say.
 
 100 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " We can speak when we wish, and be silent wlien we 
 are tired of talking. I often like to sail on in silence, 
 Nell." 
 
 " And so do I, Charlie ; for then I listen to the 
 boat going through the water, and to the noise of the 
 little sail. And I love to hear the curlew crying 
 upon that distant bank or out at sea. It is all so 
 like a dream, that it is a pity to wake up and talk." 
 
 " Yes ; it is like a dream ! " 
 
 But for him the dream was in her tender beauty, 
 and in the love which had stolen into his heart, 
 though he did not clearly know it. Silence was 
 pleasant to him, for he was gazing on Nellie, and 
 could not tire of gazing upon that tender, touching 
 face. 
 
 George Eliot has said there are faces which na- 
 ture charges with a meaning and a pathos not be- 
 lonorincr to the sino-le human soul that flutters beneath 
 
 o o o 
 
 them, but speaking the joys and sorrows of foregone 
 generations. And this is wonderfully true. We all 
 have seen that look which seems bequeathed to some 
 by the joys now pulseless, and the buried sorrows of 
 the people who have gone before us in this world : 
 a look bequeathed by the poor girl who loved one 
 man, and was forced to wed another ; by the mother's 
 rapturous joy over the child long since dead, as she is 
 dead ; but the anguish of the parted ones whose very 
 name no one on earth remembers now. For like the 
 lingering colours which tell us of a sun that is set, 
 there are lights upon some young faces, and shades in
 
 rooR np:llie. 101 
 
 the depths of touching eyes, not old enough as yet 
 to have wept the tears of hopeless grief. You will 
 sometimes see those lights and shadows of far-off 
 emotions on the faces of quite young children, and 
 will wonder at them. 
 
 Nellie was still almost a child, and her large be- 
 seeching eyes spoke emotions that as yet she had not 
 felt ; but within her soul there was the power to feel 
 the joy and sorrow they could express, so they were 
 true eyes. They were not like Clara's. 
 
 Nellie had not her mother's firm, clear-cut features. 
 Her face was all soft expression ; it was full of the 
 power to feel, but with no look that told of the char- 
 acter which can withstand strong feeling. There was 
 no strength anywhere. The pretty, cherry-coloured 
 little mouth was weak, and the round, dimpled chin 
 slightly receded. Her blue-grey eyes, deeper than 
 her mother's, w^re darkly set. They were her beauty; 
 they were her whole face ; they pleaded for the love 
 she needed. Her colouringr was of tender fairness. 
 She had Clara's transparently white skin, but its 
 marble was not cold. Like Galatea, the statue Lived, 
 and the colour came and went, and came again, into 
 her cheek with all the warmth of a young life. There 
 was nothing cold about Nellie. Her auburn hair was 
 very warm in hue, and the little straying curls which 
 danced upon her forehead and her neck made soft 
 shadows there. 
 
 The young man, whose buoyant life and desire for 
 movement and for talk her presence stilled so strange-
 
 102 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 ly, was a contrast to lierself. His strongly marked 
 features were like his father's, only the high nose and 
 clearly defined chin seemed larger than the Admiral's, 
 perhaps because he was just at that age when the 
 roundness of the face, like that of the figure, has not yet 
 been fully moulded. Charlie's blue eyes were smaller 
 than his father's, but there was more fire in them. 
 He was a good-looking, fairish-haired, tall young Eng- 
 lishman. His smile was a joyous one, but in repose 
 there was a marked expression of set purpose on his 
 face. 
 
 When Nellie, feeling his long, dreaming gaze upon 
 her, would, wondering, raise her sweet, pathetic eyes 
 to his, it was a calm and steadfast look she met — a 
 grave look, such as we see in the old paintings on the 
 faces of holy men who gaze with untroubled joy upon 
 the blessed Virsjin. 
 
 " Charlie," the young girl would say — it was she 
 who oftenest broke the dreamlike silence — " Charlie, 
 what a pity it is that there will be no sea in heaven ! " 
 This regret came back to her two or three times. " It 
 is a sad, sad pity there will be no sea in heaven ! 
 Some people think," she said, " there will not even be a 
 lake of clear, cool water ; and I love the water ! The 
 very sounds that come across it seem as if they really 
 did not come from land. And I love the pleasant cool- 
 ness of the air ! And when it is calm, as now it often 
 is in the evening, I do so like to see the low banks 
 near the bar, and the cliffs at the Lookout, and the 
 little pier, and the liouses in the village, and those few
 
 POOH NELLIE. 103 
 
 trees beyond, and the islands too, all looking down 
 into the bay as if each one had found a kind, kind 
 friend so like itself that it could whisper every little 
 secret of its heart and never feel afraid ! It is so 
 happy," she sighed, " never to feel afraid 1 ^' 
 
 Charlie woke from his dreams, and startled her by 
 saying earnestly, " Nellie, you will never be afraid of 
 me ? Promise you never will be afraid of me." And 
 she promised what he asked ; but in her inmost soul 
 she feared a little as she gave her word, yet knew not 
 why. 
 
 One day, towards the close of the pleasant week, 
 she said, " Charlie, do you think heaven will really 
 be as happy as this earth ? " 
 
 He hesitated a moment, from the sort of shyness 
 which makes a serious young Englishman chary of 
 touching upon a sacred subject ; and then he said, in 
 a low, grave voice, " There will be no parting in 
 heaven. The people who like to be together will 
 always be together." 
 
 Nellie was looking down into the water, and she 
 repeated, as if whispering to the rippling tide, " They 
 will always be together." And as she softly whis- 
 pered, she felt Charlie's strong gaze fixed upon lier. 
 
 " But will they be alone together ? " cried the young 
 man suddenly, with passion in his voice. He was 
 quite near to Nellie in the stern of the little gig, and 
 she started, bewildered by some new sensation, and 
 by the changed eager look she saw in his face, and by 
 the strangeness of his voice. Frightened as much by
 
 104 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 her own emotion as by his, she shrank away from 
 him. 
 
 He too drew back, and felt as if she had wounded 
 him. There had been other words upon his lips, but 
 they were chilled into silence now. 
 
 She looked again at him, but he no longer looked 
 at her. She thought his face was rather hardly set, 
 as if he were angry, and wondering much, and trem- 
 bling to her own surprise, she gently, for a moment, 
 but no more, put her little shaking hand on his, and 
 he felt her draw near to him again — yet not so near, 
 he thought, as she had been before. 
 
 " Ah, Charlie ! " she said, " you startled me a little, 
 for your voice was strange." Then, as he said noth- 
 ing, she continued, rather sadly — " There will be so 
 many people in heaven whom we shall love, for 
 angels love everybody, that I do not think two angels 
 
 will ever be left quite quiet and alone together " 
 
 she was going to say, " as you and I have been." But 
 she gave a little sigh instead, then tried to say the 
 words, then could not say them, for Charlie w^as still 
 strange and absent, as he had been that day a week 
 before when they had both seen death so near. She 
 felt his silence once more painfully as she had felt it 
 then. They were sailing down the haven before the 
 wind as they had done that day, and, sailing onwards, 
 she wondered why he was so absent now, and thought 
 she would ask him, but could not, and then wondered 
 why she could not, and why she was growing just a 
 little shy with him, and could not ask him everything
 
 rOOR NELLIE. 105 
 
 quite easily. And she looked down over the boat's 
 side and watched the small waves running past like 
 the ungrasped thoughts through a sleeper's mind ; and 
 thus looking, she fell to vaguely dreaming to the sound 
 of the water as if it had been soft music. 
 
 " Holloa, holloa ! Look out ! Wherever are you going ? 
 By Jove, you're into me, I say ! Look out ! look out, 
 will you ? " They had nearly swamped the punt with 
 Georoe Crofton in it. " Catch me comincj out with 
 telegrams for either of you again ! I say, were you 
 both asleep ? By Jove, you're asleep still ! Throw 
 me that paynter, can't you ? and I'll step on board 
 while you read the telegram, and we'll tow the punt. 
 Steady, steady there, Nellie ! " 
 
 She was making room for George by changing her 
 seat. 
 
 " Why should you move ? " said Charlie, looking as 
 if she had wounded him again, and she stepped back 
 quickly to her place beside him, jostling George, who 
 was just getting into the gig, and nearly upsetting 
 them all in her hurry. 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried George, " thought we were over. 
 Bad luck's in the air. Hope," he said, giving a tele- 
 gram to Charlie, and speaking with a kind of blunt 
 emotion, — " hope there's . . . there's no bad news ? 
 Uncle Cuthbert not dead ? " 
 
 " Dead ! " exclaimed Nellie, turning pale, as if she 
 realised the full meaning of that dread word. 
 
 George sat quite still and looked away while Charles 
 Crofton read the telegram, but Nelhe anxiously watched
 
 106 POOR XELLIE. 
 
 Charlie's countenance : it fell as he read. He read 
 the lines twice over, then crumpled the paper absently 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Show it to me," said Xellie. '"' He is not dead," 
 she cried, on glancing over it ; " but oh, Charlie, Charlie, 
 must you go ? " 
 
 Her pained voice brought such joy into Charlie's 
 face that George, looking up, saw it, and mistaking 
 the reason of it, said warmly — 
 
 " No bad news, I see. Awfully glad, my dear fel- 
 low — awfully glad. Met the telegraph boy out riding 
 — was awfully afraid something gone wrong. That's 
 why I came off in such a deuced hurry." 
 
 Charlie was sufficiently himself to answer — " Thanks 
 awfully ! " 
 
 " But it is not good news," said Xellie. " The Ad- 
 miral won't come back here again, and he wants Char- 
 lie to go to Crofton Place immediately — to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " exclaimed George, " wait till Saturday. 
 I am going to that old fool of a crammer on Saturday." 
 
 " But the Admiral thinks you are going there to- 
 morrow, George," said Xellie ; and she read the tele- 
 gram aloud — 
 
 o 
 
 " Cuthbert better. Trying quinine pills. "Will lay 
 up Dancer. Come here rest holidays. George going 
 crammer to-morrow. Leave with him." 
 
 " But I'm not going to-morrow," broke in George ; 
 " I'm not going till the day after. I won't go till Sa- 
 turday morning. Mrs Xewsham is not coming back 
 till Saturday afternoon."
 
 POOR NELLIE. 107 
 
 George spoke quite naturally, without reflecting 
 that what he said might sound odd to Mrs Xew- 
 sham's daughter ; but neither she nor Charlie 
 noticed this little slip of the tongue. They were 
 thinking — " Then we shall have another day to- 
 gether." 
 
 " I say, Charlie," said George, " telegraph back to the 
 Admiral that you'll stay till Saturday. He won't 
 mind. The answer is prepaid, and the boy is wait- 
 ing for it up at the Lookout. You'd better make for 
 shore." 
 
 As they were sailing in, George exclaimed, " By 
 Jove ! but it is awfully jolly out here ! I say, does 
 Adela never come out now ? " 
 
 " Not since the day we landed her on Eocky Islet, 
 and . . . forgot her ! We ... we forgot her, though 
 the tide was coming in," said Nellie, blushing. 
 
 George burst out laughing. " Forgot Adela on 
 Eocky Islet ! Ha ! ha ! And the tide coming in ! 
 By Jove, what an awful joke 1 Why did not you 
 tell me before ? " 
 
 George seemed delighted. " I say, that was a 
 joke ! Awful funk, I suppose ? Thought she was 
 drowning ? " 
 
 " No ! she was not a bit afraid," said Eleanour. 
 
 " Behaved like a brick, George," said Charlie, seri- 
 ously. " George, you are unfair to Adela. She is not 
 a duffer." 
 
 " Adela not a duffer ? " stammered the astounded 
 George, slowly trying to grasp this amazing idea.
 
 108 rOOR NELLIE. 
 
 " Aclela . . . Adela's an awful duffer ! " he exclaimed 
 mechanically, as if clinging desperately to the old 
 faith, because the new one was altogether too strange 
 for belief. 
 
 " ISTo ! " said Charlie, decidedly ; and he again re- 
 peated seriously, " she behaved like a brick." 
 
 " Yes indeed, indeed she did, George ! " said Nellie ; 
 " and the rock was all covered except just one end, 
 and if a big wave had rolled in . . . and a big wave 
 might have come, George ; you know it might ! But 
 Adela was not frightened, though she was quite an 
 hour in horrid danger, — one whole hour ! and one 
 minute seems such a long, long time, if you think you 
 are going to die ! Oh, George, George," she cried 
 with strong emotion, vividly remembering those sixty 
 seconds passed by her and Charlie between life 
 and death, and quite forgetting George knew no- 
 thing of that dangerous adventure — " oh, George, 
 George, a minute is a long, long time to be near 
 death ! An instant would seem very long if you 
 were dying. It is horrible to be a long time dying. 
 Charlie and I felt how terrible it was. Even Charlie 
 turned very pale, and looked frightened." 
 
 This incoherent outpouring was naturally unintelli- 
 gible to George ; but he was not a young man who 
 bothered himself to understand very exactly every- 
 thing that everybody said. On most subjects un- 
 connected with cricket, or fishing, or hunting, a sort 
 of general impression quite satisfied his mental in- 
 dolence. His mind seized the words, " Charlie turned
 
 rOOR NELLIE. 109 
 
 pale, and looked frightened," and troubled about noth- 
 ing else. 
 
 " I say, come now ! Charlie frightened and Adela 
 not ! Bosh ! " he exclaimed, contemptuously. 
 
 Charlie, like the Admiral, always tried to say or do 
 what he thought strictly honourable. " Nellie has 
 confused two sets of circumstances by the way she 
 has spoken of them. But that's no matter. It is 
 true, George," he said, " that once when Nellie and I 
 were in dano^er of beincr drowned, durino- what seemed 
 a long time, but what I now believe was only a short 
 minute, I thouQ-ht it awful to be near death, and I 
 may have turned pale." Charlie spoke coolly enough. 
 
 But George, raw undeveloped lad as he was, divined 
 the confession cost him an effort. He was of a gener- 
 ous nature, and if obtuse in most things, was not so 
 in all. He answered quickly, but addressing Nellie, 
 not Charlie, — " I am sure Charlie was awfully plucky 
 all the same, and did just the right thing at the 
 right moment." 
 
 " Yes, George, he did ! He remembered everything, 
 and I should not have remembered what to do at all." 
 
 " No ; girls never do," said George shortly, and then 
 added, in a tone of sharpness which surprised Nellie, 
 " But I say, Nellie, you should never say a fellow 
 funked when he did not. Charlie never funked in 
 his life." 
 
 Charles's face flushed with pleasure, and George, 
 still speaking to Nellie, went on — " A fellow who has 
 sense knows when things are dangerous, and he does
 
 110 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 uot like to die any more than a fool ; but he does not 
 lose his head, or run away, or funk, for all that. Girls, 
 who don't see half the danger, run away and funk." 
 
 This was a long speech on an abstract subject for 
 George, but he was indignant that the courage of one 
 he believed in like Charlie should be impugned. 
 
 " But I say," he asked, " if Adela is so awfully 
 courageous, why is it she has funked boating ever since 
 the day she was so mighty plucky ? Odd, by Jove !" 
 
 " In case of an accident, she wants some one to save 
 her from a ducking," said Charlie. " I say, George, she 
 wants you ! " 
 
 " In case of an accident, bags I i^ellie ! " cried 
 George ; and he looked with open childlike pleasure 
 at the pretty young girl, as if he would be glad to 
 jump into the water for her sake. 
 
 " Eemember, Nellie, I bag you," he repeated. 
 " Charlie bags Adela ! " 
 
 " George," said Charlie, testily, " you do talk slang ! 
 Shocking bad form ! " 
 
 George did look surprised ! " By Jove ! why, 
 here's Charlie coming out all of a sudden as a 
 professor of the English language ! What an awful 
 joke ! " And he roared laughing. " But hang it ! " 
 he laughed, " slang or not slang, bags I Xellie ! " 
 
 George, in true schoolboy fashion, enjoyed his own 
 jokes immensely, no matter how small they were. 
 Then Nellie was laughing too. Most young girls 
 laugh at everything. George did not notice that 
 Charlie was looking seriously annoyed. But Nellie
 
 POOK NELLIE. Ill 
 
 turned her laughing face towards his, and seeing him 
 so grave, stopped laughing, as if there was no fun in 
 laughter in which he did not join. 
 
 George laughed on. " I say, bags I Nellie ! In 
 case of shipwreck, Charlie bags Adela ! Hang it, if I 
 don't tell Adela you've bagged her, Charlie ! " He 
 looked at him now. " I'll die laughing if you're so 
 glum ! By Jove, I will ! Charlie bags Adela ! " 
 George did enjoy this joke ! He was enjoying himself 
 altogether. " I declare it is awfully jolly out here," 
 he exclaimed. " Awfully jolly, and cool, and all that 
 sort of thing \ And I think three is just the right 
 number." He looked at JSTellie as if it were very 
 pleasant to see her and be with her. " Just the right 
 number," he repeated ; " much nicer than four. Don't 
 be afraid, old fellow : I was only joking," he said to 
 Charlie. " Catch me telling Adela anything I But, I 
 say, I know what I'll do I " he added joyfully. " I'U 
 come out sailing with you both to-morrow ! I had 
 better let the carriage-horses have a rest, as Mrs 
 Newsham is coming ho^ie on Saturday, and Harper 
 may tell tales. Besides, it will be awfully jolly out 
 here — awfully ! Only you and me, Nellie, and . . . 
 and just Charlie, and no one else ! " 
 
 There are happy people who always feel as if they 
 must be welcome ever}'wliere, so long as they them- 
 selves like to be with those whom they propose to join. 
 George was one of these smilingly unconscious ones. 
 He looked radiant, as if his proposal had undoubtedly 
 given his companions the satisfaction it gave himself.
 
 112 POOR XELLIE. 
 
 His cousin and Xellie stole glances of dismay at 
 each other ; but as the gig was just inshore, their 
 absolute silence was covered by the interest of the 
 moment. There is always a certain little excitement 
 in running a boat properly on shore. George entered 
 into it heart and soul. 
 
 " Well steered, Charlie ! Well steered ! I say, old 
 fellow, let me steer to-morrow. Awfully jolly little 
 gig ! No notion she was so jolly ! Much jollier than 
 the Dancer. And, by Jove, she's bigger than I 
 thought 1 On a calm day one might take her over 
 the bar; and 'there was I thinking she was too small! 
 Why, hang it, we might have had some sea -fishing 
 after all ! " 
 
 " Jump ashore, Charlie," cried George, " and run 
 on ! run on ! ISTellie and I will see the s^ior safe into 
 the boathouse, and the punt too. I say, look sharp ! 
 or you'll have that telegraph fellow swearing at you 
 for keeping him so long."
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 Next clay George was in a provokingly good humour. 
 There was no fjettincf rid of him. 
 
 Charlie said to him shortly, " I say, George, we 
 can't make Nellie sea-sick by taking her over the bar ; 
 and there's no fishing inside." 
 
 " Awful bore ! " replied George — " awful ! but we'll 
 knock about the harbour instead." 
 
 George did feel so remarkably good-natured coming 
 out in this friendly sort of way with his cousin and 
 Nellie, and without any hope of fishing. 
 
 " Nellie," said he, condescendingly, " Charlie says 
 you would be sea-sick if we crossed the bar, so I've 
 left all my tackle at home." 
 
 Nellie had to thank him as best she could. She 
 did not do so very warmly, because she was put out 
 he had not brought the tackle. She had arranged 
 such a nice little plan in her head. She had meant 
 to say, " George, do you know, I think you would 
 have excellent fishing from Eocky Islet. Adela 
 saw plenty of fish there the other day. Suppose 
 we land you there, and take a short sail, and come 
 
 VOL I. H
 
 114 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 back." And she had quite settled George would jump 
 at the idea. So her disappointment was great. 
 
 Virtue is certainly its own reward. George felt so 
 perfectly satisfied with his own unselfishness, that he 
 was blinded by the glory of his own amiability, and 
 noticed nothing. He did not see that Charlie was 
 decidedly cross, or that Nellie was not at all in her 
 wonted spirits, and he kept on repeating with much 
 hearty enjoyment, " Awfully jolly out here ! sorry I 
 never came out with you before." It is true he was 
 steering at the moment ; and he went on steering for 
 a very long time. An endless time it seemed to 
 Eleanour ; for she was always hoping that when 
 Charlie began to steer, George would get bored, and 
 wish to be landed. George used to get dreadfully 
 bored out in the Dancer. He was a young man who 
 soon got bored if not actively occupied. 
 
 At length the moment did arrive when George be- 
 came aware he had been steering ever since they had 
 left shore. He changed places with Charlie ; and 
 soon after he ceased to exclaim, "Awfully jolly out 
 here ! " He beoan to cfet restless and observant. 
 
 " Holloa ! How silent you both are ! Sorry after 
 all I did not bring my tackle. Might perhaps have 
 hooked a stray herring in the bay. Would have 
 been something to do." He yawned ; and then he got 
 a regular fit of yawning. 
 
 All of a sudden he brightened up in the most sur- 
 prising way. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he exclaimed, " if that's not young
 
 POOR NELLIE. 115 
 
 Tom Bracer's fishing-smack out there near the bar, 
 waiting to come in with the flood. And, by Jove . . . 
 they're trawling ! I wonder what they can be trawl- 
 ing for." 
 
 Quick as lightning Nellie said, " Oh, George, 
 wouldn't you like to go on board and have some fish- 
 ing ? It is such a little way over the bar, and I 
 shouldn't be one bit ill — I am sure I should not ! " 
 
 " Nellie, you're a brick ! Thanks awfully, awfully ! 
 but " He looked at Charlie. 
 
 Charlie instantly said, " There is not half the sea 
 with an ebb tide there is with a flood. It is awfully 
 calm now. We could row out in ten minutes. I say, 
 George, we'll just lower the sail and row." 
 
 When George had actually hailed the fishing-smack, 
 and was almost in the act of boarding her, he got a 
 sudden fit of generosity, which sent a pang of fear 
 through Nellie's heart. 
 
 " By Jove, but I'm an awfully selfish fellow ! " 
 cried he. " It's Charlie's last day, too, and Charlie 
 is awfully fond of fishing. I say, old fellow, you 
 go on board instead of me. I'll take Nellie home 
 all safe." 
 
 Charlie refused this kind invitation with a prompti- 
 tude which brought a blush into Nellie's fair cheek, 
 and certainly was a relief to George's mind. At eigh- 
 teen he loved fishing better than anything else on 
 earth, except hunting. He said, " Awfully sorry to 
 leave you both. Hope you don't think I'm awfully 
 rude, Nellie ; but you see it's my last day. Give you
 
 116 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 my word of honour, if it wasn't my last day, wouldn't 
 think of leaving you. I shan't have any fishing at 
 that old fool of a crammer's ! " 
 
 It never, even in the faintest manner, struck the 
 excellent George that his companions were delighted 
 to get rid of him. 
 
 Now so glad, so very glad were they at being 
 once more alone together, that they actually felt a 
 little troubled by their joy, and were made a little 
 shy by it. 
 
 N'ellie was steering. Charlie was rowing quickly 
 back across the bar into the bay, and very quickly, for 
 fear by any chance his cousin might change his mind. 
 He and Eleanour sat face to face. Their eyes seemed 
 to be always meeting. She wished to speak, and so 
 did he. But for the first few minutes neither could 
 think of anything to say. 
 
 Then George shouted across the water after them, 
 " We can't get in till half flood. If I don't turn up 
 at the rectory, say good-bye to Mr Newsham and the 
 Bishop." He shouted twice over, " Say good-bye to 
 Mr Newsham and the Bishop." 
 
 Nellie lauohed at this. It was she who recov- 
 ered her self-possession soonest. " George will not 
 come to the rectory to-night," she said, — " you'll see he 
 won't. He will dislike saying good-bye to Adela, for 
 I really do think he is afraid of her ; and it is so very, 
 very funny ! " 
 
 It was a relief to Charlie to be able to speak 
 again, and here was a subject he could talk upon.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 117 
 
 " I never saw two people so disagreeable together as 
 George and Adela ! " he exclaimed. " They were a 
 horrid bore in the Dancer, and I used to feel quite 
 uncomfortable with them. Now I never minded my 
 father." 
 
 " Ah, no indeed ! That would have been cruel ! " 
 said Nellie — "the dear old Admiral! I do love 
 him ! " 
 
 There was a moment's silence between them again. 
 Then Charlie stopped rowing, and leant forward upon 
 the crossed oars. He blushed because guilty of a 
 feeling he was ashamed to own, and yet not cowardly 
 enough to disown, and he said, " And yet, Nell, I 
 think it has been . . . happier since my father went 
 away and you and I have been so many days alone 
 together." 
 
 She blushed too. Charlie had given expression to 
 her own secret thought : she was ashamed to hear it 
 spoken aloud in words ; it was so cruel to the dear, 
 kind Admiral ! She did not know what to say, for 
 she could only say exactly the real truth to Charlie. 
 
 " Nellie," he said, gravely, " I should like to go on 
 boating with you every summer ; not in the Dancer, 
 but in this little gig, sailing when there is wind 
 enough, and rowing when there is not, just we two 
 together. It has been pleasant, Nell, these last few 
 days. I wish it was the first of them and not the 
 last ! " 
 
 " Another year we shall be at Eastcourt in the sum- 
 mer," said Nellie. " 1 will never care for Eastcourt
 
 118 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 SO much again." And her voice was tender and sad. 
 " I shall long for the sea and the fresh salt air. But 
 we shall not come to Bluehaven any more," she 
 sighed ; " no, never more ! It was only for grandpapa 
 we came here now, and he will not be ill again. We 
 shall never come here any more ! " 
 
 " Then this may be the last time we shall be alone 
 together," cried Charlie loudly, like one alarmed. 
 " The last time, Nell ! And the sun is getting very 
 low, and we must soon go home." 
 
 " Not yet, not yet ! " she said. " The sun is only 
 just set now, and the evening lights stay long upon 
 the water in these summer days. We do not dine 
 till late. We need not go in yet ! Put by the oars, 
 for we do not want them, as we are drifting towards 
 shore on the turning tide. We drift very quickly," 
 she said pleadingly, " and there is no hurry, Charlie 
 — there is none ! " 
 
 The young man shipped the oars, and came in 
 silence and sat by her side in the stern of the little 
 boat. She blushed as she made room for him, but 
 only said, " You could not see the sunset where you 
 were, but you can see it now." And at her prompt- 
 ing, he looked across the shining water towards the 
 west. 
 
 The sun had just gone down behind the low bank 
 at the haven's mouth. The wet sand was full of 
 colours, and no waves disturbed the reflection of the 
 lazily drifting hooker near the bar. Soft and still 
 bright lights were lingering in the sky and on the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 119 
 
 sea. It was a calm and wellnif^h cloudless sinkincr 
 of the sun to rest, and was no gorgeous death with 
 heaped clouds, like glittering armies flaunting gaudy 
 colours in the sky. When the clouds have been very 
 brilliantly decked in crimson and gold, and then, hur- 
 riedly casting off their colours, have closed in where 
 the sun has been, with dark unmindfulness of its past 
 light and life and joy, we feel as if that sun had died 
 indeed, so clean forgotten, like this earth's dead, does 
 it become ; but when the lights of the after-glory, 
 like brilliant hopes that will not die, linger in the 
 sky and upon the water, and even on the darker land, 
 until the moon is up and shining, we seem to feel the 
 sleeping sun will surely rise again, and much sadness 
 does not move our spirit. Yet in all beauty there is 
 some tender pathos which makes the feeling it stirs 
 within us akin to sorrow, like that joy in which are 
 tears. 
 
 The vague emotion of nature's pathos touched, for 
 the first time in their young life, the soul of the young 
 man and of the girl by his side. It was a saddening 
 dream that seemed to steal upon them, and blending 
 with it came the tender shadow of their near parting. 
 Charlie gently grasped Xellie's hand ; and thus, hand 
 in hand, they gazed silently upon the calm water, as 
 young souls gaze out on life and think it stormless. 
 
 The evening was beautifully still, and there was no 
 roar of the open sea beyond the haven's mouth ; it 
 was as if the wide waters were being hushed to sleep 
 at sundown. The tide was far out, and no sound
 
 120 POOR NELUE. 
 
 upon the sand roughly caught the ear. The lovers 
 listened mechanically for the noise they missed. You 
 had to listen, or you did not hear that muffled moan 
 of the drowsy waves, like the sighing of a tired man 
 sinking to rest after the glare and labour and trouble 
 of the day are past; you had to bend in hushed si- 
 lence to hear the sleeper's breathing, so softly mono- 
 tonous and low was it ; and yet, while you listened, 
 your ear turned drowsy and forgot the very sound it 
 watched for, and heard quite distant voices more 
 clearly than that dreamy dull monotony. 
 
 There is a sea-bird's cry — if, indeed, a sea-bird's it 
 really is — and you hear it when the tide is out and 
 the sun so far set that the lowing cows on shore have 
 gone to rest, and all sounds except that breathing of 
 a calm sea upon the sand are hushed. From the 
 distance where it ever seems to be, that sadly thrilling 
 note will come, and other far-off cries will then awake 
 and answer to its plaintive voice. 
 
 The lovers, sDently drifting on the turning tide, 
 heard that weird, melancholy note, and the answering 
 cries. 
 
 " Those are the voices of the poor drowned people," 
 said Xellie, in a dream-Uke tone, still gazing out to 
 sea with solemn, teai'ful eyes — '•' the voices of the dead 
 men lost at sea, and never, never found again." 
 
 Charlie came back from dreamland when he heard 
 her speak. 
 
 "Yes, those are the voices of the drowned men 
 beomng with all their heart and soul not to be
 
 POOR NELUE. 121 
 
 forgotten at home. The dead," said he, indignantly, 
 sitting straight up — " the dead are so soon forgotten ! 
 Why, when old Eullock's only son was lost at sea, the 
 girl he was engaged to in that village there ' — he 
 dropped XeUie's hand, and pointed angrily towards 
 Bluehaven — " that girl married another man before 
 the year was out ! " 
 
 " 1 hate that woman ! " cried Xellie, passion trem- 
 bling in her voice ; and her voice was like her eyes, 
 it moved your heart. 
 
 " You would not forget me, even if I died ! " said 
 Charlie with strong emotion, bending over her. " You 
 will not forget me if I am a long time away ? And 
 to be a long, long time away, is just like death." 
 
 Their hands were clasped again. 
 
 " It is like death," she said ; " but I will not forget 
 you, Charlie." 
 
 *•' Say that again, dear Xell ; say it once more," he 
 whispered, gently pleading, and still bending low 
 to her. 
 
 " I never will forget you, Charlie ! I never can for- 
 get you ! You know I never can ! " Her trembling 
 voice was low like his, and seemed to speak her words 
 into the inmost sanctuary of his heart like a holy vow. 
 
 A silence which breathed with emotion, like the 
 calm sea breathing in the hushed twilight on the 
 shore, laid its soft spell upon them. 
 
 When the young man spoke again, his voice was 
 still low, as if he feared to scare away the sacred joy 
 he felt.
 
 122 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " When I am old enough, dear Xell, you and I will 
 marry, and never part again. If I go to India, you 
 must come too ; and we will never part, except in 
 actual war ; and even then, w^e need not part for long, 
 unless I am killed. The very day I get into the 
 army, the moment I see my name in the list of 
 passed, I will come and ask you before them all to 
 marry me. I will come even if my name is last on 
 the list, and everybody thinks I am a dunce — I will 
 come all the same, though I should like to come as the 
 first fellow out. But," looking at her very tenderly, 
 " I know if others are ashamed of me, you will never 
 be. You won't care, Xellie ? you won't ? will you ? " 
 
 The answer came with a passionate warmth that 
 pleased him much. 
 
 " I care ? Oh, Charlie ! if every one said unkind 
 things of you, and was ashamed of you, then I would 
 love you best ! " And she added, with a long-drawn 
 sigh, " If you were too clever, too good, I might be 
 afraid of you. I should feel you were like mamma." 
 
 The hand that was on hers was drawn away, and 
 the hushed voice grew loud. 
 
 " And if you were afraid of me as you are of her, 
 you . . . JSTellie, you would not tell me the truth ! " 
 
 " The truth I " she cried aloud, astounded ; " I never 
 tell a lie ! " and large tears filled her eyes. 
 
 " Yet you all seem to me to act lies," said Charlie, 
 hardly. " When your mother asks you to do some- 
 thing you dislike, and your father something you like, 
 you say Yes to her and JVo to him."
 
 POOE NELLIE. 123 
 
 Eleanour blushed guiltily at this. 
 
 " You have no mother, and you are not afraid of 
 the dear, kind Admiral," she said. " Charhe," she 
 pleaded, " you do not know, you cannot under- 
 stand " 
 
 " Yes, I do. Fellows at school know it is often 
 difficult enough to tell the truth." He was still 
 unsoftened. " I know what will happen," he ex- 
 claimed, angrily. " When I come to ask you to be 
 my wife, you will look at your mother, and she will 
 look at you, and then you will say No." 
 
 Nellie turned pale. 
 
 " Ask me when my father is by ; don't ask me 
 when she is there." 
 
 Charlie grew pale like her. He drew back from 
 her, and looked her full in the face. "Nellie," he 
 said, " you are a coward ! " 
 
 The voice in which he said this was terrible to her 
 ear. She trembled all over, and seizing his with- 
 drawn hand, cried out in great grief, " Have pity on 
 me, Charlie ! have pity on poor Nellie ! " and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 He was strangely moved to see her cry ; it was as 
 if for the fijst time in his life he had seen a woman 
 weep. In a voice of pained tenderness he said, draw- 
 ing near to her again, " Oh 1 don't cry, Nell ! don't 
 cry ! " But she only cried the more because his voice 
 was kind. " I was cruel, cruel to you, Nell ! Forgive 
 me, Nell ! " And he took his ow^n rather rough 
 handkerchief and dried her eyes, smiling at her, till
 
 124 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 at last she smiled at him. Her hat had fallen back, 
 and for a moment the white brow, with the pretty 
 dark curls dancing on it, tempted the boy with a 
 wish to kiss it, as he used to do in simple childhood, 
 not so very long ago ; so he bent down towards her, 
 then quickly drew back again, with a cold look which 
 frightened her tears quite, quite away, because she did 
 not understand it. 
 
 He had said to himself, " No ; we are not children 
 any more. I am a man — a gentleman ; and a gentle- 
 man does not kiss a lady until she is promised to him 
 before all the world as his wife." Charles Crofton had 
 exalted ideas of honour and of love. 
 
 Nellie, in puzzled dread, gave a meaning to his 
 sudden coldness which made her heart beat with a 
 new terror. " You are going away, Charlie ! " she 
 cried. " And at Eton you will be working and boat- 
 ing or cricketing all day, and you will not have much 
 time to think of me ; and then later on you will be in 
 a fright about the examination, and you will have 
 no time at all to think of me, and I will be always 
 thinking of you." She turned white again through 
 fear. " Perhaps," she said, " you will forget me." 
 
 Then he swore to her, as she had sworn to him, that 
 he never, never would forget her ; and as he had made 
 her repeat the vow twice over, so she made him — not 
 because she distrusted Charlie, but because she liked 
 to hear him say the pleasant words again. 
 
 " Nellie, the lights are fading quite away and the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 125 
 
 moon is not yet risen. It is getting very dark near 
 shore ; we must row home." 
 
 " We must ! " she sighed. 
 
