\- :^.-; 
 
 K.v:* 
 
 fe::; 

 
 
 

 
 A SYLVAN QUEEN, 
 
 VOL. I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/sylvanqueen01quee
 
 A SYLVAN QUEEN 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 "RACHEL'S SECRET,' 
 
 &c., &c. 
 
 "Tliough the mills of God grind slowly, 
 Yet they grind exceeding small ; 
 Though with patience He stands waiting, 
 With exactness grinds he all." 
 From the " Sinngediclite " of Feiedeich vok Log.vn'. 1C50. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUIMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1880. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONiVLD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 joi 3'^ -^Ui. 
 
 V.I ^ 
 
 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 ATIGHT was falling over Marholm Moor. Twi- 
 ■^^ light long since had deepened into dusk. 
 The young moon with the old one in her arms 
 had dropped, weary with her burden, behind 
 the dark ridge of the western hills, and, one by 
 one, the stars were trembling forth from rifts in 
 the cloud rack that drifted black and ragged 
 across the sky. A finger-post, with three mis- 
 shapen arms flung out in as many directions, 
 uprose starkly at a point where the road that 
 wound over the northern shoulder of the moor 
 branched off suddenly to right and left. Besides 
 this, and the figure of a man who stood beneath 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 it, striving with knit brows to decipher the 
 half effaced inscription, nothing, save here 
 and there a clump of gorse or a stunted fir, 
 broke the outlines of the billowing expanse of 
 heath which on every side stretched as far as 
 the traveller's eye could reach. 
 
 Belated and astray! For in vain he en- 
 deavoured to spell out through the gloom the 
 stained and naildewed lettering. Ten miles, at 
 least, to judge by his watch_, he must have 
 walked since he left the roadside station which 
 was the nearest point by rail to the village for 
 which he was bound. Ten miles — and the 
 station-master had assured him that less than a 
 couple of hours would take him across the moor 
 to the edge of Marholm Chase, skirting which 
 was a road leading into the village itself. Some 
 signs of human habitation, the smoke of cottage 
 chimneys, or at least the dark tops of the trees 
 in the Chase, he ought to have fallen in w^ith 
 by this ; unless^ as he began uneasily to suspect, 
 he had somewhere or other taken a wrong 
 track, and been wandering with every step only 
 further and yet further astray. 
 
 He gave a low prolonged whistle of half dis-
 
 THE WANDERER. 3 
 
 mayed perplexity, as be looked thi« way and 
 that along the roads to which the sign-post 
 dumbly pointed, and then around him again 
 into the gloom, vainly hoping to descry some- 
 thing that might serve to direct bis course. But 
 nothing was to be seen except the vast shadowy 
 reach of moor ; dark, sombre, silent, in the 
 deepening night ; no sound to be heard save 
 the gurgle of a hidden runlet, and the shriek 
 of the wind through the heather as it came 
 tearing up the hollows. If he had had so much 
 as a crust of bread in his pocket, or a drop of 
 Glenlivat remaining in his flask, he would have 
 sought out some sheltered hollow near at hand, 
 and there, with the sky for his canopy and his 
 leathern travelHng case for a pillow, have 
 stretched himself on the dry elastic heath, and 
 made shift to sleep beneath the stars. It would 
 not have been the first time, had he done so, 
 that they had kept watch over his slumbers. 
 In Swiss chalets^ where from his couch the 
 broken roof had given him an outlook on the 
 heavens, in Venetian gondolas, in green passes of 
 the Pyrenees, in the grim solitudes of Bohemian 
 pine forests, many a time he had slept beneath 
 
 B 2
 
 4 A SYLYAN QUEEN. 
 
 their light. For art brings her followers inta 
 strange straits sometimes, and Hugh Beverley 
 had known before this what it was to suffer 
 hardship for her sake. 
 
 He felt even now an artist's enjoyment in the 
 weird and solemn majesty of the hour. He 
 could willingly have stayed till midnight, steep- 
 ing himself in the spirit of the scene, but un- 
 fortunately the keen moorland breeze which he 
 drew in w^ith every breath had sharpened other 
 senses than those which responded to this 
 mystery and immensity of nature. He was not 
 weary. The wild free air was as a tide of rushing" 
 life around liim ; but he was hungry, desperately 
 and prosaically hungry, and internal monitions,, 
 not to be ignored, warned him that just now a 
 well-spread supper-table, nay, a loaf of dry 
 bread itself, though it cost him another ten miles'^ 
 tramp to find it, would be worth all the gloomy 
 grandeurs of the nocturnal landscape. 
 
 A moment he paused, scanning doubtfully 
 the diverging roads ; then he struck at haz- 
 ard into that turning off to the right. It led 
 him up a rugged steep acclivity_, too steep to 
 have been climbed willingly at the end of a long
 
 THE WANDERER. 5 
 
 day's journey, but for the hope that when once 
 the crest of the hill was reached some ruddy 
 gleam might be descried, twinkling in the valley 
 below, telling where the light shone through a cot- 
 tage window, and where food and shelter, or at 
 the least where guidance, might be had. 
 
 He shifted his valise from one shoulder to the 
 other and strode along, his face to the wind, his 
 feet planting themselves firmly on the ground ; 
 with a certain easy lordship, too, in his gait, as 
 of one well used to ruling either others or him- 
 self. You might have thought that at every 
 step this travel-stained pedestrian was taking 
 possession of the soil on wdiich he trod ; tak- 
 ing it against terrible odds of opposition, too, 
 for, as he ascended, the road became continually 
 more steep and rough. Now he struck his foot 
 against a clump of heath, then half stumbled 
 into a hole which had been concealed by some 
 overhanging bank. And still, as he toiled up- 
 ward^ the hill seemed to heave itself the higher, 
 while with every moment the darkness gathered 
 thicker, and the wind, rising into more furious 
 gusts as he left the sheltered hollows, swept 
 against him as if it would defy him to proceed.
 
 6 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Still he strode on, right in its teeth. The 
 very fierceness of the blast roused in him a feel- 
 ing of resistance to its viewless force. Just so 
 he had fought his way through life ; fighting 
 often in the dark, beaten back by difficulties, 
 thrust down, resisting, conquering at last. In 
 great things as in small, he had been used long 
 to measure the sweetness of the victory by the 
 sharpness of the strife. And if in all the world 
 he had won to himself nothing more precious 
 than that towards which he was pressing now, 
 food, shelter, rest^ a home in an inn, and work 
 for that cunning right hand of his, yet if with 
 these he was content, what richer having need 
 be his ? 
 
 The wind drove down more pitilessly against 
 him. He w^as close on the crest of the hill now, 
 where there w^as nothing to break its force. One 
 blast, wilder than the rest, half took him from his 
 feet. He stood for an instant, wrestling as with 
 an unseen foe ; then again set his face forw^ard, to 
 be aware now of a dark shadow moving towards 
 him through the gloom. It came nearer. He hal- 
 looed, and a voice replied. A few steps further, 
 and he saw dimly a stalwart figure coming to
 
 THE WANDERER. 7 
 
 a halt beside him. A gamekeeper, as he judged 
 by his dress, and by the gun upon his shoulder, 
 A guide, at all events ; better, it was to be hoped, 
 than that dumb post upon the heath. 
 
 He had gone wrong ; that he learned for 
 certain. Marholra, from this point of the moor, 
 was five miles distant by the road. Two, if he 
 went through the Chase ; but then no stranger 
 could track his way there in the dark ; besides, 
 the gates at the other end likely enough were 
 locked. 
 
 A gruff deep voice, but it rang like that of an 
 honest man. The artist knew it. He had been 
 accustomed, as he went through life, to judge 
 men by other tests than those which society is 
 wont to apply. 
 
 *' If you live anywhere hereabout/' he said, '•' I 
 would make it worth your while to give me a 
 supper and a bed. This moorland air has made 
 me ravenous, and five miles is too far to go 
 fasting at this time of night.''^ 
 
 The keeper rubbed his hand across his brow. 
 '^ Why, as to that, sir," he replied, " you are 
 welcome to a supper, such as we have to give 
 you ; but I doubt we couldn't so easy provide
 
 8 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 you with a bed. I would sooner take the key 
 and let you through the Chase myself to the 
 Marholm gate. It isn't over a stone's throw 
 from there to the inn." 
 
 " As you like," returned Hugh, too heartily 
 glad of the near prospect of a supper to care 
 much for anything beyond. " Which is our way?" 
 
 " This," said the man, curtly ; and, facing 
 about, he pointed down from the brow of the 
 hill to where Hugh saw clearly enough a ruddy 
 light shining in the valley below, from amid a 
 dark environment of trees. 
 
 " You bad best keep nigh hand of me, sir/' 
 said the keeper, when they had been plunging 
 for half a mile or so through heath and fern, he 
 leading the way, and his companion following as 
 best he might along the tangled and rocky path. 
 " You had best keep nigh hand of me. It is 
 an ugly piece of road along by these here 
 quarry pits, and the ling and broom grows over 
 the sides of them, while you might as easy as 
 not set your foot on a bit of loose bank, and 
 find yourself the next minute at the bottom 
 with a broken back. This way, sir. You'll be 
 all right if you keep nigh hand of me."
 
 THE WANDERER. 9 
 
 It was a timely caution. The artist drew aside 
 with an involuntary shudder as he saw through 
 the gloom a gulf of darkness yawning on the 
 right, not more than a yard or two from his 
 feet, and unpleasantly suggestive of a headlong 
 fall and mangled limbs. 
 
 '^ It is a dangerous-looking place," he said. 
 *' The owners ought not to leave it exposed in 
 this way, so near a public path.''' 
 
 " It might be dangerous to them that didn't 
 know of it," returned the keeper; "but there's 
 none comes this way of a night but what does. 
 1 never heard tell of aught happening at the old 
 quarry pits, without it was now and again a 
 sheep or a lamb might fall over." 
 
 " They ought to be protected, nevertheless,"" 
 said Hugh. ''It does not follow that an accident 
 never will happen because only sheep or lambs 
 have been killed as yet." 
 
 " You say true, sir," replied the man, with a 
 rasping bitterness in his tone, " and I don't 
 doubt but what he would put up a bit of a 
 railing, would the Squire, if they was his own 
 sheep that he run on the moor. But he's a 
 hard man, is Squire Elphinstone. He don't lay
 
 10 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 a penny on the ground without he sees a chance 
 of its growing him another." 
 
 *"' Then these moors belong to him ?" 
 " This part of them does, sir. That road that 
 you Avas on when I came up with you parts 
 between his property and Lord Danvers'. I am 
 one of his lordship's keepers. It is a short cut 
 to my house, is this. Here we are, sir," he added, 
 as they came out the next moment at the foot 
 of the hill, upon a bye-road, open on the one 
 side to the moorland^ and on the other fenced 
 off by the low stone-wall which ran beneath the 
 outermost fringe of the trees in Marholm Chase. 
 The keeper took from his pocket a key, with 
 which he opened a wicket gate in the wall. 
 Hugh followed him a hundred yards or so into 
 the dusky shelter of the wood ; then a stream of 
 warm light shone out across the path, and the 
 man stopped before a little brown nest of a 
 cottage, and rapped with his key upon the 
 window whence the comfortable glow had 
 issued.
 
 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 
 
 A YOUNG girl opened the door and came out 
 -^ quickly into the porch. 
 
 " Why, whatever has brought you back so 
 soon, father V she exclaimed, in a tone of sur- 
 prise ; then, seeing a stranger in the rear, she 
 drew back hastily, casting a glance, abashed yet 
 curious, from a pair of dark bright eyes, upon 
 the unexpected visitor. 
 
 The keeper stooped his head beneath the low- 
 browed doorway and went into the houseplace, 
 beckoning to his companion to follow him. A 
 dark-visaged, powerful-looking man, as Hugh 
 saw him in the fuller light, with rough thick hair 
 and beard, and thews and sinews like a son of 
 Anak's ; just the sort of man for a gamekeeper 
 where the preserves needed watching, one whom 
 it v/ould be dangerous to meet by night on
 
 12 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 a poaching aflfray. That right arm of his 
 could deal a deadly blow, no doubt, if need were 
 and his blood were up ; nor wa.s the weather- 
 beaten face that of a man likely to parley long 
 with a foe. Yet there was a lurking softness in 
 his voice as he spoke to the girl, 
 
 ^' Madge, my lass, can thee give us some 
 supper ? Here is a gentleman has lost his way 
 coming over the moor from Stretton station. 
 Look as sharp as thee can, now," he added. 
 " Time's getting on, and we have to Marholm 
 gates to walk after it." 
 
 The girl, thus admonished, disappeared 
 through an inner door ; and the artist, who was 
 just weary enough after his three hours' tramp 
 to feel the luxury of a rest now that it offered 
 itself, flung himself, nothing loath^ on the chintz- 
 covered settle to which the keeper invited him, 
 and stretched out his feet to the warmth upon 
 the hearth. 
 
 Seen in the red firelight he appeared to be 
 about thirty years of age, perhaps a little less J 
 broadly built, rather under than over the middle 
 height, with tawny brown hair, and a thick 
 soft beard of just a lighter shade. He had the
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 13' 
 
 full projectiDg brows that denote the artist 
 faculty, and deep-set eyes, sweet and kindly as 
 a w^oman's if you looked well into them, but 
 with that keenness of glance which may be 
 noticed in those who are accustomed to exercise 
 their vision much in the open air. He had 
 plunged forward doggedly enough an hour ago 
 up that steep hill-side road, but now that 
 circumstances had changed he seemed to adapt 
 himself with ease to the comfortable contrast, 
 and looked round him with a leisurely ingather- 
 ing gaze at the snug quarters in w^hich he found 
 himself thus unexpectedly installed. 
 
 There was no other light than that of the 
 burning logs, which the keeper shook and stirred 
 with his iron-shod heel into a dancing blaze. A 
 shower of sparks rushed up the wide-throated 
 chimney, and tongues of flame leaping out 
 threw a ruddy glow over the sanded floor 
 and whitewashed walls, and brought out into 
 picturesque relief the cumbrous oaken furnish- 
 ings and the dark timbers of the roof. Rude 
 enough, though there were no signs of poverty 
 visible ; hints even of homely luxury, in the 
 row of hams and flitches of bacon which hung
 
 14 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 suspended from the ceiling, in the well-stuffed 
 couch, and in the substantial check curtains 
 which draped the little window. Decorations, 
 too, as if a woman's hand had been at work ; 
 for on the settle was a plump cushion wrought 
 of gay bits of cloth, and upon the table in the 
 window stood a bowl filled with brown and 
 crimson sycamore leaves, with fronds of young 
 fern and clusters of drooping lilies, whose per- 
 fume the quick sense of the artist detected 
 above the heavier odour of the burning wood. 
 
 The girl has an eye for colour, he said to 
 himself, as he took in at a glance these little 
 touches of adornment ; and he looked round, not 
 incuriously, when presently she re-appeared, and 
 began to make preparations for supper. 
 
 He saw a dark-eyed, gipsy-looking girl, 
 straight as a young sapling and as strong, with 
 a rich warm flush upon her tanned cheeks, and 
 hair as black as a raven's wing rippling over her 
 forehead, and fastened in a loose knot at the 
 back of her head. She wore a coarse blue linsey 
 gown, short enough to show a shapely foot and 
 well-turned ankle, and fitting to a bust moulded 
 like that of some Greek sculptor's masterpiece.
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 15 
 
 Beauty ot form and colour too_, of young abun- 
 dant life were here ; a perfect study for a rustic 
 belle, looking at her from an artist's point of 
 view, and all the more so because nothing about 
 her, from the stout leathern shoes that cased her 
 feet, up to the bit of bright ribbon that tied her 
 hair, was out of keeping with her rude abode or 
 homely occupation. Hugh watched her with a 
 sense of critical content, as she moved to and 
 fro, spreading the cloth on the round table 
 which she had drawn forward to the hearth, set- 
 ting forth the loaf of home-made bread, the blue 
 delf platters, the horn-handled knives and forks, 
 and from time to time going to the fire to turn 
 the slices of ham thai were frizzling and splut- 
 tering in a pan which she had fixed on a kind 
 of trivet over the heated brands. 
 
 She went about her task deftly enough, with 
 a half coquettish air, as if quite conscious that 
 the stranger's eye was on her. Doubtless the 
 young gijjsy knew as well as he how ad- 
 mirably the ruddy fireshine brought out the 
 warm tinting of her cheek, and that nothing 
 could have been better adapted to show off the 
 dimples in her rounded arms than the various
 
 16 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 turns and manipulations which her cookery re- 
 quired. More than once the artist caught a 
 stray glance stealing round to him from under 
 her long dark lashes ; though, if she found her- 
 self observed, she would give a little toss of her 
 head^ and move away with apparent unconcern, 
 leaving the rashers for a while to frizz and 
 splutter by themselves. 
 
 These feminine wiles, however, did not inter- 
 fere with her preparations for supper. In ten 
 minutes' time, the rashers were smoking on the 
 table, flanked on one side by a tankard of foaming 
 ale, and on the other by a dish containing a goodly 
 pile of plovers' eggs. Everything was dehcately 
 clean and nice. The keeper's daughter had no- 
 tions, apparently, somewhat daintier than wer& 
 common in her rank of life ; an evident pride,, 
 too, in letting the stranger see that she possessed 
 the wherewithal for setting her table duly 
 forth. The damask table-cloth which she had 
 taken from a locked press at the other end of 
 the room was white as snow, and sweet with the 
 lavender in which it had lain; and if the crockery 
 bore marks of service in various chips and 
 scratches not comprehended in the original
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 17 
 
 design, and if the cutlery suggested doubts as 
 to whether the two-pronged forks had been in- 
 tended for agricultural or for gastronomic im- 
 plements, still everything was as free from 
 speck or stain as good housewifery could make 
 it. 
 
 " Now, sir," said the keeper, with gruff civility, 
 when Madge had placed a chair for their guest. 
 *' Now, sir, make free with what there is. It 
 isn't much of a supper for a gentleman like you, 
 isn^t eggs and bacon, but you are welcome to 
 it, heartily; and it is better, anyhow, than going 
 fasting to Marholm at this time of night." 
 
 " Surely V said Hugh, who needed no second 
 invitation to " make free " with what was set 
 before him. "But a supper like this needs no 
 excuse. Plovers' eggs, too, and such plenty of 
 them! ^Vhy, Epicurus himself could not have 
 wished for better fare." 
 
 " He is a gentleman I never heard tell of," 
 said the keeper ; '' but if you are fond of plovers' 
 eggs I am glad we have some left for you. 
 They're latish this season, or there wouldn^t 
 have been any at all. I can't say as I am 
 partial to them myself, but some folks like them. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Our Madge would have them all the year round 
 if they were to be had." 
 
 " It shows that she possesses aristocratic 
 tastes as well as culinary skill," said Hugh, with 
 an approving smile, helping himself at the same 
 time abundantly from the dish before him. 
 
 The girl laughed a pleased reply. She was 
 not altogether sure what culinary skill might 
 mean, but she had a fine ear for flattery, and 
 she understood as well that the gentleman was 
 paying her a compliment, as if he had expressed 
 himself in the homeliest vernacular. 
 
 " Oh, sir," she said, '' it isnH that I would not 
 have done a chicken gladly, and there is 
 sparrowgrass plenty in the garden, but just 
 the ham and eggs were handy." 
 
 " And delicious, too," said Hugh. " You have 
 given me the most sumptuous supper possible. 
 It is fit for a prince.^' 
 
 "It's the sass that does it," put in the keeper. 
 *' That's what it is, sir. I reckon you don't get 
 moorland air to your victuals every day. It's 
 a first-rate sass is moorland air to make a man 
 relish his meat. You won't mind my having a 
 pipe, sir," he added, '' while you are agate of
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 19 
 
 your supper ? It sort of axes for a pipe does 
 this here chair of mine when I get set down in 
 it of a night." 
 
 " Not in the least. Have one by all means," 
 said Hugh. " I shall feel the more at leisure to 
 attend properly to the plovers' eggs, if I see you 
 ■employed while I keep you waiting." 
 
 " That's your way of putting it, sir,^' returned 
 the keeper, as he reached his arm down behind 
 his chair and brought up a long and not over 
 clean pipe, which he proceeded to fill, lighting 
 it with a brand from the hearth. " There's a 
 deal in the Avay of putting things ; but it is 
 strongish bacca is this, and gentlemen doesn't 
 always fancy the common sort^ without they 
 are smoking themselves as well. There is the 
 young squire, now ; he has been down here two 
 or three times since he come home, and he can't 
 abide it. But he is particular is Mr. Pelham. 
 He might be a woman he is that particular in 
 some of his ways. Madge, my lass, fill me a 
 mug of ale." 
 
 Madge tossed her head, whether at the allusion 
 to the ways of women in general, or to those of 
 the young squire in particular, did not appear ; 
 
 o2
 
 20 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 but she filled her father's rang without a word, 
 and then seated herself on a three-legged stool 
 on the other side of the hearth. Not out of 
 sight of the stranger, though ; for, whether by 
 accident or design, she placed herself just w^here 
 the red firelight falling upon her showed her 
 gipsy-looking profile and lithe round figure to 
 the best advantage. 
 
 *'You are keeper to Lord Danvers, I think 
 you said ?" began Hugh presently, addressing 
 his host. 
 
 '' And has been, sir, these twenty years, to 
 him and his father before him. There is fine 
 shooting here at Marholm. His lordship used 
 to live here regular while this last year or two, 
 but my lady took to being delicate, and they have 
 gone abroad now for her health. It is warmer, 
 they say, in them foreign parts than what it 
 is here." 
 
 "And Marholm, I suppose, belongs to him?" 
 
 '^ Well, the most part of it does, sir. But what 
 they call the Low Flats is owned by Squire 
 Elphinstone, and the west side of Marholm 
 Chase likewise. It is a handsome estate is the 
 Squire's. Him and Lord Danvers between them
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 21 
 
 owns all the land hereabout. But he is a queer 
 man, is the Squire; a queer man and a hard." 
 
 The keeper checked himself abruptly, put his 
 pipe into his mouth again, and puffed away in 
 silence ; fierce, steady whiffs, as if some hidden 
 scorn would find safer vent in this way than in 
 speech. His guest troubled him, however, with 
 no further inquiries, but addressed himself with 
 renewed diligence to the ham and plovers' eggs. 
 It was a matter of indifference to him whether 
 the name of Squire Elphinstone were held in 
 ^'ood or evil odour by the Marholm folk. He 
 w^as not likely himself to have any dealings 
 with the man, unless indeed, like Lord Danvers, 
 he should chance to give him a commission for 
 a picture, which of course was a not impossible 
 €ontingency. 
 
 *' You'll be a stranger in these parts, sir, I 
 reckon V resumed the keeper presently, giving, 
 as he spoke, a thrust at the burning logs, which 
 lit up with a sudden glow his dark determined 
 face. 
 
 " I am," returned the artist. And being will- 
 ing to return courtesy for confidence — for gen- 
 tle or simple, these people were his hosts, and he
 
 22 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 for the time their guest — he explained that he- 
 had come down to Marholm to paint a picture 
 for Lord Danvers ; a glade in the Chase^ where, 
 so he was told, there was some of the finest 
 woodland scenery in the country. 
 
 "Andthey say true, sir," said the keeper, find- 
 ing himself on safe ground again. '' There's never 
 no oaks nor beeches as ever I've seen that are 
 to mention with some of ours in Marholm Chase. 
 There is one now betwixt this and the Court ; 
 three men wouldn't gird it. And a clump of 
 beeches there is just by the Mill Dyke End, and 
 the branches of everyone of them is the size of 
 a tree. Here is our Madge has said often what 
 a picture them beeches was when they was turn- 
 ing in autumn time." 
 
 Madge, thus brought into the conversation^ 
 rufiled up with a look of pretty consciousness, 
 and gave a side-glance towards their guest, who, 
 the young gipsy knew, had more than once 
 cast his eyes in her direction. 
 
 '''The gentleman won't need to go as far as 
 the Mill Dyke End for a picture," she said. 
 '' There are plenty nearer hand than that." 
 
 " I have no doubt there are," said the artist.
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 23 
 
 And, whether he ioteDded it for her or not, Madge 
 caught a glance which she interpreted to mean 
 that he had found ah-eady close at hand what 
 might serve quite well for one. 
 
 Perhaps her vanity had been quicker to detect 
 than the artist to conceal his admiration; for, 
 genial and even easy as he was in his ways, Hugh 
 Beverley was not quite the man, judging from 
 his face, to bandy glances with a peasant girl. 
 But certainly the thought had struck him, as he 
 looked up just then, that he had never seen a 
 better subject for his pencil. It was worth the 
 tramp across the moor to have fallen in with it. 
 Indeed, if he had not had other work laid out for 
 the next few months, he Avould have liked no- 
 thing better than to have wrought up this 
 study of ^' A. Cottage Interior," with all its 
 picturesque effects of light and shade, its wide- 
 throated chimney, its glowing hearth, its smoke- 
 darkened timbers and rude plenishings, his grim 
 host in the background,, and this rustic beauty 
 for the central figure. 
 
 Before the keeper's pipe was quite smoked out 
 Hugh had finished his supper. He would willing- 
 ly have stayed another hour, luxuriating in the
 
 24 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 lazy warmth upon the hearth_, but the eight-day 
 clock in the corner, with ten inexorable strokes, 
 gave warning that it was time to rise and go. 
 The keeper knocked the ashes out of his pipe and 
 stood up^ while Madge, with smiles and blushes, 
 received her meed of thanks for her share in the 
 evening's entertainment. As to proposing pay- 
 ment for their hospitality, that would have been 
 an affront which Hugh was too much a gentleman 
 in grain to think of offering. The service done 
 him was one to be paid in kind, and not in coin. 
 He shook hands, however, with his gipsy-look- 
 ing hostess; there was nothing derogatory to 
 either her dignity or his own in that ; and he 
 lifted his hat to her as he turned from the cot- 
 tage door, where she stood watching them 
 away, in a flutter of pleasure and surprise at 
 the unaccustomed honour. 
 
 Possibly, had Madge been some stubby dam- 
 sel_, with freckled face and clumsy figure, our 
 artist might have acknowledged her services in 
 a less familiar fashion. But the girl's beauty 
 seemed in some sort to do for her what genius, 
 in his own case, had done for him. It lifted her 
 out of her lowly surroundings to set her on a
 
 A COTTAGE INTERIOR. 25 
 
 level with those higher than herself. It seemed 
 the most natural thing in the world to treat her 
 with a certain courtesy of manner, quite distinct 
 from condescension. He did so instinctively, 
 hardly thinking of it ; and then, without glanc- 
 ing back, strode after the keeper, who guided 
 him through the dusky penetralia of the wood- 
 land ways, as far as the gate Avhich opened out 
 at the other end of the Chase upon the village 
 green at Marholm. 
 
 A square of glowing light beyond the great 
 beech-tree on the centre of the green, marked 
 the window of the Marholm inn ; and there Hugh 
 found a home, and such traveller's welcome as 
 he needed, from good Mistress Boynton ; who, 
 inferring from his dress and accent that he 
 belonged to the "quality," speedily made ready 
 the best room in her house, and herself escorted 
 him to the door, descanting by the w^ay on the 
 excellence of her accommodation, and assuring 
 him that nothing would be wanting on her part 
 for his comfort so long as he should find it con- 
 venient to remain. 
 
 But the best bed at the "Danvers Arms " might 
 have been a patch of brown heath or a truss
 
 26 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 of straw for anything our traveller cared. He 
 flung himself down upon it just as the clock in 
 Marholm church tower was on the stroke of 
 eleven, and by the time the chiming ceased he 
 was asleep.
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TBE landlady's TALE. 
 
 A STIRRING woman was Mistress Boynton, 
 -^ of the " Danvers Arms ; " a buxom, capable, 
 rosy-visagecl widow, of some forty years or there- 
 abouts. Mistress Boyntou was always hazy 
 OD the subject of her age, and it would ill be- 
 come us on so delicate a point to be more 
 explicit than she was herself. She had been mis- 
 tress of the " Danvers Arms " for the last fifteen 
 years, sole mistress ever since old Luke Boynton, 
 her second husband, departed this life some 
 seven years ago, leaving Ins spouse to rule the 
 roost alone. And rule it she did, to some pur^ 
 pose too ; for, as she was fond of inquiring, 
 putting the question strongly — 
 
 "Where will you find a public this side of St. 
 Bede's that's better carried on than what the 
 ' Danvers Arms ' is ? or one that is cleaner and
 
 28 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 comfortabler, and the liquors of the best, and 
 charges moderate, and the custom respectable, 
 and never no racketing of a night, and rent and 
 taxes paid reglar^ and everything as it ought 
 to be in a well-conducted house V 
 
 She had been stirring for three hours and 
 more, busy with her tongue and eye and hand, 
 when Hugh came downstairs the next morning, 
 and guided by the fragrance of broiled kidney 
 and coffee, which a cherry-cheeked damsel had 
 just carried in, made his way into the "blue 
 parlour," where he found breakfast waiting for 
 him, and the morning sun shining merrily in 
 through a vine-clad window, the panes of which 
 were liberally scratched over with the names of 
 previous occupants of the room. 
 
 Perhaps, having, as she expressed it, broken 
 the neck of the day's work by the time that her 
 guest had concluded his repast. Mistress Boynton 
 felt that she might legitimately devote a few 
 moments to conversation when she came in, as 
 her custom was, after breakfast was taken out, 
 to receive her orders for the day. 
 
 She was too politic, however, to give any 
 definite reply to the inquiry which Hughpresently
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 29 
 
 made as to tlie possibility of obtaining decent 
 lodgings in the village. 
 
 There was no one she knew of that she could 
 recommend satisfactory for a gentleman like Mr. 
 Beverley^ without it was Mrs. Midgely at the 
 j)ost-office, and she had Mr. Crawford,, the doc- 
 tor's assistant, lodging with her constant. There 
 might be an odd farmhouse near at hand where 
 they would not object to a lodger. She couldn't 
 say ; but the farmers' waives were mostly throng 
 enough as it was, without anything extry that 
 way to the Avork. 
 
 "Butj if I might make free to advise, sir," 
 pursued the dame, *' I should say you couldn't 
 do better than stop where you was. I had a 
 gentleman here last summer, came for his health 
 — it's reckoned an uncommon healthy place^ is 
 Marholm — and he stopped on with me better 
 than two months, he was so w^ell satisfied. And 
 real quality he was, too; as I should say, begging 
 your pardon, you was yourself, sir. And as far 
 as being well cooked for, and done for in a 
 general way, and made comfortable as a gentle- 
 man had ought to be made comfortable, I don't 
 think you could better yourself anywhere-
 
 "30 A SYLVAN QUEEN" 
 
 hereabouts, and that is the honest truth. For 
 how things had ought to be done, and what 
 belongs to quahty, there's none knows better 
 than me_, that was cook five year at the 
 Court, before I married my first and come to the 
 'Danvers Arms;' and going for fifteen year Tve 
 l>een mistress here, wife and widow, as I am 
 now; and satisfaction I've always given, as yoLi 
 may judge when I tell you that I have had the 
 same parties come here to the shooting as many 
 ■as seven year running, and never a word but 
 what was pleasant between us. And airier 
 rooms there needn't be than this and the blue 
 chamber, and the morning sun, and the bed well 
 aired, and everything clean and sweet ; as 
 there isn't a floor in the house, Fm happy to 
 •say, but what you might eat off it if you was so 
 disposed. And charges most moderate, for, if 
 there is one thing more than another that I 
 •can't abide, it is to have a party complain about 
 the bill." 
 
 And, having put this judicious climax to her 
 speech, Mrs. Boynton dropped suddenly from 
 the eulogistic and rhetorical to a more directly
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 31 
 
 practical tone, and inquired what Mr. Beverley 
 would please to have for dinner. 
 
 A question which Hugh soon settled; and then 
 he rose from the table and walked to the win- 
 dow, expecting that the landlady would take 
 herself away. 
 
 But the dame was minded to improve the 
 opportunity a little farther. 
 
 "You will like this room, I don't doubt, sir," 
 she said, casting a complacent glance around 
 the snug, old-fashioned parlour. *' Gentlemen 
 mostly think it uncommonly cheerful ; and the 
 view down the village, and everything seen that 
 is going on, and the church quite an object of at- 
 traction, as Mr. Skelmerdale used to say. It is 
 a beautiful church ; what they call a specimen of 
 Norman architecter ; and there is the parsonage 
 chimnej^s you see above that there clump of red 
 chestnut-trees." 
 
 " Ah, Canon Daylmer ! Is not that the rec- 
 tor's name ?" said Hugh, a little bored with his 
 landlady's irrepressible loquacity, but willing, 
 nevertheless, to humour her in her evident 
 desire to be communicative. It was a point on
 
 32 A SYLYAN QUEEX. 
 
 which he had no need for information, seeing 
 that he had at that moment, in the side-pocket 
 of his coat, a letter of introduction for the Canon 
 from Lord Danvers. But his was a genial soul ; 
 the rough handling of the world had not de- 
 stroyed in him those minor charities of life which 
 are even harder, perhaps, to practise than the 
 high-soundiug virtues on which some men pride 
 themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton drew herself up briskly. 
 
 *' Yes, sir ; that is the name ; Canon Daylmer. 
 Thirty years he has been rector here, and a deal 
 thought of he is in these parts ; and so is Miss 
 Daylmer, his sister, that has kept his house ever 
 since Mrs. Daylmer, poor lady, died. And Miss 
 Marjory, too. That is his niece that lives with him. 
 A pleasant-spoken young lady as ever was, and 
 real quality, too^ for her father was own brother 
 to the squire : not as it is any credit to anyone 
 to be kin to the squire, but still quality is 
 quality, as I always say, whether it be good or 
 bad." 
 
 The squire again ! What was this man, 
 thought Hugh, that he should be held in such 
 evil odour by the Marholm folk 1 But the name
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 33 
 
 had scarcely passed the landlady's lips, when a 
 sound of horses' hoofs was heard round the 
 corner of the village street, and the next 
 moroent a small elderly gentleman^ in a snuff- 
 brown coat and mounted on a stout grey cob, 
 came trotting into sight. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in his appear- 
 ance, unless it might be a certain look of mingled 
 craft and hardness meeting on his face, which 
 impressed the artist wdth an involuntary feeling 
 of aversion and distrust. Something, too, there 
 w^as about it which at the first glance struck 
 him with a sense of familiarity_, as if at some 
 time he had seen those features before, though 
 where or when he could not at the moment call 
 to mind. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton, however, settled the question 
 for him. The rider of the grey cob was no one 
 with whom he had any previous acquaintance, 
 except by report. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, now !" she exclaimed ; 
 " they do say, ' Talk of Somebody,' for it isn't 
 manners to give him his name, *and he is sure to 
 appear.' If yon isn't the Squire himself going- 
 down the town! It isn't often he shows his 
 
 VOL. I. I>
 
 34 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 face in Marliolra ; though, for the matter of that, 
 there's none need wish to see him oftener. 
 But, bless me !" she added in an altered tone, as 
 the old gentleman passed the window at which 
 Hugh was standing, " what a start he did give, 
 to be sure, when he turned his head just now ! 
 One would think he had seen a ghost, he looked 
 that scared. Not as anybody need take you for 
 a ghost, sir ; for a more likely-looking gentle- 
 man I haven't seen since I had the ' Danvers 
 Arms.' But I am sure, sir, if the squire is an}'- 
 thing in any shape or way to you, I ask pardon 
 for saying aught against him. It is a way my 
 tongue has of letting things slip ; though, to 
 speak truth, it is nothing but what everybody 
 else in this place thinks of him, whether they 
 say it or not. I haven't given offence, sir, I 
 hope," she continued, with a qualm of misgiving 
 apparently, at finding her apologies received in 
 silence. 
 
 " Not at all, Mrs. Boynton — not at all," said 
 Hugh, absently. He, too, had observed the old 
 gentleman's sudden start as for an instant their 
 eyes had met. and was gazing now after the 
 snuff-coloured figure which the grey cob was
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 35 
 
 bearing steadily along. "I have never seen 
 Mr. Elpbinstone before to-day, that I am aware 
 of." 
 
 '' And needn't wish to again, I'm sure, sir," 
 responded the dame_, in a tone of relief. " There 
 are plenty in these parts would be thankful 
 never to set eyes on him more. Though I am 
 not the woman, and never was, to wish a man 
 in his grave before his time ; and tried I was 
 past mortal patience, as anyone will bear me 
 -witness, before my first was took. You wouldn't 
 say, now," she went on, after a moment's 
 pause — " You wouldn't say, by the look of the 
 Squire, that him and his lordship owned all 
 Marholm, and the land about it, between them. 
 But I always say he is that mean and griping 
 in his ways, while his body has shrivelled up to 
 match his soul. They do say, though, and I 
 will give him his due_, that he wasn't that way 
 when he was a young man. It was all along 
 of poor Miss Edith giving him the slip, and he 
 has been sort of twisted ever since. I recklect 
 as well as can be, though I was a girl in 
 pinafores when it happened,, what a talk it made 
 in Marholm when she went off, the very night 
 
 d2
 
 36 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 before she was to have been wed to him. There's 
 a tale there to tell ! I always say, if I had gifts 
 I could very near make a book of it. But losh, 
 sir ! what is Marholm talk to you ?" 
 
 " Go on, Mrs. Boynton, go on," said Hugh, who 
 was still watching from the window the retreat- 
 ing figure, and vainly trying to connect the old 
 gentleman^s startled glance and apparent recog- 
 nition,with the fancied familiarity by which he had 
 himself been struck. The missing links refused 
 to be found ; still the momentary rencounter 
 had given him an odd sort of interest in the 
 history which the good woman was evidently 
 anxious to relate. 
 
 " And how came the young lady to behave so 
 ill to him ?"' he inquired. 
 
 ** Why^ sir," returned Mrs. Boynton, " as to 
 her behaving ill, I woukln^t say that Miss Edith 
 did that ; but_, you see, she was his cousin^ and 
 it was her father, Mr. Geoffry Elphinstone, that 
 owned the estate then^ and sore vexed he was 
 that he hadn^t a son to heir it after him, and 
 keep the name and the property together. So 
 him and his brother, this squire^s father, they 
 put their heads together, and settled it between
 
 37 
 
 them that Miss Edith should marry her cousin 
 Mark, and the property keep in the family, and 
 belong to an Elphinstone, same as it had always 
 done. But, however, sir,'^ continued Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton, '' Miss Edith didn't fancy her cousin, and 
 one wdnter she was away with her father at a 
 place where there were some waters that he 
 weut to drink for his gout, and there she fell in 
 with a young gentleman, a captain in the army, 
 and, when old Mr. Elphinstone found it out, he 
 brought her back right away, without ever 
 waiting to have his gout cured. Leastways, 
 there was as much as that got out in the village, 
 for folks can^t keep thiugs so quiet but what 
 some sort of a whisper gets about. And, after 
 that, the old gentleman was more set than ever on 
 her marrying her cousin, and at last there was 
 talk that it was to be. But, however, it is a 
 toughish thing, is love ; and they do say, for as 
 sharp as the old man looked after her, that she 
 and the other young gentleman found ways and 
 means to meet, even after it was fixed for her 
 to marry her cousin. It was in May the wed- 
 ding was to be, and she had been away on 
 a visit in London, getting the bride's dress and
 
 38 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 things, and then, when she got home, what 
 does she do but fall ill of a fever that was stir- 
 ring in Marholm ? Her maid that had been with 
 her had it too, and died of it^ and Miss Edith 
 herself was better than two months before she 
 could so much as be drove out in the carriage. 
 And, when she began to mend, I've heard tell 
 that she begged and prayed her father and her 
 cousin, on her bended knees, to let her off the 
 match, and they neither of them would. And 
 the wedding things were made^ and the day was 
 fixed, and the bridesmaids were at the Priory, 
 and the arches put up and everything, and when 
 the morning came she was a-missing ! 
 
 "Not as I blame her," added the landlady, 
 warily, " for she was drove to it by her father ; 
 but gone she was, and never no word was heard 
 of her while six months after, the very -v^eek 
 before her father died, for it had broke his heart, 
 it had, losing her that way. And then a letter 
 came w^th just a message for him to go to her 
 at a place somewheres in the south, if I 
 remember rightly, where she was lying ill. 
 Well, sir;, as you may judge, old Mr. Elphinstone
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 39 
 
 couldn^t go to her when he was lying at death's 
 door himself; so Mr. Mark had to go instead, 
 for there was no one else belonging to the 
 family to send, and five days afterwards he 
 came back. She had died the same night he 
 got there, and he had waited to see her buried. 
 But what sort of a meeting him and Miss Edith 
 had, or where she had been all that six months, 
 or anything about her, no one ever knew. 
 Leastways it was kept so close that it never got 
 out of the family. Deary me ! what a talk it 
 made in Marholm ! And the next w^eek there 
 was the old squire^s funeral ; and, instead of 
 poor Miss Edith, there was Mr. Mark to heir 
 the property, and so he came to be squire after 
 all ; for his own father had been dead a good 
 bit then. And there's many in Marholm wishes 
 he Jiad been dead too, for then his half brother, 
 Mr. Percival, that w^as away in India, would 
 have heired it ; him that was our Miss Marjory ^s 
 father. And she is a sweet young lady as ever 
 breathed, is Miss Marjory ; like a June rose for 
 beauty and for bloom, and them that know do 
 say she is the very image of what poor Miss 
 Edith used to be."
 
 40 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 " And Low long is it since all this happen- 
 ed ?" inquired Hugh. 
 
 " Why, sir," returned the landlady, allowing 
 a cautious latitude to her chronology, "it was 
 when I was a girl in pinafores. It may be 
 about five and twenty years back, as near as I 
 can tell ; or it might be a trifle more, for I have 
 a long memory.^' 
 
 ''And this Mr. Mark Elphinstone never 
 brought a lady to the Priory ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, he did, not so long after he 
 went to it himself. That is to say/' said Mrs. 
 Boynton, correcting herself, " he brought a 
 wife; though whether a common quarryman's 
 daughter could be called a lady, I leave you 
 to judge. The quality in these parts never had 
 much to do with her, not while she lived. 
 There was a deal of them sent their cards when 
 she was dead, so I have heard tell from Mrs. 
 Mapperly ; that's the housekeeper at the Priory." 
 
 "She is dead, thenT 
 
 " Yes, sir, she died when their son, Mr. Pel- 
 ham, was born. They had been living abroad 
 till then, and came home just a week or two 
 before, so as the child should be born at the
 
 THE landlady's TALE. 41 
 
 Priory House. They had been married four or 
 five years, and no children, and they do say the 
 Squire was set up beyond everything at having 
 a son and heir. It is mostly so with them that 
 has lands. They think nothing of them with- 
 out they have children of their own to leave 
 them to. However, Mrs. Elphinstone died, poor 
 thing! just a week after the baby was christened, 
 and ever since then the Squire has lived on at 
 the Priory, saving and screwing, and improv- 
 ing the estate, while they say it is worth very 
 near twice as much now as it was when he 
 came into it. A queer, lonesome sort of life, to 
 my thinking ; for there is no one scarce ever 
 goes near the place except when Mr. Pelham is 
 at home, and that isn't often^ though he is 
 there now, and has been these three weeks. 
 
 " But, bless me !" exclaimed the landlady, pull- 
 ing herself up abruptly, " if yon isn't half after 
 ten striking by the church clock. I had no 
 thoughts of time having gone so fast ; and there 
 is the Stretton carrier stopping at the door, and 
 your case and portmanty, sir, it will be that he is 
 lifting out of his cart. He will be asking eighteen- 
 pence for bringing of it, Pll be bound, though a
 
 42 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 shilliog is his proper charge. He always tries 
 to lay it on with quality, does Benson, without 
 he is looked after pretty sharp. I'll just step 
 out, sir, with your leave, and pay him myself. 
 fle knows well enough there is no such a thing 
 as imposing on me." 
 
 And, without waiting for an answer, Mrs. 
 Boynton bustled away, and in a moment had 
 Avhipped a shilling out of her capacious pocket, 
 disappointed the rapacious Benson of his prey, 
 and was seeing the portmanteau and case safely 
 into the house, happily unconscious that Mr. 
 Beverley, with a graceless indifference to being 
 imposed upon, had defeated her prompt inter- 
 ference on his behalf by flinging a supplement- 
 ary shilling to the malcontent carrier out of the 
 window.
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ALONE IN PAKADISE. 
 
 I PLEASANT, quaint old village was this of 
 -^ Marholm, with its many-gabled parsonage, 
 its three or four substantial farmhouses, and its 
 mossed and thatched and timbered cottages, 
 clustered as if for love and shelter around the 
 grey church tower, beneath whose shadow, 
 for five hundred years or more, one generation 
 after another of the inhabitants had laid them 
 down to their last long sleep. A quiet nook, 
 such as even now may here and there be found 
 in this rail-netted England of ours, where the 
 whiteness of the May blooms is still unsmirched, 
 and the great world's ceaseless roar is heard 
 only from afar. 
 
 Eight miles from the little cathedral town of 
 St. Bede's, seven across the heath from Moor 
 Stretton, the nearest railway station, and on
 
 44 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 the high-road to no\vhere in particular^ Marholm 
 had been left by this wide-awake^ worrying 
 nineteenth century considerably in the rear of 
 the march of modern progress. It knew nothing 
 of strikes and trades' unions, of reform clubs and 
 debating societies ; but it knew its duty to its 
 neighbours, and for the most part did it, too ; 
 nor was it wanting in that other duty of re- 
 verence and obedience to its betters which in 
 these days has somewhat fallen into disrepute. 
 Something of the old feudal feeling lingered 
 still in Marliolm_, relic of the days when men had 
 not yet learned to be ashamed of having su- 
 periors, but found it as natural a thing to look 
 up, as now it would seem necessary to have 
 some one to look down upon. 
 
 The farmers grumbled a little as rent-day 
 came rounds and sighed, things not being so 
 good as they used to be, and the loose hands 
 poached a little now and then, and took their 
 punishment submissively, being detected in the 
 same ; but, on the whole, the Marholm tenantry 
 w^ere a decent well-disposed set of folks, and 
 took it as an ordinance of providence that some 
 men should be born to pay rents and others
 
 ALONE IN PARADISE. 45 
 
 to receive them, some to own the land and 
 others to toil upon it. It was a peaceful, whole- 
 some, contented life that whiled itself away in 
 that mossy old village, a life rocked lovingly 
 on nature's bosom_, and thriving thereupon^ 
 You might travel far and wide on a long sum- 
 mer's day and not see a prettier sight than met 
 the eye of Hugh Beverley as he stood in the 
 porch of the *'Danvers Arms" after his land- 
 lady had left him, and took a leisurely view of 
 his new surroundings. 
 
 There was a beech-tree in the centre of the 
 green, with a Avooden bench round its huge 
 gnarled trunk_, on which sat two or three old 
 men, the patriarchs of the village, who had 
 tottered out from the whitewashed cottages 
 hard by to smoke their pipes in company. Be- 
 yond, was the ivy-hooded tower of the church ; 
 and, close by it, half hidden by the surrounding 
 trees, rose the high-peaked gables and twisted 
 chimneys of the parsonage, a fine old red-brick 
 Ehzabethan building, whose brown-tiled roof, 
 lichen-stained into a mellow harmony of russet, 
 gold, and olive, gave just the dash of warm 
 contrasting colour amid the cool freshness of
 
 46 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 the foliage, which to Hugh's artistic eye was 
 like the concord of sweet soands to a musician's 
 ear. On the other side of the green ran the high 
 stone-coped wall of the Chase, with the griffin 
 guarded gates that opened upon the carriage 
 entrance leading to the Court. There were a 
 few rambling old-fashioned houses of the better 
 sort, wherein dwelt the village doctor, Lord 
 Danvers' steward, and one or two ancient ladies 
 of degree. And^ scattered about in easy proxi- 
 mity to their betters, were the thatched cottages 
 already mentioned, and the decent dwellings of 
 the more thriving among the homespun popula- 
 tion of the place ; notably those of Mark Stani- 
 land, the wheelwright, and of Mr. Jacob Marple, 
 the Marholm grocer, draper_, druggist, and con- 
 fectioner, whose shop windows, with their mis- 
 cellaneous assortment of articles good for food 
 and pleasant to the eye, presented an unceasing 
 source of attraction to the small boys of the 
 village, some of whom might usually be seen 
 clustered in twos and threes around them. 
 
 It was a glorious morning, full of the zest, 
 and life, and freshness of the spring — a day to 
 be glad and idle in, as Hugh felt himself in the
 
 ALONE IN PARADISE. 4.7 
 
 mood now to be. He lit a cigar, and strolled 
 out round the village, and into the churchyard, 
 the green God^s-acre, thick set with turfy 
 knolls and mossed head-stones, among which 
 he lingered long, reading on their open pages 
 the chronicles of those who were sleeping 
 quietly beneath, and finding a hundred pictur- 
 esque effects in the buttressed walls and ivied 
 battlements, the quaint gargoyles and crumbling- 
 carving of the weather-beaten old sanctuary. 
 
 There was a wicket-gate opening from the 
 churchyard into the rectory garden, and an- 
 other into the Chase, the wall of which formed 
 its western boundary. Hugh went through it. 
 It led into a narrow and unfrequented path, 
 carpeted with moss and primula, and roofed 
 over so thickly with interlacing boughs that 
 hardly a sunbeam could find its way down into 
 the green gloom below. But how delicious, as 
 he wandered on, was that dim mystery of 
 ehade ! how hushed and fragrant was the air, 
 all thrilled through with the exquisite new life 
 of spring! He might have been transported 
 since yesterday into some fairy realm, so differ- 
 ent was this sweet woodland world from that
 
 48 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Avhich he had left behind him in the noisy^ dusty 
 London streets. 
 
 He went on, bending his steps as the 
 road swerved this way and that, until he was 
 stopped short by a five-barred gate that crossed 
 his path. Instead of opening it and passing 
 through — for he had come into the Chase intend- 
 ing to look round him and consider a little what 
 point of view it might be best to select for the 
 picture that he was about to commence — he 
 leaned down his folded arms upon the topmost 
 rail, and stood looking over it, down the sunlit 
 glade which stretched before him ; not thinking 
 at all, quite forgetting what he had meant to do, 
 just filling his eyes and heart with the beauty 
 that surrounded him. A beauty all the more 
 grateful, perhaps, to his thirsty sense, because 
 for the last six weeks or more, ever since his 
 return from Rome, where he had met with Lord 
 Danvers, whose commission he was about to 
 execute, he had been shut up chiefly to the 
 frowsy atmosphere and dull monotony of a sick- 
 room in London lodgings. He had gathered 
 back his strength, it is true, but he had been 
 near shutting his eyes then on all pleasant sights
 
 ALONE IX PARADISE. 49 
 
 of this world, and all vexiog ones as well. A 
 foul malaria, creeping up from a nest of fever- 
 haunted houses just beyond the square in which 
 he livedo had seized him in its deadly grip, had 
 dragged him from his easel to his bed, had 
 wrestled with him there sorely and long ; till 
 having crushed the life well nigh out of him, it 
 had left him at last to struggle up again out of 
 the dark valley as best he might. 
 
 Which, however, he had done, being aided 
 thereto by a good constitution, and still more, 
 perhaps, by that energy of hope which the un- 
 expected good fortune of Lord Danvers' recent 
 commission had aroused. For there is no medi- 
 cine like hope. To the sick man it is the very 
 Elixir Vitoo, more potent than all the physician's 
 drugs ; and Hugh Beverley drank it in all the 
 more eagerly because he had waited and thirst- 
 ed for it so long. More than ten years of toil lay 
 behind him, and he was a poor man still ; with 
 a name which critics, it is true, were beginning 
 to mention with that approval which might be 
 the precursor of success, but which had not yet 
 gathered fame enough to sell his pictures for 
 much more than had kept him in food and rai- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 ment while he was painting them. A common 
 experience, it must be owned ; too common^ alas ! 
 but a hard one, nevertheless. 
 