 But near the shore he ceased to row, and said, 
 " I will not go to the rectory this evening, Nell. I 
 should have to say good-bye to you, and I could not 
 bear to say good-bye with Adela and the Bishop and 
 your father standing round and watching us. You 
 would cry, Nellie." He paused, bent forward, and 
 added gently, "We need not say good-bye at all, 
 dear Nell," — for he greatly feared her tears, " There 
 is no need to say good-bye, dear Nell." 
 
 " No, no ! " she whispered back again, and tried to 
 smile ; yet her voice was like a sob, and thrilled him 
 painfully. " No, no ! We will not say good-bye, for 
 fear . . . for fear we should not meet again ! "
 
 126 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " One thing I know," said the man in the Gospel, the 
 darkness of whose eyes was turned into light by the 
 touch of the Divine hand — " one thing I know, that 
 whereas I was blind, now I see." 
 
 The dark, unmindful sleep which clings like blind- 
 ness to the heart and eyes of childhood and of youth, 
 when first divinely touched by a pure and holy love, 
 awakes to the sense of beauty as to a new world ; for 
 love is the great revealer of all beauty that can be 
 felt. 
 
 It is awaking love makes music to be full of touch- 
 ing dreams ; and poetry no dead art of rhetoric, but 
 a real and living power stirring the rising spirit within 
 you, like a dead man from his grave ; and by its crav- 
 ing need of perfect satisfaction, love brings into the 
 soul the longing for the ideal, and so makes you to 
 feel the ecstasy which has found expression in the 
 painter's art, and even has put life into cold marble. 
 
 But strangest mystery of unawakened sleep ! You 
 may have lived for years beneath the ever-changing 
 lights and cloudy shadows of the sky, and seen the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 127 
 
 colour-giving sun each day, and the moon by night, 
 shining amidst the darkened trees or dreaming on the 
 water, and never, never once have felt in your cold 
 heart the pathos of this earth's loveliness, or seen with 
 your hard eyes its moving beauty. 
 
 Yet when the Divine hand does touch your soul, 
 having been blind from birth, you see. 
 
 The full awakening had come to Nellie while drift- 
 ins on the calm water, hand in hand with him she 
 loved. She had then felt the thrilling stillness of 
 the evening hour, and her opening, tearful eyes had 
 seen the lingering lights fading from the sea and land, 
 like tender spirits which part with fond regret, and 
 in her soul she had felt their beauty. 
 
 It was a shock to her to come back again into 
 ordinary, unideal life, as it ever is when, heaven-rapt, 
 we turn from gazing on tlie ideal and see quite close 
 to us some homely, common thing. 
 
 How long the dreary evening was ! How stupid 
 her grandfather the good Bishop looked dozing in an 
 arm-chair, whilst her excellent dull father read aloud 
 in a drowsy voice tiresome bits out of that humdrum 
 temperance lecture he seemed now to be eternally pre- 
 paring for the fishermen. And oh, how coldly dead 
 to passion and to sympathy the placid Adela appeared 
 as she calmly followed, stitch by stitch, a traced-out 
 pattern in crewel -work ! She never made a wrong 
 stitch ; her fingers always went exactly at the same 
 slow, steady pace. Relieved from George, she looked 
 quite happy.
 
 128 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Yet Eleanour liked better to see the Bishop doze and 
 to hear her father droning him into a real, sound sleep, 
 than she would have liked him to awake and wish to 
 play some game ; for then they must all — her grand- 
 father, Adela, and even her father — they must all 
 have discovered she had no mind, no memory, for 
 stupid cards and stupid counters, and they would have 
 wondered at her. 
 
 " But why," thought she, with feverish remorse — 
 " why were Charlie and I so foolish as to dread to 
 meet again — and merely because others might be 
 present ? We need not have said good-bye at all." 
 And then the thought came passionately to her. " It 
 would have been better even to have said good-bye, 
 and good-bye before all the world, than to have lost 
 these last few hours. And it may be so long before 
 we meet again — it may be so long ! Yet perhaps — 
 perhaps he will change his mind and come down to 
 the rectory, as he has done each night till now." So at 
 every little sound she gave a start, and thought it might 
 be his knock or his footstep that she heard ; but as 
 each throbbing hope turned cold and fell like lead from 
 her heart, the cra^dng remorse within her grew apace. 
 " The moon is shining brightly now. It is as light 
 as day. Adela," she said, " I will go out — I must go 
 out ! It is so close and stuffy here. Hush, husli, 
 Adela ! for grandpapa is quite asleep, and my father 
 is dozing now. I will go out for a few short minutes, 
 only for a few, — just to breathe and to see the moon- 
 light on the water."
 
 POOR NELLIE. 129 
 
 "Then I certainly won't go with you," said Adela, 
 very decidedly. " I have no notion of catching cold 
 the night before mamma comes home. Mamma does 
 not like sick people, and she will be very angry with 
 you, Nellie, if you are ill." 
 
 But Nellie had already gone from the close little 
 study in which they were all sitting into the small 
 dining-room. She had opened the window, and Adela 
 could see her springing from the low window-sill to the 
 ground, and then disappearing in the bushes close by. 
 
 "Those bushes must be damp with dew," thought 
 Adela ; " but Nellie always was silly, and she always 
 will be silly ; and she never understands what makes 
 mamma angry, though she is so very, very much afraid 
 of her. And now I really do declare Nellie has left 
 that window open, and she could have shut it quite 
 easily from the outside ! But she has forgotten it ; 
 she is always forgetting everything now — not that she 
 ever had a good memory. Dear me, dear me, it really 
 is most provoking ! for there I must get up and shut 
 that window, or grandpapa and papa and I myself will 
 certainly catch cold. Such a bother ! " she thought, as 
 she laid down her crewel-work on the table and care- 
 fully placed each different coloured skein of wool by 
 itself. " Such a bother ! I do wish Nellie was as 
 sensible as I am ! And she will cry her eyes out 
 when mamma scolds her for catching cold." 
 
 The one field belonging to the rectory was only 
 separated from the few bushes and little enclosure 
 round the house by a ditch and grass bank. The 
 
 VOL. L I
 
 130 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 open field climbed steeply up the hillside to the Look- 
 out. At its highest point it touched the wall of the 
 semaphore and cottage, and then fell suddenly down- 
 wards, skirting that little narrow strip of sheltered 
 tamarisk-bushes under the lee side of the cliff and 
 semaphore, which the Admiral called his shrubbery. 
 
 The night air had been freshened by the evening's 
 dew ; it was cool and pleasant to a fevered brow. 
 And the stillness of the white unclouded moonlight 
 was calmly soothing. 
 
 " I will climb the hill," thought Xellie, " until I see 
 the moon upon the water. I cannot see it here." 
 
 And when she had gone some w^y farther up — " I 
 can see it a little now, but if I climb still higher I 
 shall see the moon shiningj over the haven's mouth 
 and out to sea." On she went faster and faster. 
 Suddenly she stopped. She started at her own long 
 shadow, for it was so tall, it might have been a 
 man's. 
 
 " I thought . . ." She stood quite still. Then in 
 terror asked herself, " Where am I really going ? . . . 
 I know. I did not know till this moment ; but I 
 know now. I know whom it is I hope to meet ! " 
 
 She ran a few steps down the hill ; then stopped 
 again ; then looked back at the cottage, which was 
 so near, its shadow almost touched her feet. " How 
 near, how near I am to Charlie ! Yes ; he is in 
 there. He is close by." 
 
 All sounds were sleeping in the moonlight, and so 
 still ^vas it that she could hear her own quick breath-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 131 
 
 ing and the rustling of her dress. " I am very near to 
 him," she thought ; " and all is still — most strangely 
 still ! much stiller than by day. He ... he could 
 hear me if I called." She went a few steps nearer. 
 "Yes, Charlie could hear — he could hear me if I 
 called ! And we might say good-bye — ^just one, one 
 short good-bye ! for we were cowards not to have 
 said a last good-bye ! And the time may be so long, 
 so long before we meet again 1 I feel that I now 
 could say good-bye to him without a tear ; and it was 
 my tears, it was only my weak tears he dreaded. If 
 he had not feared them, we might have said a last 
 good-bye." 
 
 She listened ; and when we listen in the nidit, the 
 stillness seems to deepen. " There is no sound, only 
 the moan of the far-off sea. Certainly he would hear 
 ,me now ... he would hear ! . . . Charlie ! " she cried 
 aloud with sudden, daring courage. And then she heard 
 her own voice echoing with terrifying clearness in the 
 silence of the night — that awful silence when all 
 seems dead but our own soul, which lives with an in- 
 tensity of life we never feel by day. Terror-struck, 
 she listened motionless, like a ghost, to a voice that 
 was too real, too human, to have been her own. 
 
 What was that sound ? There was a sound ! 
 " Where can I run to ? Where can I hide ? There 
 is no shadow in the open field but mine." And so, 
 like a frightened bird that flies into the danger 
 it would escape, she sought quick shelter in the 
 shadow of the cottage ; then felt afraid to be so near
 
 132 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 to Charlie ; and listening, she thought she heard the 
 sound again ; and she crept with a beating heart over 
 the low bank where it was still in shade, and then 
 along the ditch under the wall of the semaphore, till 
 she found a gap leading into the Admiral's shrubbery. 
 She knew now where she would hide. At first she 
 had meant only to skirt the shrubbery, and then 
 follow the dry ditch under the grass bank, for it went 
 all round the field, and would soon have taken her 
 home. But now she thouo-ht she would go to the 
 
 o o 
 
 rustic seat which overlooked the cliff underneath the 
 semaphore and at the other side of the little grove : 
 she would have all the darkness of those bushes like 
 a black cloak between her and Charlie, and she would 
 wait there a little just to listen once again and know 
 if she had really heard a sound or not. If she waited 
 there a short time — it need only be a few minutes — 
 Charlie would have gone in again, — if he had come 
 out ! That is what she really wished to know — if he 
 had ever come out ! If he had, he would soon go 
 in when he could see no one ; and then she could 
 walk home across the open field, for she had felt 
 frightened in that dark ditch ; there might be some 
 one hidden there. A robber ! a murderer lying in 
 wait to do some horrid deed ! At this thought, she 
 felt afraid even of the tamarisk-bushes around her. 
 She looked ; she thought they moved ! and flew along 
 the short path to the small open space on the cliff- 
 side beyond. As she ran, she heard quick footsteps 
 running amongst the moving bushes, for indeed they
 
 POOR NELLIE. 133 
 
 moved ! She stopped and turned cold in terror of 
 those footsteps that were behind her. She listened 
 eagerly. They too had stopped. 
 
 The footsteps must have been her own ; and yet 
 she was afraid to walk on again, though she was no 
 longer amongst the bushes, but out beyond them in 
 the open moonlight. At last she took heart, for she 
 felt, if only she could reach that seat, she might sit 
 quite quiet till all her courage came back to her 
 again, as the rustic bench was at least some ten yards 
 distant from the horrid darkness of the tamarisk 
 grove. So she walked a few steps forward ; then 
 stopped ; then walked again ; then stopped once more, 
 so as to make quite, quite sure there were no footsteps 
 in that wood and only hers beyond. 
 
 The black bushes were on her right side, and the 
 water and the moonlight on her left, as she went 
 those halting steps up the cliff. The moon, which 
 lighted the sky above and made the stars turn pale, 
 fell like a single silver streak upon the water ; and 
 Nellie saw a fishing-boat sail across the moonbeam, 
 like a spirit born out of the shade to live a little 
 while in light, and die into the shade again. 
 
 " The moonlight lies only on one long ripple of the 
 water, and there is shadow at each side," thought 
 Nellie, for she had been in much blindness towards 
 nature until now. " I am looking up the full light 
 here, but when I get to the rustic bench, I shall look 
 into the shadow." Then, as she moved, she saw the 
 light move on the water ; she stopped, and it stoj^ped
 
 134 POOPt NELLIE. 
 
 too ; and she was filled with awe, for it was as if the 
 eye of God were looking out of heaven across the 
 water to follow her own soul on earth — not every 
 man's and every woman's, but only her own soul. 
 
 Having reached the rustic seat, she sat very still in 
 the moonlight : it no longer moved, but rested calmly 
 before her across the haven and out on the distant 
 sea ; and the awe of the dread feeling was upon her 
 mind. 
 
 Oh how beautiful, how beautiful, like a still vision 
 of heaven, is the moonlioht dreaming on the water ! 
 Its dream is holy, and most touching in its peace ! 
 The stillness is like placid death when the anguish of 
 the last farewell is past ; and so pale, so cold, so mov- 
 ing to our soul is it, like death. 
 
 As ISTellie, wrapped in feeling more than thought, 
 sat gazing out to sea and up to heaven, a tall figure 
 stood where the path broke from the dark bushes 
 into the moonlight. The young man watched her. 
 He was irresolute ; he moved and seemed to go ; he 
 turned, and again he watched her ; he stood very still 
 and watched her. Then once more he turned to go, 
 and there was a slight rustling in the silence of the 
 night. 
 
 Eleanour started up with a loud cry, but, having 
 stared an anxious moment, exclaimed calmly enough, 
 " Oh, George, how you did frighten me ! You fright- 
 ened me most dreadfully ! I never, never dreamt it 
 could be you." And she was coming towards him, 
 quietly picking her footsteps down the cliff, and think-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 135 
 
 ing as she came, " Perhaps the fishing-boat I saw sail- 
 ing over the moonbeam and out to sea had landed 
 George down in Bluehaven on the pier ; and now he 
 is going home by the short path up the cliff and 
 through the shrubbery, I will walk with him through 
 the darkness of the grove, for I am afraid to go alone." 
 
 She was getting very near to him, when she stopped 
 and called out in a trembling voice, " George, George, 
 don't stand in that half shadow ! Come quite out 
 into the light, or you will frighten me again, though 
 I know those are your coat and hat ! I know they 
 
 are not " The figure stood quite still. Suddenly 
 
 she started back and gave another -cry, " Charlie ! " 
 
 He walked rapidly forwards. They all but met. 
 Just touching her — and she had felt his touch — he 
 drew coldly back. " Oh, Xellie, Xellie ! " he said ; 
 and there was reproach in his voice. 
 
 Her heart stood still. It was as if she had met the 
 spirit of her lost love in the pale light beyond the 
 grave, and found him sad, unreal, and strange. It 
 seemed as if she could not be on earth, but must 
 have died and met him cold in death before her own 
 heart was as cold, as dead as his. 
 
 She bowed her head and clasped her hands. Then, 
 motionless, she looked, standing out in the moonlight 
 with the pale water beyond her, like a white statue 
 mourning on the cliff in tearless woe for the lovers 
 lost at sea. 
 
 Charlie kept far from her, and she had turned to 
 stone.
 
 136 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 At last he whispered in an odd, changed voice, 
 and the whisper was heard in the great stillness, 
 " You called me, Nellie." 
 
 It is said life comes back to the drowning man, not 
 as a pleasant joy, but like a rushing pain in every 
 vein, and such were these words to Nellie ; they made 
 her live to painful shame. 
 
 " You heard me, Charlie ! " she said ; and it was 
 she who now turned away from him. 
 
 Once more he seemed irresolute whether to go or 
 stay. But she thought she heard his footsteps leaving 
 her, and suddenly she raised her head, looked round, 
 forgot all else, and, with outstretched hands, she cried, 
 " I called you, Charlie, to say a last good-bye ; I can 
 say it now without a tear." 
 
 He came to meet her stretched-out hands, because 
 they moved him more than he could bear ; it was not 
 coldness kept him far from her, but a sort of fear. 
 When their hands had met, he gently said to her, as 
 if he thought he had been cruel, " Why, Nellie, it was 
 you who said, ' No, no, we will not say good-bye, for 
 fear we should not meet again.' You said this, Nell — 
 you did indeed, dear Nell ! and I felt that you were 
 right." 
 
 His kind voice thrilled her as his touch had done. 
 She could not speak, but trembling, stood before him 
 with a hand in each of his and downcast eyes. Her 
 silence moved him as if it had been touching speech. 
 " Dear Nell, we shall soon meet again," he said. 
 
 The drooping lids still veiled her eyes, but her
 
 POOR NELLIE. 137 
 
 voice came back to her with the sound of stiiled tears 
 in it. 
 
 " Often and often when people part," she said, 
 " they never meet again." Then driving back her 
 tears with one great effort, cried, '- So good-bye, 
 Charlie, good-bye, good-bye ! " But the strain was 
 too much for her weakness, and a loud sob over- 
 mastered her. Charlie was powerfully shaken by her 
 grief ; he was moved just as he had feared to be. 
 
 The sobbing Xellie could hardly stand, so he put 
 his arm around her to support her, and she, following 
 as she was ever wont to do, the stronej feelinfj of the 
 moment and none other, laid her pretty head upon 
 his shoulder. Then he bent towards her, softly com- 
 forting her and saying kind words more tender than 
 he had ever meant to say. The passion he felt within 
 her, and once had dreaded, was now arousing a like 
 passion in himself. 
 
 At last Xellie sobbed no more. She was quite 
 stilled by some new feeling, and he was stilled like 
 her. There was solemn silence all around them in 
 the moonlight. Nellie softly moved. She raised her 
 pathetic eyes to his with such a longing in them that 
 he yielded to the wish in her heart as if he had never 
 foucjht acrainst the desire in his own. He bent a 
 little lower, and kissed her fair young forehead ; and 
 having kissed it once, he passionately kissed it twice 
 again. 
 
 Then hand in hand, without another word, they 
 walked through the shadow of the little wood.
 
 138 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 When they came to the gap leading out into the 
 open field, Nellie suddenly remembered George, then 
 remembered Adela, and the servants who might be 
 watching her, and felt as if the very night were full of 
 eyes. She hastily drew her hand away from Charlie's. 
 He stood still and looked at her. " Nellie," he said, 
 and his changed voice was rather stern, " we have 
 walked hand in hand through the darkness of the wood, 
 and so we will walk in that same way in the light." 
 
 And he took her trembling hand in his. She did 
 not dare to say to him, " Let us go round in the shadow 
 of the ditch." 
 
 Charlie went boldly into the open field, where it 
 was as light as day. The whole world might see them. 
 
 They again walked on in silence. From time to 
 time she felt him look at her, and when he looked, 
 Nellie remembered it was that very day, only a few 
 hours ago, he had called her a coward. 
 
 There was a sort of remorse in Charlie's heart as 
 he gazed at the beautiful young girl beside him. She 
 looked to him, in the weird pallor of the moonlight, 
 like an angel come down to earth ; and he was sorry 
 that his lips had ever touched what was to him a 
 holy thing not really his to touch. He felt wounded 
 by his own act, in that romantically high and chival- 
 rous sense of honour on which he prided himself. 
 Neither Charles Crofton nor his father were quite 
 like all other ordinary men ; there was a very holy 
 spirit in both their hearts. 
 
 Self-reproach made Charlie a little stern and even
 
 POOR NELLIE. 139 
 
 cold when he said what was really the last good-bye 
 to Nellie. He frightened her ; she wished to heaven 
 they had parted in the tamarisk grove before he had 
 changed to her ; and never, never could she forget the 
 cold pang of that moment ! 
 
 Charlie did not stand in the shade of the bushes 
 inside the rector's garden, but right out in the full 
 moonlight, and he said his cold good-bye and quickly 
 turned to go, then turned back again. Nellie's heart 
 leapt within her ; but he did not come near to her, and 
 only said in that altered voice of his, " Should they 
 ask you if you were alone, say that I was with you. 
 If they have seen me, but are not sure, say it was 
 really me they saw ; not George or anybody else, but 
 me." To this he added peremptorily, " Go in, Nellie ; 
 it is late — too late for you." 
 
 Chilled to the heart, and feeling vaguely guilty, 
 Nellie stood by the low window-sill, feebly trying to 
 lift the sash noiselessly, for she feared to wake 
 the stillness which was inside. Charlie stood on the 
 grass-bank and watched her. Suddenly, in one bound, 
 he was by her side. He threw up the window, and 
 Nellie turned faint at the loud creak it gave. Charles 
 Crofton went boldly in. 
 
 He awoke the good Bishop from a very sound 
 sleep, for the soft relaxing climate of Bluehaven, and 
 perhaps, too, the hazy atmosphere of the excellent 
 Thomas's mind, undoubtedly made the Bishop much 
 drowsier than he was wont to be in the more bracing 
 and controversially exciting air of his own diocese.
 
 140 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 The dozing Thomas also returned, but after his own 
 dreamy fashion, to the doubtful realities of life. When 
 occupied with one of his temperance lectures, or with 
 the speech he intended to make in Parliament, Thomas 
 was apt to be very absent-minded indeed. He now 
 seemed quite unaware he had been dozing, and sitting 
 up, instantly began reading out from the manuscript 
 he still held in his hand. He was dimly conscious 
 of having missed a line or two, but not enough so to 
 stop and consider the matter. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Charlie, and his voice interrupted 
 Mr Newsham. " I am off the first thino; to-morrow 
 morning, long before any of you are up." 
 
 " Ah ! Good-bye, my dear boy, good-bye," said the 
 kind old Bishop, waking up sufficiently to give him 
 a very cordial invitation to spend the Christmas holi- 
 days at the palace. Then, as if waking up entirely 
 — " I am afraid you had rather a dull evening of it, 
 Charlie ; for now I really do declare I have been fast 
 asleep ; " and he laughed at the astonishing discov- 
 ery. " And I wonder, Thomas," said he, slyly, " if 
 you have been dozing a little, too ? Eh ? — eh ? I 
 hardly think you can have been reading to me all 
 the time." 
 
 But Thomas evidently thought he had. " I have 
 nearly finished now," he answered, gravely ; and then 
 turning, in that curiously open-eyed, yet really sight- 
 less, absent way of his, to Charlie, he said very seriously, 
 " Charlie, as you have heard so much, I wish you would 
 just stay and hear the end. The end is the most im-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 141 
 
 pressive part." He looked down rather less absently 
 at the written lecture. " Yes, yes, yes " — he often 
 said, Yes, yes, yes. " Yes, yes, yes ; I am quite right 
 — yes, yes. The end is the most impressive part ; for 
 I have kept that story of the man who killed his six 
 
 children, and " He looked down again. " Yes, 
 
 yes, he did kill his wife too. I thought so ; but I 
 like to be quite accurate — quite accurate. He killed 
 her and the children and himself in a fit of delirium 
 tremens!' 
 
 It was perfectly clear that both Thomas and the 
 Bishop were under the impression Charlie had spent 
 the evening at the rectory just the same as usual. 
 Nellie took heart. She had slunk in behind Charlie 
 unobserved. Her absence had been quite unnoticed 
 by the two dozing old gentlemen. And as to Adela, 
 her whole mind now was taken up with the disagree- 
 able thoudit, " Is George comin^? too ? " For she had 
 got a start when Charlie appeared at the window, still 
 wearincj George's hat and coat. 
 
 Thomas, shaking his head, kept repeating absently, 
 " Yes, yes, he did kill them all — yes, yes, yes." 
 
 The Bishop was ya^yning. Thomas seemed, of a 
 sudden, to be almost really awake. " Octavius," he 
 said. He frequently called his father-in-law by his 
 Christian name, especially when in an absent mood, 
 for he had done so in the intimacy of old days, when 
 the Canon was Picctor of Yellowmead and Clara still 
 seemed a young child. " Octavius, if you would only 
 follow my example, and join the total abstainers, your
 
 142 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 sphere of usefulness would be much larger than mine. 
 A noble field ! Yes, yes, yes — a noble field of use- 
 fulness ! And," he added, getting much more lively, 
 — " and if you took the pledge. Bishop, publicly in your 
 own cathedral — yes, yes, that would be the place — in 
 your own cathedral, right in the face, perhaps in the 
 teeth, of your whole diocese, you could insist on all 
 your clergy doing the same. You would have the 
 right to insist then — yes, you would have the right." 
 Thomas waxed eloquent. " All your clergy — yes, yes, 
 all would be forced to take the pledge. In every 
 parish you would have one total abstainer, and in 
 most the curate and the whole rectory too. Your 
 clergy could not refuse — no, no, they could not — no, 
 no, no. What a glorious, glorious prospect for the 
 diocese. Bishop ! " Thomas was quite enthusiastic. 
 " And you are such a very moderate man, Octavius, 
 that you might just as well take the pledge as not, for 
 you live almost as if you had taken it — yes, yes, you 
 do. And that is what provokes me ! " he exclaimed, 
 warmly — " that's what provokes me ! " 
 
 The Bishop always brightened to a discussion. He 
 gave Thomas some quiet, sensible reasons for not tak- 
 ing the pledge himself in his own cathedral, and very 
 cogent ones for not insisting, like a tyrannical school- 
 master, on all his clergy becoming total abstainers. 
 The great majority of the bishops of the Church of 
 England have not hitherto been wanting in common- 
 sense. It is to be hoped that, with advancing litur- 
 gies and ideas, and new crosiers and new clothes, they
 
 POOR NELLIE. 143 
 
 will not cast away common-sense as too vulgar and 
 too Englisli for the road to Rome. 
 
 "And, Thomas," said the Bishop reverently, in a 
 lower tone — he pushed his chair nearer to his adver- 
 sary's — " and, Thomas, I cannot forget that the first 
 miracle performed on earth by my Lord and Master 
 was the turning of water into good wine — ay, and 
 when the guests had already partaken of some other 
 sort of wine. There was once a moment — I will allow 
 it — when horror of the wicked drinking there is 
 amongst a certain number — yet only a certain number 
 — of English men and women made me wish to forget 
 this fact. But it is my duty to remember it — my 
 bounden, sacred duty to remember that, in moderation 
 — that is the point — in moderation " — he laid great 
 stress on the word — " in moderation, wine has not 
 been forbidden to man. And who am I that I should 
 dare to call a sin what my Saviour made no sin ? 
 Who am I that I should stand forth at the marriage 
 feast and say to my Lord and Master, You did wrong 
 to turn the water into wine ? " 
 
 Thomas shook his head angrily and gave an irritable 
 wave of his hand. But the Bishop, dropping his 
 voice still lower, went on : " Thomas, it was not water, 
 it was wine the Lord consecrated with bread at the 
 Last Supper." Mr Newsham's nervous agitation of man- 
 ner increased, and he was going to speak. However, 
 the Bisltop, as if a new idea were striking him, gave a 
 quiet sort of smile — it was really a very harmless 
 little one, and more like a soft ray of benevolence on
 
 U4 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 the good man's simple kindly face than a real smile, 
 yet somehow it irritated Thomas. The Bishop, slightly 
 raising his voice, said : " St Paul," — now was it not 
 only natural that the divine who was always writing 
 so much and so ably about St Paul, should smile in a 
 kind of fatherly, lo\dng way when he mentioned his 
 chosen apostle ? — '' if I mistake not " — as if the good 
 Bishop could be mistaken about St Paul ! — " Thomas, 
 if I mistake not, St Paul, in his Epistle to Timothy, 
 actually went so far as to write, ' Drink no longer 
 
 water, but use a little wine ' " 
 
 The Bishop was not allowed to finish the quotation. 
 With a look of triumph in his large, now glittering 
 eyes, and a kind of eager, childlike delight, Thomas 
 exclaimed, as if clinching the argument for ever and for 
 ever, " Yes, yes I Drink a little wine ! and why, why ? 
 ' For thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.' 
 Yes, yes, yes ! ' for thy stomach's sake and thine often 
 infirmities,' " he repeated excitedly in a state of really 
 glorious elation. " And, Bishop, you never seem to be 
 aware that we, ice permit wine for infirmities and the 
 stomach's sake. Like St Paul, we can permit it for 
 the stomach's sake. If yoic had taken our pledge, and 
 taken it even in your own cathedral — yes, yes, yes ! 
 in your own cathedral ! " How Thomas loved that 
 brilliant idea of his own invention ! " Wliy, Bishop, 
 if you had actually taken our pledge, and even taken 
 it openly before your whole diocese in your own 
 cathedral, you would still be allowed to take wine 
 for your stomach's sake." Thomas was very trium-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 145 
 
 phant. " We should permit a doctor to order you 
 
 wine if you were ill " he hesitated, and added, 
 
 "seriously ill, as Timothy must have been. I am 
 sure Timothy was very, very seriously ill. So if you 
 were seriously ill, any doctor might order you wine. 
 A doctor might even order me wine " — another pause 
 — "though I wouldn't take it!" he avowed, for he 
 was a very truthful man. " But, Bishop, Dr Fozzle 
 could order you wine to-morrow if you had taken our 
 pledge. He could order it to you just as St Paul 
 ordered it to Timothy — for his infirmities. Mark 
 this ! for his often infirmities and his stomach's sake. 
 St Paul wrote that just as a doctor might write a pre- 
 scription to-day, and our pledge would not have stood 
 in St Paul's way. Xo, no, no ! it would not ; for St 
 Paul wrote as a doctor." 
 
 " Yet," remarked the Bishop, " St Paul was no 
 physician like St Luke. I doubt," he added reflec- 
 tively, and speaking more to his own speculative theo- 
 logical self than to Thomas — " I doubt if St Luke, 
 being a physician, would have ordered wine to the 
 sick in the exciting climate of the East." The Bishop 
 was very learned on the climate of the East, as it 
 must have been in the old days, and is now. "It 
 was not St Luke, but St Paul, and he was no physi- 
 cian, who told Timothy to take wine." 
 
 But Thomas was getting very absent-minded again, 
 and not really listening at all. " Yes, yes, yes ! take 
 a little wine, Timothy, for thy stomach's sake," he 
 was repeating — " for thy stomach's sake and thine often 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 146 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 infirmities. Exactly, exactly ! " He kept musing 
 aloud on the idea, "thy stomach's sake and thine 
 often — yes, yes, yes ! thine often infirmities." 
 
 Thomas was an enthusiast, absolutely without the 
 sense of the ridiculous. But the Bishop had a per- 
 ception of the humorous ; and Timothy's often infirmi- 
 ties and his stomach's sake, his stomach's sake, which 
 was becoming quite an absent trick of repetition with 
 the excellent Thomas, struck the Eight Eeverend 
 mind as being uncomfortably funny. The Bishop 
 glanced quickly, nervously round the room. He 
 wished to be very grave, but felt as if he were going 
 to be seized with laughter then and there before the 
 young people, whose presence he had for a moment 
 forgotten, and vividly remembered now. They had 
 surely been listening to the discussion and had heard 
 the quotation of Holy Scripture, and the Bishop much 
 desired to set them an example of reverent demeanour. 
 For the first, and perhaps only, time in his life, he felt 
 relieved to see the congregation was paying no atten- 
 tion whatever to him or his words. I say congregation^ 
 because I think a Bishop, and even a rector of a 
 certain standing, if he is talking wisely and two or 
 three people are in the room, does feel, from long 
 habit, that they must be a sort of congregation neces- 
 sarily hanging on his words. 
 
 Charlie was in the very act of going away. He 
 had one foot on the low sill of the window in the 
 adjoining room — the window by which he had entered. 
 Adela's hand was on his arm detaining him — she
 
 POOE NELLIE. 147 
 
 appeared to be pressing him to take a woollen com- 
 forter, which he seemed to be rather irritably refusing. 
 
 Eleanour was standing perfectly still in the low 
 archway dividing the two rooms — if, indeed, that could 
 be called a division which really was none. 
 
 Xellie alone, from her attitude, might have been 
 listening ; but her face, as the Bishop saw, was turned 
 away from him and not towards him, and when he 
 spoke she started round with a scared look. The 
 moonlight filled that room, and the Bishop thought it 
 was the pale moonlight which made her face seem 
 white and stony. 
 
 The Bishop's kind heart smote him — "Charlie," he 
 called out hastily, rising from his chair with out- 
 stretched hand — " Charlie, you are off ! and whilst we 
 two elderly people have been arguing, we had almost 
 let you go without a word. But, my dear boy, must 
 you really start so very early to-morrow morning ?" 
 Charlie stepped down, but did not move to meet the 
 Bishop, who was coming across the room towards him. 
 He kept standing by the open window. Had he 
 walked even a few steps forward, he w^ould have been 
 quite close to Xellie. 
 
 " Harper says we must leave the very first thing in 
 the morning?, as soon as ever it is lis^lit," said Charlie 
 quietly, but to Xellie's ear he spoke in his hard and 
 altered voice. " Harper says one of the carriage- springs 
 is half broken, and he has settled w4th the coachmaker 
 near the station to have it put right before Mrs Xew- 
 sham's train arrives. ^Irs Newsham is to come at
 
 148 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 two o'clock, and Harper says she must not be kept a 
 minute waiting." 
 
 o 
 
 At the mention of his wife's name, Thomas looked 
 up, then looked about him, and by the time Charlie 
 had finished speaking, he was clearly returning from 
 Timothy's often infirmities to the realities of present 
 life. " Yes, yes, yes ! " he began ; and then getting 
 still more awake, said seriously, as if suddenly much 
 concerned, " Charlie, you must not keep her waiting, 
 
 and George George ? Why " looking about 
 
 again, " George ? George is not here. He is gone !" 
 And he seemed much surprised, then said anxiously, 
 " But George won't keep her waiting ;" then coax- 
 ingly, " Charlie, I can depend on you — yes, yes, yes ! 
 I can depend on you to be in time ; and on George — 
 on George too ! Good boys ! good boys ! " he exclaimed 
 reflectively, beginning to get a little absent again. 
 
 " George has not been here this evening," said the 
 Bishop, though, if the truth be told, what between 
 dozing and arguing, he had only just realised the fact. 
 " But I am sure he will come down to say good-bye. 
 Why, here he is coming now, I declare ! " he said, 
 looking through the window up across the open field 
 towards the semaphore. 
 
 Adela did not even stop to look. In a moment she 
 was gone ! Her departure was unnoticed. JSTellie saw 
 no one but Charlie, and listened to no voice but his. 
 She was trying to bear, in tearless silence, the deadly 
 chill of the parting which at last had been so cold, 
 and was not really ended yet, for still while he stayed
 
 POOH NELLIE. 149 
 
 the pain of the long parting lingered on. She felt an 
 oppressive suffocation of all joy, like the trance of 
 nightmare when the pleasant dream has Hed. 
 
 Charlie was looking out for George at the window 
 with the Bishop. 
 
 Thomas was getting up from his chair and coming 
 to look also. " George ? He must not keep Clara 
 waiting. No, no, no ! he must not keep her waiting." 
 
 " But George is not there," said Charlie ; " and I 
 know he does not mean to come. He has been out 
 fishing with young Tom Bracer, and he is packing 
 now. He told me to say good-bye for him to you, 
 my lord, and to you, Mr jSTewsham." 
 
 The Bishop had rubbed his glasses and had put them 
 on. " Is . . . is it possible ?" he exclaimed. "Why, I 
 do believe it is the Admiral's flagstaff I have mistaken 
 for George ! " And the Bishop laughed much, but in 
 his own mild way, at this. 
 
 The joke had to be explained by Charlie to Mr 
 Newsham. When the hazy Thomas finally understood 
 it, he laughed with all his heart, and laughed and 
 laughed again. Thomas was like many worthy people 
 who have no constant sense of the ridiculous : if a 
 joke, even the very smallest one, did by accident get 
 inside him, it made a curious and a long commotion 
 there. 
 
 So it was in the midst of laughter tliat Charlie said 
 good-bye to the Bishop and Mr Newsham. He had 
 to walk a few steps forward in order to shake hands 
 with Thomas, who stood in one place and laughed.
 
 150 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 He came very near to Nellie then. Her heart 
 stopped beating. As death is the outcome of a living 
 agony, so there is a deadly coldness following too much 
 intensity of life. 'No marble ever looked more cold 
 than Nellie. He just touched her hand ; — it was 
 like ice. 
 
 "I have been cold to her. I was first cold to her; 
 now she is cold to me." And Charlie went away with 
 a chilled heart. 
 
 Thomas and the Bishop, still laughing each after his 
 own fashion, went back to the two arm-chairs. Nellie 
 stood motionless in the low doorway and saw Charlie 
 o-o, and saw him stand on the grass-bank and look 
 back. And then she saw him stop in the open field, 
 where she knew he could see into the house and see 
 her still ; and again he looked back, but she gave no 
 sio-n of life.
 
 PART II.
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Perfect matclimaking requires experience and prac- 
 tice, particularly practice. Great natural aptitude, 
 though absolutely necessary, is not alone sufficient for 
 so intricate an art. Clara was forced to acknowledge 
 this, and felt she had perhaps a little — just a little — 
 overdone her part of being against that match between 
 George and Adela. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert was very ill. His life was in danger. 
 Clara softened her tactics, and turned from the angry 
 mother into the sympathetic one forced against her will 
 to open Adela's young eyes. She ceased to scold her 
 daughter, and explained to her quite tenderly the real 
 meaning of George's odd behaviour. He was cold, she 
 said, because he feared to be too warm, for a very young 
 man is shy of betraying his love, and invariably seems 
 to avoid the girl he admires. Clara told Adela plainly 
 that George was in love with her. Plain-speaking was 
 necessary with Adela, because she really could not take 
 a hint. 
 
 '• From what you tell me, Adela," said Clara, " George 
 avoided you in the most marked manner at Bluehaven.
 
 154 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 ^o open attentions could have had a clearer meaning. 
 Had he paid you open attention, I should have thought 
 nothing of his conduct. I should have considered the 
 whole matter as a little silly boyish flirtation not worth a 
 moment's thought. But it is George's marked avoidance 
 of you, Adela, which shows conclusively that he is in 
 love with you. He liked you so much, my dear, that 
 he was afraid to speak to you ; and what proves it is 
 that he never avoided Nellie. Why should he not have 
 treated you exactly as he treated Nellie ? " 
 
 " ISTellie is not grown up," promptly replied Adela. 
 
 Clara was rather taken aback by this answer. There 
 was a prompt decision about Adela which annoyed her 
 very much at times. As yet she had not found it the 
 very easy task she had expected to make Adela believe 
 George was in love with her at Bluehaven, " though 
 very likely without his knowing it," she had prudently 
 added. It was much easier to make Adela fancy she 
 must be in love with George than George with her, 
 because the poor child had been made to feel so awk- 
 ward and uncomfortable and unlike her stolid self in 
 George's presence, that the curious feeling did require 
 some explanation. But Adela's imagination was slow, 
 and Clara soon saw her heart could not be made to 
 take fire, as many a girl's has done, through the power 
 of the imagination. 
 
 However, little difficulties only brightened Mrs 
 Newsham's mind. This extremely clever woman was 
 by no means wanting in resource ; and so, finding 
 Adela's heart and imagination were torpid, she touched
 
 POOR NELLIE. 155 
 
 her vanity. That chord, so sensitive in woman, vi- 
 brated to her hand with a throbbing life startling in a 
 dull girl like Adela. 
 
 From that moment Clara felt she could do what she 
 liked with her daughter. 
 
 It was very pleasant to the young girl to be told 
 she was pretty — so pretty that it was from her fair 
 face the abashed George had run away, though it made 
 her blush to hear this, and even to think of it. When 
 quite alone with locked door, she shyly smiled back at 
 the smiling, blushing maiden she saw in the looking- 
 fjlass, and now liked to watch in more attitudes than 
 one. Adela had always been pleasantly satisfied with 
 her own appearance, just as she had been with every- 
 thing else belonging to her. She had always been sure 
 she was good and very sensible, and quite as clever as 
 any one need ever wish to be. 
 
 All Adela's talent was of the practical sort, and that 
 is the one kind which makes people happy, for it 
 easily brings them perfect satisfaction. A practical 
 housewife can be the best satisfied woman on earth. 
 And I can well imagine a carpenter — especially an 
 amateur carpenter, as he would feel cleverer than a 
 real one — absolutely content with life. A chest of 
 drawers is a finished work which can be perfect in its 
 way. You will nearly always see persons of practical 
 talent cheerfully well satisfied — the vanity within 
 them, as within us all, seems pleased, and they are 
 quite happily conceited. Intellectual talent, especially 
 the imaginative or artistic, has but meagre satisfaction
 
 156 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 in it unless there be so little as scarcely to deserve the 
 name, or so much that it can reach .to the power and 
 full satisfaction of genius. But genius is a name men 
 take in vain ; it hardly does exist on earth ; so rare is 
 it that it should not be taken into account. I think it 
 a terribly sad fact that there is no satisfaction for the 
 soul — no sense of perfection, even touched afar with 
 outstretched hand, like the hem of the divine garment 
 grasped one instant in a lifetime — for those whose 
 talent is more than just a little, and yet not half, not 
 half enough ! For them there can be no abiding joy. 
 
 Practical persons undervalue, and, as a rule, dislike 
 the imaginative artistic ones ; and these, on their part, 
 are apt to underrate the practical people. But it is 
 they who are the least wise, for they are the least 
 happy. They should envy, not despise, the sort of 
 talent which can alone give solid restful satisfaction. 
 
 Adela was created to be a really happy woman : 
 fair to look upon ; untroubled by passionate desire of 
 heart or mind ; placid of temper, unless her feet were 
 wet, or she was unjustly made to feel silly, or else was 
 disturbed in the usual round of her orderly habits. 
 She took pleasure in small things, never seeing they 
 were not great. She loved method for its own sake, 
 just as she seemed to like the piano because she prac- 
 tised on it regularly for two hours a-day. She was the 
 most conscientious of pianoforte players, and by dint of 
 perseverance could read quite tolerably at sight. Miss 
 Smith used to say it was never necessary to tell her to 
 practise her exercises. And indeed it was not ! It
 
 POOR NELLIE. 157 
 
 irritated Xellie to hear her, just as it annoyed her 
 to hear Xellie play. She had snubbed Eleanour into 
 shyness about her music, for Adela could snub you as 
 a white fog can chill. She herself had not talent 
 enough either for music or art to know she had none. 
 Twice a -week — on "Wednesday and Saturday — she 
 drew for exactly one hour and a half, and was pleas- 
 antly satisfied with her own copies of Miss Smith's 
 water-colour landscapes. Miss Smith liked them too, 
 though she did not consider them as good as the origi- 
 nals ; but she highly commended her pupil as " most 
 painstaking." 
 
 Adela had many excellent qualities. She was truth- 
 ful and honourable, and had a much keener sense of 
 right and wrong than poor Nellie — she could always 
 see quite clearly what was wrong. It was really sur- 
 prising what good principles she had. She must have 
 inherited them by instinct from her father ; but it could 
 only have been by instinct, because Thomas was so 
 hazy that even his virtues were absent-minded — 
 though, I will allow, it was wonderful how the good 
 in Thomas managed to come out as clearly as it did, for 
 undoubtedly the clearest thing about Thomas was that 
 he was really good and honourable and kind-hearted, 
 so he must have had excellent principles somewhere. 
 
 Clara had never been much with Adela until now, 
 for she had seen very little of her children. As yet 
 she was only feeling her way into her daughter's char- 
 acter, and every now and then she would be non- 
 plussed by one of Adela's clear ideas of right and wrong.
 
 158 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Tlie mother, rightly understanding her daughter to 
 be pre-eminently practical, did not pretend that, in 
 relenting towards this love-match between Adela and 
 George, she was promoting romance in a penniless 
 cottage. As roundabout hints were of no earthly use 
 with Adela, Clara told her plainly that George would 
 be very w^ell off. She was quite right in thinking 
 Adela had no romantic notions of love and poverty, 
 and would have disliked the idea of marrying George 
 if she could not live in a nice house and place. Adela 
 always intended to live in a place like Eastcourt — 
 indeed, it had never struck her George could be poor 
 when he was quite grown up. She knew boys at 
 school were never rich. 
 
 " AVhat is the name of George's place, mamma ? " 
 she asked. " I hope the grounds are large. And is 
 there a nice house like this one ? " 
 
 " Adela, you don't understand," said Clara quickly. 
 " Do not talk of George's ' place ' like that. People 
 would think it so odd if they heard you. George will 
 not get Crofton Place till his uncle Sir Cuthbert dies. 
 When Sir Cuthbert dies, George will inherit it and the 
 fortune." 
 
 Adela thought for a moment ; then she said slow- 
 ly, " If Sir Cuthbert did not die, would George be 
 poor ? " 
 
 " Sir Cuthbert certainly will die," said Clara 
 shortly ; " he is dying now." 
 
 " Dying now ? " repeated the young girl, turning 
 rather pale. " But, oh ! may not he get better ? "
 
 POOR NELLIE. 159 
 
 " No, no ! " cried Clara impatiently, rather misun- 
 derstanding Adela's feeling. 
 
 " Do you want him to die ? " said Adela suddenly, 
 with a look of horror. " That would be wicked." 
 
 " How dare you speak to me like this, Adela ? How 
 dare you ? " exclaimed Clara, in that voice of hers 
 which made her children tremble, and always seemed 
 to put her in the right and them in the wrong. " You 
 know perfectly well, Adela, I wisli nothing of the sort." 
 
 The girl was frightened at herself. How could she 
 ever have said what she had said ? She was awestruck 
 and silenced. And Clara quickly let the matter drop. 
 
 But with all its good qualities, Adela's nature was 
 not made to bring others the happiness it calmly brought 
 herself. What people, as they usually are in this world, 
 ask of you is sympathy with their ambition — often 
 their small ambition ! sympathy with their dissatis- 
 faction, their unrest ; fire for their passion, not a chill ; 
 joy for their joy, grief for their grief. Like beggars, 
 they are always asking and seldom give. Now it was 
 in vain you craved sympathy from Adela, for there 
 was no imagination in her mind or heart, although 
 her heart was not unkind — it was that she could 
 only feel what her two blue eyes saw quite clearly. 
 
 Nellie was longing for sympathy in the passion of 
 unrest and yearning and great fear which had filled 
 her heart since Charlie's last cold good-bye to her 
 in the moonlight at Bluehaven. Yet, excepting her 
 mother, Adela was the last person to whom she would 
 have told her love.
 
 160 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 If Nellie's love had been all hope and joy, her pas- 
 sionate young heart would still have craved sympathy 
 with the strange emotion and surprise of its first glad- 
 ness ; but from the hour of that cold farewell, hope 
 and joy had seemed dead to the young girl. Her 
 thoughts were for ever dwelling on Charlie's sudden 
 coldness. She could intensely feel the chill of his 
 changed manner, just as if he still were standing 
 coldly unmoved before her ; and she could hear — she 
 was always hearing — that hard tone in his voice. 
 With much thinking, her imagination grew apace, as it 
 ever does when fascinated by one thought, like the 
 serpent's prey it sees but one terror on earth, and 
 sees no other. The more she thought, the keener was 
 the pang, for there was a feeling of guilty shame in it, 
 vaguely understood but keenly felt, and Nellie was 
 all feeling — she never tried to understand. She felt 
 that Charlie had turned cold to her when she had gone 
 to meet him. She remembered it was she had called 
 him and had wooed him to that passionate kiss. 
 Thinking of this, even in the dead of night, she 
 blushed, as if the whole world were alight and look- 
 ing at her. Then she would feel — and it was pain un- 
 speakable — that Charlie had repented with cold repul- 
 sion of the warmth that she — yes ! she had wooed 
 from him ; and she would again live through the pang 
 of the last cold parting. 
 
 Tears, which soften so much sorrow in youth, could 
 not soften that. They brought her no relief at first, 
 because her heart was too much chilled, and hope
 
 POOR NELLIE. 161 
 
 seemed dead. She felt that Charlie never could have 
 loved her as she loved him, and now he would never 
 care for her again ; he would never come to claim her 
 as his bride. 
 
 But hope cannot really die in youth ; it is the vivid 
 power of a young imagination wliich thinks it can. 
 But it can not ; and if for a moment it lies coldly still, 
 break not your heart, for it will surely breathe again. 
 Ah, youth ! if you but knew it, you are blessed even 
 in the sorrow you so passionately think you cannot 
 bear. Your very grief is but too full of life ; it is a 
 storm, and like a storm has sunshine ever near. It is 
 not the chill airless blight which falls upon the de- 
 spair of later years — that calm, that dumb despair, 
 broken of sx:)irit, and so dead to hope, that it rebels no 
 more, but wears cold disappointment like a winding- 
 sheet, from which all heat and feel of ever having 
 wrapped a living thing are gone. Dead despair ! 
 What is the living one to you ? Its very life can tire 
 it out. And thus it was with Nellie's ; but not at first. 
 
 At first, though she did not know it, much of the 
 very exaggerated despair which made hope seem dead, 
 and all the yearning unrest of her soul, came really 
 from this — that whereas she and Charlie had lived 
 together all day long for one whole month, and alone 
 together for one whole week, he now was gone away 
 from her and she from him. She was sick from the 
 desire to see his face and hear his voice again : it 
 seemed so long since they had parted. " To be a long, 
 long time away is just like death ! " Charlie had said. 
 
 VOL. L L
 
 162 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 And it was like death to her — but to him ? If only 
 she could see him again and hear his voice, she would 
 be quite, quite sure he had changed to her for ever. 
 A few short moments would be enoudi, for if she saw 
 him and heard his voice, she would know at once. 
 She was quite sure he had changed to her, yet 
 longed to be surer still. Oh 1 if only she could see 
 him again and hear his voice. There had been a 
 lifetime in the week they had passed alone together, 
 and separation now seemed like the parting by death 
 of two joined lives. " To be a long, long time away," 
 she would repeat, " is just like death ! " Yet if she 
 counted the days of separation, they were not many. 
 But there was silence, and it felt to her like the 
 silence of the grave, between her and Charlie. She 
 did not even dare to ask for him, nor dare to write 
 to him ; and she knew he would not write to her. 
 So if only she could hear his voice and see his face 
 just once, just once again ! 
 
 This longing seemed unbearable to the young girl. 
 She passionately rebelled against the pain of it ; but 
 her passion was powerless, for the possibility of seeing 
 Charlie, or of hearing from him, was a hard reality, 
 like a tightly knotted burden which must be borne. 
 Never in her life had Nellie borne a galling load in 
 silence, nor had she until now ever had a sorrow 
 or a pain which did not quickly cease from aching. 
 Suffering was hateful to her. She had no courage for 
 it, and shrank from all pain like a coward. Poor 
 Nellie was of a shrinking, timorous, and yet passionate
 
 POOR NELLIE. 163 
 
 nature : and she had no moral couracfe at all : she 
 
 1 o 
 
 was curiously without it. The fear she had of her 
 mother was intense : from infancy she had felt fright- 
 ened in her presence, and had instinctively avoided 
 her, for she was sensitive to any hardness of nature, 
 and requiring much sympathy, was strongly repelled 
 by the want of it. Clara had always felt tliat Eleanour 
 shrank from her, and, odd to say, resented it. Of her 
 six daughters Eleanour was the one she liked least, 
 although she intended, when the time came, to make 
 a good match for her. 
 
 Miss Smith, who was a very kindly sort of creature 
 when not awed out of her wits by Clara, never liked 
 to make any complaint of Nellie, knowing Mrs New- 
 sham would be hard to the girl. The governess had 
 naturally noticed Nellie's often tear-stained eyes and 
 low spirits, and sudden fevers of short excitement. 
 If a carriage drove up the avenue, or there was any un- 
 wonted stir in the house, or if a door were opened sud- 
 denly, Nellie would betray emotion. She seemed to be 
 always expecting some one who never came, or some 
 event which never happened. And this was so, al- 
 though the young girl had told herself she had no hope ! 
 
 Nellie was in such an extraordinarily high-strung 
 nervous state, that even her mother could not have 
 failed to notice the curious change in her, had Clara 
 not been fully occupied with Adela and deeply inter- 
 ested in the fine art of matchmaking. This fine art 
 was comparatively new to her ; and it was fast be- 
 coming a very pleasant pastime to her mind.
 
 164 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Then, also, it was quite a novelty for Clara to be 
 much occupied with any of her children, and one at a 
 time was certainly enough. Clara was in the habit of 
 saying — " I can trust the dear children to Miss Smith 
 — Miss Smith has excellent principles." And she 
 really had not the leisure to look after them herself. 
 When she had been visitino- about for some time, or 
 " consulting the doctors " up in town, she would come 
 home with her large correspondence much in arrears, 
 and Clara's correspondence is an important part of her 
 social diplomacy. 
 
 Mrs Newsham kept Miss Smith in great order, as 
 indeed she did everybody else. The governess was a 
 nervous sort of person, not clever, and Clara's power 
 of silent repression, and her constant near presence 
 everywhere when at home, and the cold fear of her 
 altogether, strongly affected Miss Smith's nervous 
 system. 
 
 The governess quickly guessed what ailed poor 
 Nellie, and without arousing any susiDicion in Adela's 
 preoccupied mind, easily found out from her who it 
 was had been Nellie's hourly companion at Blue- 
 haven. 
 
 Adela's two round blue eyes saw no change in 
 Nellie, for the girl, never quick of perception, was 
 now completely engrossed by the novel discomfort of 
 being so constantly with " mamma," and having 
 " mamma " watching her, and " mamma " saying curi- 
 ous things to her, which gave her such a very awk- 
 ward sort of feeling. Adela would wish " mamma "
 
 POOE NELLIE. 165 
 
 had never told her she was in love with George, and 
 then would wonder if " mamma " really could be right 
 in saying George was in love with her. 
 
 Adela would go and reflect upon this in front of 
 her looking-glass. And she was so pretty, that if 
 George had been any one but himself, she would have 
 been quite sure he was in love with her. Gazing at 
 herself in the glass was a pleasant habit she had soon 
 fallen into. When not too sleepy, she would sit up 
 at night and try what was the most becoming way of 
 dressing her very fair hair ; then she would take out 
 her blue evening dress and her white one, to see which 
 best suited her complexion. After much trying on 
 for many nights, in divers charming attitudes, she did 
 think she looked prettiest in the blue gown, and yet 
 she was not quite, quite certain. So even by day, 
 when she was doing her crewel-work, she would think 
 over the blue dress and the white, and more than once 
 she made wrong stitches. 
 
 Clara considered this a very hopeful sign. " At 
 last," thought she, — " at last Adela is beginning to fall 
 in love with George ! She is getting absent-minded. 
 I do wish she would forget to play her scales some 
 morning ; I should then feel sure of her." 
 
 Whilst Adela, arrayed in the blue gown, and with 
 all the candles in her room lighted, would be smiling 
 at her own reflection in the looking-glass, Nellie would 
 be lying awake next door, weeping in darkness the 
 tears she had not dared to shed by day. Youthful 
 sorrow, unlike an older grief, can sob itself to sleep ;
 
 166 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 but Nellie slept little now at night, for, feeling very- 
 low and nervous and weak, she would take as many 
 cups of her father's exceedingly strong coffee as she 
 could unobserved. The coffee steadied her overstrung 
 nerves, and did her good for the moment, but it kept 
 her awake most of the night. 
 
 Thomas was a teetotaller, with a sluggish pulse and 
 circulation, and a slow brain. He could stand any 
 amount of the very blackest coffee, and considered 
 it was not a stimulant. Dr Doseman declared it 
 was ; but Clara peremptorily forbade the doctor to 
 argue on the subject with Mr Newsham. No one 
 was allowed to remark how many cups of strong coffee 
 Thomas took after dinner ; and, doubtless feeling torpid 
 all over, he would drink off half-a-dozen, though he 
 would seem to think he had only taken one. " No, 
 no, no ! " he would say in his serious way, " one cup 
 is enough. Not any more, thank you, my dear Nellie ; 
 one cup is enough — yes, yes, yes ! quite enough " — 
 and he would have drunk six ! 
 
 Clara gave particular orders that the strongest coffee 
 should be made for Mr Newsham. It enlivened him 
 visibly. And really Thomas had one of those minds 
 which you feel may any day go up altogether into the 
 moon, and stay there and never come down again. 
 
 Clara would not have liked Thomas to be too lively 
 and observant, and yet there were times when he pro- 
 voked her. 
 
 " Thomas never understands anything," she would 
 say to herself. " That ridiculous teetotal fad of his
 
 POOE NELLIE. 167 
 
 will make it so difficult to have the right sort of young 
 men at Eastcourt for the girls. That is another reason 
 why I am forced to settle on George ; he is accus- 
 tomed to Thomas and his temperance fad, and is con- 
 tent to dine without a single glass of wine." 
 
 IN'ellie did not yet appear at late dinner, for she 
 was not " out " ; but when there was no company, 
 she would come down to the drawing-room for an 
 hour before going to bed. Absent as he was, it was 
 her father who always asked for her. Clara resented 
 this feat of memory. It is curious how often a mo- 
 ther who has no real love for her child will yet be 
 provoked if there is love between that child and its 
 father. Then Clara was accustomed to be the first per- 
 son with everybody at Eastcourt, the one person to be 
 considered in all things, and she had never had a rival. 
 
 Nellie felt her father loved her — not that he took 
 much notice of her, but he would remark her absence, 
 and liked her to give him his coffee. But the happi- 
 ness of this feeling had its alloy in the increased 
 severity of her mother. 
 
 " Hold up your head, Eleanour ! I never saw any 
 one stoop like you." " What a figure you are ! Go 
 up-stairs this moment and have your sash properly 
 tied." " Eleanour ! do you hear ? Go to the piano 
 instantly and play the new piece you learnt last week, 
 and remember I shall be listening, and know how 
 many mistakes you make." 
 
 The evening hour in the drawing-room had become 
 a terror to poor Nellie. Miss Smith and the younger
 
 168 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 children were not there to take off her mother's atten- 
 tion — even Sylvia had gone to bed. Fortunately 
 Clara wrote many of her letters in the evening, when 
 there was not company. iSTellie always felt as if while 
 she wrote she watched her ; but this was nervous 
 imagination on the young girl's part. Mrs Newsham 
 invariably gave her undivided attention to her corre- 
 spondence ; she rarely wrote a letter without a motive, 
 and her motives were numerous. 
 
 The dread of betraying her secret was an over- 
 powering one to poor Nellie when in her mother's 
 presence. All day long she would be trying to brace 
 herself for the evening trial. The strong coffee would 
 give her courage and nerve. Each night she seemed 
 to want it more and more, though she knew it kept 
 her awake, because once she had not taken it, and 
 had slept. But the momentary fillip to her nerves 
 was so pleasant that she never resisted taking it again. 
 There seemed to be no power of resistance in N'ellie's 
 nature. She would feel so terribly unstrung next 
 day after an almost sleepless night, that she would 
 vow never again to touch the strong coffee ; but when 
 the evening came, she would break the vow and take 
 it. And this went on for the whole month of Sep- 
 tember and part of October. 
 
 There were times when the morning wretchedness 
 would be so great, and all hope so dead, that Nellie 
 would feel she could no longer keep the secret of her 
 unhappy love, but must have sympathy or die. She 
 was only sixteen !
 
 POOR NELLIE. 169 
 
 Twice she was on the verge of telling all to Miss 
 Smith — she felt she could tell that kindly woman what 
 she never could breathe to her mother or Adela. But 
 Miss Smith nervously avoided the avowal. She dread- 
 ed to be told Nellie's secret, for it might be her duty 
 to tell it to Mrs Xewsham, and she feared Clara's cold 
 hardness, and pitied Xellie's young love. Like most 
 governesses. Miss Smith cherished in her heart the 
 memory of a long-lost love, and her heart happened 
 to be a soft one, though her face was now red, and 
 her manner uninteresting, and you would never have 
 suspected her of romance. Such a contrast as she 
 was to Clara, who looked like a white angel of love, 
 yet did not really know what love meant. 
 
 Miss Smith had never been able to think Adela 
 was in love with George, although Mrs Newsham had 
 told her so, and she was in the habit of believing im- 
 plicitly what Clara said ; still she could not believe 
 this. But she did believe Xellie was in love, and with 
 a young gentleman who had no fortune, and was never 
 likely to have one. The governess was not clever 
 enough to understand Clara, yet she had grasped the 
 fact that Sir Cuthbert Crof ton's illness gave Mr George 
 the chance of a fine place and property. 
 
 And Sir Cuthbert seemed to be really and truly 
 dying during the whole month of September — yes, 
 really and truly dying ! So was it any wonder if 
 during that entire month, from beginning to end, Clara 
 felt justified in amusing herself at Eastcourt by mak- 
 ing Adela believe George was in love with her and
 
 170 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 she with George, and that they had been both in love 
 at Bluehaven ? 
 
 On the whole Clara now found Adela very easy to 
 manage — almost as easy as Thomas — for the only thing 
 Clara could not manage about Thomas was his fads. 
 But with these she did not meddle. " Thomas will 
 have a fad, and if it is not one thing it will be another." 
 It must be allowed that, in managing people and things, 
 Clara knew what to let alone — she had the instinct 
 of the art ; then for many years she had been in the 
 regular habit of managing everybody who came near 
 her, and everything, even the most accidental circum- 
 stances ! In fact, accident of the entirely unexpected 
 sort was her strong point. As we all know, it was 
 accident had taken her and Thomas and Nellie and 
 Adela to Bluehaven — just the little accident of the 
 Bishop being ordered there by Dr Fozzle ! And it 
 was quite by accident she had first got rid of the 
 Admiral and then of herself, thus unexpectedly leav- 
 ing Adela in a position where it seemed impossible for 
 her not to be always with George. 
 
 But if accidents are your strong point, you naturally 
 feel indignant when by some unlucky chance they 
 threaten to take their own particular turn and not yours. 
 If you run smoothly on your own lines, you do not like 
 to be stopped just when you are coming out of the tunnel. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert had been steadily dying the whole 
 month of September; yet what should he do in 
 October but actually get better ! Now here was an 
 accident over which Clara had had no control.
 
 POOR KELLIE. 171 
 
 A great specialist had been down to Crofton Place 
 from London, and had almost declared himself puzzled 
 by the case, though it was known this distinguished 
 personage never quite avowed he was puzzled by any- 
 thing, not even if a patient died just as he had pro- 
 nounced him out of danger. The Shropwich doctor, 
 really a very clever physician, in regular attendance at 
 Crofton Place, was also reported to be unable to state 
 certainly whether Sir Cuthbert intended to live or die. 
 Kate had written to Clara saying Dr Stumps seemed 
 puzzled. Perhaps it was the specialist had puzzled the 
 Shropwich doctor and not the patient, for that specialist 
 was such a very great man that he never entirely agreed 
 with anybody but himself. How Clara wished she could 
 only know what the Shropwich doctor really thought ! 
 Then she could arrange her accidents accordingly. 
 
 Clara had often been hospitably entertained at 
 Crofton Place, and yet she now felt she had a right 
 to be annoyed with Sir Cuthbert. It never struck 
 her there was anything horrid in this. And yet she 
 could so easily have realised through the imagination 
 of her mind that it mio'ht be terrible to Sir Cuthbert 
 to die, for thoucrh Clara has no imagination in her 
 heart, she has a great deal in her powerful mind. It 
 is true she did not say to herself I am hoping Sir 
 Cuthbert will die. On the contrary, this is what she 
 said : " I am wishing Sir Cuthbert may get clearly and 
 hopelessly well, then I should be quite sure he would 
 marry, and I should give up George altogether, and 
 make Thomas take that house in town."
 
 172 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 I must say if a man of fortune lias no child and 
 cannot take his good estates and name away with him 
 into the next world, he should clearly make up his 
 mind to live or else quickly die : it is his bounden 
 duty to be undoubtedly in good health, or to have 
 a well-known mortal disease. I think many near 
 relations — excellent people as they invariably are ! — 
 yes ! I think many near relations, and I know all 
 matchmaking mothers, will agree that Sir Cuthbert 
 Crofton's conduct in setting up an internal mystery of 
 his own was simply intolerable. 
 
 And no internal mystery was ever more provokingly 
 uncertain. Sir Cuthbert having once taken the turn 
 which no one expected him to take, perversely went 
 on getting better. 
 
 " I really must be careful," thought Clara, " or I 
 may go too far, and make Adela fall so seriously in 
 love with George that she will never marry anybody 
 else, and Sir Cuthbert may get better and better, and 
 finallv 2:et well." 
 
 So Clara had actually to stop matchmaking quite 
 suddenly towards the middle of October. She missed 
 the exciting pastime, and was dull without it. Her 
 fine art was becoming a second nature to her. She 
 soon got dreadfully bored at Eastcourt for want of her 
 little amusement, indeed so bored that she went away 
 to stay with her father the Bishop. Mrs Newsham 
 liked presiding at the Palace and doing my Lady 
 Bishop to the diocese, when she had nothing better 
 to do. She was popular with the Archdeacon and the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 173 
 
 Canons, and above all with the Dean. It was the 
 simplicity of Clara's character, and her perfect un- 
 worldliness, which so much attracted the devout Dean. 
 And then he found that charming Mrs Newsham held 
 exactly the same views as himself ! The Dean was 
 decidedly High Church, and Clara was " high," though 
 not too " high." She was just " high " enough to be 
 really fashionable. 
 
 Mrs Newsham took Thomas and the three younger 
 girls to Petersclose with her. Thomas went willingly, 
 because he still had very much at heart that grand 
 project of making the Bishop take the temperance 
 pledge in his own cathedral, before his whole diocese. 
 
 " Decidedly," said Clara to herself ; " as I must go 
 to my father some time, it will be more convenient to 
 go now than later on, when things are a little more 
 settled, for if Sir Cuthbert continues to get better, I 
 will drop George and take Adela about everywhere. 
 At present, while the uncertainty remains, it is wisest 
 to let her quietly alone, and I should not like to have 
 company at Eastcourt for fear of complications. There 
 is really no very great hurry about Adela, as she is 
 not yet eighteen. That is the best of beginning very 
 young with a girl. You have plenty of time before 
 you. Besides," she added, ''very young men are so 
 much the easiest to manage." 
 
 When Clara left home, the household breathed 
 more freely, Sylvia alone excepted, for she always 
 said she " did not mind mamma," and she wanted to 
 go away with her and pay " grandpapa " a visit ; but
 
 174 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Sylvia was fourteen, and such a real beauty that Clara 
 had already determined to make a great match for 
 her. The Palace swarmed with poor clergymen and 
 presumptuous curates. A very dangerous place indeed 
 for the elder girls ! Only fit for young children. 
 
 Miss Smith was always much happier when Mrs 
 Newsham went off visiting ; but she was far too dis- 
 creet to allow it. 
 
 Adela was ashamed to feel glad as her mother drove 
 away, yet felt very glad indeed. There had been a 
 perpetual strain in her constant companionship with 
 "mamma," and it was very pleasant to think she 
 would now be left quietly alone and not constantly 
 reminded of George, for there was really no necessity 
 to be always thinking of him, and being in love was 
 altogether such a very uncomfortable feeling. While 
 "mamma " was away, Adela intended not to think about 
 George, or about being in love at all. 
 
 K'ellie stood on the doorstep and watched the car- 
 riage drive away. At any other time she would have 
 been sorry to say good-bye to her father and the 
 children ; but the relief was too great for any thought 
 but just this one, " She is gone ! and I need not be in 
 fear and trembling all day long." With a deep- 
 drawn sigh of joy, like a prisoner suddenly breathing 
 the free air, and overcome by it, she turned and threw 
 herself on Miss Smith's neck, then burst into a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 " I did not think you would be so sorry to see them 
 go ! " exclaimed the astonished Adela.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 175 
 
 " Oh, Nellie always cries at everything,*" said Miss 
 Sylvia, contemptuously : she was a precocious young 
 lady, with a great opinion of her own wisdom. " But 
 come on, Adela, we will play lawn - tennis. The 
 grass is quite dry, and this may be our last 
 game." 
 
 "Don't cry, dear Nellie," said Miss Smith sooth- 
 ingly, when the two girls had left them, and she led 
 Nellie from the hall door into one of the sitting-rooms, 
 where there were no staring servants. "Don't cry, 
 dear child ; I know you are sorry your father has gone 
 away. You are always sorry when he goes, dear. He 
 is very kind to you. He is kind to everybody." 
 
 " Sorry ? " said Nellie, raising her head and brush- 
 ing away her tears. She ceased sobbing, and for a 
 moment was quite still; then with sudden passion, 
 and returning tears, " I am glad ! " she cried — " glad ! 
 glad they are all gone ! Mamma would not have 
 gone alone, and I should have died if she had not 
 gone away ! " 
 
 Miss Smith was horror-struck : she was a most 
 proper-minded person, never said the wrong thing her- 
 self, and had never heard a pupil speak like this in 
 all her life. She was too much confounded by the 
 shock even to reprove. 
 
 " I could not tell mamma, but I must tell you, or my 
 heart will break. I think it is breaking now," cried 
 Nellie ; and before Miss Smith's scattered senses came 
 clearly back to her, NeUie had passionately poured 
 forth, with much incoherent contradiction, her tale of
 
 176 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 love and hope, and fear and hope, and no more hope, 
 only certainty of disappointment and of sorrow. Miss 
 Smith could not understand the story at all. She only 
 understood that Nellie was desperately in love with 
 Charlie Crofton, and this was just what the kindly 
 creature did not want officially to know, for fear of 
 bringing ill-luck on the young girl's love — ill-luck had 
 come to her own love in the bygone years for ever 
 past. Nellie's vehement passion frightened the quiet 
 timorous woman, and all the ordinary commonplaces 
 of reproof and propriety, which were returning to her 
 memory, forsook her troubled mind again, for Nellie 
 threw her arms a second time around her, crying, " I 
 have told you what I could not tell mamma, though 
 concealing it was killing me by night and day. It 
 was killing me, because I could not ask for Charlie 
 or know about him or even hear of him ; but I can ask 
 you for him now, and sometimes hear of him, and 
 you won't be cruel to me ! — never, never be cruel to 
 me, or I shall die ! I shall die ! " 
 
 Miss Smith was so carried away by alarm and sym- 
 pathy and feeling, that exactly the contrary of what 
 she meant to say slipped from her heart. 
 
 " Dear child, dear child, compose yourself, and all 
 will yet be well. Mr Charles will never change to 
 you. He is a very good and nice young gentleman, 
 and will keep his promise, and come to claim you the 
 very day he gets into the army. To be sure he will, 
 dear child ! only compose yourself ! compose your- 
 self ! "
 
 POOR NELLIE. 177 
 
 Nellie abruptly disengaged herself from Miss Smith's 
 encircling arms, though the kind woman was soothing 
 and kissing her, and not scolding her at all, but only 
 repeating with a sort of tender fear, " Compose your- 
 self, dear child, dear child ! " 
 
 Nellie stepped away from her, then stopped and 
 stood still. She was no longer flushed but pale. The 
 torrent of her rushing words was stayed. Her pas- 
 sion seemed to have spent itself, and she now spoke 
 slowly, as if the overmastering impulse to tell all 
 were past, and she were fearful of hastily saying 
 too much. 
 