 But that was all over now. Hugh stood with 
 the shadow of it behind him, and the sunlight 
 on his face. His was that easy philosophy 
 w^hich had enabled him to receive with a resolute 
 nonchalance the rebuffs of fortune. None the 
 less_, when her mood changed, he felt the thrill 
 of her caressing hand. And now as he leaned on 
 the five-barred gate in Marholm Chase, gazing 
 idly down the green sun-flecked vista, the strong 
 tide of life rushing through his veins again, and 
 quickening every pulse as if in mystic sympathy 
 with that strange glad life of Nature which 
 breathed through all the air around him. there 
 leaped up too within him the energy born of 
 hope, nerving each faculty wdth a keener 
 impulse for the strain of work, and making 
 the very thought of his summer's toil a 
 
 Adam might have felt so, set down in Para- 
 dise, with the life all fresh within him, and the 
 world before him to conquer and enjoy. Like
 
 ALONE IN PARADISE. 51 
 
 tiim, too, in this, that he stood in his Paradise 
 alone I 
 
 A fresher fragrance in the air, a sense of 
 richer life in the warm gloom around, a vague 
 ruffling of the stillness within him and without. 
 Hugh turned his head, and there behind him 
 stood a brown-locked girl, plainly enough 
 dressed, yet with a touch of richness here and 
 there in her attire, and a half stately grace in 
 the way she carried her head, which told him at 
 a glance that she belonged to what Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton termed " the quality." How long she had 
 been standing there Hugh could not tell, for her 
 footsteps had fallen unheard upon the mossy 
 path ; but, by the look of half amused embar- 
 rassment that pla^^ed about her lips, he con- 
 cluded that she had been waiting for him to 
 remove his unconscious barricade. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon. I had no idea that I 
 was stopping the way," he said, as he drew 
 back. And, seeing that she wished to pass 
 through, he would have made amends for his 
 remissness by opening the gate himself. But 
 
 E 2 
 
 SSw^«au«o«
 
 52 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 the rusty and crooked latch had views of its 
 own on that point, and declined to yield to his 
 persuasions. He tried in vain ; it only the more 
 obstinately refused to open. 
 
 " Excuse me," said the girl, gently. " If you 
 will allow me, I think I can manage it. This 
 is a very tiresome gate to open if you do not 
 know the secret of the latch." 
 
 She bent over it, pushing the hasp a little 
 sideways, and unfastened it at once. Hugh 
 swung back the gate upon its hinges and held 
 it while she went through. He lifted his hat as 
 he closed it again behind her. The girl smiled 
 and bent her head very slightly in acknowledg- 
 ment of the courtesy; perhaps, too, there might 
 be just the least touch of feminine curiosity in 
 the glance she cast upon the absent-minded 
 stranger; and then the artist leaned down as 
 before with his folded arms wpon the rail, and 
 stood looking after her as she went along be- 
 neath the trees. 
 
 Her moving form hardly disturbed the still- 
 ness of the scene. The flowing lines and soft 
 neutral tones of her dress seemed only to add 
 to the pervading feeling of repose, and to blend
 
 ALONE IX PARADISE. 53 
 
 with the woodland beauty round her as she 
 passed on through sun and shade, treading so 
 h'ghtly that the daisies in the turf could hardly 
 have felt the pressure of her foot. Hugh watched 
 her until the grey bole of an old oak-tree, pro- 
 jecting across the path, hid her from his sight. 
 There was only the quiet green glade now, with 
 the sunbeams flickering across it, not quite so 
 brightly, it seemed to him, as when a moment 
 before they had stayed themselves in glad sur- 
 prise to play around that shining head. 
 
 He drew himself up, and shook his thoughts 
 free from the tangled threads of reverie that 
 bad wound him in their meshes. It v/as a beau- 
 tiful face that he had seen, with a slumbering 
 light in the dark tarn-like eyes_, and tender lines 
 about the lovely mouth ; a face that to look at 
 only for a moment brought a feehng of content 
 and rest, as if the soul of pure womanhood that 
 dwelt within drew all around it into harmony 
 with itself; a face that to look at once might 
 make a man long to see it again, and yet again. 
 And this was just where Hugh's thoughts had 
 lust themselves when he drew himself up with 
 that sudden start.
 
 54 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 What was it to him that the girl was fair? 
 AYould that help him with what he had in hand, 
 or guide him to the spot in all that leafy wil- 
 derness whose sylvan beauty might best serv& 
 him to transfer to canvas ? He had near three 
 months' work before him if he were to make 
 his picture what he intended it to be, the crown 
 and flower of his artist life ; and with such 
 wealth of choice, such infinite exquisite variety 
 of woodland scenery as met him on every hand, 
 it behoved him not to go carelessly about the 
 task of selection. 
 
 Having reached which conclusion, Hugh open- 
 ed the five-barred gate again and went through^ 
 intent on the task before him. He walked on 
 and on, up one green glade and down another. 
 Now he stood still before some hoary giant, 
 whose gnarled and knotted boughs stretched 
 themselves out like the timbers of a cathedral 
 roof; now it was a shadowy nook, festooned 
 wdth briony and bramble, and carpeted with 
 thickest moss, that caught his eager eye ; or a 
 sun-flecked glade, or labyrinth of shade, or open 
 space of turfy ground girdled with trees and 
 dotted over with antlered deer.
 
 ALONE IN PARADISE. 55 
 
 For hours he wandered on, choosing and 
 rejecting and again selecting; his mind vigorous- 
 ly at workj his keen, artistic eye seeing at a 
 glance each subtle effect of light and shade, 
 each tender mystery of colour, losing nothing 
 of all the wealth of Nature's loveliness that 
 spread itself around him. Till at last he found 
 what he was seeking. Easily, softly, without 
 care or effort of his own, the picture that was 
 to be swam into form before his eyes. He had 
 thrown himself down at the foot of a gnarled 
 and knotted oak, upon a piece of broken 
 ground where two glades met. One ran down- 
 wards into a shadowy glen, the other swept up- 
 ward till it lost itself in a sunlit vista that arch- 
 ed a little space of cloud-dappled sky and 
 purple moorland. The gloom and solitude, the 
 light and loveliness of sylvan scenery were 
 here, and all so cunningly combined that each 
 served but to heighten the impression of the 
 other. 
 
 He need go no further now. His work had 
 met him, and was there before him. The sun- 
 shine was warm outside his leafy covert, the 
 winds hushed and still. He lay for hours, just
 
 56 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 as he had thrown himself down upon the 
 grass, lost to himself, brooding over his future 
 work, arranging and re-arranging, planning and 
 disposing, till by degrees, from all the fair in- 
 finitude around him, there rose before his eyes 
 the perfected ideal of the picture which his 
 next three months' labour should be given to 
 produce. 
 
 It was far in the afternoon when he roused 
 himself at last ; the slant sunbeams were begin- 
 ning to strike across him from beneath his 
 foliaged canopy, and to touch with mellower 
 light the grey old oak boles that dotted the 
 Chase, and the sea of waving fern that billow^- 
 ed around their feet. He stood up, and took 
 out his watch_, half surprised to see by the 
 lengthening shadows how the day was wear- 
 ing on. It was four o'clock, and he had ordered 
 dinner to be ready for him at the inn by five. 
 He had an hour before him, just time enough 
 to walk back quietly to the village. He thrust 
 his hands into his pockets, and turned his steps 
 homewards, guiding himself by the sun through 
 the intricacies of the wood. He was in no mood 
 to hurry ; he was as weary as if he had done
 
 ALONE IN PARADISE. 57 
 
 a hard day's work. Through every nerve and 
 muscle he felt a hint of languor. The intensity 
 of thought^ while he had lain forging and 
 shaping his idea upon the anvil of his brain, 
 had exhausted him more than his ten miles' 
 stretch the night before across the rugged 
 moorland road. He loitered on, and had just 
 reached the five-barred gate at which he 
 had stood awhile ago, half dreaming as he 
 watched the moving figure passing down the 
 glade_, when he heard a sound of hoofs falling 
 softly upon the mossy path, and the yelp of a 
 dog, behind him. 
 
 He turned his head, and saw, scarce twenty 
 yards away, a spare, vigorous-looking man, 
 dressed in a grey tweed morning suit, riding at 
 a foot pace towards the gate. 
 
 It was Canon Daylmer. Hugh knew that, the 
 moment he saw the noble head, and the keen, 
 clear-cut face, instinct with intellect and power, 
 yet not without a certain air of melancholy in 
 its repose. Photographs now-a-days make men 
 acquainted with one another the world over, 
 and Hugh had seen at Lord Danvers', in Rome, 
 a portrait of the Canon, whose features once
 
 58 A SYLYAX QUEEN. 
 
 beheld were too noticeable easily to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The rider drew np his horse, as Hugh, pausing 
 for a moment in his walk^ held the gate for him 
 to pass through. 
 
 "^I think," he said, in a measured voice, just 
 touched with that courteous gravity which 
 marked the gentleman of the ancien regime rather 
 than of the modern school, "1 think lam not 
 mistaken in thanking Mr. Beverley for this little 
 service."" 
 
 "Nor I," returned the artist, "in supposing 
 that it is Canon Daylmer to whom I have had 
 the pleasure of rendering it." 
 
 *' Precisely," returned the Canon ; and, with a 
 pleasant smile that seemed at once to lift the 
 veil of strangership between them^ he reached 
 down over the neck of his horse and gave his 
 hand to Hugh. ^' I am very happy to make your 
 acquaintance, Mr. Beverley. I had heard from 
 our friend, Lord Danvers_, that you were likely 
 soon to take up your residence for awhile 
 amongst us at Marholm. Where are you 
 staying? You have not been here long, 1 
 presume ?"
 
 ALONE IX PARADISE. 59* 
 
 ''Not long," said Hugh. "In fact, I only 
 arrived late last night. I have taken up my 
 quarters for the present at Mrs. Boynton's, at 
 the *Danvers Arms,' and think of remaining 
 there ; at least, I have been advised by her to 
 do so." 
 
 "And very good advice, too. You could 
 hardly do better than follow it. She is a 
 worthy woman, on excellent terms with herself, 
 but one of the few whose performance, I be- 
 lieve, is equal to her promise." 
 
 '' I am glad to hear it," said Hugh, with a 
 sense of inward satisfaction at finding the good 
 lady^s testimony on her own behalf thus credibly 
 confirmed. He had been searching meanwhile 
 in his pockets for the letter of introduction with 
 which Lord Danvers had furnished him, and 
 produced it now. 
 
 " I have been entrusted with this for you," li& 
 added, as he gave it to the Canon ; " and also- 
 with a few Italian trifles of which Lady Danvers 
 begs your acceptance. She thought they would 
 reach you more safely through my hands than 
 in any other way." 
 
 " I am obliged to her and to you," said the-
 
 •60 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Canon, bowing. "And now, Mr. Beverley, as 
 our paths appear to lie in the same direction, 
 perhaps you will not mind joining me as far as 
 we go together. Then I shall neither detain 
 you, nor have to w^ait until another opportunity 
 for the pleasure of making your further ac- 
 quaintance, and hearing something of our 
 friends and their Roman life." 
 
 Hugh consented, nothing loath. Beneath the 
 slight film of old-fashioned formality there V7as 
 a simplicity and directness, a touch of quiet 
 humour too^ which irresistibly attracted him to 
 his companion. The Canon too, on his part, 
 with that freemasonry which obtains among 
 honest souls, causing them the world over to see 
 and recognize each other whatever may be the 
 outward garb of circumstance, had perceived at 
 once that in his new acquaintance he had found 
 a man worth cultivating, and ^vas disposed to 
 give him of his best. 
 
 He dismounted from his horse, threw the 
 reins over its neck, and the two men walked 
 together for a mile or so through the wood, 
 discoursing as they went, and mutually content 
 with their encounter.
 
 ALOXE IN PARADISE. 61 
 
 " You will come and dine with ns to-mor- 
 row?" said the Canon, as they parted at the 
 wicket-gate leading into the rectory garden. 
 "In these remote regions we permit ourselves 
 to waive ceremony occasionally, and to-morrow 
 is the only evening in the week that I shall 
 have at my own disposal." 
 
 " I shall be delighted/' said Hugh, who began 
 to think that the lines had fallen to him in 
 pleasant places, and that his sojourn in the little 
 village of Marholm promised so far to be an 
 extremely agreeable thing. True_, he had 
 wanted the sunset hour to-morrow, and the 
 low slant evening light, to study effects for his 
 picture; but the Canon's look persuaded him; 
 he seemed so cordially desirous to secure his 
 guest. Besides, thought Hugh to himself, it will 
 not do to strain the bow too far to begin with, 
 and a chat wath the Canon to-morrow over the 
 wane and walnuts will send me all the fresher 
 to work when the next day comes. 
 
 Then the chestnut mare, who had scented her 
 stable in the distance, and did not approve of 
 this prolonged colloquy, w^alked off by her 
 master's side down the gravelled sweep that
 
 ^2 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 led round to the rectory door, Rouse dashing on 
 in advance, yelping his usual summons ; and 
 Hugh, with a comfortable feeling of good-fellow- 
 ship warming his heart, bent his steps towards 
 the Marholm inn. 
 
 There he found that Mrs. Boynton, as the 
 •Canon foretold, had made performance keep 
 pace with promise, and had provided an ex- 
 ■cellent dinner, to which the appetite that he 
 brought in with him enabled him to do jus- 
 lice in a way that established him more firmly 
 Ihan before in his landlady's good graces.
 
 63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 
 
 A PICTURESQUE old house was Marliolm 
 -^ Rectory, roomy, quaint, and substantial ; 
 full of odd nooks and corners ; with a cosy, 
 well-lined sense of comfort about it, an air of 
 warmth and geniality and repose, that had been 
 gathering into it by slow degrees, like the ex- 
 pression on a human face, throughout the thirty 
 years or more during which it had been the 
 abode of its present occupant, Canon Daylmer, 
 rector of Marholm, and one of the canons in the 
 cathedral of St. Bedels. It had been built in 
 the days of good Queen Bess, and its high- 
 pitched roof, crusted over with a tawny growth 
 of brown and golden lichen, its carved gables, 
 its deep bay-windows, its clustered chimneys 
 and arched porch, gave it a pleasant old-world
 
 64 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 air_, and made you feel somehow as if that must 
 be a sweet and leisurely life that was lived 
 within its walls. 
 
 It stood in the midst of a wilderness of 
 shrubbery and lawn and garden, gay in summer 
 with all manner of fragrant old-fashioned 
 English flowers, and in winter sheltered by the 
 huge oaks and beeches of the Chase, and by a 
 thick belt of yews which made a dusky barrier 
 between it and the northern blasts. 
 
 Like the house_, the garden had the air of 
 being lovingly cared for, and as lovingly let 
 alone. Nature evidently had a good deal of 
 her own sweet way, and tossed out her 
 treasures of spray and bud and blossom with a 
 careless luxuriance that seemed to laugh at the 
 idea of pruning or restraint. And yet what 
 gracious tendance, too, was there! Ko weedy 
 litter to be seen, nothing straggling or over- 
 grown in all that flowery pleasaunce. Though, 
 indeed, it could hardly have been otherwise 
 where Miss Millicent Daylmer reigned, for there 
 the very fairy of order seemed to preside as well. 
 
 Miss Millicent Daylmer (Miss Millicent as 
 she was always called) kept her brother's
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 65 
 
 house, and had done so for a good many years, 
 ever since the death of his young wife, more 
 than ten years ago now, had left the Canon a 
 solitary and childless man, with his little niece 
 Marjory, who had just been left on his hands_, to 
 bring up. People had said that he would 
 marry again, for he was a man of goodly pres- 
 ence, and still in the prime of life ; and one or 
 two managing matrons among the county 
 dames had been at some pains, even before the 
 daisies had begun to blossom on the young 
 wife's grave, to decide upon the most suitable 
 successor to the vacant place. But people are 
 mistaken sometimes. Time passed on, and 
 little Marjory grew up from a winning, impetu- 
 ous child into a graceful, clear-eyed maiden, 
 and still Miss Millicent continued to preside in 
 the rectory household, looked after the comfort 
 of everyone under her sway, from the Canon 
 down to the canary, and in a general way 
 formed a sort of cheery, sunshiny feminine 
 centre, not in the rectory alone, but for the 
 whole parish of Marholm as well. 
 
 A woman like Miss Millicent Daylmer al- 
 ways does make herself a centre of influence 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 QQ A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 and attraction wherever she may be. There 
 was an effluence of good sense and good will 
 radiating from her that seemed to create an 
 atmosphere of comfort around her. It gave to 
 the rectory a dehcious fragrance of Home 
 which seemed to greet you the moment you 
 crossed the threshold, an indefinable sense as 
 of some domestic providence, such as only a 
 woman's presence can impart ; though it is not 
 all women who, like Miss Millicent, possess the 
 sweet, rare art of diffusing it around them. 
 
 Not that she was by any means what would 
 be termed in ordinary parlance a "superior 
 person," or even highly cultured, in the modern 
 sense of the word. Indeed, had it not been 
 that one of her brother's pet aversions was the 
 use of a paper knife, she would seldom have 
 so much as looked inside the reviews or 
 quarterlies which heaped the study table, or 
 have made even a passing acquaintance with 
 the piles of current literature that came down 
 in the monthly box from Mudie's, and which 
 Marjory, to whom a new book was one of the 
 luxuries of life, eagerly enough turned over in
 
 ^lARHOLM RECTORY. 67 
 
 quest of some dainty morsel, or more substantial 
 food. 
 
 She was skilled, however, in all those old- 
 fashioned household accomplishments which of 
 late years have fallen considerably into the 
 backgroand in the curriculum of female educa- 
 tion, and she had been at pains, moreover, to 
 make her niece Marjory as proficient in even 
 their more recondite branches as she was her- 
 self. ^'Can do,^^ she was wont to say, is easily 
 carried about. It was cruelty to a girl to bring 
 her up in ignorance of what belongs to good 
 housewifery, just because she was not likely in 
 after-life to be under the necessity of acting as 
 her own maid-of-all-work. You might as well, 
 she would say, decline to teach the classics and 
 mathematics to a boy because algebra and 
 Euclid were not needed in writing a sermon, 
 or because the Greek grammar would not help 
 a man in fighting his country's battles. 
 
 So Marjory w^as duly initiated into those 
 homely mysteries of which most modern young 
 ladies know about as much as they do of the 
 scenery round the North Pole ; nor was her 
 graceful girlhood one whit impaired by her skil- 
 
 f2
 
 G8 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 fulness ill the various domestic arts. Rather 
 it seemed to bring her into a certain sweet 
 accord with the home in which she dwelt. She 
 was like a flower rooted where it bloomed_, not 
 plucked and set for ornament alone. Every- 
 where there was the touch of her hand, the 
 impress of her thought. It was Marjory's 
 claret-cup which made thirst a luxury on 
 summer afternoons ; Marjory who, with her 
 quick young eyes and deft fingers, mended Miss 
 Millicent's old point-lace till you could not tell 
 where a frayed place had been in all the precious 
 fabric ; Marjory whose daily task it was, for she 
 alone could be trusted with it, to dust and 
 arrange amid the complicated litter of the 
 Canon's study-table. Her aunt regarded her 
 with complacency, with feminine prevision 
 forecasting the time when in a home of her own 
 she would do yet ampler credit to the training 
 she had received. The Canon laid his hand 
 sometimes with a mute caress on the girl's 
 brown locks, and thought wistfull}^ of what 
 might be awaiting her amid the sundry and 
 manifold changes which life must surely bring. 
 But each was secretly conscious that the pleas-
 
 3IARH0LM RECTORY. 69 
 
 ant old rectory house would lose its subtlest 
 chai-Qi with Marjory away. 
 
 This was a theme, however, on which the 
 brother and sister seldom exchanged confi- 
 dences. Miss Daylmer's views and wishes 
 secretly tended in a direction from which the 
 Canon's doubtfully diverged. It was the one 
 point in their lives on which they were not in 
 mutual accord. Though the Canon never 
 openly expressed disapprobation of Marjory's 
 cousin Pelham, or discouraged his visits to the 
 rectory when he chose to come, still it was 
 evident that he was by no means disposed to 
 regard him favourably. And, considering the 
 many advantages which the young man pos- 
 sessed, his good prospects, his good looks, and 
 his agreeable manners. Miss Daylmer could not 
 help thinking that any prejudice against him on 
 account of Marjory was just a little to be re- 
 gretted on her brother's part. 
 
 Indeed, bearing in mind that Marjory's father, 
 the late Mr. Percival Elphinstone, had looked 
 forward to the possibility of a union between 
 the two cousins, and, in the event of such a 
 contingency, had made provision for it in
 
 70 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 his "will, she thought his wishes should be a 
 little more deferred to than they were. But 
 Miss Daylmer was a thorough gentlewoman, 
 the very soul of honour, and, though naturally 
 inclined to support her own opinions, she would 
 not for the world have betrayed her trust by 
 surreptitiously smoothing the way for Pelliara, 
 should the easy intercourse of cousinship seem 
 likely to develop into a warmer feeling. 
 
 At present, however, there was nothing to 
 indicate that Pelham had any other motive in 
 his visits to the rectory than to while away the 
 time which, when he was at home, hung some- 
 what heavily on his hands. He had a great 
 turn for enjoying life. He liked to be with 
 others who enjoyed it too ; and though in some 
 respects the rectory was not more to his tastes 
 than the Priory itself, at all events there it was 
 never dull. So he came and went when he 
 chanced to be down at Marholm, which was not 
 very often now, and was received therp cour- 
 teously by the Canon, cordially by Miss Dayl- 
 mer. As for ^larjory, she liked her cousin after 
 a cousinly fashion, a little critically, perhaps, 
 ^ndwith more inclination, on the whole, to look
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 71 
 
 at him from her uncle's point of view than from 
 her aunt's ; but still he was so gay and hand- 
 some and debonnaire, and it really was so 
 dismal, poor fellow, for him at home, that it 
 Avould be too bad not to treat him kindly when 
 he came. 
 
 There was not much young society within 
 reach of Marholm ; plenty of middle-aged and 
 elderly people,, but scarcely anyone near her 
 own age with whom Marjory, who was rather 
 fastidious in her friendships, cared to be on 
 terms of intimacy. \Yith Cousin Pelham she was 
 intimate as a matter of course, in that easy, 
 indifferent way which is the privilege of cousin- 
 ship. He might have been different in some 
 respects, and she w-ould have liked him none 
 the worse for it; indeed, there were a good 
 many little things which kept her from feeling 
 in complete accord with him ; but still his 
 coming gave a certain sparkle and brilliance to 
 the clear, still wine of life, which made the girl 
 rather glad than otherwise when he happened 
 to be down at Marholm on his short and some- 
 what infrequent visits.
 
 72 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 There was a little stir of excitement in the 
 atmosphere when the Canon came home after his 
 meeting with Mr. Beverley in the Chase, and 
 announced that the stranger would dine with 
 them on the following day. 
 
 " To-morrow !" echoed Miss Millicent, her 
 thoughts flashing to the state of the rectory 
 larder, and the question as to how far its 
 resources might avail on such limited notice to 
 furnish fit entertainment for an invited guest. 
 "To-morrow! and I told Penelope this morniug 
 to cook those ducks which have been hang- 
 ing for a week. I wish I could have known 
 just a few hours earlier. It is a thousand 
 chances if the creams and jellies set properly 
 such weather as this, unless they are made the 
 day before, and Penelope is so distressed if 
 things do not turn out well." 
 
 "But it is scarcely an hour since I met the 
 young man, and to-morrow is the only evening 
 that I have this week," explained the Canon, 
 secretly conscious of having given just such ano- 
 ther impromptu invitation not ten days ago to 
 a neighbouring vicar and to one of the cathedral
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 73 
 
 prebendaries. " We will have the Johannis- 
 berger again, and never mind about the creams 
 and jellies." 
 
 "I don't think this Mr. Beverley will mind 
 about them himself, Auntie," said Marjory, as 
 Miss Daylmer, with a sigh of resignation, dis- 
 appeared to take counsel with Penelope. ^' Do 
 you know. Uncle Bernard, I am certain I saw 
 him this afternoon as I was going through the 
 Chase. He was leaning on that gate, just 
 before you turn down to the woodman's cot- 
 tage, and he opened it to let me pass. I am 
 glad you have asked him ; we shall hear all 
 about Rome now." 
 
 "I should have thought you heard enough 
 about it from Cecilia Danvers,^' said the Canon. 
 " Four pages crossed, only the other day, about 
 the Coliseum and the Pantheon and their picnic 
 among the ruins of Hadrian's Villa." 
 
 *■* Ah ! but this Mr. Beverley's Rome will be a 
 different one altogether from that of Cecilia 
 Danvers," returned Marjory. "It would be the 
 glory and the beauty of the eternal city that he 
 would see^ not just the contents of Murray's or 
 somebody's handbook."
 
 \ 
 
 74 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 The Canon turned on her a glance of quizzical 
 inquiry. 
 
 "How do you know that, Marjory? Yoy 
 seem to have come to a very confident conclu- 
 sion, considering the opportunities you have 
 had for observation." 
 
 "How do I knowl" laughed Marjory. *■'! 
 can't tell, I am sure; but I do know. It must 
 have been something in his face, I suppose, that 
 told me all about him when I saw" him this 
 afternoon leaning on that gate. He was feed- 
 ing on what he saw, living in it, getting the 
 whole bouquet and essence of it, just like that 
 little roly-poly vicar the other day with your 
 Johannisberger." 
 
 " Don't be irreverent, ."Marjory," said the 
 Canon. "That little roly-poly vicar, as you 
 call] him, was Double-first of his year, and is 
 the finest Greek scholar in the diocese." 
 