 " That evening on the water was not the last time 
 Charlie and I met at Bluehaven. I . . . " She hesi- 
 tated. " We . . . we met again." No ! she could 
 not tell this part of her story as it had really hap- 
 pened. " I . . . he . . . when he said the last 
 good-bye to me, he was cold ! he was cold ! He had 
 changed to me, and never will care for me again ! 
 All hope is gone, quite gone ! " 
 
 She clasped her hands and bent her head. Her 
 pale calmness reassured Miss Smith, who, like many 
 timorous people, only feared and understood the bois- 
 terous passion which can speak — she thought NelHe 
 had taken her advice like a good girl, and had " com- 
 posed herself," and was now quite sensible again ; so 
 the governess was able to reflect comfortably and say 
 what she felt she ought to have said at first, and 
 which certainly was the right thing, and what Mrs 
 Newsham would undoubtedly wish her to say, and be 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 POOE NELLIE. 
 
 pleased with her for having said if ever she had to tell 
 the tale of Eleanoiir's love. 
 
 " Well, my dear," she said, " I am so glad you are 
 composed and sensihle, and like yourself again, because 
 everything is for the best." Miss Smith had been 
 telling her own heart this for so many years, that she 
 almost believed it. " Yes, everything that happens is 
 always for the best, and I am sure you will soon 
 see this quite clearly, — and indeed, my dear, you seem 
 to see it now, and considerinsj Mr Charles's circum- 
 stances, and . . . and Mrs iSTewsham's ideas . . . very 
 proper ideas — about the suitable establishment of her 
 daughters, it is really fortunate Mr Charles should have 
 clianged his mind at the last, and not have allowed 
 you to leave Bluehaven thinking he would come and 
 ask you to be his wife as he had at first promised. It 
 was honourable and right of Mr Charles to let you see 
 he had changed his mind. Young men do change 
 their mind, my dear, and often two or three times 
 before they are quite grown-up, and Mr Charles is 
 young, very young." 
 
 Nellie's hands were still clasped, and she was stand- 
 ing palely calm and seemingly unmoved; but while 
 Miss Smith was speaking, she had raised her head 
 and was gazing at her with a look of cold pain, like 
 the look the good Bishop had seen at Bluehaven, and 
 thought was the pallor of the moonlight upon her 
 young iace. 
 
 She spoke at last, but very, very slowly. " You 
 said he would never change, and now you say he has
 
 POOR NELLIE. 179 
 
 changed to me. I told myself all hope was dead, but 
 . . . but I never thought you would think so too. 
 Hope must be dead . . . you think it dead . . . dead 
 . . . quite dead ! " And she fainted at poor Miss 
 Smith's feet. The sleepless nights, the mental strain 
 had exhausted the young girl's strength.
 
 180 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert Ceofton over - exerted himself on 
 Christmas-day, and became dangerously ill again. 
 
 Clara had left the Palace, and had come back to 
 Eastcourt, so she immediately felt justified in return- 
 ing to the pleasantest of pleasant occupations. 
 
 That was altogether a memorable Christmas-day, 
 for Adela had slipped in the snow on her way to 
 church, and had sat in her wet things all through the 
 long service, sooner than tell " mamma." The girl had 
 caught a very bad chill, but did not tell any one she 
 had a cold upon her until some four or five days after- 
 wards ; then her sickness could no longer be concealed, 
 and old Dr Doseman had to be called in. 
 
 Old Doseman was the fatherly tom-cat who had 
 purred so pleasantly for years to Clara's voice. Clara, 
 too, was in the habit of purring very sweetly to the 
 old doctor. So they purred together over Adela, and 
 then went on purring for quite a long time. 
 
 Dr Eobert Doseman dearly loved being in regular 
 attendance at Eastcourt ; and a brilliant idea had 
 struck Clara. Brilliant ideas, like unexpected acci-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 181 
 
 dents, were the powerful side of Clara's genius. When 
 first called in, old Doseman had said one of Adela's 
 lungs was slightly affected — not that he would go so 
 far as to declare it was actually touched ! He would 
 only say it was slightly affected. The affection might 
 pass away very quickly and leave no seed of future 
 disease ; it also might remain. The doctor did not say 
 it would remain ; but if it did remain it might be 
 serious. He did not apprehend serious consequences ; 
 yet serious consequences might possibly ensue. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert's internal mystery being in a very 
 bad way, and seeming clearly to show fatal symptoms 
 just then, it happened to strike Clara that a touched 
 lung and yearning love went very well together. 
 Lungs and love have for years, and will for ever, 
 produce a very pretty sort of consumption, invaluable 
 to the matchmaker ; and no one should blame Clara 
 for making use of one of the approved expedients of 
 her difficult art. Clara was quite within her pre- 
 rogative when, instead of a tubercle, she calmly deter- 
 mined to fix George on Adela's lung. 
 
 And, ah ! what a sweet little scene there was 
 between her and old Doseman when first, with 
 smiling softness, she purred this little idea of a love- 
 affair upon the lung into the very heart — the really 
 kindly, tender heart — of the old family doctor ! 
 
 " Ahem ! ahem ! my dear Miss Adela ! " said Dr 
 Doseman to his patient, and he opened his chest as 
 he always did when giving advice. He had a way of 
 vigorously throwing back his coat, sticking his two
 
 182 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and clear- 
 ing his breathing with a cough, just to show how 
 sound his lungs were, and how necessary to health 
 it is to open well the chest. He did all this with 
 much effect, for he had a very portly figure. Though 
 rather short, he was altogether imposing in appear- 
 ance. The natural benevolence of his countenance 
 was solemnised by an air of quite mysterious pom- 
 posity. Pompous mystery weighted his long upper 
 lip, and tightened his mouth, and seemed to double 
 his chin right down into his waistcoat. He had a 
 large and serious nose, which he blew sonorously, 
 as if it were his duty to set an example of how to 
 clear the head as well as of how to clear the chest. 
 He brushed his iron-grey hair into a horn at each 
 side of his head, and the two horns met in one over 
 the baldness at the top. This pointed top-knot added 
 height to his forehead, and made his brain-power 
 almost imposing. " Ahem ! ahem ! my dear Miss 
 Adela ! Come, come, now, my dear young lady ! " he 
 said ; " every cloud has a silver lining, and it is an 
 ill wind blows no one good, and a long lane that has 
 no turning ; so let us keep up our spirits, my dear 
 young lady, let us keep up our spirits, and all will 
 soon be well. The course of true love never did run 
 smooth ; but just let us keep up our little spirits, my 
 dear Miss Adela, and take our glass of port wine at 
 eleven, and our tonic after luncheon, and our port 
 wine again at four." 
 
 Old Doseman was indeed fond of ordering port
 
 POOR NELLIE. 183 
 
 wine in Mr Newsham's house. It was a protest 
 against Mr Newsham's — impudence ? — arrogance ? — 
 insubordination ? — what shall I call it ? — in becoming 
 a total abstainer without consulting his old family- 
 friend and medical adviser. Old Doseman liked to be 
 called a " medical adviser " far better than a doctor, 
 and always spoke of himself as such. 
 
 While in attendance upon Adela, the medical 
 adviser met Nellie one day on the stairs, and thought 
 her looking pale and out of sorts, so he then and 
 there ordered her port wine too, just as he had done 
 Adela. 
 
 The worst of going too violently into any one 
 extreme is that you are apt to send everybody about 
 you headlong into the other. When a man is in the 
 habit of declaring with fanatical sincerity that every 
 one who takes a glass of wine is virtually a drunkard 
 on the highroad to crime, the fallacy is so apparent 
 that those who would entirely agTee with his tem- 
 perance views, if moderately held and moderately ex- 
 pressed, are irritated into impatient enmity. 
 
 Now Clara did not in the least care for wine, and 
 hardly touched it; but Thomas's " teetotal fad " irritated 
 her, and so she ignored it whenever she could. She 
 would be quite pleased when Dr Doseman ordered 
 port wine in her house ; but as Thomas would make 
 a preposterous fuss if he knew of it, the port wine 
 was, by Clara's orders, always taken secretly. Secrecy 
 was not in itself naturally distasteful to Clara. 
 
 To do Dr Doseman justice, he wished the wine to
 
 184 POOE NELLIE. 
 
 be drunk openly and at table, just as Thomas desired 
 to see the Bishop take the pledge openly in his own 
 cathedral. 
 
 Adela had not in the least understood the old 
 doctor's speech about keeping up our spirits my dear 
 young lady, and the cloud with the silver lining, and 
 the ill wind that blew no one good, and the long lane 
 that had no turning, and the course of true love 
 which never did run smooth. But her mother care- 
 fully explained its meaning to her ; and then poor 
 Adela really did get ill. 
 
 She intensely dreaded old Doseman's visits. They 
 threw her into a fever, for she had such a horror of 
 what he might say next ! And mamma was always 
 present to hear — mamma, who thought she was in 
 love with George ! And Dr Doseman must certainly 
 think so too ! 
 
 No wonder poor Adela's pulse was all in a flutter ; 
 and a young girl's fluttering pulse tells a soft tale very 
 plainly to a fatherly old tom-cat. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs Newsham," said the doctor, after paying 
 I should be afraid to say how many visits, — " yes, Mrs 
 Newsham, most decidedly you are right — you are 
 right. You are always right, Mrs [N'ewsham. I have 
 never known you mistaken in a case. Never, my 
 dear madam ; never ! Yes ! you have perfectly 
 diagnosed the young lady's symptoms ; you have 
 thoroughly understood them, my dear madam. But 
 this little affair," continued the doctor, repeating 
 without knowing it what Clara had said more than
 
 POOE NELLIE. 185 
 
 once to him, — " this little affair must be settled, Mrs 
 Newsham. It must not be permitted to drag on. 
 No, no ! Mrs Newsham, we must not permit it to 
 drag on ; for the consequences may be serious to 
 Miss Adela's health. I will not positively affirm 
 they will be serious ; but I say openly, quite 
 openly, they may be serious, my dear madam — very 
 serious indeed ! " 
 
 This was exactly what Clara had all along intended 
 Dr Doseman should finally say. And when he did 
 say it, she felt that George was firmly fixed on Adela's 
 lung. 
 
 I think most people prefer to tell the truth if they 
 conveniently can. The right-minded Clara was cer- 
 tainly pleased to have a doctor's certificate for rapidly 
 sending Adela into just the sort of consumption which 
 best suited her little plans. She instantly made prac- 
 tical use of the privilege, and quickly decided that her 
 eldest son Eockhurst must consult a London dentist 
 before he went back to school, and that in order to 
 do so he must spend at least one night at Kate 
 Crofton's house in town. 
 
 Eockhurst did not want to go to the dentist, and 
 vowed, but vowed in vain, he had never had the 
 toothache. 
 
 Clara knew better. And, like all her children 
 except Tom, Eockhurst was accustomed to yield her 
 implicit obedience. Clara often said to herself — for 
 since her mother's death she did not say those sort 
 of things aloud — but to herself she said, " Eockhurst
 
 186 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 is, and always will be, as easy to manage as dear 
 Thomas." 
 
 The handsome, tractable Eockhiirst was a great fa- 
 vourite, so, although he invariably ended by obeying his 
 mother, lie was allowed to make a few remarks first. 
 
 " But I hate the dentist," he repeated ; " and I 
 have not got the toothache." 
 
 " You will get it in some important examination 
 if your teeth are not properly attended to now. Be- 
 sides, my dear Eockhurst, you need only go to the 
 dentist once, and for quite a short time, the morning 
 after you arrive. I am sure George can take a day's 
 holiday, and it will be very pleasant for you to go 
 about town a little with him. Now, you know, Eock- 
 hurst, you wdll be very glad to see George again, and 
 you would not otherwise see him this vacation." 
 
 " But why not ask him here for a day or two 
 instead, and then I could see him without going to 
 that beast of a dentist ? I know George could get a 
 few days' leave from old Butt, for except six days at 
 Christmas, he has had no vac; and he is quite in 
 the dumps at being left all alone in Chapel Street, 
 for you see Aunt Kate can't leave Sir Cuthbert. Ask 
 George to come here. I say, mother, just ask him." 
 
 In a moment Clara was all severe repression. Her 
 tightly drawn mouth, and her tone of voice, alarmed 
 her son. There is a severe tone in Clara's usually 
 soft voice which her children have feared from infancy, 
 and will fear for life. 
 
 " No, Eockhurst ! I will not ask Georsje to East-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 187 
 
 court ! George is not an honourable young man. 
 I am sorry to say he has behaved badly." 
 
 Neither respect nor fear could prevent Eockhurst 
 from exclaiming loudly, " I say, that's hard on George ! 
 and, by Jove ! awfully untrue ! " 
 
 " Eockhurst ! " said Mrs Newsham, in a voice 
 which silenced her son : she then paused. When she 
 spoke again, it was even more severely than before. 
 " George," she repeated, with cutting emphasis, — 
 " George is not an honourable young man. He has 
 behaved badly, very badly. He has almost killed 
 Adela." 
 
 " Adela ! killed Adela ! " gasped the astounded 
 Eockhurst. " George killed Adela ! good Lord, 
 mother I Adela is all right, only rather queer, 
 because she is silly and makes a fuss about being 
 grown-up. Ha, ha ! George has killed Adela ! Ha, 
 ha ! but, I say, what an awful joke ! " And 
 Eockhurst actually had the reckless temerity to 
 laugh. He could not help it. Clara was amazed. 
 But he did not laugh long. 
 
 " Eockhurst ! " Her voice was enough to steady him 
 at once. " How dare you ? " she continued : Clara 
 often said. How dare you ? " How dare you treat a 
 very serious matter as a joke ? It is a very serious 
 matter when a young man has trifled with a young 
 girl's happiness, and without asking her parents' con- 
 sent ; and George has dishonourably trifled with Adela's 
 affections. He has made Adela fall in love with him." 
 " Adela fall in love ! "
 
 188 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " Eockhurst ! ! " 
 
 There was a repressing pause. Then Clara went 
 on — " Adela is so much in love that she is threatened 
 with rapid decline. Dr Doseman is alarmed — greatly- 
 alarmed. He thinks the consequences may be very 
 serious indeed. Dr Doseman ascribes Adela's ex- 
 tremely critical state entirely to George. He is 
 very angry with George, and says this sort of 
 trifling must not be allowed to go on." 
 
 " Doseman is a confounded old fool ! " The fatal 
 words escaped Eockhurst's lips before he had time 
 to realise their audacity. 
 
 " Eockhurst, you have insulted me, and insulted 
 one of our oldest family friends," said Clara, leaving 
 the room with majestic severity, and though small, 
 she can be majestic on great occasions. " Eock- 
 hurst, you have insulted me ! " 
 
 And the young fellow was left to his own reflec- 
 tions, and puzzling ones * they were. Adela was in 
 love with George ! And he had imagined she hated 
 him! And she was going into a rapid decline, and 
 he had thought she only had a cold ; just the sort 
 of cold Thompson had caught last half, from sit- 
 ting in wet things. Eockhurst was not sorry he 
 had called Doseman a confounded old fool — because 
 old Doseman was a confounded fool — and he rather 
 suspected him of having advised that visit to the 
 dentist. He did not care a rap if he had insulted 
 old Doseman or not ; but he did mind very much if 
 he had insulted his mother, and for the life of him
 
 POOK NELLIE. 189 
 
 he could not make out how he had done it. He 
 had certainly had no intention of insulting her. 
 
 It was awfully unpleasant to be in the same 
 house with mother when you had insulted her, even 
 by accident. He soon found it was a hanged un- 
 comfortable position for a fellow to be in ! You 
 could not keep out of her pervading presence ; you 
 were always meeting her everywhere, and from morn- 
 ing till night she was making you feel you had in- 
 sulted her ; but she did not blow you up and have 
 done with the whole bother, which would have been 
 a relief, — " like being swished once for all," thought 
 Eockhurst. But no, her cold resentment was like a 
 long imposition always " on your bones," and every one 
 seemed to see you were in disgrace, even the servants 
 attending at table ; yet mother was wellnigh speechless. 
 
 Clara understood the power of silent wrath to 
 perfection, and well knew how especially powerful it 
 is with the young. She could act the coldly in- 
 sulted one quite admirably, and had not unfrequently 
 practised the art upon Thomas, though Thomas was 
 really too absent a man to be a satisfactory subject ; so 
 much was lost on Thomas ! He was apt to forget you 
 had not spoken to him. 
 
 Clara much preferred practising on Eockhurst. His 
 ill-concealed discomfort was very pleasant to her, for 
 she liked to feel the power she had over her son. He 
 was a piece of soft silk in her clever hand. She 
 could put any idea into his head, and even persuade 
 him into repentance when he had not sinned.
 
 190 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Clara soon had Eockhurst at her feet, and he 
 actually apologised for having insulted her when he 
 had not insulted her at all. No wonder Clara was 
 fond of this son. But she did not show her affection 
 weakly : she maintained the severity of her manner, 
 with all the proper dignity of an injured woman. 
 
 She received her son's apology coldly. Still 
 keeping him at arm's-length, she spoke to him very 
 seriously; and then, for the second time, proceeded 
 to inform him, with a calm solemnity severely impres- 
 sive, that Adela was in love with George, because 
 George had paid her marked attention. This time 
 her son entirely believed her, and felt no desire to 
 laugh ; indeed he wondered he had laughed before. 
 
 Clara carefully explained to Eockhurst that it 
 was not so much the open attention George had paid 
 Adela which was so very reprehensible, as the marked 
 manner in which he had avoided her, as if he had 
 liked her so much that he did not dare to speak to 
 her for fear of betraying his feelings to her parents. 
 
 "And now, Eockhurst," said Clara finally, and she 
 was so severe that the overgrown boy felt as if he 
 were somehow the culprit as well as George — " now, 
 Eockhurst, when you go up to Chapel Street next 
 Wednesday, you shall ask George his intentions " 
 
 " Intentions ? " faintly murmured poor Eockhurst. 
 
 Clara cut him short by repeating — " Yes, Eock- 
 hurst, you shall ask George his intentions. I simply 
 insist upon it ! "
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 EocKHUEST Newsham did go up to town on the fol- 
 lowing Wednesday, to " consult the dentist." 
 
 Before he left home, Clara had told him he was 
 now a man. It is true he was past eighteen, yet in 
 reality he was a mere boy. All Clara's children, 
 except Nellie and Sylvia, were young for their age. 
 Eockhurst was as young as young could be : he did 
 not look seventeen, and he could not be lower down 
 at school than he was ; he had very nearly been 
 superannuated. In fact, so much of a boy was he, 
 that it seemed quite delightful to him to be called a 
 man ; and, above all, to be treated as such by his 
 mother ! for Clara had explained to him that al- 
 though it was a brother's duty to protect his sister's 
 happiness, she would never have allowed him to ask 
 what George's intentions were, unless she considered 
 Adela's brother quite a grown-up man. " Much as 
 you might wish it, being Adela's brother, I should not 
 permit you to do this thing, Eockhurst, unless I con- 
 sidered you to have the sense and discretion of a man. 
 I entirely rely upon your discretion, Eockhurst."
 
 192 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 As Clara had foreseen, the visit to the dentist was 
 a short one. The dentist did not say there was abso- 
 lutely nothing the matter with Eockhurst's teeth, 
 because no dentist could or would commit himself to 
 such a statement, but he did say — " There is not 
 much amiss with your teeth, Mr Newsham. 'No, not 
 much. Although I do see one or two little matters 
 it would be as well to settle quite satisfactorily while 
 we are about it. I shall not keep you long, Mr 
 Newsham. But you have done right, very right, to 
 have your teeth examined. It is well to have the 
 teeth examined at least once a-year. To most of my 
 patients, I recommend an examination every six 
 months ; for as I tell them, it is always wise to be on 
 the safe side — undoubtedly the safe side is the wise 
 one." 
 
 As Clara had also foreseen, George got a holiday. 
 He did not ask " old Butt " for it, but took it of his 
 own free will, saying quite grandly, " Confound that 
 old fool of a crammer ! " 
 
 Eockhurst was impressed by George's manner, and 
 could not help feeling there was a change in his 
 old friend. George had been nearly four months at 
 Butt's, and a crammer's establishment makes a very 
 independent man of you in no time. 
 
 When the short visit to the dentist was over, 
 George and Eockhurst and a great " chum " of George's, 
 that lively young swell Eattles, who liad also given 
 himself a holiday, " knocked about town " for the rest 
 of the day. Eattles talked, joked, and smoked inces-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 193 
 
 santly. He was dressed in the height of the fashion, 
 everything on him was new, and he " shot his linen " 
 in style, though, like George, he had only been four 
 months at Butt's. Eattles was far more advanced in 
 dazzling conversation, ideas, and cigars than George, 
 yet George talked more than Eockhurst had ever 
 thought he could have talked ; and though he had 
 not yet mastered the art of walking down St James's 
 Street solely by the aid of his sliirt-cuffs, he smoked 
 in a way astonishing to Eockhurst, who could hardly 
 smoke at all. 
 
 At first Eockhurst felt rather shy with Eattles, and 
 was overpowered and silenced by him. But Eattles 
 was kindly condescending in manner : amiable con- 
 descension was natural to Eattles. In passing the 
 War Office, still by the aid of his shirt-cuffs, he said 
 quite affably, "The Duke isn't such a bad fellow, I 
 can tell you, and the army would be very different if 
 he had his own way. Wouldn't go in for all this 
 competitive humbug. Knows right well what hum- 
 bug it is ! The Duke would like to get the best men, 
 and we get a confounded lot of undersized bookworms 
 now. Wliy, there was that wretched specimen Sapper 
 came out head of the list last time, and old Butt 
 nearly died of joy. But if the Duke sees Sapper, I'll 
 bet you a fiver he'll get a fit. Come, I'll even lay 
 you twenty to one, Newsham, that the mere sight of 
 Sapper wiU be apoplexy to the Duke. But hang it ! 
 what's the good of having a sensible fellow at the 
 head of affairs when you don't take his advice ? 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 The Government just kick H.E.H. over and take 
 the advice of some palavering fool of their own, 
 who doesn't know a private from a general. Awful 
 shame ! Wonder the Duke stands it. Hang me if 
 I would ! I'm all against these Cabinet duffers, 
 except on the short-service question ; on that I go the 
 whole hog with them — by George, I do ! for if they've 
 got a lot of undersized, weakly rabble in the ranks, 
 the sooner they get rid of them the better. By 
 George ! ought to have short service for the damned 
 crammed competitive blokes too ! " 
 
 Eockhurst was soon at home with Hattles. That 
 young gentleman's good-humour and unceasing flow 
 of lively spirits attracted him, just as they had fascin- 
 ated George. As to George, he was the bidden slave 
 of Eattles. It was quite curious to see him. Eattles 
 was the sort of young feUow who is the terror of the 
 anxious mother and the delight of the well-brought- 
 up son. 
 
 But how could Eockhurst mention Adela's decline, 
 and ask George what his intentions were, while Eattles 
 was present ? . The thing was impossible. 
 
 The young men dined together at a fashionable 
 restaurant, where they paid a fabulous price for what 
 Eattles called a " confounded bad dinner and hanged 
 bad wine." Then Eattles proposed — it was he who 
 proposed everything — that they should go not to one 
 theatre, but to two : " I say now, I'U teU you what 
 we'll do. We'U just look in at the Frantic and see 
 Little Polly Prancer in the first act Of the new bur-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 195 
 
 lesque ; capital in the first act ! not worth seeing in 
 the second. Then we'll go on to the Eoyal Lacrimose, 
 and come in for the touching Laura's great scene, 
 when she finds the fellow doesn't want to marry her 
 whom she wants so awfully to marry, though she 
 hated him once. Laura looks wonderfully cut up, 
 they say. So awfully clever about her rouge. Puts 
 on lots of it in the first act, and then rubs it all off 
 for the great scene, but paints her eyes all through 
 and darkens them with increasing afiliction. Laura 
 Lovelock is a first-rate hand at getting herself up, 
 I can tell you ; awfully well-dressed too ! No end of 
 diamonds, and dies in them all. Dies beautifully, they 
 say. Awfully interesting piece ! " 
 
 The notion of going to two theatres regardless of 
 expense, to hear the best parts of two pieces, was an 
 original idea of Eattles's. Eattles often had original 
 ideas, and they were generally regardless of expense. 
 
 Eockhurst had actually never been to the theatre, 
 except four times with Aunt Kate, and Aunt Kate 
 did not go to burlesques. 
 
 I am shocked to say the quiet Eockhurst was quite 
 carried away by the dancing and singing of pretty 
 Polly Prancer. Perhaps it was the novelty of the 
 thing, because Polly Prancer was certainly a vulgar 
 little person. George was also decidedly taken with 
 Miss Polly ; but Eattles said, " Polly isn't quite up to 
 the mark to-night — not in her usual form!" and 
 dragged his two unwilling slaves on to the Eoyal 
 Lacrimose. They just, but only just, arrived in time
 
 196 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 for Laura Lovelock's great scene. As George and 
 Eockhurst had not seen the beginning of the play, 
 they did not quite grasp the situation at first. But 
 Battles somehow knew all about the plot, and, 
 rather to the disturbance of some of the audience, 
 kindly explained — "All through the first Act she 
 hated the fellow she is now going to be so awfully in 
 love with. Finds out he is awfully generous, and 
 all that sort of thing, and was awfully in love with 
 her when the play began ; but now he thinks she 
 hates him, just when she is beginning to fall in love 
 with him, knowing him to be so awfully generous. 
 You'll soon see how tremendously in love she really is. 
 But she is only beginning to know it now, and he 
 won't find it out till she rubs off all her rouge and 
 gets deadly pale. That's just when she is going to 
 die ; and it is an awful shame they make her die. 
 Awfully touching, too, they say. They might have 
 let her live on with one lung. Lots of women live 
 on with one lung. None of the really pretty girls 
 have two." 
 
 Eattles kindly continued to keep up a running 
 commentary on the plot. " Now look ! there she is 
 coming on again ! And this time she'll be awfully in 
 love with him. Hanged awkward position for a man 
 when a lady is in love with him and he is not in 
 love with her. But he is a lucky fellow not to have 
 two of them in love with him at once. By George, 
 lucky fellow ! " This was said as if Eattles had had 
 some curious experience of his own.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 197 
 
 " There ! she is going ofif again, for she is quite 
 heartbroken now. I say ! does it awfully well, 
 though ! Next time she will come on in white satin 
 and with all her diamonds ; and then she'll begin to 
 die." 
 
 The fact that the handsome actress died in all her 
 diamonds seemed to enhance in the eyes of the audi- 
 ence the pathetic interest of the death-scene. 
 
 Eattles was more moved than he would have cared 
 to own ; and both George and Eockhurst would have 
 found it a relief to use a handkerchief, but were too 
 shy. 
 
 Eattles lodged in Ebury Street, but he smoked and 
 talked and walked with his two friends all the way 
 to South Audley Street. He insisted on Eockhurst 
 having a cigar. " By George ! I say you . . . you don't 
 mean to tell me . . . impossible, by George ! so just 
 try this, and I'll be hanged, Xewsham, if you ever 
 smoked a better one." 
 
 Excellent as the cigar undoubtedly was, Eockhurst 
 did not care to have it perpetually in his mouth ; but 
 Eattles kept an attentive eye upon him. Eockhurst 
 was indeed glad when Eattles hailed the one hansom 
 left in South Audley Street and drove off to Bel- 
 gravia. 
 
 He was feeling rather nauseously uncomfortable in 
 himself ; and then he had to ask George's intentions, 
 and tell him of Adela's rapid decline, and he might not 
 have time to do so in the morning ; besides, it would 
 be much easier to say the . . . well 1 it was the un-
 
 198 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 pleasant thing his mother had told him to say. There 
 was just time — ^just the right time, for there was not 
 enough to leave a long awkwardness dragging on at 
 the other end of his confidential communication. It 
 was characteristic of the unbounded influence Clara 
 had over her son, that the idea of disobeying his 
 mother's instructions never so much as entered Eock- 
 hurst's head. He looked down Chapel Street. Yes ! 
 it was reassuringly short ; but it might prove too 
 short, unless he came directly to the point ; and 
 curiously enough, Eockhurst could not do this. 
 
 He began — " Awfully good death - scene at the 
 Lacrimose." He had stumbled on this more by acci- 
 dent than intention. 
 
 George gave a whiff of his cigar, and answered 
 slowly, with much less emotion than he felt, " Not 
 bad. Dies welL" 
 
 Chapel Street was certainly very short. Eockhurst 
 threw his cigar into the road, and said quickly, " Aw- 
 ful pity the fellow did not know she was so tremend- 
 ously in love with him." 
 
 " How could he, when Eattles says she hated him 
 all through the first Act ? " 
 
 " But I say, George," exclaimed Eockhurst, getting 
 desperate, " perhaps she only pretended to hate him, 
 and really liked him awfully. Half the girls do that 
 sort of thing, and then set to getting their lungs 
 wrong and dying of consumption, because they are 
 secretly so awfully in love." 
 
 " But if they are such hanged fools, how the deuce,"
 
 POOR NELLIE. 199 
 
 George — " how the deuce is a fellow to know 
 they are in love with him ? " 
 
 " By their being so awfully rude and queer, and 
 ... all that sort of thing," said Eockhurst, nervously. 
 
 " Hanged clever fellow then who guesses it ! " said 
 George, quite naturally ; " wouldn't strike most fellows, 
 by Jove ! Would never strike me a girl was tremend- 
 ously in love with me because she was awfully rude." 
 
 Now here was Eockhurst 's opportunity. Yet he 
 hesitated. A few steps more and it would be too late. 
 He was walking on. Suddenly that curious influence 
 which I call the near presence of Clara stopped him 
 short. " I say, George . . ." Dark as it was, Eock- 
 hurst could not look towards George, but turned away 
 his head as if he saw something interesting in the 
 murky dimness across the road. " I say, George . . . 
 Adela . . . Adela . . ." Then he blurted out, " She 
 is awfully in love with you ! " 
 
 George was too astounded for speech. His cigar 
 fell from his lips. He stood perfectly still as if shot. 
 His absolute silence confused poor Eockhurst, who 
 tried hard to say all he had been told to say, but 
 could only mumble, " Consumption . . . old Doseman 
 . . . rude . . . queer . . . awfully in love . . . 
 mother says may die . . . mother awfully alarmed 
 . . . awfully angry too." 
 
 At the mention of Clara's name, George moved 
 again like an automaton whose spring has been 
 touched. He bent down ; peered on the pavement ; 
 found his cigar ; picked it up ; blew it slowly into
 
 200 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 life ; gave two deliberate whiffs, and at length spoke. 
 " By Jove ! " was all he said. 
 
 He walked on. Eockhurst walked on also. George 
 was actually at his own door. It was very dark 
 there. The door lamp was out. Eockhurst took 
 desperate courage, and stepped in front of George. 
 " I say, old fellow ! Adela so awfully ill . . . so aw- 
 fully ... in love, and . . . and all that sort of 
 thing ! that mother told me to ... to ask your in- 
 tentions, old fellow ! Though she is awfully against 
 this match; or rather," he added, remembering his 
 lesson more correctly — " or rather, mother was awfully 
 against it once, but she is not so much against it now." 
 
 George jumped back. Never was any one more 
 amazed than he. " Intentions ? By Jove ! inten- 
 tions ? Good Lord, I've no intentions ! Tell Mrs 
 Newsham I have none. It is all bosh about Adela's 
 liking me. She hates me ! and she hated me at 
 Bluehaven ; and you may tell Mrs Newsham so, and 
 tell her we were awfully careful to avoid each other 
 from morning till night — and, by Jove, it was not 
 always as easy as it looked ! We hated being in the 
 boat together, and I had always to ride in one direc- 
 tion because Adela always rode in the other. Got 
 dreadfully bored perpetually riding on one road! 
 Hang me if I ever paid Adela any attention ! and 
 Mrs Newsham knows that right well." 
 
 " But look here, George, that is just what mother 
 says ! and that is why she is so awfully angry with 
 you. She says you made Adela so awfully remark-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 201 
 
 able by avoiding her, as if you liked her so much 
 you were afraid to talk to her. Mother would not 
 have minded if you had paid Adela open attention, 
 but she is awfully angry at the marked manner in 
 which you avoided her. She says that is why Adela 
 has fallen so tremendously in love with you." Eock- 
 hurst had had this part of his lesson well impressed 
 upon him by Clara. He added, " Mother says most 
 girls are like Adela." 
 
 " Then they are hanged fools 1 " exclaimed George, 
 angrily, — "like that woman in the play to-night. 
 And, by Jove, she was a fool ! Served her right 
 the fellow never guessed she was in love with him." 
 
 George walked forward, and managed, dark as it 
 was, to put his latch-key in the door. Just as he was 
 in the act of turning the key, he said hurriedly, " T 
 say, Eockhurst, no chance of Adela really dying ? " 
 
 " Don't think so myself," answered Eockhurst truth- 
 fully ; " but mother and old Doseman do." 
 
 Then George exclaimed, as Eockhurst had done 
 before him, " Old Doseman is a confounded fool ! " 
 and went in. 
 
 The young men lighted their candles in silence. 
 But, on parting for the night, Eockhurst spoke, — 
 " Awfully afraid must leave by the first train to-mor- 
 row," he said. " Don't you get up, George." 
 
 " Xo, old fellow ; I won't." 
 
 They understood each other, and parted all the 
 better friends for doing so.
 
 202 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 When George had distinctly declared he had " no in- 
 tentions," almost any one but Clara would have de- 
 cided that Adela should instantly fall in love with some 
 other eligible young man. But Clara is no more like 
 ordinary people than Sir Cuthbert's internal mystery 
 was like most satisfactory diseases. 
 
 Mrs Newsham was in a state of trying indecision. 
 Would it be well to give up George, or would it not ? 
 Ah, if only, if only she could know what that Shrop- 
 wich doctor thought of Sir Cuthbert ! Kate had 
 written over and over again : " The one person who 
 seems to understand poor dear Cuthbert's singular 
 case is Dr Stumps, for his medicines alleviate the very 
 great suffering there is at times, while the medicines 
 of that great man from London made Cuthbert feel 
 much worse." 
 
 Indecision is very painful to those who are accus- 
 tomed to make up their mind rapidly and to manage 
 accidental circumstances with a high hand. Indecision 
 was becoming intolerable to Clara. 
 
 She bore it six weeks, and then she could bear it
 
 POOR NELLIE. 203 
 
 no longer. In another three weeks George would be 
 going in for his examination, and if by any chance he 
 happened to pass, Clara felt he would no longer be a 
 bird in her hand — for, once in the army, he would be 
 going out regularly into society ; his eyes would open 
 widely, and in no time he would be falling in love of 
 his own accord — perhaps with a fortune. 
 
 So Clara took a great resolve : she determined to 
 consult that Shropwich doctor about her own health. 
 It was quite possible to go from Eastcourt to Shrop- 
 wich and back in one day. 
 
 Dr Stumps's practice was entirely provincial ; yet 
 it struck the good doctor that, even in the remotest 
 country parts, he had never met any one quite so 
 simple, and tenderly soft, and perfectly unaffected, as 
 this frail-looking fair lady, who had come such a long, 
 long distance in order to get his valued opinion. It 
 pleased Dr Stumps to find his reputation had reached 
 all the way to Nossex. 
 
 The doctor had never been purred at before, and 
 the sensation was agreeable. In an incredibly short 
 time he was quite in the humour to let this interest- 
 ing lady, whose complexion was so transparently white, 
 have any nice little malady she wished. Being a ruddy 
 man himself, he never quite believed in a very white, 
 transparent complexion, and he took Mrs Newsham's 
 hand, expecting to find the uneven throbs of a weakly, 
 palpitating heart : for a moment he was disconcerted 
 by her excellent pulse. 
 