 " That did not prevent him from appreciating 
 your Johannisberger," retorted Marjory, ^' nor 
 help him to be a more entertaining companion 
 either. Confess noAv, Uncle Bernard, that he 
 was just a little dull. I saw your eyes stealing 
 round to the time-piece more than once before
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 75' 
 
 dinner was over. Thongb, incleecl_, I think all 
 learned men are a little dull. I never knew but 
 one who was not, or perhaps two. Uean 
 Lougley is not dull ; but then, to be sure, he is 
 rather literary than learned, and that makes a 
 difference.^' 
 
 " And pray wdio is the other learned man who 
 is so happy as not to be considered dull?" de- 
 manded the canon. 
 
 " Oh, Canon Daylmer, of course !" replied the 
 girl. '^' I should never dream of calling him 
 dull ; though he knows as much, I daresay, as 
 all the roly-poly vicars in the diocese, about 
 those tiresome little Greek particles that spoiled 
 our dinner last week. Do promise, Uncle Ber- 
 nard, that when Mr. Beverley comes you will not 
 let him get into tedious tracks. Keep him well 
 to Rome, will you ? I want to hear all about 
 it, and what it looks like and feels like to an 
 artist." 
 
 "I promise," said the Canon, wdth an indul- 
 gent smile. " You may content yourself, Mar- 
 jory. I don't think we shall be troubled much 
 to-morrow either with Greek particles or any 
 other form of dulness."
 
 76 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 " There now !" cried the gh-1, triumphautly, 
 *' I knew I was right, though I did not kuow 
 why. But I must go to Aunt Millicent. I have 
 just thought of something. I shall ask her to 
 let me make a mayonnaise and velvet -cream 
 myself this evening. I can change my dress 
 and do it easily after dinner. Then she will be 
 satisfied, and poor Penelope will not be worried, 
 and I can take what is left of the cream to 
 those sick children in the cottages at the Low 
 Flats. It will be just a little dainty for each of 
 them ; only the worst of it is that going down 
 there makes me so vexed with Uncle Elphin- 
 stone. He ought not to let his people live in 
 such wretched old hovels. No wonder there is 
 always sickness there. Even Pelham says that 
 he is ashamed of them." 
 
 "Marjory," said the Canon, ^'if you are going 
 to your aunt, give her this letter of Lord Dan- 
 vers. I had forgotten that it was in my 
 pocket." 
 
 The state of the cottages at the Low Flats 
 was a sore point with the Canon, but Mr. 
 Elphinstone was Marjory's uncle, as well as one 
 of her guardians. It might be his wish, as well
 
 MARHOLM RECTORY. 77 
 
 as her father's, that Marjory should one day be 
 mistress at the Priory, and the Canon too had 
 his points of honour.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 
 
 T)OETS and anchorites may say what they 
 -^ will abont the superiority of soul to sense, 
 and the advantage of dwelling exclusively in 
 the upper stones of our nature, and abandoning 
 the basement altogether. But philosophers 
 know better. Hunger, they assure us, is the 
 Ibasis of civilization ; and all wise men, and 
 w^omen too, seeing that, besides chambers 
 lighted only from above, there do exist also in 
 the structure of our humanity others built not 
 wholly above the level of the earth, will con- 
 clude that, being there, they were meant to be 
 inhabited. And instead of locking them up, 
 shutting out heaven^s light, and leaving them 
 to the moles and bats, they will rather set open 
 their windows to the sunshine, garnish them with
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 79 
 
 all manner of pleasant and dainty device, and so 
 make them sweet and wholesome places of abode. 
 
 Which, in other words, is equivalent to say- 
 ing that to prefer a mean and ill-served dinner 
 to one on which a certain amount of care and 
 taste has been expended, is by no means an 
 infallible proof of a superior order of mind. 
 
 "It is not hospitality/' the Canon used to say, 
 " to invite a man to your table and treat him as 
 if his only avenue to enjoyment were through 
 his palate. It is an insult to a guest to imagine 
 that in presenting to him a luxurious bill of fare 
 you fulfil all the obligations of a host. But 
 neither is it hospitality to make his repast a 
 penance to him, and to set before him such 
 Sony fare that a wholesome regard for conse- 
 quences would incline him to fast altogether 
 where it was impossible to feast.''^ 
 
 Nothing, Hugh thought, could be more 
 thoroughly delightful than that little dinner of 
 four which put its crown of enjoyment upon 
 the close of his first day of successful toil. 
 There was a charm of leisurely completeness 
 about it, a fine blending of those diverse 
 elements which must meet and mingle to secure
 
 80 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 the full social satisfaction of creatures so vari- 
 ously compounded as ourselves. Rather a con- 
 trast, perhaps, in its cultured grace, to the 
 Bohemianism of his entertainment the other 
 evening; but perfect in its higher fashion_, as 
 the keeper's hospitality had been after a humbler 
 kind. Picturesque, too, in its accessories^ and 
 full of contentment for his artistic taste ; 
 though, instead of the smoke-blackened rafters, 
 the whitewashed walls and homely furnishings 
 over which the light from the blazing logs had 
 cast such splendid effects of chiaroscuro, there 
 was now the mellow sunlight falling aslant 
 through folds of crimson damask upon the rich 
 carving of an antique sideboard, glancing 
 hither and thither over delicate crystal and rare 
 old china, or flashing back from the polished 
 surface of well-worn massy silver, that looked 
 as if it had been in use for two or three genera- 
 tions at the least. 
 
 And instead of his fustian-coated host, rough- 
 hewn as a bit of millstone grit, there sat beside 
 him the Canon and Miss Daylmer^ both with the 
 mint-mark of '^ the quality," as good Mistress 
 Boynton would phrase it, stamped unmistake-
 
 A ROSE IX JUNE. 81 
 
 ably upon them. And instead of that gipsy-look- 
 ing damsel whose vivid beauty had flashed like 
 a jewel amidst its homely setting, there was — 
 yes, he had found his Dryad of the woods again ! 
 And a pleasant finding it had been when, as he 
 passed up the gravel sweep and by the wide- 
 open oriel window of the rectory drawing- 
 room, he had caught a glimpse of the same 
 brown-tressed head around which he had 
 watched the sunbeams the day before weaving 
 their golden coronet. 
 
 Nay, was there not something more than 
 pleasantness beneath ? just a hint of that vague 
 content_, and inirest vaguer still, which had sent 
 his vagrant fancy wandering, he knew not 
 whither, as he leaned on that five-barred gate 
 in Marholm Chase ? He had pulled up pretty 
 sharply then, when he found himself astray. 
 There was work to be done, hard work, too ; 
 and that graceful, grey-clad figure was lead- 
 ing him quite out of the track that he had 
 meant to pursue. Things were different now. 
 His day's work lay behind him ; a day of fiery 
 successful toil ; a glorious beginning of his three 
 months' task. He felt the glow and veo^vc of it 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 still in every vein, its after-shine upon his brow. 
 And yet, with it all, something, too, of that 
 delicious languor which comes when the full 
 strain of energy is past, and when a man is 
 disposed, perhaps more than at any other time, 
 to yield himself half passively to the influence 
 of the hour, to lay down the oar that he has 
 plied so hardly and so long, and suffer the sun- 
 lit tide on which he floats to bear him idly along 
 at its own sweet will. 
 
 His good genius befriended him, Hugh thought, 
 as the Canon, after presenting him to Miss Dayl- 
 mer, turned and introduced him to his niece. The 
 girl looked up and gave him her hand, with a 
 smile of amused recognition, which, to that of 
 the day before, was as the clear morning sunshine 
 to the misty gleam of dawn. There was the same 
 hint of veiled stateliness about her which there 
 bad been when he saw her in the Chase, just the 
 faintest soupgon of what, with a smile less frank, 
 might have been taken for hauteur ; perhaps 
 not without reason when the smile was absent^ 
 though at other times you could no more have 
 found fault with it than with the mossy veil 
 that guards the treasure of the rose.
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 83 
 
 " I thought I had seen Mr. Beverley before," 
 «he said, in those soft ringing tones whose 
 cadence when Hugh had heard them before 
 seemed to linger on the ear after the sound 
 was gone. " I was quite sorry to disturb your 
 meditations yesterday." 
 
 " Indeed," said Hugh, bowing low, '^ I was 
 never more ashamed than to have been so slow 
 in seeing you. The truth is, everything seemed 
 so utterly silent and secluded that I was con- 
 scious of nothing but the solitude around me." 
 
 " Secluded r echoed the Canon, with a lurk- 
 ing humour in his voice. '^ I hope, Mr. Bever- 
 ley, you have not come down to this out-of- 
 the-way spot with the idea of seclusion in your 
 mind. " Why, already your arrival has been 
 announced to me at least a dozen times; in 
 factj it is the topic of the day among our rustic 
 population. I will venture to say that good 
 Mrs. Boynton had twice as many guests as usual 
 last night in her sanded parlour, drawn together 
 expressly to collect all possible particulars con- 
 cerning the stranger." 
 
 " I am extremely flattered, " said Hugh. 
 *' Marholm does me too much honour." 
 
 g2
 
 84 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 '•Not at all,'" returned the Canon. ''The 
 advent of a stranger, you know, is somewhat 
 of an event for us. Besides, we are a social 
 folk, and take a friendly interest in one another's 
 concerns. Marholm has its faults, but with 
 them all there is as much genuine kindness, I 
 believe, in it as in any place you could find that 
 is not an absolute Elysium." 
 
 *■' If first impressions are to be depended on," 
 said Hugh, "I should say that, if not an absolute 
 Elysium, Marholm is, at least, a very near 
 approach to one." 
 
 Miss Daylmer's comfortable accents inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " You will charm my brother if you continue 
 in that strain, Mr. Beverley. Nothing delights 
 him more than to hear anyone sound the praises 
 of his beloved Marholm." 
 
 " They are genuine, I can assure you, in my 
 case, Miss Daylmer," said Hugh, heartily. " Not 
 that I can boast of a very lengthy experience ; 
 but what I have seen during the last forty- 
 eight hours disposes me entirely to agree with 
 Dr. Daylmer." 
 
 " My experience," said the Canon, and, as he
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 85 
 
 spoke, a look of wistful tenderness stole for an 
 instant across his face, " my experience goes 
 back thirty years into the past. Marholm has 
 changed a good deal in that time, both the 
 people and the place ; but I can truly say I 
 never loved it more than I do this day." 
 
 •' Nor I either,'^ echoed Marjory. "^ Dear old 
 Marholm ! I do think it is the sweetest spot on 
 earth." 
 
 '• My dear Marjory," observed her uncle, the 
 lurking humour in his voice again, "you have 
 had such extensive opportunities of comparing 
 it with the other sweet spots on earth that 
 your judgment, I must confess, carries weight 
 with it." 
 
 Marjory laughed gaily. 
 
 ^' Uncle Bernard ! you are so very precise. I 
 only meant that if I had seen all the sweetest 
 spots on earth I should still think Marholm 
 sweeter still." 
 
 " Unanswerable logic !" said the Canon, with 
 a gesture of the hand which seemed to imply 
 his helplessness before this feminine form of 
 argument. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and old Caleb, the
 
 S6 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 butler^ gardener, coachman, and general facto- 
 tum of the rectory household, bowing low, 
 broke up the discussion by the announcement 
 of dinner. 
 
 Then came the dinner, that perfect little 
 dinner, in the cosy oak-panelled dining-room, 
 with the sunlight and the sweet fresh air, and 
 the scent of mignonette and roses coming in 
 through the wide open window, mingling with 
 the fragrance of dainty dishes, prepared ac- 
 cording to Miss Daylmer's famous hereditary 
 receipts, and with the delicate aroma of the 
 Canon's wines. 
 
 A very feast of the gods, it seemed to Hugh, 
 who for seven solitary weeks had never once 
 sat down to meat in company, except the other 
 evening at supper in the keeper's cottage. 
 Eating alone is to all genial souls the very 
 dullest of Nature's tasks, as void of the subtler 
 elements of pleasure as the shovelling of coals- 
 upon an engine fire ; but at the Canon's table 
 the daily meal was a sort of social sacrament, 
 a joyous communion, in which the common 
 things of food and wine served not their common 
 purpose only, but made those who ate and
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 87 
 
 drank together feel that they shared for the 
 time in each other^s life, and that the bonds of 
 home or hospitality were no shadows, but warm 
 and strong realities. There was a spirit breath- 
 ing through it all, of which the material enter- 
 tainment was but the pleasant symbol ; the 
 spirit of genuine good will by which the Canon 
 drew all about him into accord with himself and 
 one another. 
 
 Hugh felt the kindly glow, as the brown 
 chestnut in its prickly burr feels the sunlight 
 falling warm outside. It had been sweet and 
 restful to his jaded senses yesterday to find 
 himself alone in that still greenwood, and after 
 the dust and turmoil of city streets, and the 
 dreariness of London lodgings, to feel around 
 him the freshness and the tenderness of Nature. 
 But sweeter still, and more full of restfulness, 
 was this atmosphere of home which, at the 
 rectory, like a tine fragrance filled the air, and 
 gave their keenest zest to the pleasures of the 
 hour. A man without a home of his own, and 
 with no woman to make one for him, is more 
 sensitive, perhaps, than others to this simple 
 household charm. So simple it was, as Hugh felt
 
 88 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 it now ; such a common everyday thing, just 
 these three people, all strangers to him until 
 yesterday, sitting down to their daily meal, 
 himself sharing it with them as their guest. 
 And yetj what a pleasant grace upon it all ! 
 How genial and cordial was the Canou, and 
 what a comfortable picture Miss Daylmer made, 
 sitting in that high-backed carved oak chair, in 
 her soft lustrous dress of silver-grey poplin, with 
 that creamy old lace about her face and neck 
 and hands ; comely still, despite her fifty years, 
 and with a certain gracious calm in all her ways 
 that seemed, like mellow sunlight, to> diffuse 
 itself over the little circle. 
 
 Beside them, content and safe as a nested 
 bird, the girl Marjory, sitting silent mostly, 
 with that bright crested head, and stately white 
 throat, and eyes that drew him like a spell. 
 Like a June rose, Mrs. Boynton had said, for 
 freshness and bloom ; and looking at her as she 
 sat just opposite to him, a great bowl full 
 of roses making a fragrant barrier between 
 them, Hugh thought that Mrs. Boynton was 
 right. 
 
 Even old Calebs standing behind his master's
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 89 
 
 chair, in snufF-coloured coat, and drab smalls, 
 and red-plush waistcoat, and grey hair well 
 brushed up, reflected from his wizened visage a 
 certain austere urbanity, as of one who felt it 
 incumbent on him to uphold the honour of the 
 house, and to sanction by his own approval any 
 attention that might be paid to a stranger and 
 a guest. Caleb had views of his own with 
 respect to visitors, and did not always conde- 
 scend to his present blandness of behaviour. 
 Twenty years' waiting at the rector}^ table had 
 been to him as a kind of liberal education. He 
 w^as a connoisseur in conversation, and if, 
 through any defect or dulness on the part of a 
 guest, it fell below what he considered as the 
 proper standard of entertainment, he was wont 
 to express his sense of this social dereliction by 
 a severity of demeanour at once edifying and 
 distressing to behold. 
 
 But to-day Caleb's approval was complete. 
 Hugh more than once suppressed a smile at the 
 undisguised attention with which the worthy 
 servitor lent an ear to what was going on. 
 For the Canon had kept his promise. The talk 
 was of Rome. Not tlie Rome of the guide-
 
 90 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 books — Marjory's ready instinct had divined 
 aright — but the eternal city as Hugh had seen 
 it, beautiful and glorious, holding all hearts in 
 an imperial sway. 
 
 *' And were you, like everyone else,, sorry to 
 leave Rome, Mr. Beverley ?" asked Miss Daylmer, 
 when Hugh w^ith vivid words had been picturing 
 it before them^ telling them, too^ of his artist 
 life, and of his studio high up in an attic in the 
 Via Margutta, and of the w^onderful view that 
 spread far away over the Campagna. 
 
 " Jn truth, I was/' answered Hugh, carelessly, 
 yet with an unconscious accent of regret. '' If 
 I had not been a poor artist, wnth a commission 
 that I could not afford to refuse^ I would have 
 been there stilly with my attic and my easel and 
 my Italian marruccio.'' 
 
 " Ah, that was the real Elysium !'' said 
 Marjory, in a tone of light reproach. " Our 
 poor little Marholm is the imitation, and Rome 
 the reality." 
 
 " Not quite," said Hugh, with a smile, glancing 
 as he spoke across the table to the flower-like 
 head opposite, which drooped now a little from 
 its stateliness, like a rose upon its stalk. " Not
 
 A ROSE IN JUNE. 91 
 
 quite, or I conld not have torn myself away at 
 all. But it was very near to it ; as near, I 
 think, as any place on earth." 
 
 " It is strange," interposed the Canon, " what 
 fascination there is in Rome ; what a mystery 
 of attraction she exerts over everyone alike. 
 Other places one may admire for their archi- 
 tecture, their antiquities, their splendour_, or 
 their picturesqueness ; but Rome's charm lies 
 deeper still. She is beautiful, but it is the 
 beauty of a face one loves." 
 
 " Then she is like Marholm," said Marjory, a 
 gentle triumph in her voice^ '' and there are two 
 Elysiums on earth." 
 
 " Only tv/o, Marjory V inquired the Canon^. 
 leaning back in his chair and turning upon her 
 a look of indulgent pride. " ^Vould not any 
 place be an Elysium to us if we loved it well 
 enough to think so V 
 
 *' Yes, I suppose it would/' returned the girl, 
 musingly. " Only wdth most places the difficulty 
 is even to begin to like them well enough for 
 that. Now with Marholm you cannot help it ; 
 and yet, just as you say of Rome, you can 
 hardly tell Avhat draws you so. It is not the
 
 •92 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 thatched cottages, and the sunny little gardens, 
 and the deep lanes, and the dear old church, 
 and the woods, and the beech-tree on the green. 
 It is just a charm about it that somehow makes 
 Marholm seem like a leaf out of some beautiful 
 story, as different as possible from any other 
 village. Now, is it not so ? Say I am right. 
 Uncle Bernard ; for I know you think so in 
 your heart." 
 
 They were sitting at dessert now, in those 
 delicious commencing moments which some one 
 has called the poetic stage of dinner. Only the 
 flowers and wine and fruit were left upon the 
 table. The evening air came softly in, and 
 stirred the perfum.e that rose from the great 
 porcelain bowl filled with vine-leaves and clasp- 
 ing tendrils and roses which Marjory had 
 brought in that morning with the dew still on 
 them ; roses, damask and white and blush, 
 heaped together in masses of glowing colour, 
 or scattered and coyly hidden among the cool 
 contrasting leafage. There were early straw- 
 berries, Caleb's peculiar pride, the first of the 
 year, gathered in honour of the guest. Straw- 
 berries which, as ^liss Daylmer explained, were
 
 A ROSE IN JUXE. 9^ 
 
 the very joy of Caleb's heart, a choice variety of 
 which the rectory garden and hothouse at 
 present possessed the sole monopoly. And in- 
 deed it was a study to behold the mingled 
 expression of complacency and tenderness with 
 which he set them on the table; to be admired 
 and praised, and then, alas ! to vanish for ever 
 from his sight. And there was the precious 
 Johannisherger, brought out, too, in honour of 
 the guest, a little fountain of limpid life and 
 generous delight. Even that, Caleb, whose 
 heart-strings Hugh unwittingly had touched, set 
 on the table with a contented air ; though, as a 
 rule, never dragon watched more jealously over 
 the golden apples in the garden of the Hesper- 
 ides than did Caleb over the finer vintages in 
 his master's cellar. 
 
 He had betaken himself at last to his own 
 quarters, after lingering as long as his sense of 
 propriety permitted ; bat, as Marjory spoke, he 
 re-appeared at the door^ and, with a long- 
 drawn, mysterious face, signalled to his master 
 that he was wanted outside.
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 
 
 rpHE Canon rose^ and left the room, and for a 
 -*- moment silence fell upon the little group. 
 
 " Something is the matter/' said Miss Dayl- 
 mer, in a serious tone. " Caleb had his very 
 longest face.'^ 
 
 '*■ Perhaps the Willetts' baby is worse, and 
 they have sent for Uncle Bernard to baptize it," 
 suggested Marjory. " It was very ill yesterday, 
 I know." 
 
 ^* Surely not !" said her aunt. " Poor Nancy 
 will break her heart if she loses it." 
 
 There was a sound of distant voices at the 
 side door in the hall, a woman's sobbing voice ; 
 then the Canon came back, looking grave and 
 anxious.
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 95 
 
 *' George Burrell is ill," he said, answering 
 the inquiring eyes that met him. '' Dying, they 
 fear." 
 
 " Dying !" exclaimed Miss Daylmer. " Poor 
 fellow ! Why, he was at church on Sunday. 
 What is the matter with him ?" 
 
 "Fever," said the Canon. "Diphtheria, I 
 suspect, from what his daughter says. He only 
 took to his bed on Tuesday, and the doctor 
 has told them to-day there is no hope for him. 
 They should have let me know before that he 
 was ill. I must go down to the Hollow at once 
 and see him." 
 
 Miss Daylmer made no reply. Marjory look- 
 ed with wistful eyes into her uncle's face. It 
 would be of no avail, they Avere well aware, to 
 attempt to dissuade him from going to the 
 fever-stricken house. The duty that lay near- 
 est to him, whatever it might be, that the 
 Canon took, and straightway performed ; only 
 the more promptly if courage or self-sacrifice 
 were needed for the doing of it. Without a 
 thought of hesitation he put aside now the 
 leisurely enjoyment of an evening with his
 
 96 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 guest for the anxious and even hazardous task 
 before him. 
 
 " I am sorry, very sorry, to have to leave yon 
 so abruptly," he said, as he shook hands with 
 Hugh. "And I fear, too, that T ought not to see 
 you on my return. When I visit a case of this 
 kind I generally keep myself in quarantine until 
 the next day. Not that the precaution is 
 absolutely needful, for I have what I call 
 my ' fever suit,' which I put on to go in, and 
 put off the moment I return. Still, if we trust 
 Providence, we must not tempt it ; and where 
 there is any suspicion of danger it is always 
 best to err on the safe side. No, no ; I would 
 rather you stayed,^' he added, for Hugh was 
 proposing to accompany him in his walk. "" I 
 could not reconcile it to my conscience as a host 
 to drag you out for half an hour's walk the mo- 
 ment after dinner, with the chance of returning* 
 by yourself, too. I will leave you to the ladies 
 now, and hope another time to be more fortunate 
 myself. They will take you into the church. 
 AVe have some fine old monuments there, and 
 some curious w^ood-carving of the fifteenth 
 century, that you may like to see. Ring the
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 97 
 
 bell, Marjory ; and tell Caleb to bring me up a 
 bottle of port, and to fill me a good-sized phial 
 with Condj's Fluid. These poor folks will have 
 neither, I expect, and the one will be as needful 
 as the other." 
 
 '*' Ah ! yours are practical ministrations, 
 I see,'^ said Hugh, approvingly. '^ They take 
 into account corporeal as well as spiritual 
 needs." 
 
 " Poor souls ! yes/' said the Canon, pouring 
 himself out a glass of wine and drinking it as 
 he stood. '' I don't believe in the religion of 
 asceticism myself; but neither do I believe in 
 the religion of selfishness, which can look on 
 quietly while others are suffering for want of 
 what we enjoy ourselves. But I have fortified 
 myself, and now I must go at once. Good-b^^e, 
 all of you." And with a wave of his hand, and 
 a cheerful glance at his sister and Marjory, he 
 went out, and the three sat down again in the 
 deserted room. 
 
 They did not stay there long. Their bright 
 discourse had been broken in upon, and none of 
 them seemed able without an effort to resume 
 it. Marjory seemed distraite, and Miss Dayl- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 roer, whose forte was always rather to listen 
 than to lead in conversation, proposed that 
 they should adjourn from table and go round 
 the garden to look at the roses ; or, if Mr. 
 Beverley would like to do so, they could take 
 him, as the Canon had suggested, into the church. 
 
 *' Let us go into the garden, Aunt Millicent," 
 pleaded Marjory^ " and leave the church for 
 another time. You know Uncle Bernard likes 
 to be his own cicerone. He always enjoys so 
 much showing strangers over the church ; more, 
 very often, than they enjoy seeing it them- 
 selves. It was very good of him to say we 
 might take Mr. Beverley in." 
 
 Hugh looked a little quizzical. 
 
 " I am afraid you do not think so highly of 
 the church as you do of the rest of Marholm, 
 Miss El phi n stone." 
 
 *' Indeed I do," she said. " The carving in it 
 is really very quaint and fine. But you do not 
 know what a luxury it is to Uncle Bernard to 
 exhibit it himself, especially to anyone who can 
 appreciate it properly. Everyone here knows 
 it by heart ; and then many people who come
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 99 
 
 from a distance care nothing about such things, 
 and don't see half the beauties that he points 
 out. They would admire a piece of machine 
 carving, with every pattern turned out exactly 
 the same, more by far than this exquisite old 
 w^ork, where the artist worked as Nature does, 
 and where no two leaves are to be found alike." 
 
 Marjory had her way. There was a sweet 
 persistence in her voice when she chose to plead 
 in earnest that generally gained her point for 
 her. Miss Daylmer consented; all the more 
 willingly, perhaps, because her roses were really 
 as much her pride as the carvings in the church 
 were the delight of her brother's heart, and she 
 enjoyed as much the prospect of exhibiting their 
 glories. She put a light shawl over her shoul- 
 ders, and the three went out into the old- 
 fashioned rose-scented garden of the rectory. 
 
 The warmth of sunset was in the air. The 
 shadows lay upon the grass, and on the smooth 
 gravelled sweep in front of the house. The 
 sky behind the old fir-trees glowed ros}^ red, 
 the vane on the church-tower above them turned 
 its golden finger to the west. All over the 
 
 h2
 
 100 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 garden there was a flush of blossom upon the 
 shadowy foHage. How peaceful it was ! how 
 full of rest and bloom and fragrance ! And 
 how beautiful Marjory was as she wandered 
 hither and thither among the flowery clumps, 
 the climbing and the standard roses, whose 
 varied beauties Miss Daylmer, with looks of 
 beaming satisfaction, was displaying to her 
 guest^ and which he, as in duty bounds was 
 admiring to her heart's content. 
 