 Clara saw this, felt her pulse herself, and exclaimed,
 
 204 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " How strange ! Now that is strange, Dr Stumps ! 
 But it is the effect of change of air. Change of air 
 always has a perfectly miraculous effect on my pulse. 
 The fact is, Eastcourt is a damp place, and I never 
 think it agrees with me for very long ; it certainly dis- 
 agrees with me in the spring and early summer. We 
 have a very, very large lake there, quite near the 
 house, and the miasmic exhalations from all that water 
 are often extremely trying — especially after the spring 
 rains." 
 
 It was one, and only one, particular sort of illness 
 which Clara was determined to have when she con- 
 sulted a doctor. It was that malady so common 
 amongst ladies, for which there is but one known 
 cure — a house in town during the London season. 
 
 Dr Stumps soon took Mrs Newsham's view of her 
 own " case." It was a curious fact that, as yet, Clara 
 had never come across a doctor who did not take ex- 
 actly her own view of her case. So no wonder she 
 liked doctors. 
 
 The very last moment of a lengthy interview had 
 come, and Clara had already insisted on the doctor's 
 taking the two-guinea London consultation fee, and 
 she had all but left the room, when, turning back at 
 the door as if through an afterthought, she softly said — 
 
 " Ah ! by the by, Dr Stumps, if I had not almost 
 forgotten to tell you it is the very high estimate my 
 sister-in-law, Mrs Crofton, has justly formed of your 
 abilities, which made me come all this long distance 
 for the sole purpose of consulting you about myself
 
 POOR NELLIE. 205 
 
 I do assure you, Dr Stumps, my sister-in-law's con- 
 fidence in you is unbounded — quite unbounded ; for 
 she says you are the one person, the only person, who 
 has done poor dear Sir Cuthbert any real good. And 
 what a pleasure — what a very, very great pleasure — 
 it is, Dr Stumps, to think that at last, at last poor 
 dear Sir Cuthbert is really taking the right turn." 
 Clara's voice was low and sweet as she said this. 
 
 " The right turn ! " exclaimed the doctor, quite 
 thrown off his guard. "Would to God, Mrs New- 
 sham, it could be the ricfht turn and not the wrong 
 one Sir Cuthbert will surely take ! " 
 
 Clara turned pale. " The wrong turn, Dr Stumps ? 
 And my sister-in-law seems full of hope ! " 
 
 " Poor Mrs Crofton ! Is it possible she still de- 
 ceives that kind heart of hers ? Poor Mrs Crofton ! 
 and I thought that at last she had opened her eyes to 
 the hopeless truth." 
 
 " The hopeless truth ! " repeated Clara, with down- 
 cast eyes and a tightening mouth. 
 
 " Sad case, sad case," continued the doctor ; " never 
 knew of a much sadder one. For Sir Cuthbert should 
 be in the very prime of life. Fine career before him. 
 Devoted to his profession — devoted. And he was 
 sure of an Embassy with his fortune and great talents. 
 A clever, a very clever, clear-sighted man Sir Cuth- 
 bert. Sad case, sad case ! The poor fellow may 
 struggle on a little, time longer, but can't recover. 
 No hope — none ! " Dr Stumps spoke with real 
 feeling.
 
 206 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Clara turned still paler than before. Cold as is 
 her nature, she was not unmoved. To hear certainly 
 that Sir Cuthbert Crofton was a doomed man when 
 she had wished him doomed, did for one instant — 
 but no more — yet for one instant did make her feel 
 as if it were her own strong desire that had killed 
 him. This ugly dart of unreflecting conscience quickly 
 glanced aside, and Clara could speak words of tender 
 sympathy for poor dear Sir Cuthbert's sad, sad state. 
 It is true her voice trembled a little at the first few 
 spoken words, as a murderer's might when the mur- 
 dered's name first rose upon his lips. The emotion of 
 the pale, fair woman with the downcast eyes seemed 
 very kindly sympathy to the worthy doctor, and he 
 thought it would be well if all fine ladies had as kind 
 a heart as this charmingly elegant and aristocratic- 
 looking Mrs Newsham of Eastcourt. To him Clara 
 seemed a very fine lady indeed, and he was pleased 
 to have her as a patient ; for he was not like Monsieur 
 Diafoirus — q^.d aimait mieux mMicamenter Ic pcujple. 
 
 As Clara was passing through the hall, she heard 
 the doctor's waiting-room door open, but she had not 
 the curiosity to look round. Her mind was much 
 engrossed with what she had just heard. 
 
 A flight of steps took you down from the doctor's 
 hall door to a little paved path that led between four 
 flower-beds to a wire archway, from which a big 
 red lamp swung. The small gate under the arch- 
 way opened before Clara by some contrivance con- 
 nected with the hall door. She walked out, the gate
 
 POOR NELLIE. 207 
 
 slammed behind her, and she heard the hall door slam 
 too. She looked up somewhat absently, being full of 
 thought ; she looked up, and found herself face to face 
 with — Sir Cuthbert Crofton ! 
 
 Propped up amongst many cushions, he was lying 
 rather than sitting in an open carriage exactly in front 
 of her. His changed face looked drawn and wan, but 
 the bright eyes were undimmed. Clara quailed be- 
 neath their keen, keen glance. Sir Cuthbert noticed 
 that she did so. Twenty-two years in the diplomatic 
 service had sharpened his natural power of instinctive 
 observation. He raised himself a little ; but it was 
 not much the poor man could now move without help. 
 Stni leaning back, he gave his ungloved hand to Clara, 
 and she had to take it. It was a very white and 
 wasted hand — a sick man's hand, grown pale and thin 
 and blue-veined, like a weak woman's — a touching 
 hand to see. Even Clara felt it was a touching one, 
 and would fain have dropped it quickly ; but its grasp 
 was firmer than she had thought it could have been. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert said, "Ah, Mrs Newsham, so you 
 have been to inquire for me, and to know if I am to 
 get well again ? You are kind, very kind, Mrs iSTew- 
 sham." His voice had that pathetic sound in it which 
 a sick man's voice, robbed of its full-toned vigour, ever 
 has, even to a hardened ear. 
 
 Clara lost her presence of mind. "No, no," she 
 stammered — " not . . . not about you." Then quickly 
 recovering her self-possession, though with downcast 
 eyes, because she hated to meet Sir Cuthbert's keen
 
 208 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 glance, she added, very plausibly, " I have been con- 
 sulting Dr Stumps about my own health, Sir Cuthbert, 
 for I never am very strong." She said this quite 
 prettily. " No, I am never very strong ; and I did 
 wish so very, very much to get the advice of a man 
 whose abilities I have heard so highly spoken of by 
 dear Kate ; for now, really, dear Kate never does tire 
 of praising Dr Stumps." 
 
 " Kate is in there consulting him now, Mrs New- 
 sham," said Sir Cuthbert. " But, unlike you," he con-, 
 tinned, speaking slowly — " unlike you, Mrs Newsham, 
 Kate is consulting Dr Stumps about me." 
 
 Clara looked up ; she could not help it. Her eyes 
 met Sir Cuthbert's penetrating gaze. It was as if she 
 saw the lie she had told standing there uncovered, 
 looking back at her. The colour which so rarely 
 tinges the marble of her fair cheek rose upon it now, 
 and she felt herself blush, and saw Sir Cuthbert smile 
 in a curious sort of way. 
 
 The whole scene was over in an instant ; and Clara, 
 having murmured something about trains not waiting 
 for any one, was walking rather hurriedly down the 
 High Street. Sir Cuthbert, with that smile still play- 
 ing round his wan lips, watched her as she went. 
 
 " Elle ment et ne trompe pas" said the diplomatist, 
 in the words of Talleyrand. And from that hour he 
 called Clara " Metternich."
 
 209 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I DO not think any one with the highest moral sense 
 was ever more sincerely put out at having told what 
 can only be called a downright lie than Clara ; for she 
 saw Sir Cuthbert had not in the least believed her. 
 It is not at all Clara's habit to tell real lies. A lady 
 engaged in the arrangement of accidents, and involved 
 in the complications of matrimony, cannot always get 
 on without a little verbal diplomacy of that intelligent 
 sort which suits itself instinctively to the accident or 
 the person it is necessary for the time being to manage. 
 But what Clara really likes is to leave you under a 
 false impression, and she greatly prefers to do this 
 by silence than by deliberate speech ; and indeed, 
 when she has to speak, she is quite fond of telling 
 you half the truth. Now half the truth can never be 
 called a lie, and yet it may produce exactly the same 
 effect. 
 
 Clara was dreadfully annoyed at having been sur- 
 prised into an unmistakable lie — dreadfully ! But 
 she was not merely angry with herself ; she was far 
 more angry with Sir Cuthbert, and she never again 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 deceived herself into the idea that slie wished him to 
 get hopelessly well. 
 
 " I know exactly the sort of man Sir Cuthbert is," 
 she reflected, irritably — " an underhand, designing, 
 suspicious diplomatist. Diplomacy quite unfits you 
 for private life, for you are always suspecting every- 
 body of being as intriguing as yourself. I see clearly 
 what will happen. Sir Cuthbert will, say I went to 
 ask Dr Stumps how soon he is going to die. That is 
 just the sort of spiteful thing he would say. And he 
 will talk me all over quite openly with Kate, and put 
 notions into her dense head. And then there is that 
 dreadful, dangerous Admiral staying on at Crofton 
 Place ! I am sure he has been joking about George 
 and Adela, and talking in the most shocking, impru- 
 dent manner possible. Just like him ! He is a dan- 
 gerous man, and capable of doing endless mischief. T 
 do wish Cutlass Cutter would send him out to the 
 West Coast, and be quick about it. At any rate, I 
 have no time to lose. If this match is to take place 
 at all, it must be settled immediately, before those 
 odiously suspicious Croftons think there can be time 
 for me to act. Sir Cuthbert is a regular man of the 
 world, and the instant George gets into the army he 
 will begin putting heiresses into his head. It certainly 
 is shocking to see a man carry his worldliness into the 
 grave like Sir Cuthbert ! I am sure I would give up 
 George altogether if I knew any one who would suit 
 Adela as well. But now, really, considering Adela's 
 prospects, I do not see she ever could do better than
 
 POOR NELLIE. 211 
 
 George. It is a very fine old property, a beautiful 
 house, and just the sort of neighbourhood which would 
 be an advantage to Sylvia and the younger girls ; and 
 we have no neighbours of the right sort here at East- 
 court except that worldly, intriguing Lady Harchester. 
 I cannot help thinking, too, that George must be feel- 
 ing very nervous at the notion of sending Adela into 
 a rapid decline, especially as I have taken care the 
 idea should be kept alive in his mind." 
 
 Clara was right. George had never been quite 
 comfortable about Adela since Eockhurst's visit to 
 Chapel Street and the dentist ; and the uneasiness had 
 been kept up by rumours of Adela's touched lung 
 which had been reaching his ears, on and off, for the 
 last six weeks, from the most unexpected and widely 
 opposite quarters. 
 
 Then it must be understood George was no longer 
 the same boy he had been at Bluehaven. He had 
 got many new ideas from the men at " Butt's," and 
 his mind had been a good deal upset on most subjects 
 by Eattles : it was delightful to Eattles to upset young 
 Crofton's mind. So what George would have con- 
 sidered actual " E.O.T. " in the month of August seemed 
 to him the right thing towards the end of the follow- 
 ing February. He had not been long at a crammer's 
 before he discovered it was quite the thing to be in 
 love ; or if not in love yourself, to have some one in 
 love with you. Eattles had two young ladies in love 
 with him. " Have to keep clear of them both," said 
 he confidentially to George. Eattles was very confi-
 
 212 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 dential, and yet very outspoken, on the subject of his 
 love affairs. " Have to keep clear of them both, or I 
 might be asked my intentions." 
 
 As ill-luck would have it, George instantly told 
 Eattles he himself had already been asked his in- 
 tentions. 
 
 " Your intentions ! Yoic asked your intentions ! 
 You ! By George, but you are precocious ! I say, 
 you are such an awfully grown -up -looking sort of 
 fellow for your age ! " Eattles considered George a 
 perfect baby. 
 
 " You see," said George, naively, " I naturally thought 
 she hated me, because she was so awfully rude and 
 queer ; but it seems she was only awfully in love with 
 me." And the story, as George gave it, did seem such 
 an " awful joke " to Eattles — the very best joke he 
 had heard for many a day. To do him justice, it 
 never once struck him it was anything else. 
 
 " Whoever," thought Eattles, " could have guessed 
 that meek-looking JSTewsham was up to such a joke ! 
 Hang me if I did not think he had nothing in him ! 
 But this is a lark ! " So, instead of reassuring George 
 on the subject of Adela's lung, Eattles amused himself 
 by taking a very serious view of the lovelorn lung, 
 and by persuading George he had made a terrible mis- 
 take in letting a girl fall so desperately in love with 
 him. " Now," said Eattles, " there is a certain point 
 at which I make my young ladies stop short." 
 
 Hardly a day went by without Eattles inquiring 
 confidentially for Miss Adela's health. He would even
 
 POOR NELLIE. 213 
 
 pass up a bit of paper the whole length of the room 
 at Butt's with — " No bad news, I hope ? You look 
 rather down in the mouth," or words to that effect, 
 written on it. 
 
 Eattles took George to the Royal Lacrimose time 
 after time, " Just in your Kne, my good fellow," he 
 would say ; " she is so awfully in love with him with- 
 out his knowing it. Odd that no one asks him his 
 intentions ! First-rate play ! awfully moral too 1 teaches 
 a fellow not to trifle even by accident with a girl's 
 affections. Saw the moral of it awfully praised the 
 other day in the ' Times.' The ' Times ' always does 
 stick up for the moral of everything ! " 
 
 Whenever George had been to see Laura Lovelock's 
 great death-scene, he certainly did feel for some little 
 time afterwards that it was not impossible Adela 
 might really have fallen in love with him without his 
 knowing it. 
 
 Jack Eattles was not slow in noticing the effect the 
 piece invariably produced on his friend, for the amused 
 Jack kept his eyes wide open and noticed everything, 
 and at times quite pestered poor George with ques- 
 tions. He was constantly asking, " I say, Crofton, 
 awfully good-looking, isn't she ? " 
 
 George never knew if Adela ought to be called 
 pretty or not. This uncertainty did seem to Eattles 
 such an " awful joke " 1 And that was why he kept 
 so constantly asking, " Awfully good - looking, isn't 
 she ? " 
 
 At last the long-suffering George got out of temper.
 
 214 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " Hang it, Eattles ! don't bother me any more. If 
 you had seen Mrs ISTewsham, you would know exactly 
 what Adela is like ; awfully white and fair, and — all 
 that sort of thing ; only Adela does not look through 
 a fellow like her mother." 
 
 " The mother looks through you, does she ? I say, 
 then, take my advice and keep clear of her." 
 
 " Awfully difficult though," said George ; " she is 
 my stepmother's sister-in-law." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Jack Eattles ; " then you 
 are in a fix! She'll be like one of those dear rela- 
 tions always on your bones, whom a fellow is so 
 awfully anxious to avoid ! She'll be cropping up 
 everywhere ; and look here, I say," he added, with in- 
 finite glee, " it is she herself will be coming to your 
 house and asking your intentions next time. By 
 George ! you'll have her down upon you to a dead 
 certainty. But I say, Crofton, if ever she does swoop 
 down here, you just send for me. I'll be a match for 
 her ! " Piattles's self-confidence was sublime. 
 
 A match for Metternich Mr Eattles could never 
 have been ! But he might have proved a great incon- 
 venience to her, and he would undoubtedly have been 
 some little help to the ingenuous, defenceless George. 
 But George was an unlucky fellow, and Clara was a 
 very lucky woman, for it was only on rare occasions, 
 and with some wily old serpent like Sir Cuthbert, that 
 ill-luck befell her. 
 
 Her fortunate star was certainly shining in heaven 
 — or somewhere else — when Eattles left town on a
 
 POOR NELLIE. 215 
 
 ten days' visit to a friend — ^just to " keep himself going 
 for the grind," by a few runs at the end of the 
 season — exactly tliirty-six hours before Clara appeared 
 in Chapel Street. For Clara did appear there within 
 a week of that memorable visit to Shropwich — and 
 she was accompanied by Adela. 
 
 Clara made her unexpected and purely accidental 
 visit seem quite natural by her usual expedient of 
 going up to " consult the doctors." She knew the 
 doctors would do well enouoh for George, and she 
 could think of no better excuse ; indeed, what better 
 one could she ever have found ? 
 
 Those London doctors ! Ah, those London doctors ! 
 they are simply invaluable ! Many and many a lady 
 would never get up to town unless she came to 
 " consult the doctors." A lady can always take her 
 daughter up to London solely to " consult the doctors." 
 She will even be able to drag the dullest husband out 
 of the dullest country place and bring him up to town 
 in the very height of the season, merely to " get an 
 opinion," as she will call it, not being quite altogether 
 perfectly satisfied with the state of " dear William's," 
 or " dear Henry's," or " dear Thomas's " health. 
 
 Metternich, knowing Kate to be certainly at Crofton 
 Place, had written her a little letter addressed to 
 Chapel Street, saying : — 
 
 " My dearest Kate, — Can you ? now can you give 
 nic a bed, just for one, one night ? I am going up to 
 town to consult Sir Jonathan Johnston, as I have not
 
 216 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 been feeling quite the thing of late ! and I am also 
 taking up Adela, but merely for the day. I wish her 
 to see Dr Williams-Smith, the great lung authority, as, 
 I am sorry to say, and I am sure, my dear Kate, you 
 will be grieved to hear, that her health has been a 
 matter of very, I'cry serious anxiety to me during the 
 last few months." 
 
 Then Clara took good care to arrive in Chapel Street 
 almost with her letter, before there really could be 
 time to send it on to Crofton Place. She chanced the 
 accident. 
 
 George was eating his solitary luncheon when a cab 
 with luggage stopped at the door, and before he had 
 time to think there must be some mistake, to his 
 frightened amazement, to his disgust, out stepped Mrs 
 Newsham, followed, to his greater horror, by Adela ! 
 And right upon him, straight into the dining-room, 
 they walked. 
 
 Clara came in with a sort of beautiful Madonna- 
 like composure ; but poor George thought Adela 
 looked as if she might faint or even die on the spot. 
 George was painfully bewildered, and lost his presence 
 of mind, and let himself be kissed by Mrs Newsham 
 as if he were still a mere child ; and then he nearly 
 kissed Adela himself by mistake ! though her manner 
 was cold to him. Her mother had told her to be 
 very cold. 
 
 But George's flustered surprise was nothing to the 
 unbounded astonishment expressed by Clara on dis-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 217 
 
 covering what she already knew, that Kate was at 
 Crofton Place, and not in Chapel Street at all 1 " And, 
 I declare, here is my own letter lying on the mantel- 
 piece ! " It was in the discovery of what she well 
 knew beforehand that Metternich was truly admir- 
 able. The name suited her to perfection. 
 
 Clara read her own letter aloud before she burned 
 it, because it had really been written, not for Kate, 
 but for George. The unfortunate fellow winced pain- 
 fully when she came to the part about Adela's health. 
 He glanced at Adela. She gave him a frightened look 
 in return, changed colour, and seemed very, very 
 much agitated. 
 
 Clara read out slowly and quite pathetically the 
 words, " I am sorry to say, and I am sure, my dear 
 Kate, you will be grieved to hear, that her health has 
 been a matter of very, very " — here she made a telling 
 pause — " of very serious anxiety to me during the last 
 few months." 
 
 George instinctively looked at Adela ; and when 
 she saw him looking again, she turned white, then 
 red, then looked towards her mother. But Clara ap- 
 peared to see nothing — she was quietly burning the 
 letter. 
 
 " Oh, my dear George," she said, with much kindly 
 consideration — " my dear George, I do so hope I am 
 not putting you out in any way ! and naturally you 
 never, never could have expected me ! and Sir Jona- 
 than Johnston says he positively cannot see me until 
 past four o'clock ! So provoking ! for unless I spend
 
 218 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 the night here, I must leave by the four train. So 
 now really, really, George, I must ask for a bed." 
 
 George was so taken aback he could not quickly 
 answer, and Clara went on in her gentlest voice, " Poor 
 dear Adela has an appointment with Dr Williams- 
 Smith — the great chest opinion, you know. He is to 
 call here at a quarter to three '"' — and she added, with 
 tender softness, " I knew dearest Kate would not mind. 
 Dearest Kate is always so very, very thoughtful and 
 kind." Then continued, " I am sure, George, Dr 
 Williams-Smith will be punctual, so Adela and her 
 maid will be able to catch the four-o'clock train." 
 
 George was immensely relieved to find Adela was 
 not going to stay in his house as well as her mother. 
 He wondered if he could not get rid of Mrs Xewsham 
 too, but said, politely enough, he would ask Emma if 
 it were possible to get his mother's room ready for 
 the night. 
 
 He had great hopes, in fact he was almost certain, 
 Emma would refuse to do so, for she had made an 
 extraordinary fuss once about getting that room ready 
 for Eattles, one night when he had asked that agree- 
 able fellow to sleep in Chapel Street after a visit to 
 the Lacrimose. Clara proposed to ring for Emma and 
 speak to her herself; but George eagerly jumped at 
 an excuse for leaving the room. 
 
 He was alarmed to see Mrs Xewsham's luggage in 
 the hall, and to find the cabman had driven away. 
 
 But he still had hope, and said to the tyrant of 
 his household, " I say, Emma, Mrs Xewsham wants
 
 POOR NELLIE. 219 
 
 to stay here to-night." The old servant looked glum, 
 and had George stopped then all might have been 
 well ; but he foolishly went on, " Emma, I don't 
 think you could have mother's room ready in time, 
 for you know you always say there is so much dust- 
 ins or something to be done." Poor Georcje ! this was 
 an ill-judged remark. Emma fired up. 
 
 " A body would think, Master George, I keep this 
 'ouse like a pigstye ! So you just go and tell Mrs 
 Newsham there's nothing to be done to that 'ere 
 room, and that's more than she could say for any 
 bedroom at Heastcourt ; for it is I that knows the 
 bins and houts of that grand place. Grand place 
 indeed ! A pack of tossed-off girls for 'ousemaids, 
 and not one of 'em as knows her business ! Master 
 George, you just tell Mrs Newsham there is a room for 
 her, and for Miss Adela too, and for her maid as well ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried George ; '•' no, no ! they are 
 not going to stay, Emma. Miss Adela and the maid 
 are going home by the four-o'clock train." 
 
 " They've no need to, and you just tell 'em so, 
 Master George. I've a mind to tell 'em myself," said 
 Emma, stoutly. 
 
 " Don't, don't 1 " implored poor George, for Emma 
 had been tyrant of the household as long as he could 
 remember anything ; " I beg you won't, Emma. Hav- 
 ing a lot of people in the house would interfere with 
 my cramming." 
 
 " Cramming indeed ! " exclaimed the indignant 
 Emma ; " and much good they'll ever cram into your
 
 220 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 head, Master George. They'll just cram you into a 
 'sylum, or a 'ospital, or a hicliot, with their new- 
 fangled nonsense ! Young gentlemen are not young 
 gentlemen nowadays. You don't see one of 'em hold- 
 ing up his 'ead straight and 'appy. They're a poor, 
 broken-hacked, spiritless lot. That they are ! Unless 
 it's one of them as will come to no good, like that 
 
 young Eattles " George had quite disappeared 
 
 down-stairs by this time, so old Emma added, " There's 
 that Miss Adela, as pretty and nice-spoken a young 
 lady as you might see hanywhere, and Master George 
 a-sayin she'd interfere with his cramming ! It's just 
 hunnatural ! That it is 1 Like some sort of strange, 
 'eathen, young cannibal man ! " 
 
 George merely put his head in at the dining-room 
 door. " Emma says you can have a bed to-night, Mrs 
 Newsham. I'm off to Butt's. Very busy to-day. 
 Awful hurry ! " And off he was, out in the street 
 and across the road, before Clara could call him back. 
 
 He had not said good-bye to Adela ; not that he 
 had in the least forgotten to do so — he was merely in 
 mortal terror of paying her attention unawares. 
 
 But when he had got as far as Park Lane, it struck 
 him, to his dismay, that perhaps Mrs ISTewsham would 
 say his running away so abruptly was a marked avoid- 
 ance of her daughter more particular than any open 
 attention. George was indeed glad he had told Eock- 
 hurst clearly he had " no intentions," and he now felt 
 that had placed him in the right position. " As Mrs 
 Newsham knows I have no intentions," he reflected,
 
 POOR NELLIE. 221 
 
 " it really does not much matter how I behave ; " and 
 lie wished he had remembered this before. He would 
 then have said good-bye quite naturally to Adela. 
 He hoped Adela had not thought his abrupt departure 
 rude and snubbing, for he did not want to seem un- 
 kind to a girl who had nearly gone into a consump- 
 tion for secret love of him. Yes ! he did believe 
 she was very ill, and he hoped the doctor would not 
 think there was any chance of her dying. She did 
 not cough much, and she could walk without help. 
 He had noticed that she had got out of the cab quite 
 easily ; but she was certainly a little thinner. 
 
 George had seen a great deal in those two furtive 
 glances, and, above all, he had seen that Adela was 
 really pretty. He wondered he had never seen this 
 before ; perhaps being in a sort of consumption made 
 Adela prettier than she used to be. He had often 
 heard Eattles say no really pretty girl ever had 
 two lungs. He felt he could now tell Eattles with 
 perfect truth that Adela was pretty. 
 
 " Poor Adela ! " he said to himself, " she is ill ; and 
 I think I may have been rather hard on her and 
 down upon her long ago for being a duffer." He 
 remembered how deadly pale she had turned on first 
 coming into the dining-room after her mother. She 
 must secretly have felt seeing him again very much, 
 or she would not have got so white ; and then, though 
 her manner had seemed cold, her little hand had 
 trembled when it touched his in a way that was 
 moving to a very young man who had been living
 
 222 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 entirely out of ladies' society and cramming hard for 
 the last six months. 
 
 George had started for Butt's a quarter of an hour 
 earlier than usual or than was necessary. Butt lived in 
 Brompton. George dawdled leisurely on by the empty 
 Eow ; and, strange to say, he began thinking of Adela 
 agjain. He had never before in his whole life thouoht 
 
 O CD 
 
 of her so much. The truth is, he had nothing to 
 think of just then that he cared about, for he was 
 not really interested in his work; it was only an 
 " awful grind " to him. He missed Eattles dread- 
 fully ; he never wanted to think of anything inter- 
 esting or not, when Eattles was with him. Eattles 
 had become a part of his existence, and he was dread- 
 fully bored without him. If this lively, agreeable 
 fellow had been in town, I don't think George would 
 have cast two thoughts upon Adela. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, Eattles can't chaff me any 
 more, for I'll tell him Adela is a long sight prettier 
 than either of his young ladies. He would admire 
 Adela's white skin. Hang me if I ever thought it 
 pretty before ! but I see it is the right thing now ; and 
 Eattles does go on so about a woman's complexion. 
 I'll bet a fiver he will fall in love with Adela. No 
 end of a pretty girl if a fellow was a marrying man ! 
 But hang it, I'm not a marrying man 1 Awfully hard 
 up ! If I was flush of coin, I'd dine with Courtney 
 and go to the Frantic. Courtney is not such a bad 
 fellow when you can't get any one else. Anyhow, 
 I'll cut Mrs Newsham and the whole concern. I'll
 
 POOli NELLIE. 223 
 
 be blowed if I dine with her alone ! Let's see " 
 
 He pulled out one shilling from his waistcoat-pocket 
 and looked at it ruefully. " Awfully hard up ! " he 
 repeated, — Eattles had certainly proved an expensive 
 friend, — " never was so hard up before ! " 
 
 He looked at the shilling again, then dived into all 
 his pockets, but only to find a solitary sixpence. After 
 as much thought as he would have given an examina- 
 tion paper, he came across an idea. " Have it ! I'll 
 buy half-a-dozen buns, and stay on at Butt's till ten 
 o'clock, as if I were going in for an exam. ; and when 
 it is near dinner-time I'll send Mrs Newsham a tele- 
 gram. Deuced lucky I've got that shilling. Won't 
 turn up till late at night, and I'll be rid of her to- 
 morrow. Said in that letter she was only going to 
 stay one night. By Jove ! but I shall be awfully 
 hungry grinding for hours on a few buns, for I hadn't 
 half enough luncheon. Had to run away l^efore I 
 had finished a single chop ! and I'll be hanged if 
 Emma will let me have any supper in my bedroom ! "
 
 224 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 Claka had a very unsatisfactory visit to Sir Jonathan 
 Johnston. He told her she really had nothing the 
 matter with her, gave her no prescription, and did not 
 advise her to call again. 
 
 Clara had never been insulted by a doctor before. 
 She was very angry. However, as no third person 
 had been present at the interview, Metternich felt she 
 could give her own account, if necessary, of Sir Jona- 
 than Johnston's " opinion." 
 
 Dr Williams-Smith's visit to Adela was far more 
 satisfactory. 
 
 Poor Adela was almost in a nervous fever, for her 
 mother had kept her in a state of agitation for a very 
 long time ; and it had never so much as entered her 
 innocent young soul, when Clara told her plainly she 
 was in love with George, and going into a rapid con- 
 sumption, that her mother, for whom she had un- 
 bounded respect and fear, was telling her something 
 very like a complete untruth. 
 
 It was an agony of shame and awkwardness to the 
 poor young girl to be dragged up from the country
 
 rOOll NELLIE. 225 
 
 right into George's own house. Her instinctive sense 
 of lionour had rebelled against it ; and she had had 
 the audacious courage to say to her mother, " If George 
 is in love with me, he can come to Eastcourt. Let 
 him come to me. I hate going to him." 
 
 " Adela, I am ashamed of you ! How dare you 
 talk in that extraordinary manner ? " Clara had 
 silenced her by saying. " You are not going to 
 George. You are going up to town to consult Dr 
 Williams-Smith, and will merely lunch in your Aunt 
 Kate's house. I could not let you see the doctor 
 before luncheon, for fear he should take too gloomy 
 a view of your very, very serious case." 
 
 Poor Adela ! how this had frightened her. It had 
 frightened her out of her wits, for she had the most 
 healthy horror of dying. 
 
 Dread of Dr Williams- Smith and his " opinion," 
 even more than the uncomfortable awkwardness of 
 George, had prevented her from eating any luncheon. 
 She had awaited the doctor in the most highly strung 
 state of nervous agitation, fearing he would certainly 
 say she was going to die. She had been crying be- 
 fore he came. 
 
 Mrs Newsham first saw the doctor alone in the small 
 inner drawing-room, with the two doors closed. Adela 
 sat tremblinoj in the larger outer one, f>ivin<^ a short 
 nervous cough every few seconds, and feeling as if she 
 were going to break that dreaded blood-vessel then 
 and there. 
 
 When at last the double doors opened, Adela 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 turned deadly pale and felt faint ; and when she tried 
 to stand, her knees shook so that she had to sit down 
 again. She really felt alarmingly ill, and her pulse 
 was all in a flutter. 
 
 Dr Williams- Smith was cheerful in manner. " That 
 is because he does not like to tell me I am going to 
 die," thought poor Adela ; " but he will tell mamma 
 afterwards in the back drawing-room." 
 
 The doctor stethoscoped her. She had been stetho- 
 scoped before, but it always frightened her. 
 
 " Draw a long breath. Ah ! thank you, thank you. 
 Not so very much wrong there, Mrs Newsham," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 Adela heard him say this, yet did not feel reas- 
 sured : it was only a part of his hypocritical cheer- 
 fulness. All doctors were alike ; old Doseman had 
 been unnaturally cheerful too, and had never told 
 her she was dangerously ill, but he had certainly told 
 mamma. " And Dr AVilliams-Smith will tell mamma 
 I am dying, but he won't tell me." 
 
 The doctor tapped on her chest mysteriously, and 
 examined her thoroughly. Then Mrs Newsham looked 
 at the doctor, and the doctor looked at Mrs Newsham, 
 and Clara walked towards the back drawinsj-room. Dr 
 Williams- Smith having shaken hands, I can only call 
 it affectionately, with Adela, followed Mrs Xewsham. 
 
 The awful mystery in the back drawing-room was 
 full of terror to poor Adela. The doctor left by the 
 side-door of the back room, and did not come in a 
 second time to see his trembling patient.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 227 
 
 " Dr Williams- Smith says lie will call again the day 
 after to-morrow," said Clara, returning^ to her daughter 
 with a very grave face. 
 
 " But oh, mamma ! oh ! I may go home to-day ? I 
 may go home to-day, mamma ? I can come back on 
 Wednesday. Do, do let me go home ! " 
 
 For the moment, the nervous terror of staying on 
 in George's house with George overcame the poor 
 cliild's fear of death. It was not till her mother said, 
 " You will remain here, Adela, until Dr Williams- 
 Smith has seen you again," and said it in that sev- 
 erely determined manner which always cowed her 
 children, that poor Adela's terror of the awkwardness 
 about George was lost in the greater terror of 
 death. 
 
 " Does the doctor think I am . . ." Adela's white 
 lips tried but could not say the hateful word dying. 
 " Does he think I am ... I am ill ? " 
 
 " He will give his final opinion the next time he 
 sees you — or the time after," replied Metternich. 
 " Lie down on the sofa, Adela, and rest yourself. Eest 
 is very necessary for you." And she left the room. 
 
 To do Clara justice, it had never entered her head 
 that her daughter's imagination had been worked up 
 by herself into the certain expectation of a rapidly 
 consumptive death. She considered Adela devoid of 
 imagination, and altogether too stolidly healthy and 
 sensible for a girl of her age. " It is almost impos- 
 sible to get an idea into Adela's brain," she had often 
 reflected irritably.
 
 228 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 But Clara was not aware that when you have once 
 managed to force a clearly defined conviction into an 
 unimaginative mind, it will stay there for ever un- 
 changed. Imagination has wings of its own, and flies 
 from impression to impression, forgetting the old one 
 in the new ; but the mind which does not invent, 
 will hold as an immovable fact the invention, perhaps 
 the passing invention, of another. When people only 
 tell the mere exact truth by accident, they get into 
 the habit of saying a great many little things very 
 useful at the moment, but which they afterwards 
 forget. Clara had been provoked at Adela's dulness 
 of perception and slowness in grasping the fact that 
 she had a lung, and that George was the disease upon 
 that lung, so she had frequently spoken to the girl in 
 a highly exaggerated manner about the delicacy of 
 her chest. And Adela had believed her all the more 
 easily because, from being constantly worried, she had 
 got low and nervous, and this was a strange alarming 
 feeling to her, as she was accustomed to enjoy per- 
 fectly smooth, solid, good health. 
 
 Clara thought it very desirable Adela should think 
 herself ill enough to lie on the sofa, and feel nervous. 
 The girl was generally so healthily active ! It did 
 not suit Metternich's little plans to have Adela trot- 
 ting about town amusing herself, and getting a good 
 colour and a good appetite, just as if she were quite 
 well. 
 
 Adela was feeling so inexpressibly wretched lying 
 on the sofa for the whole afternoon, in perturbed ex-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 229 
 
 pectation alike of George and the breaking blood- 
 vessel, that when George's telegram to her mother 
 arrived, the relief of thinking that, at all events, she 
 would be delivered for the evening from the painful 
 discomfort of his presence, was so great that she got a 
 fit of hysterics. Like a true diplomatist, Metternich 
 reserved to herself the right of interpreting the mean- 
 ing of these tears in the manner best calculated to 
 promote the higher interests of her daughter in the 
 serious matter of matrimony. 
 
 George could not stay on at Butt's after half-past 
 ten, and he only managed to remain there so long by 
 craftily entangling old Butt himself in a discussion 
 about a very crabbed question in one of the official 
 examination papers on an expression of Chaucer's. 
 Georf^e maintained that a knowled<_^e of such out-of-the- 
 
 o o 
 
 way English was useless to an officer, and only puzzled 
 his spelling for life. Butt was a sure " draw " on this 
 subject ; Chaucer put at least five hundred a-year into 
 his pocket, and he always stuck up for him. 
 
 George dawdled about the streets till it was a quar- 
 ter to twelve, and he was dead tired. Luckily he had 
 his latch-key, so he could let himself in without en- 
 countering Emma. He took off his boots, and crept 
 up-stairs like a guilty mouse. He was dreadfully 
 hungry, but rushed into bed, not daring to ask for any- 
 thing to eat, knowing well that Emma would insist 
 upon his having supper down-stairs in the dining- 
 room, and fearing the light, now in the drawing- 
 room, might descend upon him with Mrs Newsham.
 
 230 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 George was ravenous next morning. Mrs Newsham 
 appeared at his early breakfast, but Adela stayed in 
 bed by her mother's advice. 
 
 Clara could not help being annoyed at George's 
 hearty appetite. He did not even inquire what Dr 
 Williams- Smith had said of Adela, but ate on just as 
 if he had never been told the girl was going into a 
 rapid consumption, and all through secret love of 
 him. 
 
 Clara hemmed once or twice to attract George's 
 attention, but the provoking young man ate steadily. 
 He was very glad to be occupied, and not to look at 
 Mrs Newsham. 
 
 Clara's mouth tic^htened, and her face gjrew stern. 
 She said severely, " George, Dr Williams-Smith must 
 see Adela again before he gives a final opinion of her 
 very " — she laid marked emphasis on the word — " her 
 very serious case. Adela is not coming down to 
 breakfast ; she is too ill." As a fact, the lung-opinion 
 had not called the " case " a serious one at* all, and it 
 was Mrs Newsham herself had asked him to come 
 again. 
 
 At Adela's name, George had dropped the rather 
 large mouthful he held on his fork. He could not 
 help looking up. " Adela still here ? " he cried 
 aghast ; " I thought she was at Eastcourt ! " 
 
 Clara raised her downcast lids. She sat exactly 
 opposite George, and the table was a very small one. 
 She looked at him in the way he disliked so much. 
 '* Poor Adela ! " sighed Metternich, with her eyes on
 
 POOR NELLIE. 231 
 
 George, — " poor Aclela ! but I knew dear Kate would 
 wish her to stay here as long as the doctor might 
 consider it necessary in her very critical state. Dear 
 Kate is always kind, and always, always hospitable." 
 
 George winced under these last words ; he did feel 
 so guildly inhospitable himself. Finding no ready 
 answer, he covered his silence by drinking off a whole 
 cup of tea, and he held the cup so that it came be- 
 tween his eyes and that near glance of Clara's. When 
 at last he had to put the cup down again, Mrs Xew- 
 sham's drooping lids had fallen, and George felt more 
 at ease. 
 
 Clara was severely silent. The unpleasant silence 
 soon got so uncomfortable that George spoke, but in a 
 stammerincj, anxious sort of manner which did not 
 escape Metternich's notice. He said, " Did Sir . . . 
 Sir what's-his-name ? think . . . think you very ill also, 
 Mrs Newsham ? " He hesitated — then looking away, 
 added rapidly, " Did he say you must stay here a long 
 time too ? " George was thinking — I'll cut the whole 
 concern and be off. But it will dish my exam. ! 
 
 Clara perfectly understood George's transparent 
 anxiety ; but though secretly put out with him, she 
 smiled quite pleasantly, and said, " My dear, dear George, 
 what a way to speak of the celebrated Sir Jonathan 
 Johnston ! just as if you had never heard of him ; for 
 I suppose you do mean Sir Jonathan Johnston ? " 
 
 George nodded assent. " I mean your man, Mrs New- 
 sham." Then, astonishment momentarily overpowering 
 every other feeling, he exclaimed, " But I wonder.
 
 232 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 though, why one doctor could not doctor you both, 
 especially when he is so awfully celebrated and 
 clever." 
 
 Metternich said quickly, " Because my case and 
 Adela's are very different. Adela's is much, much 
 more serious than mine. It is a case for a specialist, 
 and Sir Jonathan Johnston is a general practitioner. 
 I grieve to say, George, that poor dear Adela's case is 
 one of threatening decline " — Clara's near glance was 
 again upon the unfortunate young man — " I am sure, 
 George, you would like to ask, but " — very emphati- 
 cally — " but I would not like to tell you what has 
 brought poor Adela so very rapidly into this most, 
 most alarming state." Now, as Clara well knew, this 
 was of all questions the very last George would wish 
 to ask. 
 
 The poor fellow felt as if the ISTemesis of murder 
 were upon him. He got up hastily from table. Clara 
 rose too. She had ventured to the extreme edge of 
 prudence ; so, laying her hand upon George's arm, 
 she gently detained him, and, looking at him quite 
 kindly, in order to reassure him, said, in the tenderly 
 sympathetic manner with which she invariably speaks 
 of her own health, " So kind of you, my dear George, 
 to have asked what Sir Jonathan Johnston thinks of 
 me ! Thank you so very much. I am glad to say 
 that, on the whole, Sir Jonathan's opinion of me 
 was rather more favourable than I had quite dared 
 to expect." And she sighed prettily. 
 
 But George was still frightened, and broke away
 
 rOOPv NELLIE. 233 
 
 from Mrs Newsham, and hastily left the room and 
 house. He did not want to be told that Adela was 
 really dying. It was horrible to him to think that, 
 even by accident, he had killed the poor young girl, 
 especially now that he saw she was pretty.
 
 234 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 If you can only make a very young man really believe 
 that a pretty girl is mortally in love with him, you 
 have caught that young man. This is the A B C of 
 the Mother's Fine Art. But it is recognised as such, so 
 the little elementary fiction — for fiction it generally is 
 — can only be resorted to in the very simplest cases, un- 
 complicated by clear-sighted parents or guardians, and 
 where the young man himself has had no experi- 
 ence of life. A season in the world will open his eyes. 
 Ladies like Clara know this, and that is why they pre- 
 fer to begin so very, very early with the young men, 
 before others have realised they are at all grown-up. 
 
 There is usually no difficulty in managing the young 
 girl, but only the eligible young man. In nine cases 
 out of ten the young lady will fall quite sufficiently in 
 love for your matrimonial arrangements, with the first 
 nice-looking young gentleman who pays her any 
 attention ; and if he won't pay her any attention, why, 
 you can always persuade her, as Clara did Adela, that 
 he is secretly in love with her, and that it is admira- 
 tion of her beauty which makes him so shy.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 235 
 
 Now secret love is very, very interesting. It is 
 certainly more interesting than much open devotion. 
 Even Adela, devoid as she was of imagination, could 
 not help feeling this. And then really, when she saw 
 George looking " quite nice," she did not wonder that 
 she, too, was secretly in love with him. 
 
 George was much improved in appearance these last 
 few months. He held himself better than he used to 
 do, and he was fast growing out of the awkward lad. 
 The marked improvement was also somewhat owing to 
 Eattles's excellent advice. Eattles had taken George 
 to Poole, and had given Poole carte-blanche as to his 
 friend's outfit. George had not yet paid the tailor's 
 bill, but he was wearing the new clothes, and Adela 
 had noticed how smart he looked and what a " nice " 
 figure he undoubtedly had. She had never thought 
 he had a good one before. He was decidedly above 
 the middle height, and she now saw he was " quite 
 nice-looking " too. Not that she had ever considered 
 him ugly, only uninteresting : he was not so unin- 
 teresting now. His complexion was much less sun- 
 burnt than it had been at Bluehaven, and his dark 
 hair looked " quite nice " on his almost white forehead, 
 and the hair was cut in exactly the right way. Adela 
 had particularly noticed this ; that was just the sort of 
 little thing she always did notice, and thought a great 
 deal of. She had fancied, too, that his hair was 
 darker than of old, and had blushed on thinking so, 
 iDCcause her mother had been careful to tell her that 
 dark-haired young men invariably fall in love with
 
 236 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 very, very fair girls — in fact, George's dark hair and 
 deep-brown eyes alone seemed to prove he must be in 
 love with her fair beauty. 
 
 Adela had seen a great deal in those two furtive 
 glances at luncheon yesterday. It was curious how 
 much she had seen which had never struck her before. 
 In this she was just like George, for he had seen more 
 in his two glances than he had done all the years of 
 his life. Perhaps Adela's most important discovery 
 was that George had really " quite nice" eyes — " quite 
 nice " was her favourite expression, and she never felt 
 the desire to use a warmer or more enthusiastic one. 
 
 George's soft brown eyes had looked at her kindly, 
 and almost, she had thought, with a sort of tender fear; 
 and when her mother had read out that part about her 
 health in the letter to Aunt Kate, she had felt George 
 saw she was dying, and was sorry for her. He could 
 not have looked at her as he did if he were not very, 
 very sorry. And it was kind of him to be sorry — 
 yes, it was very kind. 
 
 As a rule, Adela required almost as little sympathy 
 as she ever gave ; but the growing terror of an early 
 death was more than she could bear alone, so she was 
 becoming sensitive to sympathy. She was glad to feel 
 George cared about her dying. It was so dreadful to 
 die young ! Oh ! must she indeed die soon ? was 
 there no help anywhere ? would no one give her hope? 
 
 It was then that one of the many curious things 
 " mamma " had said of late, rushed back across her 
 mind. She remembered how her mother had told her
 
 POOR NELLIE. 237 
 
 in a mysterious way that Dr Doseman tliouglit she 
 would get well if George proposed to her. There was 
 hope in tliis, because she had lately been reading a 
 novel called ' He Knew it Not.' Her mother had given 
 it to her to read. In it the heroine, who had been 
 secretly in love during the first volume, and had 
 broken a blood-vessel and got a brain -fever in the 
 second, was left quite well at the end of the third, 
 simply through marrying the hero, a "magnificently 
 ugly man," though he had been a great deal queerer 
 to the poor girl, Adela reflected, than George had ever 
 been to her ; for so little did the magnificently ugly man 
 know he was in love with the young lady that he had 
 married — yes, actually married — quite another person 
 — a handsome woman with curiously dark eyebrows, 
 and suspected of forgery, rightly as it turned out, for 
 she really had forged a codicil to her father's will. 
 This wife was killed in a railway accident, and the 
 proofs of the forgery were found in the pocket of her 
 under-petticoat ; and all this luckily happened just at 
 the time of the broken blood-vessel and the brain- 
 fever, so that the hero was at liberty to restore to 
 health and happiness the heroine who had never 
 forged or done anything but love him secretly, and 
 break her blood-vessel and get her brain-fever solely 
 for his sake. The wonderful effect of matrimony on 
 the broken blood-vessel much impressed Adela, unac- 
 customed as she was to novel-reading, and therefore 
 ignorant of the beneficial effect of matrimony when it 
 comes quite at the end of the third volume.
 
 238 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Adela had a natural distaste for readino- but she 
 did not dislike this book. She had read it attentively 
 and with interest, though slowly, because she always 
 did read very slowly. She had believed every word 
 of it, and was quite sure the people were certainly 
 alive, and had said and done in real life all they said 
 and did in the novel. To the unimaginative and com- 
 monplace, there is everything in fiction but the fiction. 
 If they recognise a personal description at all like 
 any one they have ever known, or find a turn of speech 
 they have heard, or one or two traits of character they 
 have vaguely noticed, they will believe a real man or 
 woman has been taken bodily out of life and " put in 
 a book." They think this the easiest thing in the 
 world to do ! and they forthwith cap some one they 
 know with a forgery he is incapable of, or preposterous 
 things he has never said or done ; and though he may 
 be the best of husbands, they will believe the author 
 thinks he is wicked enough to run away from his 
 wife, if the plot requires the man in the novel to be 
 a flirt. The idea that a character is like a many- 
 storied house built on quite a little piece of ground 
 cannot be grasped by them ; still less the fact 
 that it takes many hints from many persons, and 
 not merely little pickings from one, to make one 
 man or woman seem alive in a book. The lady who 
 caps herself with a character in fiction may be cap- 
 ping on herself tit-bits from her mortal enemy, and 
 so may the man; but a man is rarely silly enough 
 to cap himself in real life with the picturesque bits
 
 POOR NELLIE. 239 
 
 out of a dozen fools, mostly imaginary ones. He 
 leaves that sort of common-sense to his wife. 
 
 There are some to whom a novel seems to be 
 exactly like one of those Catch- em-all-alivc-O ! fly- 
 papers — the author just simply sticks real people on 
 his pages, like living midges, blue-bottles, and wasps. 
 Kind friends will always kindly try to recognise the 
 wasps. 
 
 The heroine in 'He Knew it Not' had lightish 
 hair and a young gentleman secretly fixed upon one 
 lung. George could not be called a magnificently 
 ugly man, and yet what a very, very remarkable 
 coincidence this was ! The hair might have been 
 some shades lighter, and the eyes bluer, and there 
 ought to have been a description of a very pretty foot. 
 All the same, if Adela had known the author, or even 
 seen him once or twice in a morning visit, she would 
 have been quite, quite sure he had "put her in his 
 book." Now, as the heroine was not described as 
 absolutely faultless, and as she was made to say what 
 Adela was sure she never would have said, and to do 
 many things Adela never had done, and never, never 
 could have done, she would have felt the character, 
 though perfectly scandalously unlike her, was cer- 
 tainly herself. And such was her mental calibre, that 
 she would have told everybody it was herself. It is 
 true Adela had not yet broken her blood-vessel, like 
 the girl in the novel, but Dr Doseman and Dr 
 Williams-Smith, and, above all, " mamma," knew she 
 would break it soon.
 
 240 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Metternicli had done cleverly right in giving her 
 daughter this novel to read. She had really proved 
 herself a diplomatist of remarkable talent, for what with 
 one little clever device and what with another, she had 
 undoubtedly managed to create a sort of tender delu- 
 sion between two stolid young people whose very last 
 idea, if left to themselves, would have been to imagine 
 they were either of them in love. 
 
 George had found a few pence on his dressing-table, 
 but no more money anywhere, for with the kind help 
 of Eattles he had come quite to the end of his allow- 
 ance. He again bought some buns and lunched on 
 them, but felt he could not do without his dinner an- 
 other night. He had a headache, and was not up to 
 his usual " grind." The want of " tin " made it impos- 
 sible for him to leave town, and " cut the whole 
 concern." 
 
 So towards seven o'clock he came to the conclusion 
 that he might as well go home to dinner, and face 
 Mrs Newsham that night, as he would have to face 
 her the next and for many nights to come, as he now 
 expected she would certainly stay on till the end of 
 the week ; for though her " man " might not want to 
 keep her much longer in town, Adela's " man " evi- 
 dently meant to go on doctoring her, as he thought 
 her so alarmingly ill — quite as ill as old Doseman 
 had ever said she was. Perhaps old Doseman was 
 not such a fool after all. A horrid idea then entered 
 poor George's head : was Adela going to die — actually 
 to die in his house ?
 
 POOE NELLIE. 241 
 
 He wished his stepmother would come home, and 
 lie thought he would write to her on Sunday. George 
 was very slow about letter - writing, and would go 
 through a great deal before he went to that trouble. 
 When he did write, it was always on a Sunday, because 
 he had nearly the whole day to write his letter in. 
 
 As George walked back to Chapel Street on that 
 memorable evening, he was wondering all the way if 
 he should have to dine alone with Mrs Newsham. If 
 he had had the money, he would have bought a large 
 plant to put in the middle of the uncomfortably 
 small dinner-table, for he had felt the want at break- 
 fast of some solid protection from Mrs Newsham's 
 near glance. 
 
 " I don't mind if a person is always looking at you," 
 thought George. " Why, there's Eattles, who can't say 
 two words without looking you straight in the face. 
 He invariably looks at you when you speak to him, 
 and it feels quite natural. But what I do mind is a 
 pair of awfully mysterious eyelids, dropped down as 
 if they had deep secrets behind them, and then when 
 a fellow is quite off his guard, going up suddenly, and 
 two eyes looking through him. Deuced unpleasant ! " 
 So George actually began to wish Adela might come 
 down to dinner. He felt there would be less discom- 
 fort in her presence than in a tetc-a-tete with her 
 mother. " Mrs Newsham could not say the sort of 
 things she said at breakfast if Adela were by." 
 
 As Adela was not yet in the very act of dying, she 
 did come down to dinner that night, and George 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 POOR XELLIE. 
 
 thought her looking less mortally ill than he had ex- 
 pected. This was some relief to the unfortunate young 
 man's horribly disturbed mind, though, on first meeting 
 Adela, he had thought he should have preferred after 
 all to be alone with Mrs Newsham, for Adela got 
 white and red, and her emotion made George colour 
 too, and there were Mrs Newsham's two eyes " awfully " 
 alive and watching them both. 
 
 Adela's manner to Geore^e at dinner was constrained 
 and cold, as if she were offended with him, and 
 thought he had been unkind to her. Feeling this, 
 George wished to be kind, and tried to speak to her. 
 He hoped she was better ? 
 
 Adela answered shortly, " Quite well, thank you," 
 as if angry with him for speaking to her, then in- 
 stantly began to cry. 
 
 Clara did not seem to see these tears, and poor 
 George, not knowing what to say, remained silent; 
 but he was thinking, "Adela considers me a brute. 
 Perhaps I am a brute." 
 
 George did not speak any more to Adela at dinner, 
 and she never once spoke to him. The truth is, she 
 had again been told by Clara to be very, very cold to 
 George, and she was painfully aware her mother nar- 
 rowly watched her. She ate nothing. George could 
 not help eating, because he was so very hungry ; but 
 he did not eat half enough, for he felt Mrs New- 
 sham's near glance perpetually upon him, and she 
 seemed to see him eat with ill - concealed disgust. 
 There was no doubt she too considered him a brute.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 243 
 
 and a brute with a heartless ferocious apx^etite. 
 Clara generally had a very good appetite herself ; in- 
 deed her appetite, like her pulse, was surprising in so 
 fair and frail a creature, constantly obliged to consult 
 the doctors. But this evening she would hardly eat a 
 thing, though George pressed the dishes upon her with 
 anxious eagerness. He did feel such a savage, eating 
 hungrily when no one else had any appetite ! as a man 
 might if suddenly, still carnal and unchanged, he found 
 himself amongst the angels. 
 
 Mrs Newsham's whole time at table seemed to be 
 occupied in making George feel thoroughly uncomfort- 
 able — at least the unfortunate young man thought so. 
 " It is quite clear she is angry with me, and thinks I 
 have behaved badly to Adela. She was civil enough 
 to me at first ; but perhaps that doctor has been here 
 again this afternoon, and is now quite sure Adela is 
 going to die quickly." And he longed, but did not 
 dare, to ask if Dr Williams- Smith had called again. 
 He could see, from Adela's tears, that she was very 
 much afraid of dying, and did not like the subject 
 mentioned. It was hard on Adela to die yoimg ! 
 George was not usually sympathetic, but here was a 
 feeling into which he could enter ; he himself would 
 hate to die till he was quite old. 
 
 George did not intend to go up-stairs after dinner 
 and spend the evening in the drawing-room. He 
 meant to stay on in the dining-room all by himself, 
 with an examination paper on the table, and ' Jor- 
 rocks's Hunt ' hidden in the big arm-chair. If Mrs
 
 2U POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Newsliam should descend upon him, he had deter- 
 mined to carry Jorrocks and that " Chaucer hum- 
 bug " up to his bedroom, though he knew Emma 
 would not let him have a fire there. 
 
 George had settled all this in his own mind during 
 second course ; but what he could not arrange to his 
 own satisfaction with any certainty beforehand was, 
 what it might please Mrs Newsham to do. 
 
 His secret anxiety was agreeably relieved when, 
 without sitting half as long at dessert as he had feared 
 she might, Mrs N"ewsham rose from table, and said, 
 with a return of that charm of manner for which she 
 is celebrated, " Now, my dear George, Adela and I will 
 leave you. And remember, we shall not afterwards 
 inquire if you have smoked a cigar." 
 
 Adela looked so surprised to see her mother really 
 good-humoured again, that George noticed the aston- 
 ishment in her face. "Adela did not think her 
 mother would go up-stairs so pleasantly or so soon," 
 thought George. 
 
 The instant he found himself alone, he began clear- 
 ing the dessert dishes from the table, for he was 
 afraid, if he rang the bell, Emma might be upon him. 
 He arranged the pen, the ink, and the examination 
 paper before him ; then out came Jorrocks. But 
 just at that very moment Mrs Newsham's voice 
 sounded on the staircase calling him in dire alarm. 
 George fancied he heard the word " fire 1 " but he may 
 have been mistaken. He rushed up-stairs. Mrs 
 Xewsham was calling loudly from the back drawing-
 
 POOR XELLIE. 245 
 
 room. But after all it was not the house that was on 
 fire ; it was only the wick of a lamp which had been 
 turned too high. 
 
 " I told mamma she was turning it up too high," 
 said Adela, who was standing calmly by. 
 
 Whereupon Clara ordered her sharply to go and lie 
 down upon the sofa in the outer room. 
 
 " Adela knows nothing whatever about these lamps," 
 said Mrs Newsham to George ; " and I know very little 
 either. All I do know is that mineral oils are quite 
 horribly dangerous, and quite frightfully inflammable ! 
 My dear George, I was certain we were going to have 
 some fearful explosion. Paraffin is always a terror to 
 me." And Clara did seem much agitated. " My dear 
 George, my dear George, I am trembling all over ! 
 I will run up-stairs and get my smelling-salts, and 
 take a few drops of sal-volatile, to recover myself be- 
 fore I go in and sit with poor dear Adela." She 
 dropped her voice impressively, — " I dare not, I dare 
 not let her see I am agitated. She might faint dead ! 
 or — or get a nervous seizure. She got a most serious 
 one yesterday when your telegram came : she was so 
 disappointed you were not coming home to dinner." 
 
 Poor George coloured at this. He was dismayed to 
 see Mrs Newsham was actually leaving the room. 
 He had such a horror of woman's faints and nerves ! 
 They puzzled and distressed him, and were altogether 
 hateful to him. " I will ring for her maid and 
 Emma," he said, promptly. 
 
 Clara turned round, and ran back with surprising
 
 246 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 agility, considering she was all of a tremble, and 
 wanted smelling-salts and sal- volatile. She caught 
 George's hand just as it touched the bell. " Are you 
 mad ? " she asked, with mingled severity and indigna- 
 tion — " are you mad, George ? " Then she said in an 
 impressively mysterious undertone, " Adela would think 
 she was dying if you rang for the maids, and the sud- 
 den shock might be . . ." 
 
 In justice to Clara, it must be allowed she hesi- 
 tated before she said the word " fatal." But she did 
 say it, though in a very low voice — so low that I am 
 doubtful whether you ought to consider she told a 
 complete fib. I rather think it was only half a one ; 
 and I am sure she thought so herself. 
 
 " Fatal ! " stammered poor George, repeating aloud 
 what had been breathed to him in a whisper. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " murmured Mrs Newsham, glanc- 
 ing ominously towards her daughter. 
 
 But it was evident Adela had heard the word 
 " fatal." The deadly pallor of her face betrayed the 
 fact. The truth is, this second mystery in the back 
 drawing-room frightened poor Adela out of her wits 
 just as much as the first one ; for on catching the 
 word " fatal " she felt convinced mamma was telling 
 George what Dr Williams-Smith had told mamma in 
 private, but what mamma thought far too dreadful to 
 tell her. 
 
 Clara drew George behind the folding-door. Her 
 manner had changed to the softly maternal. " Now 
 you really, really must watch over poor dear Adela,
 
 POOR NELLIE. 247 
 
 just for one, one short moment, while I am up-stairs." 
 And in quite a tender whisper she purred to him, just 
 as if he had been a doctor, " My dear George, my dear 
 George ! you must not be rough to the poor child. 
 You must be gentle — quite, quite gentle. And do 
 not, do not on any account, let her see you dislike her 
 to stay in your house for a day or two longer." 
 
 George blushed scarlet ; for he was very hospitable 
 by nature. Clara saw she was on the right tack, so 
 continued, still purring, " I rather do think poor dear 
 Adela does fancy, my dear George, that you do dislike 
 her being here. Eemember she is very ill ; and sick 
 people are always just a little sensitive. I fear it is 
 very, very painful to poor dear Adela even to imagine 
 she is trespassing on your hospitality, and perhaps 
 driving you again to dine out of your house, as you 
 did yesterday." 
 
 " Then they knew my sapping on at Butt's was all 
 a sham ! " thought George. But before he could an- 
 swer Mrs Newsham was gone. And he found himself 
 left alone to take care of Adela. 
 
 The kindly young man had been stung to the quick 
 by the imputation cast upon his hospitality; for he 
 felt there was truth in it, and was ashamed to have 
 betrayed his secret feelings so clearly. And he had 
 thought himself so clever in concealing them ! It 
 went against his grain to act inhospitably to any one ; 
 but it was painful and humiliating to his feelings as a 
 gentleman to think he could have done so towards a 
 pretty young girl, whom he now believed was unfor-
 
 248 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 tunately in love with him, and in love unto death ! 
 What a fool he had been to avoid her in so marked a 
 manner at Bluehaven ! for his conscience did tell him 
 he had avoided her on purpose, and not by accident. 
 " I ought to have treated her just like Nellie, and then 
 I should not have put myself so horribly in the wrong." 
 Owing to the genius of Metternich, George was at last 
 convinced he had put himself in the wrong. 
 
 George Crofton was shy by nature ; and it is 
 much more difficult for shy people to do the right 
 thing easily than for those happy beings like Eattles, 
 who do not know what shyness means. But George 
 was no coward at heart, and could do a disagreeable 
 thing courageously, if not gracefully. He felt he was 
 going to do what was very unpleasant, when he stalked 
 somewhat stiffly into the same room with Adela, and 
 sat down on a chair sufficiently far off from her not 
 to be uncomfortably near, and yet near enough for liim 
 to say easily what he had made up his mind to say. 
 
 Adela was no longer lying down on the sofa. She 
 was sitting straight upright in the corner farthest away 
 from George. It was a Chesterfield sofa, with square 
 ends. 
 
 Adela looked stiff and white and cold ; but in- 
 wardly she was in a state of highly strung nervous 
 agitation ; for she felt " mamma" had left her alone on 
 purpose that she might be proposed to by George. 
 She was sure of this. That was a painful moment to 
 the young girl. She looked down upon the floor, and 
 nervously held her breath.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 2-49 
 
 " Adela," said George, also looking down on tlie car- 
 pet, " I hope you don't really think I ... I dislike . . . 
 I mean I don't like having you here. I am awfully 
 sorry I ... I didn't seem as glad as I ought to have 
 done — awfully 1 But I am an awkward fellow, Adela," 
 he said, penitently. " You . . . you shouldn't mind 
 me. If I had thought you would have been sorry, I 
 wouldn't have sent that telegi'am yesterday. But it 
 wasn't you I funked dining with, Adela, but only Mrs 
 Newsham. I ... I thought you were at Eastcourt." 
 
 No sooner had these words escaped his lips than 
 Georcije felt he had stumbled on the wronci' thimj. 
 Heartily ashamed of his awkward bungling, he looked 
 up and saw the blush he felt all over his own face 
 mantling painfully on Adela's cheek. She looked up, 
 then quickly down again, and reddening more and 
 more, said hurriedly, " I did not go to Eastcourt, be- 
 cause Dr Williams-Smith wanted to see me again. 
 Perhaps . . . perhaps I may go home to-morrow." 
 
 " Xo, no ! " exclaimed George, very warmly ; for he 
 was disgusted with himself. " No, no ! Adela, you 
 shall not go ! I am not quite the brute you think 
 me." 
 
 He got up, walked a few hurried steps towards the 
 window, turned and stood still behind the sofa. 
 
 Adela, feeling him so near, instinctively moved a 
 little forward. George saw the motion, slight as it 
 was, and he was piqued by it. He had put one hand 
 upon the high-backed couch ; he withdrew it. 
 
 " It is not kind of you to say you will go home,"
 
 250 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 said he, quickly ; " as if I were an inhospitable brute, 
 and did not wish you to stay as long as the doctor 
 thinks you ought." 
 
 Eepentance, which is so often sour in age, can be a 
 tenderly relenting kindness where the feelings have not 
 yet grown old, and to have been if only just a little 
 hard, will make some hearts too soft. 
 
 " Adela ! " said George, losing in fresh feeling the 
 instinct which a minute before had made him draw 
 back his hand. He leant again upon the sofa, and 
 bending towards the young girl, added, in a voice 
 which she thought was very kind — " Believe me, 
 Adela — for it is hard not to believe a fellow when 
 he is telling the truth — believe me, I never meant to 
 be a brute. I am awfully sorry you are so very, very 
 ill — I am awfully sorry, Adela." 
 
 The first few kindly spoken words had been pleas- 
 ant to Adela, for they had sounded as if George were 
 forgiving her for having come uninvited to his house ; 
 but the last ones had thrilled her painfully, awaken- 
 ing, as they did, the strongest feeling in her young 
 heart — the great fear of death. It gave her a shock 
 to hear from George's own lips that he believed she 
 was very, very ill ; everyone seemed to believe it, so 
 it must be true. She must indeed be dying, there 
 could be no doubt of it. Adela turned very, very pale ; 
 large tears filled her blue eyes, and rolled down her 
 cheeks. She was trembling very much. 
 
 Suddenly, with the overpowering impulse of a young 
 thing longing passionately for life, and hating death.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 251 
 
 she turned roiiud, put her hand ou George's arm, and 
 clasping it as if it might be he could save her, cried — 
 " Can no one save me from dying ? George, I don't 
 want to die." Her eyes grew big with terror. " I 
 hate to die ! I hate it ! You would hate it too, 
 George, if they told you you were dying ! " 
 
 Strong emotion makes people so very real — as 
 human as we ever feel ourselves to be. George forgot 
 he had once thought Adela a mere wax-doll. 
 
 Yes ; he would hate to die himself, so full of health 
 and life and hope was he ! His kind ingenuous eyes 
 looked down very sympathetically into poor Adela's 
 troubled ones ; and as he looked, he felt the sort of 
 emotion a man might feel if he had cruelly wounded 
 some tame white dove, or too fond creature that never 
 did him any harm, and only loved him. A wounded 
 creature we never thought could have a soul will 
 turn and look at us in terror or in death, and move 
 our very heart with a pained sympathy we did not 
 dream we ever could have felt. There had never 
 been so much expression in Adela's fair face before — 
 her eyes, so sadly full of that wistful longing to live, 
 were very touching, and they touched George. The 
 young girl's hand was still upon his arm, and George 
 placed his own free hand on that little, trembling, 
 clinging one. 
 
 " Poor Adela ! " he said most gently, consoling her 
 tenderly, as big strong men who are kind will com- 
 fort a child. " You must not die ; you must get well. 
 Dear Adela. you will not die ! You are too young,
 
 252 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 younger than I am, and I feel I could not die while 
 I am young. If a doctor told me I was dying, I 
 would not believe him." 
 
 George spoke with strong conviction, for there is 
 no belief like that of a young man who feels within 
 himself the power to live till he is quite, quite old. 
 
 But Adela seemed heedless of the joyful hope in 
 his words, and only softly, shyly sensible of his tender 
 manner. The pale face, which had been gazing so 
 intently at him, was now turned away. George could 
 not be so very kind — he could not care so much about 
 her being ill and dying, more than any one else had ever 
 seemed to care — unless what " mamma " had said was 
 quite true, and he indeed did love her. The certainty 
 of his love had come to Adela with the kind touch of 
 his hand ; his voice, too, had moved her. It was then 
 a little true love stole, for the first time, into the young 
 girl's heart, as a wee fairy might steal at peep of day 
 into a flower first opening in the early morning dew 
 to life. 
 
 George bent still lower, so as to see the half-hidden 
 face. The blushes were bright roses on the cheek ; 
 the fair neck was blushing too. 
 
 Was it the enlightening power of Clara's genius 
 that had awakened the young man ? or was it some 
 instinct born within him which seemed to reveal to 
 him so clearly the real meaning of Adela 's blushes 
 and soft distress ? 
 
 For he understood them, or else thought he did, 
 and smiled as if well pleased to think he might bring
 
 POOPt NELLIE. 253 
 
 joy where as yet he had given x^ain. He did feel 
 very, very kindly towards Adela, and now that he 
 saw she was so pretty, her girlish beauty touched liim 
 as her eyes had done. 
 
 Bending just a little lower over her, and smiling, 
 he whispered in her ear, much as if they were both 
 children again, and he were telling her some pretty 
 secret — " Adela, w^e did not know we were in love at 
 Bluehaven ; but we were, and we know it now. It 
 was all so awfully new to us that we did not under- 
 stand it one bit ! " Then he added, very softly indeed, 
 for her trembling agitation moved him much — " Dear 
 Adela, I know, I know you love me ! " 
 
 Her heart was beating as it had never beat before, 
 and she murmured very tenderly in return — "Yes, 
 George, I know I love you. You are so kind, so 
 kind ! " And with the pretty secret still breathing in 
 her ear, she bent her little head to hide her deepening 
 blushes. 
 
 At that moment Clara entered the room.
 
 254 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Metternich found herself in the curious position of 
 a diplomatist embarrassed by her own success. Having 
 got George's proposal — as a proposal she treated it — 
 she had suddenly to face the idea that her conduct 
 might be viewed in two lights. She had not thought 
 of this before ; she thought deeply of it now, and 
 wondered at herself, and felt indignant she had not 
 sooner considered the misconstruction it might be 
 possible to place upon the scene and circumstances 
 of the proposal. It was then Clara learnt this valu- 
 able lesson : when you are going to do a shady action, 
 take the most elaborate precautions with your sur- 
 rounding circumstances, and arrange them carefully 
 beforehand, so that they must place your action in a 
 favourable light. Never leave your surrounding cir- 
 cumstances to an after-chance. 
 
 Clara now felt that George's proposal ought not to 
 have been made in George's own house when George 
 was there unprotected and alone, and she imagined 
 with unflinching courage the sort of opinion Sir Cuth- 
 bert Crofton was likely to hold upon this subject if
 
 POOR NELLIE. 255 
 
 ever the awkward fact should come to his knowledge, 
 — for she allowed to herself it was an awkward fact. 
 She did not shrink from placing it in the cross light. 
 She was far too clever to be a coward. 
 
 So Metternich contemplated her own diplomacy at 
 a distance, and her mind stood like a dispassionate 
 stranger outside herself, and showed her the mistakes 
 she had made, then suggested new ideas of what she 
 might have done instead. One idea rose daringly to 
 the thoudit that Kate should have been at home in 
 
 CD 
 
 Chapel Street, and not away, and George have been 
 made to propose quite by accident in spite of her. 
 Kate, as a surrounding circumstance, would have 
 changed to the world the whole aspect of George's 
 entirely unexpected proposal. " There was a time," 
 thought Clara, " when I could have managed matters 
 just as easily with Kate in the house as out of it; 
 but that was before she fell under the pernicious in- 
 fluence of that hateful man. Sir Cuthbert." Mrs 
 Newsham hated Sir Cuthbert, not only for what she 
 knew he had divined, but for what she felt he might 
 and would divine. 
 