 How beautiful she was ! That was the 
 thought which had entered and possessed his 
 mind, and which continually drew away his 
 eyes from the splendours of some magni- 
 ficent " Gloire cle Dijon,'' or the delicate love- 
 liness of " Lady Lilian^'' to that flower-like 
 head, so much more beautiful, it seemed to him, 
 than anything else in all that sweet old garden. 
 And yet, as the girl had said of Marholm, it was 
 hard to tell what drew him so. Hugh owned 
 to himself that it was not at all the beauty of a 
 perfect face which so attracted him. For one 
 thing, the chin was too firmly moulded. It was 
 a very distinctive, characteristic chin, full of 
 sense and resolution, but not by any means the
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 101 
 
 diminutive classical ideal. The nose, too, was 
 jnst a shade larger than the canons of beauty 
 demanded; only the large, wistfid eyes, with 
 their long dark lashes and clearly pencilled 
 brows, gave a strange depth and tenderness to 
 the face, and toned down a certain more than 
 girlish stateliness which, as we have said, might 
 pass with strangers for hauteur or reserve. 
 
 She strayed here and there among the roses, 
 keeping mostly at a little distance from her 
 aunt and their guest. Evidently she was con- 
 cerned about her uncle, and Hugh, seeing that 
 it was a relief to her to be silent, stifled his wish 
 to draw her again into the conversation, and 
 resigned himself with a good grace to the elder 
 lady and her roses. 
 
 There was a fine considerateness about Hugh, 
 despite his somewhat careless bearing; and a 
 power of self-sacrifice in little things, less 
 common than some might suppose. Perhaps 
 Marjory noticed it, and was willing to make 
 courteous amends; for when at last they re- 
 turned to the house, and after they had had 
 coffee in the drawing-room, she smiled not un- 
 graciously when Hugh went towards the open
 
 102 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 piano, and, without any affectation of demur, 
 sat down to give him the song that he begged 
 to have before he left. 
 
 She played a few rich, full chords that seemed 
 to unclose the gates of harmony, and then^ 
 softly at first, her voice stole forth. 
 
 '^ Oh ! Mary, call the cattle home, 
 Across the sands o' Dee." 
 
 The sweet sad tones rose and fell, and rose 
 again, with a surging sea-like cadence, now 
 sinking into pathos, then rising into passionate 
 lament ; dying away at last in the long echoing 
 refrain. As flugh listened, it seemed to him as 
 if a curtain were being lifted from some inner- 
 most recess, within which the sweet girl-soul 
 sat singing to itself, weaving its own romance 
 and tenderness into the music of the ballad. 
 He looked at her_, and her face, he thought, 
 grew more beautiful as she sang, full of an un- 
 conscious power, a strength of womanhood, that 
 seemed for a moment to hold his heart in thrall. 
 At last she ceased. 
 
 " It is one of Uncle Bernard's favourites," she 
 said ; and there was a sigh in her voice as she
 
 A QUIET EVENING. 103 
 
 spoke. " I often sing it to him. But I will find 
 a gayer one, if you would like. This is a little 
 sad, perhaps." 
 
 •'No," said Hugh. "If I might be allowed 
 to choose, I would rather hear this one again." 
 
 She looked at him with a smile. 
 
 "Would you, really'^ It is a favourite, then, 
 of yours as well f 
 
 Hugh smiled in return. 
 
 " It is so now,^' he said. And Marjory sang 
 it again, and then she sang another, and an- 
 other ; Scotch songs that Miss Daylmer asked 
 for. Hugh leaned back in his chair, and listen- 
 ed silently. There were no leaves to turn over. 
 It was growing dusk at the end of the large, 
 unlighted room, and Marjory was singing from 
 memory now. There was a half melancholy ca- 
 dence in her voice. She seemed to have forgotten 
 him, and to be singing, more for her own relief 
 and solace than for any pleasure of his, the 
 plaintive old ballads that chimed in with her 
 anxious mood. 
 
 At last she ceased, and rose from the piano. 
 Hugh rose too. That last half hour had been 
 very pleasant, full of dreamy, still delight. It
 
 104 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 was as if he had been floating idly along in some 
 Yenetian gondola, rocking on the dark, smooth 
 tide, with the chant of the gondolier sounding 
 in his ears, with the summer moonlight over- 
 head, and shadowy palaces looming past. It 
 was over now. He seemed to feel the bump 
 of the gondola against the water stairs. And 
 Marjory was a singing voice no longer, but 
 Miss Elphinstone once again, with that subtle 
 air of distance in her manner which came and 
 went, how and when he could hardly tell, like 
 the shadows on a changing sea. 
 
 "• We shall be more fortunate, I hope, the 
 next time you come/' said Miss Daylmer, in 
 her cordial, comfortable tones, as they said 
 good-bye at the rectory porch. " This has been 
 such a very quiet evening." 
 
 So it had ; that Last half hour especially ; a 
 very quiet evening. Then why should it have 
 left such a strange restlessness behind it? 
 Hugh lit a cigar when he was fairly outside the 
 rectory gates, and instead of going straight 
 back to his quarters at the " Danvers iVrms," he 
 turned into the Chase, and strolled on there for
 
 A QUIET EA'EXIXG 105 
 
 a mile or more, in the soft twilight gloom, 
 towards the spot that he had chosen for his 
 picture. 
 
 There was a soothing companionship for him in 
 his favourite weed. Many a time it had beguiled 
 him of his cares, and wrapped him in a mantle 
 of content, and interposed its fragrant barrier 
 between himself and all the worries and vexa- 
 tions and disappointments of this troublesome 
 world. But to-night the restlessness within 
 seemed proof against its potency, and no 
 barrier of fragrant fumes could keep away from 
 him that sw^eet stately head, or the wistful eyes, 
 or the smile which, as he remembered it, seemed 
 like sunlight on the petals of a rose. He 
 smoked out his cigar, and lit another, and, just 
 as it was finished, found himself at the door of 
 the " Danvers Arms," with Marjory's voice still 
 echoing in his ears the musical, melancholy 
 refrain — 
 
 " Oh ! Mary, call the cattle home, 
 Across the sands o' Dee." 
 
 He flung awa^T- the glowing end of his Havan- 
 nah with a half impatient gesture.
 
 106 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 " Good heavens !" he exclaimed to himself, as 
 he straightened his broad shoulders and went 
 through the low, wide doorway of the inn, — 
 *' Good heavens ! what a fool I am I"
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 MADGE. 
 
 IT was just half-past three by the big painted 
 clock that was ticking lazily away in the 
 corner of the kitchen at the keeper's cottage. 
 The sunshine was streaming through the open 
 doorway, lying Avarm and still upon the fresh- 
 sanded floor, and rousing into a perfect ecstasy 
 of song a redcap, whose cage hung from a beam 
 in the middle of the ceiling. The kettle, too, 
 was singing, though in a more subdued strain, 
 over the fire, and a blue-bottle fly was humming 
 and buzzing against the little diamonded panes 
 of the lattice window ; while, to complete the 
 chorus, Madge's clear voice rang gaily out, as 
 she sang to herself, over her work, 
 
 " Merry is it now in the good greenwood, 
 When the mavis and merle are singing."
 
 108 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Now she went on through a whole verse ; 
 ihen she made a meditative pause ; then, for a 
 line or two, she recommenced, and at last broke 
 off altogether, fairly lost in the depth of her 
 deliberations. For it was important business in. 
 which Madge was engaged, and she had just 
 arrived at a critical stage in the proceedings. 
 She was trimming the new summer hat which 
 she meant to wear at church the next morning. 
 
 There were other things to be worn for the 
 first time as well as the hat, but these were 
 already finished. Chief among them was the 
 new print dress, the prettiest, Madge thought, 
 that she had ever had : a white ground, with a 
 little geranium-coloured pattern upon it, and a 
 scarf of the same material, tied with long ends 
 behind, as near as she could make it like those 
 which the Miss Martendales, at the AVhite House, 
 used to wear last summer. True, theirs were 
 of lavender-coloured, corded silk, and this of 
 hers was only a ninepenny print ; but Madge 
 had tried on her ninepenny print dress and scarf 
 before the looking-glass upstairs in her little 
 bed-room, and had been quite satisfied with the 
 effect. With a bit of lace in the top of the
 
 MADGE. 109 
 
 dress, aud a single red rosebud just where the 
 scarf fastened over her bosom, she was aware 
 that she looked a great deal better than even 
 the Miss Martendales themselves in their rust- 
 ling silks, with their limp, flat figures, and 
 washed-out complexions. 
 
 There would be more than one pair of eyes 
 in church to-morrow that would pass by the 
 White House pew, and others too, to glance up 
 at the singing loft, where she would be sitting in 
 all the glory of her new attire. Ralph Burton, to 
 begin with, though he counted for nothing now; 
 nor Mark Staniland either, for what was Mark 
 but a plain wheelwright's son? And as to Ralph 
 Burton, he had looked at her in church so often 
 and so long that she would not care if he got 
 as tired of it as she was beginning to be herself.. 
 There was that quiet-spoken Ehzabeth Welby, 
 Avho sat next her in the singing loft, would be 
 glad enough, no doubt, to help him on a little, 
 if he would give her the chance. Not that Ralph 
 Burton was likely to take up with Elizabeth Wel- 
 by, or indeed with anyone else in the village, for 
 the matter of that. Madge knew well enough 
 who it was that he had made up his mind about,.
 
 no A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 and what he meant by coming to their cottage 
 so often as he did, and bringing her fairings 
 from St. Bede's fair, and always waiting round 
 after evening church for the chance of setting 
 her home. 
 
 . But it was not of her rustic beaux that 
 Madge, in her secret heart, was thinking, as 
 she contemplated her appearance at church to- 
 morrow in all the bravery of her new attire. 
 Some one else would be pretty sure to look up 
 to where she sat in the singing loft ; some one 
 in the Priory pew, who seemed to have found 
 out what Madge had only to look in the glass 
 to see for herself. Mr. Pelham, she was con- 
 vinced, admired her quite as much as anyone 
 else in Marholm did. Why else should he have 
 chosen to sit just where he could get a good 
 view of her, both the Sundays that he had been 
 at home, when the side of the pew next the wall 
 was so much more comfortable than that facing 
 the singing loft? And how was it that she 
 caught his eye upon her every time she hap- 
 pened to look down after the sermon began? 
 If Mr. Pelham had admired her in her old last 
 year's gown, that she had worn all through the
 
 MADGE. Ill 
 
 spring, what would he think of her when he 
 saw her in the new flowered print, with the 
 frilled scarf and fresh-trimmed hat? Madge 
 fed her vanity on the thought of those admiring- 
 looks. That was a different thing altogether 
 from being envied by Elizabeth Welby, and the 
 rest of the Marholm girls ; more flattering by 
 far than having Ralph Burton or Mark Staniland 
 waiting about at the church porch, with their 
 bits of flowers and things, wanting to set her 
 home. 
 
 She held her hat in her hand, and wreathed 
 the ribbon with which it was to be trimmed 
 this way and that about it ; but she could not 
 satisfy herself. The ribbon was too narrow, 
 and there Avas not enough of it to make the 
 loops and puffs as they ought to be made. It 
 was very provoking. Do what she would, the 
 hat looked as prim and quiet as a Quaker's. It 
 wanted a bit of colour, too, somewhere, to 
 brighten it up. A nice rose, now, or a crimson 
 bow just a little on one side, would show 
 against her dark hair and make it look every- 
 thing that could be wished. How stupid she 
 Lad been to let the milliner at St. Bede's per-
 
 112 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 suade her ioto having a white trimming because 
 it was going to be more fashionable this summer 
 than colours. That cold-looldng bow coming 
 against her face would turn it quite dull and 
 brown, and it was too late now to get anything 
 else from St. Bede's^ even if she could have 
 afforded it, which she could not ; for she had 
 stretched a point as it was to get print enough 
 for making her frillings and scarf. 
 
 It was too bad to have everything spoiled 
 just for the sake of a yard or two of ribbon. 
 Madge felt as if she could almost have cried 
 with vexation. She was looking disconsolately 
 at her unlucky purchase, when a shadow fell 
 across the doorway, and a white and tan puppy, 
 that was lying with its nose between its paws 
 in the sunny space upon the floor, jumped up 
 and began to yelp and bark furiously at a little 
 wiry man, with a pedler's pack upon his back, 
 who had set his foot across the threshold. 
 
 "A fine day, Miss. I was round this way, 
 and I thought I would just look in and see if 
 there was anything in my line I could accommo- 
 date you with." 
 
 And the pedler, who already had heaved
 
 MADGE. 113 
 
 round his pack from his shoulder, took a step 
 forward into the kitchen, and let down his 
 burden upon the snowy deal table by which 
 Madge was sitting. 
 
 '' There is nothing to-day, Mr. Duffill," she 
 said, her face brightening, nevertheless, at sight 
 of the well-filled pack. " You are over-late in 
 coming. I was at St. Bede's market last week^ 
 and my summer things are all bought and 
 made, or will be when I get my hat finished 
 trimming." 
 
 "That's a pity, now," returned the pedler. 
 " I'll warrant I could have done better for you 
 than any of the St. Bede's shops. They lay on 
 so much in the price, by reason of having their 
 rents to make out of the profits, that it is no- 
 thing but ruination dealing with them. Or if 
 they don't lay it on in the price, they take it 
 out in the quality of the article. Rags and rub- 
 bish — rags and rubbish ! That's what it is they 
 give you. You wouldn't buy a ribbin, now, 
 like this here of yours, out of my pack," he 
 added, with a contemptuous glance at Madge's 
 meagre finery. " I'd be ashamed to sell such a 
 shabby article for your wearing. I have one 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 here I should Hke to show you, just to let you 
 see what a ribbin should be." 
 
 "It's a pity to trouble yourselfj Mr. Duffill," 
 said Madge, though in a less decided tone than 
 before, for she was longing inwardly to see the 
 contents of the pack. *' It will only be to tie 
 up again. I am not wanting to buy.'' 
 
 " Nor I am not asking you, either/' replied 
 the wily dealer, unfastening the strings of his 
 pack with business-like despatch. " It is just 
 for the pleasure of showing you the goods, and 
 if you don't say that this here ribbin of mine is 
 the handsomest ever you saw, my name is not 
 Joshua Duffill. Real Coventry it is ; same pat- 
 tern as one that was wove on purpose for the 
 Princess of Wales." 
 
 With these words Joshua drew forth and 
 •unfurled with a flourish before Madge's admir- 
 ing eyes a piece of broad brocaded ribbon ; 
 white, with crimson flowers, the very thing to 
 match her dress. 
 
 *' Ay, I knew what you would say to that ! 
 It's something like a ribbin ; the very identical 
 pattern as the Princess wore, and uncommon 
 well it would become you. One and tenpence
 
 MADGE. 115 
 
 balfpenDy a yard, worth two and six at the 
 very least. I wish I could afford to make you 
 a present of it. It goes against me, it does 
 indeed," added Joshua, with another glance of 
 contempt in the direction of Madge's purchase, 
 "that you should have nothing no better for 
 Sunday wear than such a shabby skreed of 
 stuff as you have got there.^' 
 
 It did look shabby, Madge thought ; shabbier 
 than ever. She shook her head, but dubiously. 
 
 " It's to no use, Mr. Duffill," she said. ^' You 
 may as well put it up again. I couldn^t afford 
 it ; I really couldn^t. I have spent over-much 
 already." 
 
 But Joshua knew better than to put the gay 
 temptation out of sight. He laid it aside, just 
 where the afternoon sunlight, creeping through 
 the lattice, shone upon its glistening surfa(;e, and 
 took out of his pack a leather case, which he 
 opened, disclosing a gorgeous collection of gilt 
 jewellery, rings, brooches, ear-rings, set with 
 garnets, emeralds, and all manner of precious 
 stones ; paste, of course, but not on that account 
 looking the less magnificent to Madge's imso- 
 phisticated eyes. 
 
 i2
 
 116 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 " Now, here's an article," said Joshua, with a 
 sly twinkle in his eye — " here's an article as I 
 should like to part with to you. Not as it is a 
 thing you will ever need to buy for yourself, for 
 there's lots of young men, I donH doubt, would 
 be only over-glad to buy one for you. Just fit 
 this here little gold ring on your finger, and se& 
 how it looks when it is on. Why^ it might 
 have been made on purpose I" he added^ as- 
 Madge, laughing and protesting against such 
 nonsense, slipped the plain gold circlet on her 
 finger. " It is as pretty a ring as any I ever 
 had," continued Joshua. " There is a posy 
 inside_, if you look ; ' True and Tried.'' I was up 
 at the Moor Farm afore I come here, and young'- 
 Mr. Burton he was uncommon took with this 
 here ring. He tried it on hisself. But, losh ! it 
 wouldn't go on no further than the first joint of 
 his little finger. And says Mrs. Burton, 'My 
 son will be having custom with you in that line 
 afore long, I daresay, Mr. Dufiill. I wouldn't 
 like 3'ou to part with that there ring without 
 giving him the refusal.' 'Nonsense, mother!' 
 says he, and he puts it back, and his face 
 coloured up as if he had been a gell. And with
 
 MADGE. 117 
 
 that I knew as he had intentions somewheres, 
 though it wasn't in my department to ax where. 
 You havenH heerd, now, by any chance_, who it 
 is that he's thinking of taking up with?" 
 
 "Mr. Burton and me are none so intimate 
 that he should tell me them sort of secrets_, Mr. 
 Duffill," said Madge, firing up indignantly. 
 
 '' Hark at her, now !" cried the pedler_, sooth- 
 ingly. " I never said you was. I only thought 
 you might have heerd. But I will say he is 
 making an uncommon nice place of yon at the 
 Moor Farm, and putting up cupboards and 
 everything convenient. However, I must be 
 going, or else I have lots of things I could 
 like to show you. Just twist this here ribbin 
 round your hat now," he said, playing his bait 
 again before Madge's eyes. " Why, any lady in 
 the land might wear this here hat now. Not 
 as it would become her any better than what it 
 w^ould you, for complexions are not to be sold 
 over the counter like ribbins and laces. One 
 and tenpence halfpenny a yard. Or say one 
 and eight to you, for 1 had rather sell it at a 
 loss than for you to go and spoil your Sunday 
 hat with such a piece of trumpery as them St.
 
 118 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Bede's shopkeepers have been putting off upon 
 you." 
 
 At that moment the white and tan puppy 
 roused up again, barking a vociferous sakite to 
 a second comer who had just appeared and was 
 standing in the doorway. Madge turned a 
 hasty glance upon the little mirror that hung" 
 against the wall. It was Mr. Pelham himself 
 who was looking on ! 
 
 A gay, good-looking young man was the 
 Squire's son and heir_, as easy and debonair in 
 his manner as his father Avas morose and stiff;. 
 with a free, roving eye, and a certain good- 
 humoured jauntiness of carriage and appear- 
 ance, as of one who lived a good deal in the 
 opinion of others. 
 
 " Don't let me interrupt business," he said, 
 nodding as he spoke to Madge_, and lifting his 
 eyebrows with a careless smile at sight of the 
 gay litter with which the table was overspread. 
 *' I see they are affairs of importance you have 
 on hand. I only wanted to speak to your 
 father about the little matter I mentioned ta 
 him the other day." 
 
 " He is not in at this moment, sir," said
 
 MADGE. 119 
 
 Madge, curtseying and blushing; while Joshua 
 edged aside with a sly glance at the two, and 
 a shrewd calculation as to the increased proba- 
 biUty of effecting a sale. " He won't be long 
 before he is back. It is going on for four, and 
 he is always in for his tea." 
 
 " Then I may as well wait, as I am here," 
 returned the young man; "and, in the mean- 
 time, I can assist_, perhaps, in the selection of 
 your ribbons, if it is not presumptuous in me 
 to venture an opinion on such a delicate 
 matter." 
 
 '' Oh, sir/' said Madge, with a coquettish 
 little turn of her head, " I was not going to 
 buy ; just Mr. Duffill would show me what he 
 had got in his pack. You may put the ribbon 
 up again, Mr. Duflfill," she added, with assumed 
 indifference. "It is very pretty; but five 
 shillings is too much to give for three yards 
 of trimming." 
 
 '' Over much !" echoed the pedler, holding 
 up the ribbon at arm's length, and festooning it 
 in graceful folds, as he retired a pace or two. 
 "Five shillings over much for that? Why, 
 there isn't a ribbin in St. Bede's to equal it. It
 
 120 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 might have been made on purpose to suit a face 
 like yours. It goes against me, it does, indeed, 
 to put it back ; and yon with a skreed of trum- 
 pery like that, as looks no better that a bit of 
 white caliker. However," he continued, begin- 
 ning to fold up the ribbon with an air of 
 resignation, '* I am not one to force my things 
 on customers whether they are willing or not. 
 It is take or leave, that's what it is with me ; 
 though I will say this, I am sorry for your own 
 sake. Miss, as you have made up your mind 
 against this here article. It is a chance as don't 
 come every day. Sich a ribbiu, and sick a 
 price !" 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry," said Pelham, who had 
 stood chinking the loose money in his pocket 
 while the colloquy was going on. " I think I 
 shall become a purchaser myself. It is just the 
 article to suit me ; the very thing I want. Cut 
 me off three yards." 
 
 Joshua received the order with a sly twinkle 
 in the corner of his eye, and began to cut off 
 the length of ribbon without delay. 
 
 " To be sure, sir. Three yards, sir ? One and 
 eightpence a yard. Just five shillings, sir;
 
 MADGE. 121 
 
 though one and tenpence halfpenny is the 
 regular selling price, and cheap at that. But 1 
 will charge one and eight, as you heard that 
 mentioned." 
 
 The young man threw down a couple of 
 half-crowns upon the table. 
 
 "No, no, I want nothing else. You may 
 pack everything up now," he said, with a half 
 impatient gesture of his hand, as the pedler, 
 chuckling over his easy sale, was proceeding 
 to open out fresh stores for his new customer's 
 inspection. 
 
 Joshua was a man wise in his generation. 
 Those ferrety, grey eyes of his saw a good deal 
 sometimes, and just now they saw that the 
 young Squire would probably prefer to convey 
 his purchase to the hands for which it was 
 intended, without a third person to assist at the 
 transaction. He tied the strings of his pack 
 with laudable celerity, and, pocketing his gains, 
 heaved his burden round upon his shoulders, set 
 his foot again across the threshold, and left 
 the field clear for the new comer. 
 
 Madge's eyes were dropped now, and her 
 heart patting away twice as fast as usual be-
 
 122 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 neath her linsey bodice. Of course she knew 
 Avhy Mr. Pelham had bought the ribbon, and 
 what he meant by saying that it was just the 
 thing he wanted. It was because he knew 
 that it was just the thing that she would hke to 
 have herself. The Sunday finery, and the 
 adnairation of her rival swains, and the envious 
 glances of Elizabeth Welby and the rest of the 
 Marholm girls, were far enough from her 
 thoughts. She was conscious only that Mr, 
 Pelham stood there b}" the deal table, twisting 
 the ribbon round her hat with his ringed white 
 hand, and chatting and smiling as pleasantly as 
 if she had been a lady born. A great deal more 
 pleasantly than Ralph Burton ever talked, for 
 Ralph never seemed to know quite what to say, 
 or how to say it, when he was setting her home 
 from church, or looking in at the cottage^ as he 
 was so fond of doing of an evening, whether he 
 got a welcome when he came or not. 
 
 It was Madge who was awkward now. Her 
 small coquetries, easy as they were to practise 
 on her rustic lovers, somewhat failed her in the 
 presence of a well-dressed young gentleman like 
 Mr. Pelham, who belonged to the real quality.
 
 MADGE. 123' 
 
 and was unmistakeably separated from her by 
 that iu definable barrier of caste which the- 
 royalty of beauty itself may not always pre- 
 sume to overpass. The colour deepened, half 
 with pleasure and half with embarrassment, on 
 her tell-tale cheeks^ when Mr. Pelham, with a 
 gay compliment on the good looks that needed 
 no such adornment, pressed his purchase on her 
 acceptance. 
 
 •' Yoa must wear it for ray sake, you know,'^ 
 he said, as Madge, conscious of her crimson 
 cheeks, was stumbling out her thanks, vexed 
 beyond measure with herself that, just when 
 she wanted them most, the proper words refused 
 to come. '' I shall look out at church to- 
 morrow to see if I am in favour or not. Ah, 
 there is your father yonder, coming through 
 the wood. I think I will go on and meet hira, 
 instead of waiting here. Good-bye now. You 
 will wear it, won^t you ?" he added, smiling 
 upon her with persuasive eyes. " Come ! you 
 must say you will ; or I shall think T have 
 oftended you by my present." 
 
 " Oh, sir I" said Madge, floundering into 
 speech at last, ''it isn't that I set no store on
 
 124 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 the ribbon, only that — that — I'm sure 1 don't 
 know how it is that I have turned so stupid 
 with my tongue," she broke out, vexed almost 
 to tears. 
 
 "Never mind the words, then, if they won't 
 come," said Pelham. ""1 must take my own 
 thanks, I see, after all." And, without wai ting- 
 to be forbidden, the young man re-imbursed 
 himself for his outlay by snatching a kiss 
 from Madge's pouting lips. And, before she had 
 reco veered sufficiently from her confusion to be 
 certain whether she was most surprised or 
 angered by his gay presumption, he had bidden 
 her good-bye, and was strolling negligently, in 
 sight of the window, down the glade through 
 which her father, with his gun over his shoulder, 
 was returning home.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 1ITADGE watched them meet, and then stand' 
 -^'-'- for jBve minutes talking together, the 
 bronzed, stalwart man in his rough keeper's 
 dress, and the yonnger one so handsome and 
 debonair ; toying_, as he stood, with the silver- 
 handled cane that he held, and switching off the 
 heads from the tall purple hyacinths that grew 
 within his reach beside the grassy path. Her 
 cheeks were tingling still with the surprise of 
 that stolen kiss. She was trying hard to per- 
 suade herself that she was angry, and that, if 
 she had had but a moment to recover her 
 scattered wits, she could have given the young 
 Squire to understand pretty plainly what she 
 thought of his taking such a liberty. If she-
 
 126 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 was only a keeper's daughter, and lie rich 
 ■enough to fliug his half-crowns away as easily 
 as he was switching off the flower-bells from 
 their stalks, was that any reason that he 
 should repay himself after such a fashion ? 
 