 Clara's mind, still standing critically outside her 
 past diplomacy, next imagined how, in default of Kate, 
 it would have done to have used Admiral Crofton as 
 a surrounding circumstance. '' No doubt he too has 
 been prejudiced by that intriguing Sir Cuthbert ; but 
 the Admiral is very soft-hearted, and I could make 
 him think me just as charming as ever in five 
 minutes ! " Clara smiled a sweetly pretty smile.
 
 256 rOOK NELLIE. 
 
 for she was a charming woman, and she knew it. 
 " Any one can get round the Admiral ! He may- 
 be a little restive and tronblesome at times, for he 
 is like a young child, and wants to be managed. 
 But now really I do think I might have had him 
 in the house ! He would have looked well to the 
 world, and I am sure I could have managed him. 
 The dear Admiral ! He is so very, very innocent ! " 
 And Clara's tenderness for the guileless sailor began 
 to revive, and her fertile mind forthwith imagined 
 five different schemes, by any one of which she 
 might have hoodwinked the dear old creature into 
 an invaluable surrounding circumstance. AMiat a fool 
 she had been ! She was disgusted with the naked 
 baldness of her own diplomacy. 
 
 But Clara was not the woman to lose precious time 
 in useless imagination and vain regret. She lost 
 none ; for it is incredible with what rapidity her 
 mind can work. Why, the five different ways in 
 which she could have hoodwinked the Admiral did 
 not occupy her imagination more than three-quarters 
 of an hour ! Metternich got through all her thinking 
 on the very night of George's proposal. 
 
 She was quite fresh next morning, rose early, and 
 was decidedly up to the mark in her interview with 
 George. She saw him alone. 
 
 She began by saying to him, in the kindest little 
 manner possible — 
 
 " My dear George, my dear George ! you know I 
 never, never have flattered you ! but I must say I do
 
 POOK NELLIE. 257 
 
 think Adela will have a husband who will be all in all 
 to her — everything that I could wish." Clara thought 
 George started a little at the word husband, as if he 
 had not perhaps quite realised his position. But she 
 went on, " And I will say too — yes, my dear George, 
 though I am her mother — I will say I do consider you 
 a very fortunate man in having secured the affections 
 of a sweet little lovino; creature like dear Adela. Her 
 whole heart is yours ! solely and entirely yours ! and 
 indeed, indeed George, she will be a very devoted little 
 wife." Clara did say this very prettily. 
 
 But George seemed uneasy. His discomfort was 
 not lost upon Metternich. 
 
 " And, thinking as I do," she said, " that there 
 never were two people so exactly made for each other 
 as you and Adela, you must indeed be at a loss to 
 imagine, my dear George, why I ever, ever was against 
 this match ; for I was much against it at one time." 
 
 " Against the match ! " exclaimed George, and his 
 ingenuous eyes opened widely. " I " 
 
 Clara cut him short with the utmost rapidity. 
 " Piockhurst told you I had been against it. You 
 know he did," she said. 
 
 George then remembered Eockhurst had said some- 
 thing of the sort, but he could not recollect exactly 
 what. 
 
 Clara repeated, as if determined her question should 
 be answered, " You know I was against this match, 
 George ? Eockhurst told you so. You must remem- 
 ber he told you so ? " 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 " Well, I think I do," replied George, trying to be 
 quite truthful. " I recollect in a sort of way. But he 
 could not have said much about it, Mrs Newsham, 
 because I remember quite well what " 
 
 " It was not necessary to say much about it, George," 
 put in Clara very quickly. " The mere fact was suf- 
 ficient. But I will tell you plainly, George, I was 
 very much against this match ; and in one sense I am 
 so still, because I foresee such a very, very long engage- 
 ment, and as a rule I completely disapprove of long 
 engagements. Nothing — no ! nothing — would make 
 me consent to this ensjasjement but the conviction that 
 the disappointment would certainly kill poor Adela. 
 Now, my dear George " — Clara became extremely kind 
 again — " my dear George, you know very, very well 
 what a real affection I have for you, and how intensely 
 convinced I am that you will prove the best and kind- 
 est of husbands ; but I do wish, my dear boy — I do 
 wish there was a little money somewhere ! Adela will 
 not have much fortune, and really, my dear George, I 
 cannot conscientiously say you have any real prospects 
 at all." Clara glanced curiously at George ; but it was 
 evident he had not consulted the Shropwich doctor, 
 and did not know his uncle was dying. " Yet, my dear 
 boy, people must have something to live on ; they 
 positively must ! " 
 
 George agreed to this with a readiness of apprehen- 
 sion he had not shown before, and which Clara parti- 
 cularly remarked. " Awfully true ! awf ull}' ! A fellow 
 can't live on nothinci;. I've found that out since I've
 
 POOR NELLIE. 259 
 
 been at Butt's. It takes lots of money to get on pro- 
 perly — lots ! " 
 
 " I am glad to see you so sensible, my dear George," 
 cried Metternich effusively. " I am glad ! for I know 
 you will quite understand an engagement is the only 
 thing possible. And, really, you are both so young 
 that there can be no good reason for your settling down 
 quite immediately." 
 
 " And I wouldn't like it ! " exclaimed George, with 
 much decision. The emotion he had felt a short mo- 
 ment the day before had cooled considerably. " I 
 should dislike awfully to settle down till I have seen 
 the world and shot some big game. I mean to go to 
 India in my long leave, and to America ; and Eattles 
 says it does not cost much if you are a bachelor. 
 Eattles has advised me not to marry until I am a 
 colonel : he is not going to marry himself till he is a 
 colonel and has got a regiment, and can do the thing 
 in some sort of style, though there are two awfully 
 pretty girls in love with him." 
 
 " Pray, who is this Eattles ? " asked Clara, stiffly. 
 She was decidedly displeased that George should have 
 an intimate adviser. 
 
 " Eattles ? He is an awfully jolly fellow — that's who 
 he is," said George, warmly ; " he's my great chum. He 
 is out of town now, or I'd introduce him to you. And 
 I'm awfully cut up about him, for I heard this morning 
 he has had a fall and has broken two ribs and his collar- 
 bone, and won't be back at Butt's for an awful long 
 time. I am awfully sorry he is away, for you and he
 
 260 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 would agree awfully well, Mrs Newsliain, because lie 
 has advised me over and over again not to marry till 
 I am a colonel. Not that I ever looked upon myself 
 as a marrying man. But Eattles always did. He bet 
 me fifty to one I'd get engaged somehow before I was 
 twenty-one, and he won't be a bit surprised to hear you 
 are here, Mrs Newsham. He was always chaffing me 
 about you and Adela, and so were all the fellows at 
 Butt's. They'll chaff me awfully to-day when I tell 
 them I've got engaged at last." 
 
 Metternich was so taken aback at this that she 
 turned quite white. It was her nature to pale with 
 emotion. But she did not lose her presence of mind. 
 
 " I am astonished at you, George 1 " she said — 
 " astonished ! I can hardly believe my ears ! Yet I 
 am forced to believe you actually had the intention of 
 announcing your engagement as a settled fact to all 
 the strange young men at your tutor's, when Adela's 
 father — one of the principal people concerned — her 
 own father — has not been consulted on the matter, 
 not so much as even asked to give his consent." 
 
 " Mr Newsham ? By Jove, I forgot him ! " said the 
 astonished George, naively ; " but I say, Mrs Newsham, 
 he is sure to consent if you do ? " 
 
 " Nothing of the sort 1 " exclaimed Clara, angrily ; 
 " nothing of the sort. You have no fortune whatever, 
 and it is most unlikely he will consent at all. At 
 any rate, the least you can do, as a gentleman, is to 
 keep the whole matter a profound secret until his con- 
 sent has been asked and given. You do not seem
 
 POOR NELLTE. 2G1 
 
 aware that an enGja^ement once announced cannot be 
 broken off without casting an enduring slur upon the 
 young lady. Thomas is coming up to town in a day 
 or two to vote on the Dozen Drunkards Bill, and I 
 will speak to him then. But in the meantime I insist 
 — I absolutely insist, George — that you promise me, 
 on your honour as a gentleman, not to mention the 
 matter to a sinf^le human beinor." 
 
 Naturally enough George promised faithfully what 
 Mrs Xewsham asked, and promised " on his honour as 
 a gentleman." 
 
 And then Clara added that, as Adela had apparently 
 been made the butt of a set of joking young men, 
 " seemingly without the elements of gentlemanly feel- 
 ing or good taste," she was forced — positively forced — 
 for her daughter's sake, still further to insist that 
 George should tell no one — and she could make no 
 exception to the rule, but simply insist he should 
 tell no one that she and " poor " Adela had been 
 obliged, by a perfectly unforeseen accident, to ask 
 his hospitality for two nights. She ended by say- 
 ing very coldly she would trespass no longer on that 
 hospitality, and much regretted to have trespassed so 
 long. 
 
 The unfortunate George had then to say a great 
 many civil things he would not have said otherwise, 
 and, blundering from one polite speech into another, 
 committed himself to much more than he intended. 
 He never clearly knew how it was he came to promise 
 he would not breathe a word about his en^afjement to
 
 2G2 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 his stepmother till Mr Newsham's consent had been 
 obtained. 
 
 " Until then," Clara said, severely, " I do not con- 
 sider there is any engagement between you and Adela," 
 — but she was careful to add — " though I naturally 
 think you are undoubtedly bound to her in honour. 
 When a young man has engaged the affections of a girl, 
 and has said to her what you have said to Adela, he is 
 bound to her by the most sacred ties of honour." 
 
 Clara said these words so impressively that George 
 could not help thinking she had very exalted ideas of 
 honour. And so she had — in everybody, except per- 
 haps herself. 
 
 In the course of this conversation it had struck 
 Metternich that really after all nobody need ever know 
 she had taken her daughter uninvited into George's 
 house, and that George had proposed to Adela there. 
 She had rapidly settled she would immediately move 
 into the Alexandra Hotel, and be found consulting the 
 doctors there by all her acquaintance. No one yet 
 knew she was in town. In due time she would an- 
 nounce the engagement from the Alexandra Hotel. 
 Then why need it ever transpire she and Adela had 
 first consulted the doctors in Chapel Street ? 
 
 ' In an incredibly short time Clara and Adela and the 
 maid and the luggage had migrated to the Alexandra 
 Hotel. The ladies had a good deal of luggage — indeed, 
 when you think Clara had only intended staying just 
 one night in town because Sir Jonathan Johnston could 
 not see her till late on that Monday afternoon, and that
 
 POOR NELLIE. 263 
 
 Adela had not meant to remain there at all, but had 
 been quite, quite unexpectedly detained by Dr Williams- 
 Smith, the amount of these ladies' luggage was certainly 
 a little surprising — that is, if the large trunks of lovely 
 woman can ever really surprise any one. 
 
 Next day there was a paragraph in the ' Morning 
 Post ' stating " that Mrs and ]\iiss j^ewsham had arrived 
 at the Alexandra Hotel from Eastcourt, Nossex." 
 
 I have often wondered if it was Clara herself put 
 that announcement in the paper, but have never been 
 able to find out.
 
 264 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mrs Newsham and Aclela had spent nearly a fort- 
 night at the Alexandra Hotel before the Dozen 
 Drunkards Bill came on in the House. Clara had 
 had no difficulty in getting Thomas to pair on three 
 rather important occasions : he paired for the Govern- 
 ment against the Large Towns and Dockyards De- 
 fences Bill ; also for the Government against the 
 Bill for the introduction of a Limited Number of 
 Full Grown Men into the Eegular Army ; and 
 he was content to pair for the Government on 
 their Foreign Policy, although that policy had then 
 left this country without a single ally in Europe. 
 Thomas was a steady, trustworthy Liberal, but he 
 was also essentially a conscientious man. He never 
 did what he thought wrong, and he would have con- 
 sidered it wrong to vote on so important a matter as 
 the Dozen Drunkards Bill without hearing and care- 
 fully weighing all that might be said on both sides. 
 Thomas would have had the courage to have voted 
 against every member of his party on this vitsl ques- 
 tion ; but luckily for Clara's ambition, there was no
 
 POOR NELLTE. 2G5 
 
 chance of his having to vote dead against his coronet. 
 Though the Dozen Drunkards Bill was not quite made 
 a Cabinet question, as Thomas thought it ought to be, 
 the measure was the petted hobby of two distinguished 
 Ministers, who were both of opinion that if you can 
 only amuse the philanthropic constituent at home by 
 letting him interfere with somebody else's liberty, 
 property, or drink, you may bungle matters as you 
 like all over Europe and the world. 
 
 There were many excellent people, and Thomas 
 was one of them, who considered it of vital import- 
 ance to the Higher Interests of the British Empire, 
 that in whatever parish a dozen convictions for drunk- 
 enness per thousand inhabitants were proved in a 
 year, all public-houses in that parish should be closed 
 between the hours of twelve and one, or of half-past 
 eleven and half-past one. The principle of the Dozen 
 Drunkards Bill was accepted by all its supporters as 
 unquestionably sound — they merely differed on the 
 so-called Greater Extension clause. Thomas inclined 
 to the half-past eleven and half-past one party, as 
 these hours would make it impossible for any working 
 man to take his mid-day meal in a public - house. 
 Twelve to one would not cover all possibilities. 
 
 Mr Newsham meant to speak on the Greater Ex- 
 tension clause. ISTow Thomas was always extraor- 
 dinarily preoccupied even for his preoccupied self, 
 and very nervous when he was going to make a 
 speech. He would write most of it out beforehand, 
 and then be in perpetual terror of forgetting it.
 
 2G6 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Clara had the best of excuses for not telling Thomas 
 of Adela's engagement until after he had made his 
 speech. And George quite agreed with her that it 
 was useless to speak to Mr ^ewsham while he had 
 the Dozen Drunkards on his mind. 
 
 Metternich was anxious to put off the announce- 
 ment of her daughter's engagement as long as possible, 
 for she had conceived the brilliant idea of makins^ 
 Thomas himself the principal surrounding circum- 
 stance of the proposal. She had now arranged the 
 proposal should appear to the world to be made at the 
 Alexandra Hotel quite accidentally m her oiun absence. 
 So she had settled to go down to Eastcourt for a few 
 days, "just to look after Miss Smith and the younger 
 girls," whilst Adela was left with her father in town 
 " under " Dr Williams- Smith. 
 
 Clara told Thomas it would not be absolutely neces- 
 sary for her to see Sir Jonathan Johnston till the end 
 of the followini:^ week, but that Adela must remain 
 under the care of Dr Williams-Smith, — " for I rejoice 
 to say dear x\dela is quite recovering her health under 
 the excellent treatment of Dr Williams-Smith." But 
 Thomas hardly seemed to grasp what Clara said, or 
 to realise Adela had been ill. Never were the finer 
 shades of diplomacy so lost upon a man. When 
 Clara spoke to him he only said, " Ah I " as if quite 
 absorbed in the pleased contemplation of his drunkards ; 
 and then added still more absently, " Yes, yes, yes ! " 
 
 Before leaving town Clara had a little tetc-a-tete 
 with George. She said to him, " My dear George, it
 
 POOR NELLIE. 2G7 
 
 certainly is unfortunate I must go away and cannot 
 stay here just two days longer. The debate is likely 
 to be on Thursday, or on Friday at the latest, and I 
 do think Mr Newsham ought to be spoken to the very 
 moment his mind is disengaged. Do you know, my 
 dear George, I have been thinking very seriously, very 
 seriously indeed, what would be the most honourable, 
 straightforward, and really right way for you to act, 
 and I have quite come to the conclusion it is you, 
 and you alone, who should propose for Adela to Mr 
 Newsham. You should plead your own cause." 
 
 " But I should do it awfully badly, awfully ! " cried 
 the ardent lover. " You would do it much better than 
 I could, for you would know what to say — I'm blowed 
 if I should ! Besides, I'm going in for my Exam, on 
 Monday, and Butt says I must keep my head awfully 
 clear and cool, and think of nothing; else, or I'll be 
 plucked to a dead certainty." 
 
 " Then you must propose for Adela on Saturday," 
 Clara said with much decision. 
 
 " But you are not going away for long, Mrs New- 
 sham, and there can be no great hurry about Mr New- 
 sham ; and I won't know the right thing to say to 
 him, and I'm awfully sure he won't know what to say 
 to me unless you are here — I'm awfully sure of that ! " 
 
 There was a dogged persistence in the otherwise 
 tractable George which Clara did not like. She began 
 to think there might be more character in him, if once 
 allowed to take the lead, than she had suspected at 
 first. And she repeated peremptorily, " George, you
 
 268 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 will propose for Aclela on Saturday. Yoii will not 
 wait till Monday. I insist upon your proposing on 
 Saturday. The House won't be sitting on Saturday 
 afternoon, so you will speak to Mr jSTewsham then." 
 
 " Hang it, I'd rather write ! " said George, irritably. 
 
 Clara reflected rapidly on this idea, and thought 
 it a good one. 
 
 " But, I say ! " instantly exclaimed George, aghast, 
 — '' I say, by Jove ! I'm an awfully bad letter-writer ! 
 Awfully difhcult sort of letter to write, too ! " 
 
 " jSTot at all, my dear George ; not at all." And 
 the charming woman reappeared in Clara sweetly 
 smiling. " You need not say much, my dear George. 
 In fact, the shorter the better." 
 
 George brightened just a little at this, for at any 
 rate it was a relief to think the letter migjht be a 
 short one. 
 
 " It is so very, very easy to write a few short 
 words," Clara continued. " Why, you really need 
 not say more than : ' My dear Mr Newsham, — I feel 
 it easier to write than to speak to you on a matter I 
 have warmly at heart. I wish to propose to you for 
 Adela, because I am very, very much in love with 
 her, and I dare to think she loves me a little 
 too ' " 
 
 " But, I say, Mrs jSTewsham ! " interrupted George, 
 — " I say, Adela is awfully in love with me ! You 
 know she is." 
 
 " Quite, quite right. But, my dear George, my 
 dear George ! there is a small social etiquette in
 
 POOR NELLIE. 260 
 
 delicate little matters of this kind. My dear boy " 
 — Clara was very charming indeed — " my dear boy, 
 when you have been just a little more in the world, 
 you will know it is not considered quite, quite the 
 right thing for a gentleman to proclaim that a young 
 lady is very, very much in love with him, no matter 
 how madly in love she really may be. This is only 
 a little point of social etiquette, just like wearing a 
 white tie in the evening; and never in the morninof. 
 People must conform to the little rules of society if 
 they don't want to be laughed at ; so, my dear George, 
 I really should advise you never to say to anybody 
 that Adela was dying of love for you. It does not 
 make a young man ridiculous to say he is in love 
 with a girl, but it does make him so very, very funny 
 to proclaim the young lady is violently in love with 
 him ! Oh, my dear George, my dear George, how 
 very, very funny people would think you, to be 
 sure ! " And Clara was exceedingly merry over the 
 idea. 
 
 George was exactly at the age when a young man 
 is acutely sensitive to ridicule. It actually made him 
 blush to think any one might laugh at him. Mrs 
 Newsham's amused merriment made him most un- 
 comfortable. He certainly did not wish to say or do 
 anything silly ; and proposing was altogether such a 
 disagreeable bother and puzzle to him, that he was 
 determined to leave the matter entirely to j\Irs 
 Newsham ; so he said irritably, " Very well, very 
 well ; just as you think best " — but added, " Only I
 
 270 POOK NELLIE. 
 
 wish to end up by saying quite clearly that I would 
 like the engagement to be a long one, as I mean to 
 go to India and America and shoot lots of tigers and 
 buffaloes before I settle down." 
 
 " But, my dear George, if you write too long a 
 letter, you know poor dear Thomas will never read 
 it, never ! and we can explain little matters to him 
 so very, very easily afterwards, and make sure he is 
 listening to us. Besides, he will certainly not want 
 you to marry quickly — quite the contrary. As T told 
 you before, he is far, far more likely to refuse his 
 consent to the engagement altogether. So if I were 
 you, George, I should just merely say, ' I know I am 
 a very bad matcli for your daughter, so it is with the 
 deepest anxiety I await your consent to our engage- 
 ment.' " 
 
 " Very well, very well ! " again exclaimed George, 
 but impatiently, for he did not seem happy in his 
 mind. 
 
 Clara wondered what was coming next. 
 
 " I am grinding awfully hard, Mrs Newsham — 
 awfully ! I won't take a half-holiday on Saturday. 
 I shall be grinding all day. So, after all, I am sure 
 I shall never have time to write that letter." 
 
 Clara became severely indignant. 
 
 " You must write that letter ! It never seems to 
 strike you, George, that it is not fair for poor little 
 Adela to be kept any longer in this trying, most trying 
 state of anxious, indeed I may truly say of racking 
 suspense ! "
 
 POOR NELLIE. 271 
 
 No ; it never had struck him Adela was in a state 
 of anxiously racking suspense. However, he answered, 
 but very crossly — 
 
 " All right ! all right, then ! But I tell you pLninly, 
 Mrs Newsham, it is a thousand to one I'll forget what 
 to say, and say the wrong tiling ; and then you'll blow 
 me up afterwards." 
 
 " George ! " 
 
 " Yes, you will," he said, doggedly, for there was 
 an obstinate corner in George ; " you'll blow me up 
 afterwards. I tell you I am a shocking bad hand at 
 writing; and I shall have to write that awful essay 
 in the Exam. ; and Butt says I must keep my head cool, 
 and not bother about anything ; so if you insist on 
 my writing to Mr Newsham, you must write down 
 exactly what I'm to say, and then I'll be certain to 
 say the right thing. I am sure you have a pencil, 
 Mrs Newsham." 
 
 But if Clara had had six pencils in her pocket, she 
 was too clever to have found one of them. 
 
 "Choose your own words, George — choose your 
 own words," she exclaimed. " All I shall do is 
 merely to tell you the sort of letter I should write 
 if I were you ; and, as I said before, I should make 
 it short, and quite to the point, and just simply say 
 you feel it easier to write than to speak on a matter 
 you have warmly at heart ; that you wish to propose 
 for Adela, because you are very much in love with her, 
 and think she loves you a little too ; then I should 
 merely add, ' I know I am a very bad match for your
 
 272 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 daiigliter, so it is with the deepest anxiety that I 
 await your consent to our engagement.' I should 
 think it quite unnecessary to say anything more. 
 But choose your own words, George — choose your 
 own words. I shall certainly not dictate to you in 
 any way." And Clara, seeing George had found a 
 pencil, very properly left the room. 
 
 She started for Eastcourt by the next train. 
 
 Thomas hardly realised she was gone, for he was 
 now permanently up in the moon with his dozen 
 drunkards. And interesting companions he seemed 
 to find them. At one moment there would be 
 Thomas's lips moving in earnest speech to them — 
 his head would be shaking, and his whole face look- 
 ing very grave ; while at another he would be smiling 
 at them very, very kindly. And if Adela spoke to him, 
 he would look at her most benignly, with that kind 
 smile still lingering in his glance, but she would feel 
 he did not see her, or see George either. The glassy 
 eyes gazed benevolently over the two young people 
 in Mr Newsham's immediate presence, at those quite 
 pleasant drunkards not so very far beyond. Any 
 amount of flirtation might have gone on beneath them 
 unobserved. But George and Adela really did not 
 flirt at all. 
 
 Adela was now quietly, and for the most part 
 silently, content with George. She liked to be silent, 
 for she had very little conversational power. George 
 liked to be silent also, as Adela was difficult to talk 
 to. They had both felt it necessary to converse a
 
 POOR NELLIE. 273 
 
 good deal more than they cared for, in Clara's presence. 
 The constant small-talk had been a great effort, espe- 
 cially to George, because it was he who always had to 
 start the topic, as nothing could originate with Adela. 
 But now, at last, George was comfortably at ease. He 
 could hold his tongue when he had nothing to say ; 
 and Adela was no longer queer or rude to him, 
 or nervously agitated in her manner. And then, 
 although still under Dr Williams-Smith, she really 
 seemed wonderfully well, not in the least as if she 
 were dying ; and her appetite had quite returned. 
 
 George had the proposal ready written in his desk, 
 so the anxiety of that literary composition was off his 
 mind. How he did hate writino;, to be sure ! He 
 would have been a much happier man if pens, ink, 
 and paper had never been invented, — " for then nobody 
 would expect a fellow to write unless he was a monk," 
 he would say. " Deuced difficult to have got me into 
 a monastery. Xot in my line, by Jove ! " 
 
 George had written down exactly what Clara had 
 dictated — suCTcrested, I should have said. He had 
 written down what she had suggested. " She can't 
 blow me up now," he had remarked to himself, when 
 he was directing the envelope to Mr Newsham, " for 
 I've written the very words she used. I can swear 
 to them." 
 
 Now that the letter was written, George was getting 
 very anxious to have it unmistakably settled as soon 
 as possible that his engagement was to be a long one. 
 This was the point on which he felt most strongly, for 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 274 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 he had firmly made up his mind not to marry until he 
 had shot the big game. When George knew his own 
 mind clearly, there was no chance of his being weak. 
 
 The lover determined to leave his proposal at the 
 Alexandra Hotel early on that Saturday morning. 
 " I can pass there going to Butt's, and I would give 
 the letter into Johnson's own hands." 
 
 Johnson was Mr Newsham's confidential butler and 
 valet. A letter given to Johnson was sure to be read 
 by Thomas. In Clara's absence it was also likely to 
 be read by Johnson as well. Metternich was aware 
 of this ; but she had no objection to Johnson's 
 knowing that George had proposed for Adela to Mr 
 Newsham at the Alexandra Hotel while she herself 
 was out of town at Eastcourt. Clara never under- 
 valued the importance of servants' gossip. 
 
 Johnson's mission in life was to remember what 
 his master forgot. If Thomas had not had an efficient 
 valet, half his letters would have been tossed into the 
 grate unopened by himself ; he would never have 
 been dressed like other people ; and he might even 
 have taken wine without knowing it when staying 
 away from home. It was part of Johnson's duty to 
 attend on Mr Newsham at table. Johnson was in- 
 valuable in this respect, especially at the Palace, as 
 he invariably took care to stop the Bishop's claret 
 just in time. 
 
 When George was giving his letter to Johnson, the 
 valet said, " Himportant letter, Mr George ? " 
 
 " Well . . . yes . . . that is . . . rather important,
 
 POOR KELLIE. 275 
 
 Johnson." George said this with a curious sort of 
 embarrassment, instantly noticed by the valet. George 
 had expected no questions. 
 
 " I only hask, sir," continued Johnson, . confiden- 
 tially, " because the debate on Mr Newsham's Greater 
 Hextension clause took place last night. I was in 
 the 'Ouse, sir, and heard Mr Xewsham's speech. He 
 remembered it quite wonderful, Mr George," and the 
 valet really did seem full of genuine admiration ; 
 " quite wonderful ! But the 'Ouse was counted hout 
 as the gentlemen were going into the lobby. The 
 final decision on the bill won't take place till Monday. 
 And Mr Xewsham he's that hoccupied with the 
 hanxiety ! His mind is quite taken hup, sir — quite 
 taken hup, sir. Mr Xewsham he wouldn't know, Mr 
 George," and the valet smiled a confidential smile, 
 and dropped his voice — " he would not know if he'd 
 got your letter or not. So with your leave, sir, I'll 
 just keep it by me till Tuesday morning. Wouldn't 
 do to give it to him on Monday niglit, sir. He'd still 
 be took up with that bill, sir. Let him 'ave a quiet 
 night, Mr George — let him 'ave a quiet night. And I'll 
 give him your letter first thing on Tuesday morning." 
 
 George was still in a state of awkward hesitation. 
 Johnson seeing this, cut short all further discussion 
 by saying, " You're thinking the date on your letter 
 won't do, Mr George. But Lor', sir ! Lor' ! Mr New- 
 sham he never looks at a date. Sometimes hi point 
 it specially hout to him, and so does Mrs Newsham. 
 But Mrs Newsham won't be back here, sir, till the
 
 276 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 middle or hend of next week ; leastways I heard her 
 tell Mr Newsham twice hover as 'ow Sir Jonathan 
 Johnston wouldn't be wanting to see her before then." 
 
 The coldly unimpressionable woman who lives apart 
 from the emotions of others, will be quite as much 
 agitated by an anxiety touching her own interests and 
 moving to her individual self, as if the heart within 
 her w^ere a warm and not a cold one. It is nearly 
 always a mistake to fancy the contrary ; just as it is 
 a mistake to think the anger of hot blood more to be 
 dreaded than the anger of cold. 
 
 1^0 woman full of sympathy and warm imagination 
 could have been more moved and angry than Clara 
 when Sunday's post came to Eastcourt and brought 
 her no letter, and Monday's two posts brought none, 
 and Tuesday's came and still there was no letter from 
 Thomas. She knew Adela's perplexed, astounded 
 father would write the moment he got George's pro- 
 posal. Clara was well aware Thomas had not in the 
 least perceived Adela was grown up, but looked upon 
 her still as a very young child ; so the proposal would 
 be a thunderclap sufficiently startling to arouse the 
 puzzled senses which it shook. 
 
 " George has dared to disobey me ! He has not 
 done wdiat I told him to do," 
 
 In order fully to understand the intensity of Clara's 
 WTath at such insubordination, I think you yourself 
 must be a charming woman accustomed for years to the 
 omnipotent arrangement of accidents.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 277 
 
 Perhaps it may seem odd that Clara never thought 
 of looking in the newspaper to see if the Dozen 
 Drunkards had come on in the House or not ; but 
 the fact is, she had forgotten having regretted so very 
 much that she was unfortunately unable to stay in 
 town just two days longer, when the debate would 
 certainly be over, and when Mr Newsham ought to be 
 told everything. The nicely turned little speech, or 
 rather speeches, being interpreted, had only meant — 
 George, you must not propose for Adela till I am at 
 least two clear days out of the way. I am starting on 
 Wednesday, so propose on Saturday. 
 
 The leadin" idea which has suc^oested what Clara 
 has said, will remain definitely outlined in her mind ; 
 but, like many people who expand their diplomacy 
 in talking according to the passing little instinct 
 of the moment, there will be details on which she 
 may have laid much stress at the time, that she will 
 never think of again. Had Clara only been half as 
 much occupied with Thomas's drunkards as she had 
 pretended to be, she would have been saved severe 
 mental suffering. 
 
 But suffering is so often the mother of our greater 
 delight, and we will doubly prize the triumph she has 
 brought forth. On Wednesday morning, when at last, 
 at last ! Clara did get exactly the sort of letter from 
 Thomas which best suited her little plans, enclosing 
 George's proposal written in the very words suggested 
 by herself, she was elated by a victory gloriously yet 
 hardly won. Indeed the feeling of elation was nearly
 
 278 rOOR NELLIE. 
 
 carrying her beyond the prudent caution so necessary 
 in her principal fine art. 
 
 Clara has by instinct a very pretty talent for pick- 
 inoj nice little fibs out of an inkstand, and rose-coloured 
 ink runs naturally off her facile pen. When she 
 settled George was to propose to Adela's father at the 
 Alexandra Hotel while Adela's mother was away in 
 Nossex, she had foreseen this arrangement would 
 enable her to write a judicious letter to Kate Crofton 
 from Eastcourt. The odious suspicions of that dread- 
 ful Sir Cuthbert would be checkmated by a letter from 
 Eastcourt. 
 
 In the first moment of pleasant elation, Clara wrote 
 very prettily a charming note to her " dearest 
 Kate," in which she really did wonder if her dearest 
 Kate could be half, half as surprised as she herself was 
 at George's amazing little letter to Thomas ! — " for 
 George has ... oh, my dear, dear Kate ! you will 
 never, never guess what that naughty silly boy has 
 done, never ! He has actually proposed for Adela ! 
 And poor dear Thomas, he does indeed seem to be 
 in a state of amazed perplexity ; and no wonder, no 
 wonder ! for George and Adela are quite, quite 
 children still." Clara felt she must go up to town 
 immediately I though it was so very, very inconven- 
 ient for her to do so. She was so very, very much 
 wanted at Eastcourt. How she did wish her dearest 
 Kate could run away from Crofton Place just for one 
 day, and meet her in town ! They would then see 
 what they could both do with the two foolish young
 
 POOR NELLIE. 279 
 
 people. Unless George and Adela were very, very 
 much attached, Clara certainly did think the silly 
 romantic little affair had better come to an end ! — 
 though, if George really was, as he himself declared, 
 " very, very much in love," and she should dis- 
 cover Adela's affections were unfortunately engaged, 
 it might not be wise, it might not even be quite, quite 
 right, to act too precipitately. But till Clara had seen 
 George, and spoken to Adela, how could she judge ? 
 Kate had such influence over her stepson ! She was 
 so judicious ! Clara had the utmost confidence in her tact 
 and judgment ; and she did think, as Sir Cuthbert was 
 so much better of late, she did think Kate certainly 
 might run up to town if only for the day, and talk 
 over this important matter with her and Thomas ; 
 and if by any chance it would be impossible for 
 dearest Kate to leave Crofton Place, could not the 
 Admiral come up for a few hours instead ? The 
 dear Admiral had such a Icncficial influence over 
 George ! His advice would be ciuite invaluable ! 
 And some one m^ist advise Thomas ! It was per- 
 fectly clear from his letter that poor dear Thomas 
 was completely at a loss to know what to say. And 
 who could be surprised ? for Clara herself felt the 
 responsibility of consenting to permit, or of absolutely 
 refusing to allow, any engagement between the two 
 young people, was really quite, quite too great for her. 
 Clara ended by describing the interesting state of 
 agitation into which the news had but too naturally 
 thrown her — '' and forgive me, my dearest Kate, if I
 
 280 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 have written incolierently. I have only just, just 
 received these two letters ! and now really I am . . . 
 yes, I do think I am even more taken aback than 
 poor, dear Thomas. A daughter's first proposal is 
 always rather a shock to a mother ! for our children 
 never, never do seem at all grown up ! and then really 
 it is hard to believe Adela is nearly eighteen. Just 
 fancy, my dearest Kate, eighteen ! And George — how 
 old is George ? Older than Adela, I know — wonder- 
 ful, wonderful ! But now I really must write to 
 Thomas, so must say good-bye. Pray tell Sir Cuth- 
 bert, with my kindest regards, that I am glad to hear 
 he has been feelinoj so much better and stron^^er of 
 late ; and believe, my dearest Kate, in the affection 
 and sympathy — for I do sympathise in the anx- 
 iety you will feel about George ! just as I hTWW you 
 will sympathise in my great anxiety about dear little 
 Adela — so believe in the affectionate sympathy of 
 your loving sister " — not even sister-in-law, but — 
 " loving sister, Clara Newsham." 
 
 Clara wrote off this letter with the greatest ease 
 imaginable. Too great a facility in composition can 
 have its little drawbacks. But Clara was far, far too 
 clever hastily to post the inspiration of the moment, 
 no matter how beautiful it might be. Her wisdom is 
 to be commended ; for there are letters like pistols, 
 fired off quickly through an inspiration which may not 
 perhaps outlive the bang. Not that there ever was a 
 bang in Clara's correspondence ! Eose- coloured ink
 
 POOR NELLIE. 281 
 
 is not gunpowder. Clara's sweet notes were always 
 the quite too more than charming little letters of a 
 quite too more than charming little woman. The 
 danger in her case was, not the tendency to explode, 
 but the risk of appearing just perhaps a little too 
 much of that quite too more than charming woman 
 — so very, xcry innocent, you know ! 
 
 The early post came to Eastcourt at seven o'clock 
 in the mornincp. Clara's letter to Kate was written 
 before breakfast. She was much pleased with it at 
 first. It is curious how fondly we will regard what 
 is just warm from our brain ; and afterwards be quite 
 surprised we ever liked it ! 
 