 However, she knew what she would do. 
 She would not wear his ribbon at church to- 
 morrow, and he would see by that that she was 
 oflfended. And, having arrived at this conclu- 
 sion, Madge sat down, for Mr. Pelham and her 
 father had turned, and were walking on slowly 
 through the wood, and began to dispose the 
 ribbon round her hat. Just to see how it would 
 look ; for she was still strong in her intention of 
 mortifying the donor by not appearing in it 
 to-morrow. 
 
 But Madge had not calculated on the force of 
 temptation. Those white and crimson loops 
 and puffs were irresistible, the St. Bede's 
 ribbon so meagre and poor beside them ; and 
 her dark eyes and rippling hair were set off so 
 well by the rich full colour, as she tried the hat 
 on before the glass, that her resolution waver- 
 ed and broke down. After all, she reflected, 
 what was the use of putting ofl her triumph for
 
 DREAMS. 127 
 
 the sake of a bit of nonsense? She would 
 wear the ribbon with the rest of her things ; but 
 she would take good care not to give one single 
 glance in the direction of the Priory pew. Mr. 
 Pelham would know then that w^iatever he 
 might do or say was of no consequence to her. 
 
 Her meditations were cut short by the 
 entrance of her father. 
 
 *' Is the tea fit^ Madge f he asked, as he set 
 down his gun in the corner of the kitchen. " It 
 is past four, a good bit. Mr. Pelham yonder 
 has kept me talking well on to half an hour with 
 him about the pointer pup.'-* 
 
 '' I declare I had forgot all about the tea V 
 exclaimed Madge, glancing at the clock in 
 some consternation. "I'll have it ready in a 
 minute. The kettle is boiling, and the things 
 will be set directly. I never gave a thought to 
 the time." 
 
 " Aj, ay V said the keeper, with gruff 
 pleasantry, as he cast his eye on the litter of 
 millinery that strewed the table. " I see how it 
 is. You have had Joshua DuffiU here. I met him 
 just a bit since on his way to Marholm, and I 
 thought he had likely been giving you a call.
 
 128 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 This here red and white streamer has come out 
 of his pack_, or I am in the wrong. There never 
 was a man like Joshua for making the money 
 dance out of other folk's pockets into his own. 
 What has that ribbon cost you now, Madge? 
 A pretty penny, I doubt. It looks to be some- 
 thing extra smart." 
 
 "• It hasn^t cost a deal," answered Madge^ 
 evasively. She was kneeling before the fire, 
 toasting a home-made crumpet, so that, if her 
 cheeks happened to be of a somewhat deeper 
 colour than usual, the fact might be accounted 
 for. "But here is the crumpet ready. Don't let 
 it get half cold, father, before you begin of it. 
 Crumpets are worth nothing if they are not eaten 
 just when they are fit." 
 
 '^ Madge, my lass," said the keeper, his rough- 
 cut features spreading into a smile ; " you aren't 
 half deep enough ! You want to stop my mouth 
 with your hot crumpet, instead of telHng me 
 the price of that bit of finery. That's what you 
 want to do." 
 
 "You shouldnH be so curious in what don^t 
 concern you, father," said Madge, laughing. 
 " As if men knew anything about such things !
 
 DREAMS. 129 
 
 You would be sure to say it was over much, if I 
 was to tell you what it cost." 
 
 "Well, well," returned the keeper_, cutting 
 himself another huge piece of the crumpet. " I 
 know you of old. I had got something I was 
 going to tell you, but it may wait a bit now. 
 It w^ill keep, I reckon, like the price of that 
 ribbon. Ralph told me it himself when I was 
 up at the Moor Farm this afternoon." 
 
 Madge looked a little curious, but said nothing 
 in reply. If the piece of news was about Ralph 
 Burton, she said to herself, it might wait till 
 her father chose to tell it. She was not 
 going to seem as if she cared to hear anything 
 about him. 
 
 *' Thou might behave a bit more friendly to 
 Ralph, my lass," said the keeper, presently ; and 
 he laid his hand fondly on the girl's shoulder 
 as she knelt at the fire beside him. ''He's a 
 likely lad, and thinks a deal of thee. I doubt 
 he's a bit cut up sometimes that thou'rt so tossy 
 with him." 
 
 " It is his own fault, then/' said Madge, 
 bridling as she spoke. " He should not come 
 worreting after me the way he does. I would 
 
 VOL. I. . K
 
 130 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 let him alone if he would let me alone. I don't 
 see that there is any call to be so much civiller 
 to Ralph Burton than to other young men. It 
 is not of my asking that he puts himself in my 
 way. And, for the matter of that, he is, maybe, 
 none so easy cut up as you think. He can bide 
 a sharp word now and again as well as most." 
 
 *' Well, well !" said the keeper, half to himself, 
 and drawing a long breath as he spoke. '^ Girls 
 will be girls. There is no turning of them into 
 women before their time. I mind your poor 
 mother led me just such another dance afore we 
 were wed. But however ! this will be a good 
 job for Ralph, anyhow." 
 
 " What will, father ?" asked Madge, her bright 
 eyes repeating the question as she turned her 
 face, all glowing between the firelight and the 
 thoughts within. '^''Has he happened of some 
 
 luck r 
 
 " His father is going to give up the farm to 
 him. The lease is out, come next Michaelmas, 
 and Ralph has been telling me the old man has 
 made up his mind to give up in favour of him. 
 And a good job it will be for Ralph," added the 
 keeper; " he will be able to see his way now
 
 DREAMS. 131 
 
 towards settling. That is what he will be after 
 doing, I reckon, when he has got the farm in his 
 own hands. And a nice home it will be for a 
 wife to go to, whoever she may be." 
 
 Madge received the news in silence. She 
 turned her face from her father's observing eye, 
 and looked rather more gravely than before 
 into the fire. It was a piece of intelligence 
 which, she felt instinctively, concerned herself as 
 well as Ralph ; and she felt, too, a dull, vague 
 consciousness that it was hardly so welcome as 
 it might have been a month or even ten days 
 ago. She would rather that Ralph Burton and 
 everything belonging to him could have been 
 held in abeyance for awhile, till she had dreamed 
 out the strange, bewildering dream that had 
 been shaping itself of late in the midst of her 
 waking life. It was but a dream, it was true ; 
 €till the dreaming of it was pleasant beyond all 
 others that she had had before. When it was 
 over, she would think of Ralph again ; perhaps 
 give him a friendly word or two, for she had 
 really a lurking kindness towards him ; enough 
 to encourage him until she had time to make 
 up her mind about becoming mistress of the 
 
 K 2
 
 132 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Moor Head Farm. But jnst now, to have the 
 sober common daylight breaking in upon her 
 golden visions, made her feel as if she could 
 have hated Ralph Burton and his good fortune, 
 and everything belonging to him. 
 
 Giles said no more. Madge was a girl of 
 moods and tempers^ and perhaps he saw some- 
 how that Ralph's cause would hardly be fur- 
 thered by urging it upon her now. The big^ 
 determined fellow, gruff and resolute to the 
 world without, was led like a child by the touch 
 of his daughter's hand. He was fond of her,, 
 loving her with a deep^ strong tenderness that 
 had grown year by year since the day that he 
 had taken her, a little babe, out of her dead 
 mother's arms. But he was afraid of her, too ; 
 and feared as much to bring a cloud upon her 
 brow, or a hint of temper into her voice, as in 
 those long-ago days of wooing he had dreaded 
 giving unconscious matter of offence to his 
 chary and despotic mistress. 
 
 He swallowed his tea, gulping down his dis- 
 appointment too. He had been so hopeful that 
 Madge would have warmed somewhat towards 
 Ralph at the news of his good fortune ; and, as
 
 DREAMS. 133 
 
 far as he could see, she bad taken it just the 
 other way. He could not fathom her. A while 
 ago^ he said to himself, she had seemed as if 
 she really had meant to take up with Ralph for 
 a lover, and now this last week or two she had 
 been just as " contrairy." But it was the way 
 with girls, he soothed himself by reflecting. 
 They played with a lover like a cat with a 
 mouse, and seemed as if they took pleasure in 
 iormentiug for nothing but the sake of it. 
 Madge would be all right once she was wed, 
 though she was a bit shy and skittish now. 
 
 He pushed back his chair when the meal 
 was finished^ and took up his hat to go out 
 again. 
 
 '' It will be late, I doubt, before I am home," 
 he said. " There are some fellows from Dent's 
 Hollow have been setting snares round by the 
 west corner of the Chase. I've had my sus- 
 picions a good while, and me and John Kelly 
 are going to watch to-night. You had best not 
 sit up for me. You can lock the house-door 
 inside, and drop me the key out of the window 
 when I come back. It will happen be after 
 twelve first."
 
 134 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 " Very well, father," replied Madge, briskly 
 enough. 
 
 8he was not vexed, at any rate, the keeper 
 thought, by what he had said about behaving, 
 better to Ralph. 
 
 " Good-bye, my lass," he said, as he went 
 out. " Take care of thyself, and leave the 
 kettle ready by the fire. TU maybe have a drop 
 of something warm when I come in." 
 
 " All right, father !" responded Madge, already 
 bestirring herself to clear the table and put 
 away the tea-things. She was not sorry to 
 have the prospect of a long evening to herself, 
 for there was plenty to do, with her hat still 
 untrimmed. And, if the arrangement of the 
 puffs and loops had been an all-absorbing occu- 
 pation when she had but the meagre bit of 
 ribbon from the shop at St. Bede's to exercise 
 her taste upon, it may be supposed that Madge 
 looked forward with impatience to the delight- 
 ful task of adjusting the splendid fabric which 
 was now at her disposal. 
 
 There was a good deal to be done before 
 she could fairly begin her work ; the poultry
 
 DREAMS. 135 
 
 to look up, and the cow to milk, and the water 
 to fetch from the spring ; but she sat down at 
 last, and for an hour or two stitched industri- 
 ously away, her busy fingers feeling no weari- 
 ness as they flew to and fro over her pleas- 
 ant task, and her busier fancy weaving round 
 her afresh that strange, bright, bewildering 
 dream. 
 
 The sunshine had faded from the cottage 
 floor, and the painted clock had struck out nine 
 shrill impetuous strokes, before her labours 
 were at length triumphantly concluded. The 
 hat was a success— a complete success. It was 
 Avorth all the time and trouble that she had 
 bestowed upon it, worth even the price that 
 Mr. Pelham had exacted for his purchase. If 
 ever she had looked well before, Madge 
 thought, as she tried it on, turning herself 
 this way and that before the glass, she would 
 look well to-morrow, sitting in the singing- 
 loft full in sight of the Priory pew. 
 
 " I wonder,*' she whispered to herself, when 
 at last she laid her head upon her pillow and 
 closed her drowsy eyes, — *' I wonder whether
 
 136 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 that qiiarryman'« daughter that the old Squire 
 married was any handsomer than me." And the 
 whisper shaped itself into her dreams.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 
 
 fT\HE oak parlour at the Priory House was not 
 •^ by any means a cheerful-looking apartment. 
 It wanted plenty of rich warm crimson hang- 
 ings to lighten up the sombre old panelled walls, 
 and a thick Turkey carpet to replace the faded 
 piece of antiquity which, for the last quarter of 
 a century, had been growing more and more 
 threadbare and shabby. It wanted a more 
 liberal application of beeswax and rubbing to 
 the dull, dark furniture, and more grace and 
 order in the arrangement of the cumbrous 
 ornaments, bronzes and dragon china and 
 tarnished silver sconces, that stood about here 
 and there. Above all, it wanted a woman's 
 Land to give that indefinable sense of comfort
 
 138 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Avbich is seldom present in any room where 
 neither daughter, Avife, nor mother reigns 
 supreme. For at the Priory the feminine ele- 
 ment in the household was absent, or represent- 
 ed mainly by Mrs. Mapperly, the housekeeper^ 
 a worthy woman in her way, limp and elder- 
 ly, who thought it useless to waste time 
 and trouble on those details of manage- 
 ment which her master seemed but lightly to 
 appreciate. 
 
 It was growing dusk, and the shadows were 
 settling in the corners of the room, creeping 
 under the high-backed chairs and heavy, old- 
 fashioned settees and bureaux, and turning inta 
 a cavern of darkness the wide-throated chimney 
 by which the Squire sat_, smoking his evening 
 pipe, with his glass on the mantel-shelf above 
 him, just within reach of his hand. The fumes 
 of the weed mingled with the fragrance of the 
 jasmine and honeysuckle which the dewy even- 
 ing air brought in through the open window, 
 and with the odour of a scented cigar which 
 Mr. Pelliam was lazily discussing as he lounged 
 upon the broad low sill, one foot tapping a 
 light tattoo upon the floor, the other, cased in
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 139' 
 
 its polished patent leather boot, extended 
 horizontally before him. 
 
 There was a shadow on the Squire^s face that 
 was not due to the gathering twilight only. 
 His grizzled eyebrows almost met, and he was 
 smoking his pipe, with short, impatient whiffs, 
 that seemed an outlet for some inward irrita- 
 tion. His mood, however, was one in which the 
 young man, to judge by his careless counte- 
 nance, took no concern. He sat for a quarter of 
 an hour or so, till his cigar was smoked out, 
 and then flung away the end into the garden, 
 lifted the foot that was tapping the floor to a 
 level with the one upon the window-seat, and, 
 stretching both his arms above his head, gave 
 vent to a long resounding yawn. 
 
 *' It is lively here, at all events,^' he said, as 
 the echoes died away into the silence that they 
 had disturbed. 
 
 " You might have stayed away, then. Na 
 one asked you for your company ;" responded 
 the Squire, gruffly, looking up for a moment, 
 and then relapsing into his pipe again. " You 
 knew what it was before you came." 
 
 " So I did ; but you see necessity compelled
 
 140 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 me to come," said the young man, airily. '' And 
 I fear that necessity will compel me to remain 
 mitil I can raise the wherewithal to carry me 
 away." 
 
 " Then you are likely to remain for some time 
 longer," snarled the Squire from his chair. 
 
 " A good while longer. How much longer, 
 now?" inquired Pelham, raising his eyebrows 
 with an air of indifference. " A week '^ — a 
 month ? Say six weeks. I could endure it for 
 that length of time. And then a hundred pounds 
 would set me free." 
 
 The Squire made no response. There was 
 silence again for a moment between the two, 
 and then Pelham returned to the matter in 
 hand. 
 
 " Suppose we say I remain until next week. 
 A hundred pounds is not an extravagant sum 
 to request, and I assure you the necessit}^ of 
 appealing to your generosity for it is quite as 
 unpleasant to me as the little effort of provid- 
 ing it can possibly be to you." 
 
 Still no response. The twilight was thicken- 
 ing; the sound of the old man's slow, sullen 
 whiffs came to Pelham across the silent room.
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 141 
 
 He began to beat an impatient tattoo with his 
 boot upon the window-seat. 
 
 " Consider now, my dear father," he resumed 
 present]}', in his most winning tone. " To look 
 at the matter from your own point of view, 
 rather than mine; how much we are sacrificing 
 for the sake of this paltry hundred pounds. It 
 is out of the question for me to go back to town 
 without it ; a sheer impossibility. I put the ques- 
 tion to you — How am I to follow my profession 
 as a barrister here at Marholm ? Is my reputa- 
 tion so established that briefs are likely to come 
 thronging in upon me in this rural solitude? 
 Charming place, delightful society, what there 
 is of it ; shooting, fishing, all the et ceteras of 
 the usual attractive advertisements ; still you 
 must allow it is not precisely the place for a 
 barrister to take chambers in if he has any am- 
 bition to succeed. You will see at once then, 
 that the whole of the money expended on my 
 legal education is throAvn away. Instead of 
 being in a position to carve my way to fame 
 and fortune, I am compelled to grow mossed 
 and rusty here, wasting my talents, and reduced 
 to the necessity of appealing to your generos-
 
 142 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 ity for the price of every cigar I smoke." 
 Still the Squire puffed on in stolid silence, 
 his impassive face betraying no sign of at- 
 tention to the arguments of his impecunious 
 heir. 
 
 "You cannot fail to perceive," continued the 
 young man, with the most imperturbable com- 
 posure, " that my expenses while here^ trifling 
 as they are, are yet a dead loss to the estate, 
 to say nothing of the income which I might be 
 deriving from ray profession if I were in circum- 
 stances to follow it with advantage. You must 
 see that it would be infinitely preferable for me 
 to be maintaining myself in a handsome inde- 
 pendence, pending the time when in the course 
 of nature the property must lapse altogether 
 into my hands, than that I should be a mere 
 hanger-on at the Priory, without a shilling that 
 I can call my own." 
 
 The Squire's face tightened at this allusion 
 to the future, and a shadow of pain for an in- 
 stant passed across it. He took his pipe from 
 his mouth as if he were about to speak, and 
 then put it back without a word, while a sound, 
 between a groan and a sneer, escaped his lips.
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 143 
 
 "A hundred pounds/' continued Pelham, 
 coolly, " would be spent to incomparably better 
 advantage in setting me free to secure a com- 
 petence than in planting that piece of land 
 above Burton's farm. You have sunk as much 
 there the last twelve months as would have 
 settled all my difficulties, and yielded a quicker 
 return, no doubt, in the form of fees than you 
 will ever see in timber as the result of your 
 expenditure." 
 
 " I tell you what, Pelham !" said his father, 
 roused into speech at last. " I may as well 
 drain my land as let 3^ou drain my pockets. 
 The land is my own while I live, to do as I like 
 with, and so is the money ; and if I can use it 
 to better advantage than in paying your debts 
 for you, I shall do so." 
 
 " Of course, my dear father," returned the 
 young man, still with the same tone of easy 
 assurance. " The question is, can you do so ? I 
 would not, for one moment, dream of denying 
 you the privilege which the law allows ; still 
 you must perceive, without my pointing it out, 
 that by burying all this money in the land you 
 are only putting it there for me to recover, in
 
 144 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 say ten or twenty years' time. It is entirely 
 for my advantage that you are doing it, since 
 you cannot expect to reap the fruits of it your- 
 self. How much more to the purpose it would 
 be then to make over a little of the ready 
 money to me, and let me have the benefit of it 
 at once. I can hardly flatter myself that my 
 presence at the Priory is so desirable as to 
 make you anxious to prolong my stay for your 
 own gratification ; and yet, you see, with 
 empty pockets, and no means of replenishing 
 them, the only course that is open to me is to 
 stay on indefinitely." 
 
 '^ Unless indeed," he added, after a pause^ " I 
 were to try my fortune in a matrimonial direc- 
 tion. If a man can neither beg, borrow, nor 
 make money for himself, he may as well be 
 a hanger-on of his wife's purse as of his 
 father's. I could live comfortably for the 
 present on Marjory's fortune, and there must 
 have been a good round sum accumulating, 
 too, since my uncle died, that would serve 
 admirably to begin housekeeping upon. She is 
 not exactly my style of girl, I must confess. I 
 never could make much headway with Marjory.
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 145 
 
 Claudia Braithwaite is worth a dozen of her 
 for dash and go. Still her fortune is a con- 
 sideration. Besides, the fitness of things points 
 to it. She is my cousin, and I believe, after 
 me, the next heir to the estate, which was left, 
 unless I aro under a mistake_, to you, and to 
 your heirs. Not that I have any intention of 
 relinquishing roy chance of life in her favour ; 
 but still the Canon, as one of her guardians, 
 must see that it would be a perfectly natural, 
 and reasonable, and advantageous arrangement 
 to unite her little property with mine, and let 
 us work the estate together." 
 
 The Squire took his pipe from his mouth 
 again. 
 
 " You would not better yourself," he said, in 
 the half sneering tone that he had used before. 
 " Marjory cannot marry before she is of age, 
 without the consent of both her guardians. If 
 she does, the property is to continue accumulat- 
 ing till she is twenty-five, and then the interest 
 is to be settled for her own use, and the principal 
 to go at her death to her children ; or, in case she 
 dies without any, her husband is not to touch a 
 penny of it. It is a curious provision, but I 
 
 VOL. I. . L
 
 146 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 suppose Percival had his reasons for making it." 
 '' Whew ! That alters the case," said Pel- 
 ham, in a voice which showed that he was 
 somewhat taken aback by the disclosure. 
 " Still it does not follow that the case is hope- 
 less, though it seems there are two fortresses to 
 win instead of one_, and it will be precious hard, 
 I expect, to bring the Canon to surrender, 
 especially to a briefless young barrister like me. 
 Of course you would give your consent, as the 
 other guardian ; and as to Marjory, she might be 
 brought to see the advantage of the proposal, 
 especially as there is no more favoured swain in 
 the way^ so far as I know, to keep the course of 
 true love from running smooth. A.^ to the dear 
 old aunt, I may count on her with certainty for 
 an ally." 
 
 " The Canon wnll never give his consent to 
 Marjory's marriage with you," said the Squire, 
 doggedly. "You may trust him not to let 
 such a scapegrace have the spending of her 
 fortune, while he is alive to prevent it. Marjory 
 might do it. Girls can be fooled into anything 
 by a man who knows how to set about it ; but 
 the Canon knows you too well."
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 147 
 
 " One might reform," replied the young man, 
 airily, " if there were a sufficiently strong mo- 
 tive for doing so; as in this case, of course, 
 there would be. At all events, for two or three 
 years, until the young lady were safely married 
 and of age; and after that it would not signify. 
 I believe I shall think seriously of going in for 
 it," he added, after a prolonged contemplation of 
 the tip of his enamelled boot. " ' Nothing ven- 
 iure, nothing have ;' which is precisely my case 
 at present. For where my next five pounds are 
 to come from, Heaven knows ; I don't !" 
 
 The Squire made no response. Again for 
 awhile there was silence between the two. The 
 twilight had fallen deeper, the gloomy old 
 parlour was full of dusky shadows now ; only 
 ^t the open window, where Pelham sat, there 
 was light enough to show his handsome profile, 
 ^nd crisp light hair, and carefully got-up attire. 
 
 He started at last from liis lounging posture, 
 and stood upright in the room. 
 
 " I tell you what," he began, in a steady, set, 
 business-like tone, which contrasted strangely 
 with the half bantering manner he had hitherto 
 assumed, "there may as well be no nonsense 
 
 l2
 
 148 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 between us. We cannot go on as we are 
 doing now, that is certain. If you will give 
 me down the money that I must have to get 
 myself clear with, I will give you my word that 
 I will go back to town and work like a horse 
 for the next three months ; that is^ if I can get 
 anything to do. Anyhow, I will stick to my 
 chambers for that length of time, retrieve my 
 character to any extent you like, go to church, 
 and give up billiards, and all the rest of it. 
 Then, when the shooting begins, I will come 
 back to Marholm, and regularly go in for the 
 girl. There is no stipulation, 1 suppose, in my 
 uncle's will, that she should wait till she is one 
 and twenty before she marries, provided both 
 guardians give their consent. If you back me 
 up well, I will undertake to secure her ; and if 
 the three of us together cannot manage to 
 bring the Canon to terms, I can only say there 
 will be a dead loss of seven hundred a year, 
 through either your fault or hers, for it will not 
 be mine." 
 
 The Squire smoked on in stubborn taciturnity ; 
 but Pelham, peering keenly through the gloom, 
 saw, by the bend in the grizzled brows, that his
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 149 
 
 arguments had told at last, and promptly fol- 
 lowed up his advantage. 
 
 " Give me your hand upon it, now/' he said, 
 after pausing for a moment, that his proposal 
 might have time to take effect. " We may as 
 well strike the bargain at once. The game is 
 worth the candle. You. risk your hundred 
 pounds down. I engage, from this day forward, 
 to throw over Claudia Braithwaite, and to be at 
 all the pains necessary to commend myself to 
 Marjory and her uncle; and a pretty tough 
 piece of business, too, I expect to find it. I 
 shall have cousiderably the heaviest end of the 
 log to carry. You must see that. I should not 
 wonder but I get into such a confirmed habit of 
 good behaviour in a year or two that I shall 
 turn out quite an exemplary young man, after 
 all ; save money out of her income, and double 
 the value of the estate before I die." 
 
 The Squire looked up with a mixture of 
 grasping and irresolution on his hard gre}^ face. 
 
 " If your word were worth anything," he said, 
 wuth a distrustful sueer, " one might take it. 
 You have given me it before." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said Pelham, relapsing
 
 150 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 into his former tone of light indifference, '' is it 
 so dusk at this moment that yon are unable to 
 perceive that my Avord and my interests are in 
 the present case identical ? I engage to make 
 seven hundred a year by marriage, and you 
 may rely upon it that I shall do my utmost to 
 fulfil my part of the contract. There is not the 
 slightest connection between the case in hand 
 and your past experience of my promises, which, 
 I allow, the pressure of circumstances has some- 
 times prevented me from fulfilling. You have 
 incomparably the smallest risk," continued the 
 young man, ignoring an interjectional growl 
 which the Squire here threw in. '^' A hundred 
 pounds, or two hundred even, if I fail, involves 
 nothing more than leaving some corner of 
 scrubby moorland nndrained. Whereas, if the 
 thing comes to nothing, which is a contingency, 
 however, that I do not in the least look forward 
 to, I have six months, or more, at the very least, 
 of hard work and proprieties^ and dull country 
 life, and humdrum courting, thrown away. You 
 must see that you have the best of it in any 
 case. However, if you are not disposed to 
 agree, Claudia Braithwaite will not be hard,
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 151 
 
 I daresay, to win. I could marry her on my 
 prospects, and we could live on her five thou- 
 sand pounds until something better turned up. 
 It would be an improvement, at any rate, on 
 starving here at home." 
 
 That last clause was skilfully put in. The 
 Squire's brow darkened ; he laid down his pipe, 
 and turned himself stiffly round on his great 
 elbow chair, so as to face his son. 
 
 " You can go back to town next week," he 
 said, in a dry, forced voice. *' And look here, 
 Pelham, if you fail me again this time, and 
 bring home any more debts for me to pay, you 
 shall never see money of mine again. You can 
 please yourself when you have Marjory's purse 
 to help yourself out of — if you are lucky enough 
 to win her, that is to say ; but this is the last 
 hundred beyond your regular allowance that I 
 shall ever give you. That is all I have to say. 
 As to backing you up with the Canon, that 
 must wait until there is some good to say of you 
 that will sound like truth." 
 
 " Of course !" replied the young man, modu- 
 lating his voice so as not to betray too much 
 the satisfaction he felt at the turn affairs had
 
 152 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 taken. "And I am glad you see with me that 
 the best possible arrangement we can make will 
 be to proceed at once to provide me with a 
 character that will bear inspection. If my good 
 conduct is judiciously rehearsed during my 
 absence, which I shall rely on you to do, it will 
 pave the way considerably to the operations 
 Avhich I shall be ready to commence immedi- 
 ately on my return. That will be in September. 
 Say the wooing occupies three months. We 
 can surely overcome the uncle's scruples so as 
 to have matters settled by Christmas ; and after 
 that there is no reason in the world why we 
 should not be married in the spring; and then 
 I am off your hands at once, and a fortune of 
 twenty thousand pounds brought into the family. 
 I only wish my mother had brought in half as 
 much I I should not have been the penniless 
 dog I am." 
 
 " Your mother brought you into the family, 
 and that is enough for you," growled the Squire, 
 turning to his pipe again. 
 
 " And her good looks too," returned Pelham, 
 lifting his eyebrows with a careless smile. " I 
 am indebted to her for them, at all events, and
 
 THE YOUNG HEIR. 153 
 
 I trust they will stand me in as much stead 
 with my lady love, as my good resolutions will 
 favour my cause with the Canon. I intend to 
 carry them out, I assure you ; at least, I intend 
 to seem to carry them out. w4iich comes to the 
 same thing, so far as Marjory is concerned. And 
 if you and I can manage to pull comfortably to- 
 gether, and I succeed with her, I do not see 
 why I should not eventually turn out everything 
 that you could wish me to become. Upon my 
 word and honour, the only reason for my ever 
 ^oing wrong has been that something or other 
 has come in my way which I could not have 
 without going wrong to get it. Xow, on the 
 contrary, the temptation comes in such a form 
 that I must go right in order to secure what I 
 wish to obtain. Voila la difference ! However, 
 now that we have come to an understanding, I 
 think, if you will excuse my leaving you, I will 
 smoke my other cigar out of doors. I must 
 turn matters over a little in my mind, and get 
 accustomed to the change in my prospects." 
 
 He strode across the window-sill as he spoke, 
 and stepped out into the garden. The Squire 
 from his chair watched him sauntering down the
 
 154 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 weedy walks, till the young man's figure was 
 lost in the dusk among the trees. Then he 
 shook the ashes from his pipe and heaved a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 "Ay, ay," he muttered to himself. "This 
 is the end of it all. For five-and-twenty 
 years I have eaten the bread of carefulness ; I 
 have laboured and saved — ay, and sinned and 
 suffered too, that the estate might be clear 
 against the time when the lad came into it, and 
 already he begins to count the years that he is 
 being kept out of it by me. My old grey nag 
 would miss me more than my only son I*'
 
 155 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 
 
 nUNDAY was the great clay of the week at 
 ^ Marholm, as, indeed, in most country 
 villages it is. Christmas Day and the " Feast " 
 were, to be sure, the grand annual epochs ; but 
 what these were to the year, Sunday was to the 
 week — a day to be looked forward to and en- 
 joyed ; when, instead of eating his bread and 
 cold bacon under the shadow of a hedge, a man 
 might sit down, clean-washed and comfortable^ 
 to a smoking hot dinner at home — a day that 
 stood out above all the rest to the farming lads 
 and servant girls, who got an hour or two then, 
 when they could dress up in their best^ and 
 court or be courted, as the case might be. Half 
 the matches in Marholm were made up on Sun-
 
 156 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 days, coming home from evening church, or in 
 those long strolls in the fields and lanes^ when 
 the rustic swain, conscious of his resplendent 
 neck-tie and brand-new coat, felt that the pro- 
 pitious hour for urging his suit had come. 
 
 There were not many in Marholm who, if 
 they could help it, missed going to morning 
 church on Sunday ; and a goodly sight it was, 
 when the bells were ringing for service, to see 
 the people flocking in all directions towards the 
 weather-beaten fane. From every corner of 
 the parish they came, the farmers wdth their 
 waives upon their arms, and two or three rosy- 
 faced children in the rear, the village lads and 
 lasses in their Sunday best, little urchins 
 toddling along holding by their mothers' 
 gowns, and old men leaning on their staffs, 
 making their slow w^ay across the green. Even 
 Jacob Jessop, the patriarch of the village^ who 
 ^vas ninety-one last birthday, and as deaf as a 
 post, used on sunshiny mornings to totter out, 
 with the help of a couple of stout staffs, and 
 take his accustomed place on the bench before 
 the pulpit, wdiere he could see the Canon's face, 
 ^nd feel, as he expressed it, that " summut
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 157 
 
 good was going od," though trumpets would 
 not have made him hear. 
 
 It would be too much, perhaps, to suppose 
 that everyone went to church solely for the 
 sake of worship. Use and wont, the pleasure 
 of seeing and being seen, the five minutes' talk 
 in the porch before and after service, were 
 potent attractions with many, notably so with 
 our Madge, who, on the morning after the visits 
 of Joshua DuffiU and the young Squire, would 
 willingly have walked ten miles instead of two, 
 rather than have been absent from her place in 
 the singing-loft. 
 
 " AVhy, Madge, my lass ! what has come to 
 thee f exclaimed Giles, when Madge, after re- 
 peated calls from the bottom of the stairs, ap- 
 peared at last in full trim, with her Prayer- 
 book and a clean folded pocket-handkerchief 
 in her hand. " Thou looks like a fresh-pulled 
 posy." 
 
 Madge smiled at the compliment to her- 
 appearance. 
 
 " New things ought to look better than old 
 ones," she said, smoothing down a refractory 
 frill. " I have worn my last year's gown while
 
 158 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 I thought shame to put it on again, and every- 
 body else at church in their summer things. 
 It was time to make a change." 
 
 '^ Well, tliou's done it to some purpose at 
 last,*' said Giles, with a look of fatherly pride 
 and complacency at the pretty sight before him. 
 " Folks might take thee for a lady, if it wasn't 
 for seeing me at thy side. But it is time we 
 were off; it is half after ten by the clock." 
 
 " I am ready, all but a flower for my gown. 
 I can get it in a minute," answered Madge, 
 going to the door, where a monthly rose, 
 covered with a profusion of pale pink blossoms, 
 was trained over the porch. 
 
 The keeper came out, too, locking the door 
 and putting the key in his pocket. He had 
 washed and shaved^ and, in a general way, 
 *' cleaned himself," at a considerable expense of 
 time and trouble, before starting for church. 
 He wore his Sunday coat_, and a carefully 
 brushed hat ; and, it must be confessed, did not 
 look half so picturesque as in the worn velvet- 
 een suit and moleskin cap in which he appear- 
 ed on week days. 
 
 "I wish one of those deep-red noisettes had
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 159 
 
 been out," said Madge, as she gathered the 
 rosiest cluster she could find, and fastened it 
 with a coquettish grace in the bosom of her 
 dress. " It would have gone a deal better with 
 this ribbon. But there is no hurrying them ; 
 they'll flower when they have a mind to, and 
 not before." 
 
 " Ay, ay I" said the keeper. " They are a match 
 for you girls in that. I might have called at 
 the bottom of them stairs till church had gone 
 in, and it would have been all to no use, till 
 you had got your frills and ribbons to your 
 mind. We must step out now, or we shall be 
 late." 
 
 " No fears of that. There is plenty of time," 
 said Madge. "The bells have only just this 
 moment put in. How fair we can hear them ! 
 The wind must bring the sound right over 
 here." 
 
 " It is full west," said Giles. " We shall be 
 having warm weather if it keeps in that quarter. 
 It will bring the hay on finely. Ralph Burton 
 was saying yesterday theirs was coming on 
 uncommon." 
 
 Madge pursed her lips at this mention of
 
 160 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Ealph, and made no reply. She wished her 
 father was not so fond of bringing in his name 
 at every turn. It was Ralph Burton here, and 
 Ralph Burton there, till she was tired of hearing 
 it. Her thoughts, however, as she walked on 
 briskly by her father's side, soon slipped inta 
 another channel. The keeper was not a man 
 much given to discourse, and Madge had ample 
 leisure during their walk through the wood, io 
 rehearse the little drama in w^iich she was 
 about to take her part. She had gone through 
 it several times before_, with aflutter of expecta- 
 tion akin to that of some Belgravian beauty who 
 is contemplating an appearance at Court, and 
 knows her triumph certain. Ambition, as well as 
 vanity, w^as stirring now within her. She had 
 not yet overcome her pique at the young 
 Squire's trespass on the previous afternoon, but 
 she w^as beginning to regard it wath more in- 
 dulgence than indignation ; and the wish to 
 produce an impression upon him this morning 
 was more vividly present with her than the 
 thought of the sensation which, in her new 
 summer costume, she would create among her 
 rustic swains and the village belles.
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. IGl 
 
 Her cogitations were brought to a conclusioa 
 by their arrival at the gate leading out of the 
 Chase into the village ; and close by the gate, 
 as luck would have it, were old Mr. and Mrs. 
 Burton, and Ralph with a bunch of flowers in 
 his hand, coming past on their way to church. 
 They stopped to say good morning, and then 
 the party moved on towards the church in com- 
 pany. The old couple went arm in arm to- 
 gether, and the keeper walked on beside them, 
 talking of the weather and the crops and the 
 fine prospect for the hay. There was only room 
 for three to walk together on the path, so that 
 Madge was obliged to fall behind, and, as a 
 necessary consequence^ to accept the escort of 
 Ralph, Avho on his part was only too thankful 
 for the chance that gave him five minutes beside 
 her. 
 
 "Madge/' he began, "I am main glad we 
 happened of one another before church. I got 
 these here begonias last night for you from the 
 gardener at the Court. They are real beauties, 
 and just the colour of your gown. Will you 
 have them ?" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Burton/' said Madge, cou- 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 desceudingly. " I don't know but what I will. 
 They will match the things I have on better 
 than these roses." 
 
 Madge had not failed to note Ralph's look of 
 admiration when he saw her at the gate of the 
 Chase, and the silent compliment and the proof 
 of her success which it implied had softened her 
 into a momentary graciousness. Besides, these 
 coral clusters were really too beautiful to be 
 refused. She could not have chosen more to 
 her mind if she had gone through Lord Dan- 
 vers' hothouses and selected for herself. And 
 then hothouse flowers had a look about them 
 that common garden-flowers had not. There 
 was a flavour of gentility about Ralph's delicate 
 exotics which made her spray of roses quite 
 paltry in comparison. So Madge, whose 
 thoughts had flashed at once to their effect in 
 Mr. Pelham's eyes, decided to gratify her rustic 
 lover by her acceptance of his off'ering. 
 
 Ralph's face brightened as Madge took the 
 flowers from his hand. It w^as almost more 
 than he had dared to hope^ though he had 
 walked four miles and back again the night
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 163 
 
 before for the sake of having something worthy 
 to present. 
 
 " Let me hold your book for you," he said. 
 " You can't fix them rightly with one hand." 
 
 Madge gave it to him, and with it the dis- 
 carded roses which she had taken from her 
 bosom. Elizabeth Welby had just come in 
 sight, and Mark Staniland was looking across 
 from the other side of the green^ and Madge 
 was not proof against the satisfaction of parad- 
 ing Ralph's allegiance. Otherwise she might 
 probably have declined his offer, and hav^ 
 waited to adjust her flowers until she was in 
 <}hurch. 
 
 But of this Ralph was happily unconscious. 
 His heart was trembling with joy at these un- 
 wonted favours. 
 
 ^' You'll let me keep these ?" he begged, 
 -when she was ready to take back her pro- 
 perties. 
 
 *' What, the roses ?" said Madge, still aware 
 of Mark's eye upon them. " Yes, you can have 
 them, for anything I care. They are not much 
 to look at after these flowers of yours ; but they 
 
 M 2
 
 164 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 are sweet. Those little pale roses are as sweet 
 as any we have." 
 
 '* Any rose would be sweet that you had 
 worn," said Ralph, in a lov/ voice, as he put the 
 rose into his button-hole, his heart fluttering' 
 like a girl's at his own presumption. 
 
 But Madge gave her head a disdainful turn. 
 
 " I thought you had found out before now, 
 Mr. Burton," she said, '-that I am not one of 
 them that are fond of fine speeches. If you 
 can't as much as give me two or three flowers 
 without tying them up with nonsense like that, 
 you may as w^ell let it alone." 
 
 Ralph took his rebuff in silence. The thrill 
 at his heart stiffened into pain. They had 
 reached the church porch now, where a little 
 group of the village folk stood chatting and 
 exchanging greetings, as the custom was at 
 Marholm, for the five or ten minutes before 
 service. Old Mr. and Mrs. Burton passed 
 straight forward into the church. The keeper 
 stopped behind to speak to one of the farmers 
 who had just come up. Ralph would fain 
 have lingered a moment for the chance of a 
 more friendly w^ord ; but Madge had turned
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 165 
 
 from him, and was distributiug her nods and 
 smiles to one and another of her acquaintance, 
 with a liberality that made her sharp speech 
 echo all the more sharply in his ears. Do what 
 he w^ould, there was no keeping her on good 
 terms with him for five minutes together. He 
 almost thought that the more he strove, the 
 harder she was to please. However, she was 
 wearing his flowers in her bosom now. It was 
 something to know that he had not walked the 
 four miles to the Court and back to no purpose 
 the night before. And, with such small comfort 
 as the reflection could impart, Ralph took off 
 his hat, and smoothed down his hair, and 
 followed his father and mother up the aisle to 
 the high-backed pew at the further end of the 
 church, whence a view of the singing-loft was 
 to be had, and where he might feed his trouble 
 or forget it by furtive glances at the cause of 
 4x11 his pain.
 
 166 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 
 
 TITADGE, ill the meantime, after loitering for 
 •^^ a moment at the porch, had climbed the 
 narrow winding stair that led up into the 
 singing-loft, and was settling herself down, and 
 fluttering out her plumes, in the front seat of 
 the low gallery, where she, with Miriam Wray 
 and the rest of the choir, sat ; the girls on the 
 left and the men on the right. 
 
 It was a fine old church, with stained 
 windows in the chancel and down the aisles ; 
 with much black oak carving on the pulpit and 
 above the altar, and on the bosses of the groin- 
 ed roof; with quaint effigies of mediseval 
 knights lying with clasped hands and upturned 
 faces, peacefully enough, upon their marble
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 1 67 
 
 couches. There were many monumeDts, also_^ 
 upon the walls; some of marble, some of brass, 
 let into the stone itself, and inscribed with 
 obsolete lettering which no one in the parish, 
 except the " quality," who had more learning- 
 than common folk, had ever been able to 
 decipher. The pews were of black oak, some 
 of them a good deal worm-eaten and decayed. 
 At the upper end of the church, where the 
 well-to-do farmers, and the inhabitants of the 
 tall grey houses sat, they were lined with faded 
 green baize, fastened on with innumerable 
 brass-headed nails ; and close upon the chancel 
 were those belonging to the Rectory, the Court, 
 and the Priory House ; wherein the " quality," 
 curtained round, and defended from the vulgar 
 gaze, might worship at their ease. '^ Hiding their 
 light under a bushel," as little Miss Trina^ the 
 village dressmaker and milliner, who always 
 took the pattern of the other ladies' new 
 bonnets and mantles the first Sunday that 
 they wore them at charch_, was wont to say. 
 
 From the singing-loft, however, there was a 
 full view over even the close-drawn curtains into 
 these sanctums of gentility. Not that it signi-
 
 168 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 fiecl much in a general way, for the Court pew 
 had been empty since the family went abroad, 
 and as to old Mr. Elphinstone, who came pretty 
 regularly to church every Sunday morning, 
 there was nothing in him to make the prospect 
 into the Priory pew any great advantage. It 
 had made all the difference, however, since Mr. 
 Pelham had been at home. His roving eye, as 
 it wandered round the church, had found out 
 that there was a face in the singing-loft worth 
 studying; and he took the opportunity of doing 
 it so -often that Madge became quite aware of 
 the flattering frequency with which his glances 
 were directed towards the place she occu- 
 pied. 
 
 She could see into the Priory pew quite well 
 without seeming to look, and a single glance, as 
 she was setthng herself in her place, and laying 
 her book open upon the desk, showed her that 
 Mr. Pelham was there, seated, too, on that 
 narrow, high seat against the wall, whence he 
 could look straight up towards the loft. That 
 was enough for Madge. He was there, and he 
 chose to make himself uncomfortable for the 
 sake of a sight of her. She looked down the
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 169 
 
 church, and felt that she would bear comparison 
 with anyone there ; except, perhaps, Miss Elphin- 
 stone, who, even to Madge's thinking, was 
 beautiful as any picture, with her soft, sweet 
 eyes, and her grey velvet hat, with its long, 
 drooping plume, and that lovely lilac dress. As 
 to those washed-out Miss Martendales, Madge 
 counted them as nothing, in spite of their laces 
 and lavender silks and delicate gloves. And 
 Miss Claudia Braithwaite, though she looked 
 well, no doubt, in that straw-coloured muslin, 
 and those splendid China-roses in her bonnet, 
 yet had a poor complexion, very poor; and^ if 
 it were not for her stylish dress, could hardly 
 be considered handsome. Among the farmers' 
 daughters, and the Marholm girls, there was 
 no one, Madge felt, who could have any pre- 
 tensions to rival either her good looks or her 
 becoming dress. For it was becoming, there 
 was no doubt about that ; though it was simple 
 enough to be quite in accordance with her station. 
 Madge had an instinct of good taste, which 
 kept her from foolishly aping the appearance 
 of those above her ; and yet her fine tourjiure, 
 and lithe, elastic figure, made her straw hat
 
 170 A SYLVAN QUEEN". 
 
 and printed calico seem quite a charming 
 costume. 
 
 How she wished that she dare steal a single 
 glance towards the Priory pew, to assure her- 
 self of its effect. But she had made up her 
 mind, and she was determined to adhere to her 
 resolution. Mr. Pelham must be made to under- 
 stand that he had offended her, and this was 
 the only way open to her to do it. She kept 
 her eyes studiously averted, till at last, when 
 the sermon was about half way over, she could 
 resist no longer, and, though not without sun- 
 dry misgivings, lifted her head and looked fur- 
 tively over the green curtains to where the 
 young Squire sat. 
 
 She need not have been afraid. He was not 
 looking at her, or, indeed, at anything at all. 
 His eyes were closed, his head inclined a little 
 forward ; apparently he had been overcome by 
 drowsiness, and was availing himself of the in- 
 terval between the Canon's text and the bene- 
 diction, to indulge in a little uncomfortable 
 slumber. 
 
 What a gay, handsome face it was I Madge 
 thought ; with its beautifully-brushed hair, and
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 171 
 
 curled moustache, and the blue silk cravat knot- 
 ted carelessly round his throat. She could not 
 help contrasting it with Ralph Burton's broad, 
 honest visage, and thinking what a difference 
 there was between a real gentleman like Mr^ 
 Pelham, and a man who had to be working all 
 day long like Ralph, earning a living for him- 
 self, instead of lounging gracefully, well-dressed 
 and idle, and with unlimited half-crowns in his 
 pocket. 
 
 She was musing thus when suddenly Mr.. 
 Pelham opened his eyes, and, before she could 
 turn away her own, had caught her gaze upon 
 him. Madge was provoked beyond measure. 
 She felt the colour mount into her cheeks as 
 just the least appearance of a smile curled the 
 corners of his mouth. She might look towards 
 the pulpit now, Mr. Pelham would know that 
 it was all pretence, and that she was colouring 
 up because she had been caught watching his 
 face while he was asleep. It was not long, 
 however, that she had to endure her discom- 
 fiture. The Canon never wearied his hearers^ 
 by the length of his sermons, and in ten minutes' 
 time the congregation was dispersing, and
 
 172 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Madge, glad to make her escape, found herself 
 in the church porch again. Mark Staniland 
 was standing in the sunshine outside, talking 
 to her father, who was waiting for her to come 
 >down from the singing-loft. Mrs. Boynton, too, 
 was there, well-dressed and substantial, in a 
 handsome silk gown and coloured shawl, and 
 with a China-rose, exactly like Miss Claudia 
 Braithwaite's, in her bonnet. 
 
 '^ Bless me^ Madge/' she exclaimed, as soon 
 as the girl was near enough to shake hands, 
 " how well you do look, to be sure ! That is 
 an uncommon pretty print you have got on, 
 and sets so smart on you, too. It isn't Jane 
 •Collop's making, surely?" 
 
 *' Jane Collop's !" said Madge, her complacency 
 reviving somewhat under Mrs. Boynton's com- 
 pliments. " I should think not. I would not 
 hsiVQ my things spoiled by her. I put every 
 ;stitch in this myself, and cut it out and every- 
 thing." 
 
 "And trimmed your hat, too, I'll be bound?" 
 said the landlady, as she turned and walked 
 •down the churchyard path with Madge. " I 
 know the ribbon. It came out of Joshua Duf-
 
 MORNIXG CHURCH. 173 
 
 fill's pack. He showed me the piece yesterday, 
 and a Dice price he wanted for it. Two and 
 sixpence a yard. Your hat has cost you a pretty 
 penny^ if you gave him that for it, and he would 
 not put it in for a farthing less." 
 
 "I had it given to me," Madge was on the 
 point of saying: but recollected herself in time 
 to keep her own counsel, though at the risk 
 of being thought extravagant by the prudent 
 dame. 
 
 "It is the prettiest hat in all Marholm, I will 
 say that," pursued Mrs. Boynton, after another- 
 survey. "And suits you so well, too. I never 
 did know anyone to beat you, Madge, for know- 
 ing what looked best on them. No wonder so 
 many pair of eyes finds their way to the singing- 
 loft." 
 
 "Nonsense, Mrs. Boynton," said Madge, well 
 pleased, nevertheless, at the landlady's speech. 
 The more so because she knew that not a word 
 of what was said w^ould be lost on Mark, who 
 was coming on with her father close behind 
 them. "As if there was nobody sat up in the- 
 singing-loft but me." 
 
 " Then it was Elizabeth Welby, maybe, as
 
 i74 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Mr. Ralph Burton and Mr. Staniland here were 
 so taken up withf said the landlady, nodding 
 her head over her shoulder towards Mark. " I 
 doubt they neither of them heard a deal of the 
 sermon, if the truth was tolcl." 
 
 "And I doubt, Mrs. Boynton, if your eyes had 
 so much to do up and down the church this 
 morning, it was not a deal you gave your ears 
 to do either," retorted Mark, trying to blunt the 
 edge of the landlady's innuendo by turning it 
 against herself. 
 
 A shrewd, good-humoured lad was Mark 
 Staniland. ''Long Mark," they called him in 
 the village, on account of his height. He was 
 a good head taller than the keeper, as they 
 walked side by side, and Giles himself was a 
 well-built man. Madge was rather proud of 
 -counting Mark Staniland among her admirers. 
 He was only son to the elder Mark Staniland, 
 the Marholm wheelwright; and there would be 
 a snug little business for him to come into one 
 of these days. Perhaps not so very far away 
 either, for old Mark had a comfortable sum laid 
 up in the bank at St. Bede's, and had said more 
 than once, as he sat among his cronies in the
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 175 
 
 sanded parlour of the " Danvers' Arms," that he 
 thought he had worked long enough, and that 
 it was time for younger shoulders to take the 
 burden on themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton laughed at Mark's rejoinder. 
 
 '^ They would be clever that would catch you 
 np, Mr. Mark," she said. " But wait a bit, and 
 you'll find somebody that will do it for you, or 
 I'm mistaken. There's many a young man 
 gets caught by a pair of bright eyes before he 
 knows where he is, or what it is that has come 
 to him. What do you say, Madge ?" 
 
 " I say that I know nothing about it," said 
 Madge, turning herself coquettishly from the 
 landlady's meaning look. '^' And I hope it will 
 be a long time before Mr. Mark gets into trouble 
 of that sort." 
 
 " If he has not got into it already," return- 
 ed the incorrigible landlady. " But I must be 
 saying good morning. It would take me too 
 long, or I would go round with you by the 
 green ; but I must be back to see about putting 
 down Mr. Beverley's dinner. There is no trust- 
 ing girls to do a thing as it had ought to be 
 done, if your back is turned. By the way, you
 
 176 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 had him to supper the night he came to Mar- 
 holm. To think of that now! And I never 
 heard a word of it while this morning. But you 
 might have the Queen to supper away yonder 
 in the Chase, and nobody would be the wiser 
 for it. I can't think, for my part, how you do 
 to live at such a lonesome spot. I should be 
 frightened to death, if it was me^ of being 
 robbed and murdered in my bed some dark 
 night ; and not a house within a mile of you." 
 
 " The thieves would get a warmer welcome, 
 maybe, than they would think for, if they were 
 to come to our place/' said the keeper, his 
 grim brows tightening a little. " Our Madge 
 can fire a gun as well as I can, and take good 
 aim, too, if need were. I'll warrant a man 
 would be more like to carry away a charge or 
 two of shot with him than aught else, if he 
 was to come prowling about our place, for as 
 lone as it is." 
 
 '' To think of that, now !" cried Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton. " But I never did know your equal, 
 Madge ; for you can put your hand to anything. 
 How you come by it I can't imagine, and your 
 poor mother in her grave since ever you were
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 177 
 
 born ; and it stands to reason your father didn't 
 teach you cooking and dressmaking, as well 
 as to handle a gun. It's gifts; that's what 
 it is." 
 
 " Ay, you've hit it there, Mrs. Boynton," put 
 in Mark, anxious to throw in a compliment 
 himself. " She had a fairy godmother, belike ; 
 and that's how she has come in for so much 
 more than other folk." 
 