 But even in the first moment of pleased satisfaction, 
 Metternich was true to her clever self, and determined 
 to put her letter aside and think over it till the after- 
 noon. She reflected much upon her written diplomacy. 
 She thought all round her letter, as it were, and in 
 thinking perceived the remote possibility of its being 
 shown by Kate to George. It was really most un- 
 likely this would ever happen, yet not quite im- 
 probable. 
 
 Until now Clara had thouQ;ht but little of Georcje. 
 Her inspiration had been to write beautifully for Kate 
 and Sir Cuthbert, particularly Sir Cuthbert. 
 
 So Metternich re-read her diplomatic note slowly 
 and carefully. It gave her a pang to think of sacri- 
 ficing all the nice little innocent astonishment of which 
 the letter was full. It was indeed hard for her to 
 abandon the sweetly pretty character of the ingenuous,
 
 282 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 surprised Little Mother. That was the character in 
 which she liked best to appear before the world, for it 
 was her own little ideal of herself, and it is to our 
 ideal self we are ever the most attached. 
 
 But Clara was so clever ! She read her letter a 
 third and then a fourth time, and judged it quietly in 
 cold blood, as she had done her own conduct once 
 before, with her mind standing dispassionately outside 
 herself, even outside her ideal self. She came to the 
 conclusion that her very surprised Little Mother, so 
 quite too more than innocent, was a piece of poetry 
 not perhaps altogether suited to the intricacies of a 
 complicated fine art. 
 
 Yet Clara could not find it in her heart quite to do 
 away with the charming Little Mother ; but she obli- 
 terated such parts of the ideal as might too easily be 
 destroyed by the sort of accident over which she per- 
 ceived she could have no control. She still thought 
 that her first instinct was in the main right, so did not 
 go to th'e trouble of composing a fresh piece of diplo- 
 macy, but just merely revised and chastened what she 
 had written a little too charmingly under the first 
 inspiration of pleasant success. 
 
 This was the letter Clara finally posted : — 
 
 "Eastcourt. 
 "My dearest Kate, — I do think you will be a 
 little surprised by the two letters I am sending you. 
 
 George has Oh ! my dear Kate, you will never 
 
 guess what that boy lias done — never ! He has pro-
 
 POOR NELLIE. 283 
 
 posed for Adela ! And poor dear Thomas, he does 
 indeed appear to be in a state of amazed perplexity ! 
 I feel that I iiwM go up to town immcdiatchj , thougli 
 it is so very, very inconvenient for me to do so — I am 
 so very, very much wanted at Eastcourt, and find it so 
 difficult to leave all the younger girls. 
 
 " How I do wish, my dearest Kate, you could manage 
 to run up from Crofton Place just for one day, and 
 meet me in town. We could then talk the wliole 
 little matter quietly over with Thomas, and decide 
 what is best for the two young people. As a rule, I 
 am strongly, very strongly against these early engage- 
 ments ; but if George is recdly, as he says, ' very, very 
 much in love ' with Adela, and Adela is in love with 
 him, it might not perhaps be wise — it might not even 
 be quite, quite right — to act too precipitately. Xow, 
 my dearest Kate, I have the utmost confidence in your 
 tact and judgment, and you are so judicious with 
 George, that I do think, as Sir Cuthbert is so much 
 better of late, you certainly might leave him for a few 
 Iwurs ! Though, if by any chance this should be 
 quite, quite impossible, could not the Admiral come 
 up to town and see us instead ? The dear Admiral 
 has such a beneficial influence over George, and his 
 advice would be quite invaluable. And some one must 
 advise Thomas ! It is perfectly clear from his letter 
 that poor dear Thomas is completely at a loss to know 
 vjhat to say, and no wonder ; for I am sure I myself 
 feel the responsibility of consenting to permit, or of 
 absolutely refusing to allow, this engagement between
 
 284 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 the two young people, as quite, quite too great to bear 
 alone ! 
 
 " And now forgive me, my dearest Kate, if I have 
 written incoherently ; but I have only just, y-its^ received 
 these two letters, and I must confess I am a little agi- 
 tated. I suppose it is always rather a shock to a 
 mother to realise that her daughter is quite, quite 
 grown up, for our children never, never do seem really 
 grown up. And I must say it is hard to believe Adela 
 is almost quite eighteen ! Just fancy, my dearest 
 
 Kate, eighteen I And George how old is George ? 
 
 Older than Adela, I know." Clara was anxious to 
 preserve the seeming spontaneity of the letter ; so 
 again put, as at first — " Wonderful — wonderful ! " 
 
 " But I must write to Thomas." She had already 
 written that comparatively easy letter, and had with 
 much facility adapted it to the certain perusal of 
 Johnson. " But I miost write to Thomas, so must 
 really say good-bye ! Pray tell Sir Cuthbert, with 
 my kindest regards, that I am truly glad to hear he 
 has been feeling really better and stronger of late ; 
 and believe, dearest Kate, in the affection and sym- 
 pathy — for I do sympathise in the anxiety yo20 will 
 feel about George, just as I k7ioiu you will sympathise 
 in ony great anxiety about dear little Adela ! — so 
 believe in the affectionate sympathy of your loving 
 sister, Clara Newsham. 
 
 " Eastcouet, 2Qt7i March." 
 She thought it no harm to put " Eastcourt " twice
 
 POOR NELLIE. 285 
 
 over ; it was sucli an important part of her diplo- 
 macy ! 
 
 As Clara was folding up George Crofton's letter 
 with Thomas's in her own to Kate, the date of George's 
 short note caught her eye. When she saw "21st 
 March," she knew George had obeyed her " suggestion " 
 exactly, and that Thomas ought to have got the letter 
 on Saturday. In wondering why on earth Thomas 
 had not written before, she remembered his dozen 
 drunkards. 
 
 Now it better suited the possible intricacies of the 
 Mother's Fine Art that George's letter should seem to 
 have been written nearly a week after Clara left the 
 Alexandra Hotel, than merely two days. So Metter- 
 nich was tempted to alter the date. She sat with the 
 letter spread open before her, calmly considering the 
 situation. It would not be easy to change 21 into 25, 
 but very easy to make 21 24. She hesitated. 
 
 The temptation was great. But prudence does not 
 yield weakly — it thinks too much. Clara resisted her 
 strong impulse, and did not change 1 into 4, but only 
 dropped a small blot of ink upon the 1, then watched 
 it dry ; and it dried into a very satisfactory little acci- 
 dent. As to the scribble above the line, George had 
 scrawled it so illegibly that it really required no alter- 
 ation at all — not even another small blot.
 
 28G 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 There are houses richly furnished with all that man 
 might ever seem to want, into which the tragic 
 realities of life will force their way like hated 
 bailiffs and take possession. And there are others 
 with such good locks on their park gates, that unin- 
 vited guests seem quite shut out, and even death is 
 like a poor relation we sent off to the Colonies when 
 our father died : we comfortably forget him ; he is 
 so far away ! a mere insignificant undertaker quite 
 occupied in burying uninteresting people at the 
 Antipodes. Just such a pleasant place was East- 
 court ! The sterner realities were tramps who as 
 yet had found no entrance there. 
 
 Metternich was singularly fortunate in the circum- 
 stances of her life ; so she could give up her whole 
 mind to her profession. 
 
 But her letter, written in luxurious seclusion from 
 the sterner realities of this world, went from her own 
 sunny boudoir at Eastcourt, into the near and terribly 
 real presence of death ; for at Crofton Place death
 
 rOOR NELLIE. 287 
 
 was no poor relation pleasantly settled in the Colonies, 
 but the impatient heir, the rightful master of the 
 estate. 
 
 If letters were but living messengers from house to 
 house, what curious changes in the air they would feel 
 in a few short hours ! What sudden chills would kill 
 their liveliness ! How cruelly small would seem the 
 cleverness which seemed so great ! 
 
 Clara's letter was brouoht to Kate in Sir Cuthbert's 
 sick-room. A sort of instinct made Kate thrust it 
 unopened into her pocket. It was not that she in the 
 least guessed the contents, or that in the sorrowful pre- 
 occupation of her mind she so much as even remem- 
 bered Adela. But wdien we are in grief, there are 
 people whom we instinctively shrink from. We have 
 a feeling that their presence, what they will say, their 
 voice, and even the very letters from their hand, will 
 jar upon us. Yet it is not the rough ones we always 
 dread the most : it is those whose sympathy never 
 feels to us quite real. 
 
 Sir Cuthbert had had terrible suffering of late. He 
 was very weak. His nerves were shaken by great 
 pain. And Kate had known him a strong man with- 
 out a nerve, and to whom all weakness seemed an 
 impossible shame. When he was full of health and 
 strength, and made much of by the greater world as 
 a rising diplomatist of remarkable talent, he never had 
 forgotten to be generous to his brother's widow, and 
 better, to be very kind, — though how many do forget 
 ever to be kind !
 
 288 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 The sight of human suffering is strangely moving, 
 perhaps because that gaunt reality is so very real. 
 
 Kate, receiving Clara's letter as she did by Sir 
 Cuthbert's bedside, was exactly in the humour when 
 the fine arts are lost upon the mind and realities are 
 most real. There is an art in writing, just as there 
 are such things as grammar and well-turned sentences, 
 and you must be clever to excel in it ; yet it is won- 
 derful how little effect you may produce with all your 
 pains ! The other way of writing is, I think, wrongly 
 called an art, for it is only the power of real feeling 
 in yourself : if you are really and not falsely glad or 
 sorry, angry or amused, those who read what you have 
 truly written will, without effort on your part, be 
 moved. 
 
 Now Clara's Little Mother, so kind and innocent 
 you know ! was not a real person ; then how could 
 she write like one ? She was an artistic creation, 
 clever enough, no doubt, to have produced the desired 
 effect had Kate been in the rio-ht humour or the Little 
 Mother come to charm her at almost any other time, 
 for as a rule Kate Crofton was certainly one of the 
 most charitable and least censorious or suspicious of 
 sincerely sweet and rather dull women. It would 
 have been contrary to nature if Thomas's only sister 
 had been particularly brilliant. 
 
 So, quite by an unlucky accident, it happened that 
 all Metternich had thought most effective in her 
 diplomatic note, were artistic beauties completely 
 wasted upon her sister-in-law. When Kate read the
 
 POOR NELLIE. 289 
 
 letter outside Sir Cuthbert's room, though still within 
 hearing of the sick man's changed voice, she had but 
 one feeling — the strong instinct of its unreality. 
 And at that moment unreality was intensely distaste- 
 ful to her. There are sugared cakes we can eat at 
 one time, which cloy upon our appetite at another, as 
 if they had sweet poison in them. When Kate came 
 to the words, " as Sir Cuthbert is so much better of 
 late," she stopped reading, then went on again. She 
 stopped a second time at the sentence, " Pray tell Sir 
 Cuthbert, with my kindest regards, that 1 am truly 
 glad to hear he has been feeling really better and 
 stronger of late." Her two hands, with the letter 
 held tightly between them, dropped down ; she raised 
 her head and stood like a person surprised to hear 
 a sound she suddenly remembers to have heard before. 
 In the summer, when Clara had written that very 
 charming letter from Bluehaven, a suspicion, as we 
 know, had rushed into Kate's mind ; but Kate had 
 thrust the hated thought aside, and so quickly that 
 she had actually forgotten it. But now the suspicion 
 came upon her again, and this time it was too real to 
 put aside. 
 
 " This is untrue. Dr Stumps told Clara poor Cuth- 
 bert is dying : he has said he did. So she knows 
 Cuthbert is dying. She does know it ! " 
 
 When Sir Cuthbert had nicknamed Thomas's white 
 angel " Metternich," Kate had been angry with him, 
 and had thought it a sad pity that hateful diplomacy 
 should have made a really kind-hearted man so satiri- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 cal and suspicious. How Kate does detest the whole 
 diplomatic corps ! She is one of those good ladies 
 who consider our representatives at foreign Courts 
 should give everybody credit for being actuated by the 
 highest and most disinterested motives. 
 
 But now the nickname came back to her mind. 
 She said it to herself — " Metternich ! Cuthbert is 
 right. How horrid : " The letter fell from her hands. 
 Merely to touch it hurt her. She was filled with in- 
 dignation, and something very like hatred rushed into 
 her gentle soul. The shock of believing — she did be- 
 lieve it — that Clara was calmly speculating on the 
 hopeless suffering of the poor sick man close by, made 
 that momentary hatred possible to Kate. It was as 
 if, with her heart full of human feeling for the last 
 terrible reality of life, she had looked up from the 
 slow agony on which her eyes and the pity of her 
 whole soul were bent, suddenly to see the wife of the 
 brother she loved — there was the sting of it — the 
 wife of the brother she loved, standing like a mur- 
 deress at heart, coldly calculating how long it must 
 take the sick man to die, and coming to the comfort- 
 able conclusion it cannot take him long. 
 
 I do not say Kate's strong revulsion of feeling 
 against Clara was not exaggerated ; I merely tell what 
 she felt. This world is full of calm, pleased grave- 
 diggers, most excellent people, highly respectable, with 
 souls like the tearless statues in a cemetery. It is 
 well to learn how to bear with them and not hate 
 them too much, or it may be you will find yourself
 
 POOR NELLIE. 291 
 
 hating some admirable person, irreproachable in con- 
 duct and discretion, an old friend quite nearly con- 
 nected with yourself, and much given to accepting 
 your hospitality if your dinners and your company 
 are good. 
 
 Kate Crofton generally took some time to answer 
 a note. Her letters were usually affectionate, rather 
 long-winded, quite irreproachable, and certainly dull. 
 There was an amiable indecision about them mildly 
 pleasing to very nice people ; yet their kindly vague- 
 ness would leave but little distinct impression even on 
 the mind of a quite nice ladylike person. There 
 were minds on which it left none, and Clara's had 
 hitherto been one of these. 
 
 But for once in her life Kate felt clearly, strongly, 
 almost passionately, and she wrote quickly as if she 
 had been some other person and not herself. The 
 sick man was lying close by in pain, and she was 
 within hearing of his voice when she wrote : — 
 
 " My dear Clara, — I cannot consent to this en- 
 gagement between George and Adela. George is a 
 penniless boy, and cannot marry unless his uncle dies 
 and leaves him his fortune. Cuthbert is not better, as 
 you say he is in your letter. It is not true that he 
 is better. He is much worse. He is in terrible pain, 
 and his present state is very, very sad, for he is ex- 
 tremely weak and low, and sometimes even cries, 
 though he never cried in his life till now, for he was 
 a strong: man and most courageous. But he can bear
 
 292 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 no agitation now, and Dr Stumps says if we told 
 him anything which moved his feelings or his anger 
 much, it might kill him on the spot. 
 
 " If I told him George had proposed for^ Adela, it 
 would seem to him as if his nephew had settled he is 
 to die, and so felt he could think of marrying quite 
 soon. I am sure my dear George has never, never 
 thought this, but it would look as if he had ; and poor 
 Cuthbert has been a kind father to him, wlien his own 
 father was dead. 
 
 " I will not show Cuthbert your letter. I could 
 not show it to him. Nor can I bring myself to 
 tell him of George's proposal, when George has no 
 prospects if poor Cuthbert gets well and lives, 
 as I still pray with all my heart to God he may ; 
 because he has been very kind to me, Clara, and to 
 George, and kind when we were in trouble and very 
 poor. 
 
 " I cannot go up to town, for Cuthbert is too danger- 
 ously ill. But if I ask Uncle Charles, I am sure he 
 will go and see you as you wish, and speak to dear 
 Thomas for me, and to George. I strongly suspect 
 George is not very much in love with Adela, although 
 for the moment he may think he is. I do not con- 
 sider his letter to Thomas that of a very warm lover, 
 and I am sure George would have written to me and 
 told me of his love before he proposed if he had cared 
 long and much for Adela. I expect the young people 
 have found themselves thrown together, and dear 
 Adela has been looking very pretty some day, and
 
 POOR NELLIE. 293 
 
 George has just thought he would propose, as boys 
 often do before they are grown up. I think you will 
 most likely find that Adela, too, hardly knows her 
 own mind. She is so very young ! You say you 
 are against these early engagements, but I think I 
 am even more against them than you, 
 
 " With my very kindest love to dear Thomas and 
 to Adela, I remain, yours affectionately, 
 
 " Kate Croftox." 
 
 In Clara's eyes this letter was unpardonable. The 
 clearness, the decision of it, so different from the ami- 
 able ramble of Kate's usual style, felt like insubordi- 
 nation. And insubordination to her will is what a 
 cold determined woman does not easily forgive, and 
 certainly not in that unnecessary sort of person, a 
 husband's sister. Those women of slow circulation, 
 apparently so calmly without strong desire, are the 
 most tenacious of their paramount will. There is no 
 determination like that of some pale fair women : not 
 that strong resolution is in all of them, for some are 
 white doves cooing in weakness. But if determination 
 does mix with a very white cold woman's blood, it is 
 like the worldliness of chilly veins, and becomes the 
 moving power of the wliole nature ; it should not be 
 fought against with a light heart foolishly, for its very 
 coldness gives it strength, and, if worsted, the resent- 
 ment of defeat can last for ever. 
 
 The curious intensity of silent wrath that ever fills 
 Clara's soul when her firm will meets opposition, was
 
 294 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 now deepened by the strong suspicion which forced 
 itself into her mind, that Kate had penetrated the un- 
 reality of her letter, and had dared to see through her 
 plots and plans. Charming as Clara undoubtedly 
 can be, she could forgive you for not thinking her the 
 most charming of women with the fairest complexion 
 ever seen. And it is not every charming woman who 
 could do this ! But what she never can forgive is 
 that you should think her rather a designing sort of 
 angel, fond of making clever little plans, and not alto- 
 gether unoccupied by the complications of a difficult 
 fine art. I consider this peculiarity the weak side of 
 Clara's genius. It is mistaken policy not to be 
 courageously yourself, especially if you intend to 
 work on a grand scale. I have known quite wonder- 
 fully plotting ladies who have carried the art of 
 matchmaking to a magnificent height, and who yet 
 have not been unpopular, for they gave themselves 
 out boldly as women of the world, and people were 
 forearmed and never felt deceived. Lady Harchester 
 is one of these : her genius, so inferior to Clara's in 
 imagination and the power entirely to invent, is su- 
 perior in courageous common-sense. I do not think 
 the Countess of Harchester is cordially disliked by 
 anybody except Clara. Clara, it is true, is her sin- 
 cere though silent enemy — but not because she sees 
 through Lady Harchester's arrangement of accidents : 
 it is because Lady Harchester has seen through hers. 
 
 I am sorry Metternich's mind should have this 
 weakness, for it is a weakness to resent the fact that
 
 POOR NELLIE. 295 
 
 the whole world is not born blind. Clara having a 
 blind husband, as many a dear ingenuous creature has, 
 thought every one should be like Thomas. When I 
 have read of the blind people who of old received 
 their sight, and have followed them back in my 
 imagination to their dwelling-place, I have wondered 
 once or twice if all their relations were glad to see 
 them. I have doubted it ; for I have felt sure there 
 would be at least one quite charming woman who 
 would be very angry that long blindness had ended 
 in clear sight. Then, certainly, I was only thinking 
 of the Israelites and Jews ! 
 
 Clara had hitherto looked upon Kate as a poor sort 
 of creature, — ^just the kind of uninteresting thing you 
 might expect Thomas's sister to be ! She made use 
 of her when convenient, and did not dislike her be- 
 cause she was so comfortably blind. It was Clara 
 herself, with her own hand, who had opened Kate's 
 eyes : then, I ask, what right had she, — she of all 
 people, — to be angry if blindness through her own act 
 was forced to see ? And, after all, it was only what 
 was as clear as day that Kate did dare to see. In 
 this matter I have no sympathy whatever with Clara : 
 she was unjust, and was not even clever. 
 
 There was, however, one sentence in Kate's un- 
 pardonable letter which Clara approved of. It was 
 the one promising that " Uncle Charles " should come 
 up to town. An interview with the Admiral was what 
 best suited Metternich, and what she had calculated 
 on from the first : never for a moment had she ex-
 
 296 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 pected Kate could leave Sir Cuthbert, for she knew 
 him to be really dying. 
 
 Kate gave Clara's letter to the Admiral. The ar- 
 tistic diplomacy was by no means lost on him. The 
 dear, ingenuous Little Mother produced exactly the 
 desired effect. 
 
 " I don't wonder, Kate, your charming sister-in-law 
 is in a state of bewildered surprise. Xever was 
 so amazed in my whole life, never ! The idea of 
 George writing to Thomas that he is very, very much 
 in love with Adela ! In love ? Fiddlestick ! AVhy, 
 when he was at Bluehaven, I rated him soundly for 
 being rude to the child. Eemember doing so per- 
 fectly, perfectly ! Lord bless my soul ! the boy must 
 have gone wrong in his head through all this new- 
 fangled cramming ! Turns many a fine young fellow's 
 brain ! Poor Mrs Xewsham ! I can entirely enter 
 into her feelings ; and she must naturally be so much 
 against this match, for her daughter might marry any 
 one. Adela is as pretty a little creature as you'd see 
 anywhere, and has quite the beautiful complexion of 
 her mother. I have been all over the world, and I 
 must say, Kate, I have never seen a complexion to 
 be compared for marble whiteness to Mrs JSTewsham's ; 
 and yet there never was a charming woman so un- 
 conscious of her beauty and her charm as she is ! 
 And I always admire her unworldliness, Kate. I 
 think her a very unworldly person indeed. To be 
 sure she is against this match ! to be sure she is ! and 
 quite right too ! And still, you see, strongly as she
 
 POOR NELLIE. 297 
 
 disapproves of these early engagements, she actually 
 
 says Now, where is it ? Ah ! here ! " and the 
 
 Admiral read aloud from Clara's letter: "'But if 
 George is really, as he says in his letter to Thomas, 
 very, very much in love with Adela, and Adela is in 
 love with him, it might not perhaps be wise, it might 
 not even be quite, quite right ' — how I wish all 
 ladies thought as much of right and wrong as Mrs 
 Newsham ! " — and Admiral Crofton re-read admir- 
 ingly the words, " ' it might not even be quite, quite 
 right to act too precipitately.' Xow, can anything be 
 kinder than this ? Why, half the motliers would 
 have turned a young fellow like George straight out 
 of doors, and never have let him put his foot inside 
 their house again. Silly, penniless lad ! Most likely 
 doesn't know his own mind ! and has not got a pro- 
 spect on earth but the certainty, if his head is a little 
 touched, of being plucked in his examination." 
 
 Kate had allowed the Admiral to talk on without 
 interruption. She was sorry when he stopped, for 
 she hated saying what for George's protection she felt 
 it her duty to say. Kate was of a generous nature. 
 She liked the sort of mind which can think no evil. 
 It was very painful to her to see clearly with wide- 
 open eyes ; for it is a great mistake to suppose, as 
 some do, there is any pleasure in seeing people are 
 not what they pretend to be. The pleasure is when you 
 can believe with all your mind and heart. Those to 
 whom disillusion is anything but sorrow are few indeed. 
 Disillusion I believe to be the great grief of life.
 
 298 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 Kate was a timid woman. At all times she dis- 
 liked saying an unpleasant thing. She hated it now, 
 and turned away her head like a shy child when she 
 began to speak. " Uncle Charles/' she said, " if Cuth- 
 bert dies, George would be his natural heir." Then 
 she suddenly turned round and looked straight at the 
 Admiral, and said, with the courage of indignation, 
 " Dr Stumps told Clara that Cuthbert is dying." 
 
 "And far too clever a woman she is to believe 
 him ! " exclaimed the Admiral hotly, with an indigna- 
 tion quite equal in its way to Kate's. " Mrs New- 
 sKam is far too clever a woman," he repeated, " to 
 believe a word Stumps says. Stumps has quite got 
 round you, Kate. Wonder you have any faith in 
 him ! Wrono-headed humbuo^, like all the rest of 
 them ! Why, Mrs Newsham would as soon believe 
 Stumps as she would that conceited fellow who had 
 the impudence to charge a hundred and fifty guineas 
 for his railway ticket from London and back. Speci- 
 alist indeed ! Special peculiarity of only agreeing 
 with himself. Still, wouldn't tie himself to any clear 
 opinion, and declined to discuss the case with those 
 who knew a great deal more about it than he did." 
 That meant, with the Admiral himself. " ]N"ever met 
 one of your dosers yet," he exclaimed, " who was any- 
 thing but a quack ! Cuthbert is no more dying than 
 I am. He is just going through a crisis. I have 
 been expecting his crisis all along, and if properly 
 treated, he would get through it in no time, and be 
 all the better afterwards. Why, when I had my
 
 POOR NELLIE. 299 
 
 severe crisis off Vera Cruz, I was frightfully low at 
 the time, but picked' up finely afterwards, and felt 
 better than I had done for six weeks before." 
 
 Now the Admiral did not know it, for he knew 
 nothing about himself or his feelings, but it was really 
 the great love 'he bore his nephew which made him 
 so wrong-headed. He was one of those kind-hearted 
 and curiously constituted people who never seem able 
 to believe in the possible death of any one they love 
 till the corpse is in its coffin. " The dosers know 
 they can humbug you, Kate," he said, " but catch 
 them spinning any of their yarns to me ! " 
 
 An instinct of the real feeling which made the Ad- 
 miral so testy, prevented Kate from arguing with him. 
 
 I wonder if the innocent ba-lamb, to whom 1 have 
 already likened Admiral Crofton, is really just a little 
 more cunning than it looks ? Because, guileless as 
 the dear Admiral certainly is, he was on this occasion 
 one little bit more acute than he had seemed ; for he 
 had not been quite insensible to the real meaning of 
 Kate's words, though I do not say he had grasped it 
 fully. If you avoid the knife you are not actually cut. 
 He had winced from an innuendo which was like high 
 treason to him, as he loyally believed in the most 
 charming of charming women, and liked to believe in 
 her with all his soul. It is true he had heard Sir 
 Cuthbert joke about '• Metternich," but he thought the 
 joke in very bad taste, and it had produced no effect 
 upon him ; for there is no sting where there seems 
 to be no truth. " Metternich " was an unsuitable,
 
 300 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 disagreeable nickname, the direct result of diplomatic 
 depravity on his sick nephew's mind ; for the Ad- 
 miral's feeling towards diplomacy and diplomatists 
 was exactly like Kate's. He considered " Metter- 
 nich " as pointless as he would the Great Napoleon, 
 or Genghiz Khan, or the Wily Serpent of the Sioux. 
 Where the Admiral had faith, he could believe through 
 thick and thin. He believed quite beautifully in the 
 ingenuous, agitated, surprised Little Mother, and had 
 more real faith in the actual existence of Clara's ideal 
 than Clara herself. 
 
 His faith was visible, and if Kate had been clever 
 she would have seen it ; but she was very blind. 
 When a truly charitable creature like Kate has 
 thouoht and said an unkind thinsj, her own darino- 
 seems to her outrageous. For the first time in her 
 life she had openly imputed what she considered the 
 vilest of vile motives to another, and that other 
 Thomas's wife. Then, in all generous natures there 
 is a strong dislike to strike a second time when you 
 have just struck hard. Kate felt as if she had said 
 enoug^h, more than enouoh. Uncle Charles had let 
 the imputation pass without comment, — " for natur- 
 ally," thought she, " he would not care to discuss so 
 delicate a matter any more than I should." So as 
 he did not contradict her, she took it for granted he 
 thought like her. Many people do this, and it is so 
 often a mistake. 
 
 Kate found the Admiral very sensible in his views 
 of matrimony — more sensible than she had expected.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 301 
 
 for he was of a highly romantic turn. But he was 
 perfectly convinced the young people could not pos- 
 sibly know their own minds. " Saw them at Blue- 
 haven, Kate. Know all about their feelings ! Xo 
 danger of breaking anybody's heart in this affair — 
 none whatever ! and that's always a comfort. It 
 enables one to put an end to the whole affair with 
 a firm hand and an easy conscience." 
 
 So the Admiral entirely agreed with Kate that an 
 engagement was completely out of the question : it 
 was settled he should say this very clearly to Thomas 
 and to George. " But as to Mrs Newsham," he ex- 
 claimed, " I am quite sure she will say it to me." 
 
 " Yet say it to her, Uncle Charles," replied Kate, 
 rather timidly, " say it to her all the same, and — quite 
 clearly." Kate then felt she had indeed put the 
 Admiral well on his guard, and that George's interests 
 were safe in his hands ; for had she not opened his 
 eyes to the worst possible view of Clara's character 
 and letter ? 
 
 I doubt if the most depraved of diplomatists would 
 ever have called Kate Crofton " Metternich." 
 
 The Admiral was quite right about Clara. The 
 very first words she said to him were, " My dear 
 Admiral, there can be no engagement between the 
 two foolish young people ! There can be none ! 
 Now, my dear Admiral, my dear Admiral, I know 
 you are so very, very romantic ! but you and I must 
 have some common-sense. Xow positively we must ! 
 It is so very, very unfortunate Thomas should have
 
 302 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 had to go down to Eastcourt to speak at a temperance 
 meeting in Slumby on the very day you have come 
 up to town ! And there is George still in for his 
 examination ! and dear little Adela laid up with a 
 cold on her chest ! Oh ! it is nothing really serious, 
 my dear Admiral, only Dr Williams-Smith is so very, 
 very careful ! But, my dear Admiral, my dear Ad- 
 miral, I know your opinion of the faculty ! " 
 
 Mrs Newsham was quite charming ! She had never 
 been more charming, the Admiral thought. He felt 
 he could almost believe in the " dosers " if she believed 
 in them too ; but as he had told Kate, Mrs Newsham 
 was far, far too clever to believe in any one of them. 
 He found, as he had expected, that she had no faith 
 whatever in Dr Stumps ; and he only wished Kate 
 could have heard how entirely she disagreed with the 
 Shropwich doctor's bad opinion of Cuthbert's state, 
 and how completely she agreed with the very hopeful 
 view he himself took of the case. Mrs Newsham 
 seemed perfectly certain Sir Cuthbert would recover, 
 and rapidly, as the " crisis "-must soon be over. 
 
 And Mrs I^ewsham was as sensible as she was 
 charming ! The only point on which she did not 
 perhaps quite, quite agree with the Admiral, was in 
 thinking the two foolish young people — " Ah ! my 
 dear Admiral, such very, xery foolish young people ! " 
 — were just a little more in love than he suspected. 
 Clara gave the prettiest possible little reasons for this, 
 and they were little reasons not unmoving to the 
 Admiral's tender soul.
 
 POOR NELLIE. 303 
 
 "Now, my dear Admiral;' she said — "my dear 
 Admiral . . ." 
 
 But no ! I cannot do justice to her genius ! In 
 this tete-a-tete with Admiral Crofton, Clara rose to 
 a height where I cannot follow her : besides, the 
 beauty of her complexion and the charm of her 
 manner cannot be felt through pen and ink, as they 
 undoubtedly were felt by the Admiral. So I only 
 dare to say that on this occasion Metternich was 
 admirable ! She was truly admirable ! 
 
 When you intend to disagi^ee with a person, begin 
 by entirely agreeing with him. This was the prin- 
 ciple on which Clara had for years practised her 
 Medical Fine Art. AYe know it was by entirely 
 agreeing with Dr Fozzle that she had got him to dis- 
 agree with himself and order the Bishop to Blue- 
 haven ; and in those sweet little purrings she and 
 old Doseman would have together, Clara would begin 
 by so completely, so completely agreeing with the 
 doctor, that, as we are all aware, old Doseman would 
 end by saying, of his own accord, exactly what Clara 
 wanted him to say. 
 
 Now in that interview with Admiral Crofton, when 
 Metternich's genius rose to such a remarkable height, 
 it was not merely upon the principles of her Mother's 
 Fine Art that she founded her brilliant diplomacy : 
 she made use of all her arts, of all and every one ! 
 And not one of them was lost upon her dear, dear 
 Admiral ! Clara's old fondness for that guileless man
 
 304 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 had more than revived. I thmk she never was quite 
 so fond of him before. The artist loves surpassingly 
 the work on which every touch of his has told. It 
 is the sense of power he loves, — that feeling of real 
 mastery which is the satisfaction given to genius, and 
 to orenius alone. 
 
 The fashion is always to speak of genius as " tran- 
 scendent," as if it were some far-off idol, very distant 
 from our natural selves ; a golden jewelled image on 
 a pedestal, and no living, simple, very human thing. 
 Xow I do not think real genius ever makes upon us 
 the impression of being clever at all, but seems some- 
 thing so easy in its ways, so natural, so sympatheti- 
 cally human, that we feel one with it — as if its 
 pleasant ease were ours, and we were moved like it, 
 Corregio's " lo anche son pittore ! " was the perfect 
 expression of the effect of genius on a soul which 
 could feel what genius is. 
 
 Clara made no impression of cleverness upon the 
 Admiral's mind. When quite naturally, of his oiun 
 accord, just as if he had been a doctor, he came round 
 gently, imperceptibly from his first conviction that 
 there could be no engagement between the two young 
 people, to the idea that it might not perhaps be quite, 
 quite right to act too precipitately in this matter, and 
 that after all it might be better to consent to a sort of 
 indefinite engagement which would enable the two 
 foolish young people to see quite unconstrainedly a little 
 more of each other, and so quite, quite clearly to know 
 their own minds, and to feel what very, very foolish
 
 POOR NELLIE. 305 
 
 young people they really were, and so finally to con- 
 sent of their own free will to a complete rupture of 
 the whole silly affair, — the Admiral was not even aware 
 he was ao-reeim? with Metternich : he felt as if he 
 were simply agreeing with himself, and saw clearly 
 with his own eyes that, under the circumstances, this 
 certainly was the best possible arrangement. It was 
 the " circumstances " which made the arrangement so 
 wise, because he had become convinced there was just 
 enough love between the two very foolish young 
 people to make violent opposition undesirable. Vio- 
 lent opposition turns the short-lived, childish love 
 into the great life-enduring passion. Admiral Crofton 
 came to the conclusion that if George and Adela saw 
 a little more of each other in a perfectly natural, un- 
 constrained way, the youthful illusion would very, 
 very soon quite, quite melt away ! And he again felt 
 as if he were merely agreeing with himself. Such 
 is the power of genius ! 
 
 The Admiral had intended writing immediately 
 to tell Kate, what he in his own mind thought best 
 and wisest for the two young people ; but he had 
 agreed with himself — and with Metternich too — that 
 as even an indefinite engagement could not be allowed 
 without Thomas's consent, he would not after all write 
 his letter from the Alexandra Hotel, but w^ould wait 
 until he had spoken to Thomas, and then write from 
 Eastcourt. " Thomas's consent " seemed a very im- 
 portant part of the matter to tlie Admiral, for he had 
 not the remotest suspicion that Mr Newsham did not 
 
 VOL. L U
 
 306 POOR NELLIE. 
 
 rule his own household, just as he himself would rule 
 his own ship. 
 
 The Adiniralty is not invariably wise, but it is wise 
 indeed in discouraging commanders, captains, and dear 
 admirals from sailing with a charming woman at 
 their helm. 
 
 Georsje's examination finished on the evenino: of 
 the same day that Admiral Crofton and Mrs Newsham 
 had their memorable interview at the Alexandra 
 Hotel. 
 
 Tlie next morning i\Ietternich and her dear, dear 
 Admiral, and George and Adela — those very foolish 
 young people ! — all went down together to Eastcourt 
 to consult or to be consulted about, with that man 
 of clear perception and iron will, the excellent 
 Thomas. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACK\\OOD AND SONS.
 
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