 '^ I tell you what, I think you'll turn her 
 head between you/' said Giles, as they all drew 
 up beside the village well, where the road 
 branched off to the Chase. " Come, Madge." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton shook hands_, and went her 
 way. Mark Staniland would fain have gone 
 round the green with the keeper and his 
 daughter, for the sake of five minutes longer 
 with Madge ; but she said Good-bye so decided- 
 ly that there was nothing for it but to submit. 
 
 '^ Brown, is that you? I want a Avord with 
 you," said a voice behind them, just as Giles 
 and Madge had reached the gate leading into 
 the Chase. 
 
 The keeper turned, and touched his hat. 
 Madge felt her heart fluttering like a startled 
 
 VOL. 1. • N
 
 178 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 bird. It was Mr. Pelham himself who was close 
 behind them. 
 
 " I just wanted to say to you that I am going 
 away for a couple of months or so ; and, if you 
 should find a customer for the dog at your own 
 price, you had better let it go. That is all." 
 
 " Very good, sir," replied the keeper, touch- 
 ing his hat again as he passed through the gate 
 into the Chase. Madge was following him ; 
 but, as ill luck would have it, a rusty nail at 
 the bottom of the gate-post caught the hem of 
 her dress, and obliged her to turn and dis- 
 entangle it. 
 
 The young Squire stooped, too, for an instant, 
 and whispered in her ear. 
 
 "I must come and say Good-bye before I go. 
 You have forgiven me, I see." 
 
 Madge dragged herself free from the detain- 
 ing nail, and, without a word or even a look of 
 reply, rushed after her father, while Mr. Pel- 
 ham, with his hands in his pockets, turned and 
 sauntered carelessly away. 
 
 '^ He is worth a dozen of the old Squire, is 
 Mr. Pelham," said Giles, as Madge rejoined him. 
 *' So free and pleasant spoken. He favours his
 
 MORNING CHURCH. 179 
 
 mother a deal more than what he does his father. 
 She had just that taking way with her, though 
 she wasn't a lady born." 
 
 '' She w^as a quarryman's daughter^ wasn't 
 she?" said Madge, turning aside to hide her still 
 crimson cheeks. 
 
 " Ay ; lived over at a place they call Lang- 
 ley Fyke, the other side of Roedale. They say 
 he saw her one day when he was out shooting, 
 and fell in love with her right away ; and he 
 had her sent to school for a year, and then 
 married her, and took her with him into foreign 
 parts, where there was nobody would know who 
 or what she had been." 
 
 *'I have heard Mrs. Boynton talk of her," 
 said Madge. " It was for her looks he mai-ried 
 her, she said. She might have been a princess, 
 she was so handsome." 
 
 *"' Ay ; she was handsome enough for any- 
 thing. I recklect seeing her at church the day 
 Mr. Pelham was christened. What a picture 
 she was, to be sure, as she came up the aisle to 
 the Priory pew ! All in sky-blue silk and white, 
 tall and straight and fair, and her hair and eyes 
 just like Mr. Pelham"s, and carried herself as it 
 
 n2
 
 180 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 she had been a lady all her life, though she- 
 wasn't a bit stiff or set up, either." 
 
 *^And she was just a quarryman's daughter T' 
 said Madge, musingly. 
 
 "Ay; nothing no more than that. There 
 are some of her folks living still at Langley 
 Pyke, but the vSquire has never had ought to do 
 with them. He made her cast off all her kith 
 and kin when she married him." 
 
 Madge made no reply, and asked no more 
 questions. The two went on silently together 
 till they reached the cottage_, and then she went 
 straight upstairs to her attic, and took a long^ 
 and leisurely survey of herself in the little mirror 
 that stood on the painted chest of drawers 
 before the window. 
 
 She had looked many times before, for pure 
 pleasure in her own good looks ; such pleasure 
 as a girl has a right to feel who sees before 
 lier a face as handsome as Madge saw reflected 
 now in the little square of looking-glass. No 
 doubt there had been mingled with the pleasure 
 a little perversity sometimes as well. It is so 
 hard to possess power of any kind without 
 being tempted at times to make an arbitrary
 
 :\IORNIXG CHURCH. 181 
 
 use of it ; and, of all tokens of dominion, the 
 sceptre which beauty puts into a woman's hands 
 is, perhaps, the most frequently wielded with 
 s. certain careless despotism. Let us own that 
 Madge had dispensed her favours with occa- 
 sional caprice, and even coquetry. Shall we 
 quarrel with the sweet, wild rose because of the 
 little prickly thorn that guards its vagrant 
 loveliness? 
 
 It was not a girl's natural vanity, however, 
 neither pleasure in herself, nor pride in her 
 beauty's power, that moved her now, as she 
 leaned her rounded arras upon the dimity cover 
 of the chest of drawers that served her for a 
 toilet-table, and questioned the little looking- 
 glass with such unwonted earnestness. A vague 
 restlessness was stirring within her, a fluttering 
 ambition that scarcely dared as yet to try its 
 unfledged wings. 
 
 Phoebe Gale had been handsome, too, and she 
 had become Lady of the Priory ! 
 
 Madge gazed intently at the vision in the 
 glass. It had been herself that she had looked 
 at uncounted times before, her own handsome, 
 glowing self, Madge Brown, the acknowledged
 
 182 A SYLVAN QUEEK. 
 
 belle of Marholm. Now it was her beauty at 
 which she gazed with curious intentness ; her 
 beauty as a thing apart from herself, a posses- 
 sion that had suddenly acquired a new, strange 
 value in her eyes. She was feeling as one 
 might feel who had discovered that, instead of 
 a five-pound note, he owned one that was worth 
 a thousand pounds. 
 
 — A quarryman's daughter, and the old 
 Squire had married her for her beauty ; just 
 for her beauty ! 
 
 Madge gazed at the handsome face before 
 her, and her thoughts ventured on their flight.. 
 " I don't believe,'' she murmured to herself^ 
 "but what I have as good a chance as ever 
 Phoebe Gale had." 
 
 Then she started up, all aglow at her own 
 presumption^ and, hastily slipping off her church- 
 going dress_, ran downstairs to set the table, and 
 to bring out of the larder the Sunday meal which 
 had been awaiting their return.
 
 183 
 
 (CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD S SONG. 
 
 nnHE cluster-roses that climbed over the porch, 
 -■- and covered the white-washed front of 
 the keeper's cottage, were glowing in the low 
 sunset light, and, from the flower-plot beneath 
 the windows, the clove-pinks and gilliflowers 
 and mignonette were breathing forth all man- 
 ner of pleasant perfume into the warm, soft 
 evening air. High overhead a blackbird, perch- 
 ed on the topmost bough of one of the great 
 beech-trees that made the glory of the Chase, 
 was singing lustily to his mate, as she brooded 
 over her callow nestlings in the green gloom 
 below. The clear, glad notes came streaming 
 down, a flood of liquid melody ; such roulades 
 and fioriiuras, such trills and shakes at the very
 
 184 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 top of the scale, as would have brought down 
 showers of bouquets aud thunders of applause, 
 if heard from the lips of some Italian prima 
 donna on the stage of Covent Garden theatre. 
 
 There were no jewelled hands, however, in 
 Marholm Chase to fling their perfumed flatteries 
 away, and only a small and homely audience 
 to be charmed by those wild and witching notes. 
 But our little warbler sang for love and happi- 
 ness alone, and not at all for praise. Enough 
 for him if a quicker thrill of pleasure stirred the 
 mother bird below, as she ruffled her downy 
 feathers over the fledglings that lay covered by 
 her patient breast, and listened to the gush of 
 song with which her mate beguiled the sweet 
 weariness of the task that Love and Nature had 
 assigned her. For the rest, what cared he ? 
 The magic of the sunset hour possessed him ; 
 and wilder and sweeter his song rang out, till 
 all the hushed and scented air seemed pierced 
 with his own ecstasy of joy, and the very 
 breezes wandering through the woodland 
 stayed themselves to listen. 
 
 Madge was listening, too_, as she sat on the 
 bench in the rose-wreathed cottage porch, with
 
 THE blackbird's soxg. 185 
 
 a bowl of peas upon her lap, which slie was 
 shelling for her father's supper. Fine marrow- 
 fats they were, plump and juicy, the first 
 gathering of the season. With a rasher or two 
 of bacon, and a glass of good ale, and that fine 
 relish which the keen upland air never failed to 
 supply^ no king need wish for a daintier dish to 
 be set before him. 
 
 Giles liimself sat w^ithin the cottage, out of 
 sight, but not out of hearing, busy w^th a gun 
 which he had taken to pieces to clean, and 
 waiting with a certain zest of expectation for 
 the supper which was in course of preparation 
 for him. For Madge, besides the good looks 
 with which nature had so liberally endowed 
 her, was blessed also with that invaluable femi- 
 nine instinct, the love of ministering to the com- 
 forts of those about her. Mrs. Boynton herself 
 had not a finer faculty in that direction, nor a 
 more complacent pride in her power of success- 
 ful catering, especially in the culinary line. The 
 first gathering of these green marrow-fats had 
 been, as Caleb's strawberries had been to him, 
 one of the events of the season with Madge. 
 She had sown them herself in the sunny,
 
 186 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 showery April weather, had trained and tended 
 them and watched their progress, from the first 
 tiny leaflet that pushed up greenly out of the 
 earth till now that the pods hung firm and full 
 enough to warrant her in treating her father to 
 a feast. She had gathered them liberally. 
 Madge never did things by halves. There 
 would be a famous up-heaped dish, enough for 
 the most excellent appetite to spend itself 
 upon ; and the girl nimbly shelled away, the 
 housewifely element in her in full contented 
 play. 
 
 Yetj busy as she seemed, there was a hint of 
 hidden restlessness about her which a nice ob- 
 server might detect. Evidently she was not 
 altogether absorbed in her homely occupation. 
 Sometimes she would cease from it for a moment 
 and gaze absently down the glade that stretched 
 before her; then she would resume her task 
 more busily ; then cease again, and lift her head 
 to listen to the blackbird which all the time 
 sang loud and clear from the beech-tree top. 
 
 '' Hark at him, father !" she cried presently, 
 raising her voice a little so as to reach well 
 within the kitchen. " Why, he sings like all
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 187 
 
 the church choir put together. It is a pity but 
 we could have had him for the top notes of the 
 Easter anthem, that we none of us scarce could 
 reach ; though me and Miriam Wraj can get up 
 a pretty good height, too, when we are on the 
 stretch. But that blackbird beats us all. He 
 has been at it like that for a good half hour^ and 
 he shows no signs of giving over yet." 
 
 Giles laid down his gun, and listened for a 
 moment through the open lattice. 
 
 "He has a nest somewhere in among the 
 branches, I'll be bound," he said. 
 
 " I know he has," answered Madge from the 
 porch. " He has sat and sung on that tree-top 
 just about this time of an eveniog for ever so 
 long. I always know if is getting on for 
 supper time when he begins to tune up ; and it 
 seems as if his note got sweeter and sweeter 
 every day. It was nothing like this when he 
 first began." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the keeper, while a slow 
 smile broadened over his rough-cut visage. 
 " That's just where it is. He is made out of the- 
 right sort of stuff, is that little chap, same sort 
 as the husband that I hope you'll have the luck
 
 188 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 to light ou, Madge, when it comes to choosing. 
 He's not one of them that show their best while 
 they are sweethearting ; and then, when court- 
 ing days are over, and there's a family to do 
 for, leave their Missis to tew along by herself, 
 and never give another thouglit to pleasing 
 her. Yon blackbird has saved his best songs 
 for his mate against the time when she'd want 
 them most.^' 
 
 " There^s a deal of young men might take 
 pattern by him then," cried Madge, saucily. 
 " They are as pleasant and as soft-spoken as 
 you like while they have everything to get, and 
 when they've got it there's an end to it all. 
 They think it's the wife's turn then to please 
 them, and hard work it is, too. They are well 
 enough, some of them, before they are wed ; but 
 there is nothing spoils a man, Mrs. Boyntou 
 .says, like marrying him." 
 
 " Nay, lass," returned the keeper, " thou'rt 
 in the wrong there, and Mrs. Boynton too. 
 It makes a man, instead of marring him, 
 if he^s of the right sort to begin with. I 
 know it by myself," he went on, and his voice 
 ^rew tender as he spoke. "If ever a young
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 189 
 
 man loved a niaiclj I loved tby mother when I 
 was a-courting her, though I was but a poor 
 hand at saying of it to her face, and many's the 
 time she made as if she wouldn't believe me_, or 
 set no store by it if she did. But that love was 
 as naught to what I had for her when she was 
 my wife. She was like my own life to me then. 
 Ay, and more than that! For if it hadn't been 
 for thee, Madge, that was a babe of a day old 
 when she went from me, I would have laid me 
 down on her grave and died." 
 
 Madge said nothing in reply. The tide of 
 passionate remembrance that stirred her father's 
 voice had stilled the careless ripple of her own. 
 It was not often that Giles spoke thus. He was 
 a man of a silent habit mostly, both at home 
 and abroad, and the springs of feeling in him 
 lay so deep that it was but rarely they reached 
 the surface of his thoughts to overflow in speech. 
 But just now the father's heart was full of a 
 strange yearning over his child. Day and 
 night he was busying himself in anxious dreams 
 about her future lot. For it had been plain 
 enough for some time now that Ralph Burton 
 was desperately in love with her; and there
 
 190 A SYLVAX QUEEX. 
 
 was no young man in all the parish, Giles con- 
 sidered, who would be so likely to make a good 
 husband for the girl. 
 
 Of course, so handsome as Madge was, and 
 with that coquettish consciousness of her charms 
 which made them more dangerous still, it was 
 no wonder that she had plenty of admirers, 
 more than one of whom, with a little encourage- 
 ment, would have been an excellent match for 
 her, so far as good means and prospects went. 
 But the keeper wanted more than that from the 
 man to whom he gave his daughter. When he 
 parted with her it must be to one who would 
 be as tender over her, as jealous for her happi- 
 ness_, as patient and indulgent as he had been 
 himself. And Giles, believing in his heart that 
 Ralph Burton, and no other man, would be all 
 this to her, was inwardly longing for Madge to 
 encourage the young man's suit_, a thing which 
 she seemed at present perversely disinclined to 
 do. 
 
 She was perfectly aware, however, of her 
 father's wishes on the subject ; and she was in- 
 stinctively conscious that, in what he had been 
 saying, there was a covert allusion to theyouug
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 191 
 
 farmer's qualifications in a matrimonial point of 
 view. But Madge just now was less disposed 
 than she might have been a few weeks ago to 
 have Ralph Burton thus thrust into the fore- 
 ground of her Hfe. His figure, placed so promi- 
 nently there, intercepted her view of the dream- 
 scenery which, as if by magic, had arranged 
 itself on fancy's stage, and, in its plain farmerly 
 habiliments, contrasted awkwardly with that 
 other handsome, well-dressed, and much more 
 important personage who at any moment might 
 appear sauntering towards her down the sunlit 
 glade, or emerging from one of the side paths 
 that led through the covert of the wood. 
 
 Mr. Pelham was coming again before he went 
 away, coming to say " Good-bye " to her, and 
 this was the third evening since he had told her 
 so. All day long her thoughts had been ring- 
 ing their bewildering changes on those whis- 
 pered words of his. He was coming again, 
 coming to see her I Just so, years ago, the old 
 Squire his father had gone over Langley Pyke, 
 and cHmbed the rough hill-path to the quarry- 
 man's cottage, to see the girl who was after- 
 wards lady of the Priory House. It was for her
 
 192 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 beauty that he had fallen in love with her, and 
 wooed her and married her, and then taken her 
 away with him to foreign parts, where she had 
 lived beside him like a lady born. Wh}- should 
 it be impossible to suppose that the young 
 Squire might have fallen in love now, as his 
 father had fallen in love before him, and that he 
 meant to win her, and some day to marry her 
 and make a lady of her, too ? Such a lady as 
 Madge felt it would be so easy for her to be- 
 come. It had all happened before with Phoebe 
 Gale. Why should it not happen over again 
 with her "? 
 
 Madge had asked herself the question, look- 
 ing for an answer in the little swing glass that 
 stood on the cliest of drawers in her attic bed- 
 room; remembering, too, the stolen kiss, the 
 whispered words. And, as she looked, the dark 
 eyes gazing out upon her had seemed to , flash 
 the question back again. 
 
 " Whynotr 
 
 She had finished shelling her peas, and was 
 sitting with her hands clasped idly upon the 
 bowl, lingering for just another moment before 
 she went into the cottage. It w^as half after
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 193 
 
 seven by the day, later still by the kitchen 
 clock, which was always a good half hour 
 beforehand. But the June evenings were long. 
 Mr. Pelham might come even yet, and she was 
 ■unwilling, if he did, to lose the first glimpse of 
 his approaching figure. There was an exquisite 
 abandon in her attitude, softened as it was, not 
 by physical weariness, but by the first lassitude 
 of hope deferred. Her head, with its dark 
 abundant hair knotted loosely round it, lay 
 back against the trellis of the porch ; and, from 
 the rounded throat, down to the shapely feet 
 flecked over by the sunlight that fell upon the 
 sanded flags, nothing could be more perfect in 
 its repose and grace than her figure, set off as 
 it was to only the more advantage by the plain- 
 ness of the blue linsey gown which was her 
 every-day attire. 
 
 A single red rose was the only ornament she 
 wore. It lent a piquancy to her simple cos- 
 tume, and gave the dash of colour which her 
 fine eye told her was required. She had fastened 
 it into the bosom of her dress, wondering as she 
 did so whether Mr. Pelham would perhaps care 
 for it as Ralph Burton had cared for the roses 
 
 VOL. I. .
 
 194 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 she had let him have on Sunday. She closed 
 her eyes for a moment with a half regretful 
 pang as the thought came to her. Poor Ralph ! 
 Perhaps her father had been right in saying she 
 was a little hard to him. And then she half 
 started and looked up, for there was a step 
 beside her, and a voice, and Mr. Pelham was 
 standing there ! 
 
 She had been watching for him down the 
 woodland path, and, as it chanced, he had 
 crossed by the plank over the brook at the back 
 of the house. The pointer pup, which had been 
 lying asleep in the porch, sprang up and began 
 barking vociferously ; her father, too, who had 
 seen the young man as he passed the window, 
 had come out into the porch to meet him. 
 Madge felt the colour rush to her cheeks as she 
 hurriedly arose. It was provoking to be taken 
 so by surprise. She had intended, when Mr. 
 Pelham came, to receive him with a little air of 
 indifference, and had arranged her role accord- 
 ingly. For Madge was a born coquette, and, 
 though only a rustic beauty in a linsey gown 
 and thick-soled shoes, no high-born Belgraviau 
 belle could be more conscious of her power to
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 195 
 
 charm, or more disposed to make a despotic use 
 of the advantages with which nature's kind 
 caprice had dowered her. 
 
 Apparently, however, Mr. Pelham was more 
 an fait in the art of seeming than she was 
 herself. 
 
 "Good evening, Brown," he said, with his 
 gay, good-humoured smile, and a friendly nod, 
 which seemed to include both the keeper and 
 his daughter. " You will guess my errand, T 
 daresay. I mean to have your pup, after all. 
 I don't really want it, for one thing, and it is 
 rather too high a price for another ; but it has 
 taken my fancy, and I can't let it slip." 
 
 " Very good, sir,'^ said the keeper, in his 
 slow, gruff way, as Pelham proceeded to draw 
 out his purse, and counted down the money. 
 
 ''^Four pounds ten ; and I think the pup may 
 as well stay where it is for the present. I am 
 going up to town to-morrow, and I had rather 
 you had the charge of it ; at all events, until I 
 come back in September." 
 
 '^Very good, sir," said Giles again. "Won't 
 yon step inside, sir, and sit down a bit?" 
 
 But Mr. Pelham preferred remaining where 
 
 o2
 
 196 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 he was, to stepping inside_, whither Madge_, wha 
 had recovered her self-possession and stood now 
 looking as cool and careless as he was himself,, 
 might perhaps not choose to follow. He threw 
 himself down, a little wearily, on the bench in 
 the porch, and took off his hat, for the evening 
 was warm, and he had evidently been walking 
 both fast and far. 
 
 "I tell you what, Brown," he said, as he 
 pushed back the hair from his heated brow, ^' I 
 should uncommonly like a glass of your good 
 ale, if you will give it me." 
 
 '' To be sure, sir. Madge will fetch you one 
 in a minute. And you may bring me a drop 
 too," added Giles, as Madge, not sorry for the 
 excuse, disappeared into the kitchen, whence 
 she presently returned, bearing with her a jug 
 of foaming ale and a couple of pewter mugs, 
 polished as bright as any silver. 
 
 She had fortified herself on the way by a glance 
 into the little mirror that hung behind the door, 
 and came back now with a glow of pride upon 
 her cheek, and a step as stately and elastic as 
 that of some young gipsy queen. She might 
 have spared the glance, however, for the young
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 197 
 
 Squire's looks, as she filled one of the mngs and 
 handed it to him, told her a more flattering 
 tale than the little dim mirror could possibly 
 have done. He thanked her, too, with such 
 ^ay politeness, and apologised with so much 
 concern for the trouble he was giving her, that 
 Madge could not help feeling her importance 
 considerably enhanced by this delightful defer- 
 fjnce. 
 
 Mr. Pelham, it was clear_, had found that it 
 would not do to be too presuming, and was 
 beginning to treat her more as if she were 
 already the lady which it was quite possible she 
 might one day be. If she had been Miss Marjory 
 Daylmer herself, he could not, Madge thought, 
 have shown himself more perfectly the gentle- 
 man than he was now. And yet^ there was no 
 mistake about it, he was admiring her with every 
 look. Not with words, of course ; he knew 
 better than that. But compliments can be paid, 
 when necessary, without the help of pretty 
 speeches, and Mr. Pelham was paying them now 
 in a way that made Madge feel on extremely 
 good terms with herself and him. 
 
 What was poor Ralph's bashful homage
 
 198 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 compared with this delicious incense that was 
 breathing round her now? How tame and flat 
 it seemed, that humdrum, patient love, with the 
 little farm and the dairy and the butter-making 
 at the end of it_, beside the splendid visions that 
 were shaping themselves more and more dis- 
 tinctly every moment now. For why, unless 
 she had dreamed aright, should Mr. Pelham 
 stay on so long sitting there beside her father^ 
 as if he were quite at home with them ? Talk- 
 ing, too, in such a friendly, almost confidential 
 way about his plans and prospects ; about the 
 management of the estate, and what he should 
 like to have done if he had things more his own 
 way; how he would not trouble himself over 
 draining and reclaiming patches of scrubby 
 moorland that were better left for sheep-runs, 
 and how he wished the game were kept up 
 better on the estate, and poaching more sharply 
 looked after — a wish with which, of course, her 
 father quite fell in? And why should he go on 
 to speak of the dulness of the Priory House, 
 and of the shut-up life his father led_, and how 
 different things would have been had his mother 
 lived ? And why should he glance towards her so
 
 THE blackbird's SONG. 199 
 
 often with that meaning look^ makiog her heart 
 each time give such a plunge beneath her linsey 
 bodice ? Did he wish her to understand that if 
 he were not ashamed of his mother, and of her 
 lowly birth, neither would he be ashamed of the 
 same in her ? 
 
 Madge thought he did. And as dayhght 
 faded out, and twihght fell, and still they all 
 sat together in the soft sweet summer gloam- 
 ing, she felt his eyes resting so often admiringly 
 upon her, and was conscious altogether of such 
 an atmosphere of flattering regard, that if Mr. 
 Pelham had been some rustic beau, instead of 
 the young heir of the Priory House, she would 
 have been quite certain that his fancy had been 
 caught. 
 
 It was growing dusk before he made a move 
 to go. The keeper had just gone inside the 
 kitchen to put a billet on the fire, and, at the 
 same moment, Pelham rose. 
 
 " I could sit here another hour," he said, '^ but 
 I have fifty things to do after I get home 
 to-night." 
 
 And then, in a lower tone, and bending to- 
 wards Madge, he added.
 
 200 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 " I want a rose for my button-hole. Won't 
 you give me this ?" 
 
 He touched lightly the one she wore in her 
 dress, looking at her^ as he spoke, with a gay, 
 entreating smile. Madge blushed and hesitated. 
 Then quickly, for she heard her father's foot- 
 steps turning towards the door, she took the 
 rose from her bosom, and gave it to the young 
 man. 
 
 As quickly Pelham seized it, thanking her 
 with a glance, and had stepped outside the 
 cottage porch before the keeper re-appeared. 
 
 " Good night, Brown, good night," he said. 
 " I have kept you too long from your supper, I 
 am afraid." 
 
 And nodding lightly over his shoulder, and 
 casting a careless smile behind him, the young 
 Squire strolled off, adjusting his rose as he went 
 along.
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MORNING IN THE ^YOODS. 
 
 rpHE Canon had said quite truly that the 
 -*- little village of Marholra, quiet and even 
 dull as it might seem to the stranger's eye, was 
 not exactly a spot in which to court seclusion. 
 You might as well have tried to hide the sun in 
 the sky as to conceal the fact that a visitor had 
 taken up his abode at the ''Danvers' Arms." 
 Before Hugh had been in residence a week he 
 had been discussed all over, from the crown of 
 bis head to the sole of his foot. Indeed, in the 
 w^hole parish, hardly a man, woman, or child 
 could have been found who had not contrived 
 somehow to get a passing glimpse, or to make 
 a leisurely inspection of him. Female heads 
 were popped out of cottage doors, or raised
 
 202 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 surreptitiously over window-blinds, as the fresh 
 arrival passed along; petticoated urchins ran 
 out into the street, and, with fine unceremonious- 
 ness, took a comfortable stare ; the labourers 
 stood up in the furrows and watched him, 
 as he strolled along, in his grey tweed suit, 
 with his artist's paraphernalia slung across his 
 shoulder. Even the dogs made up to him, and 
 sniffed inquiringly about his legs, and the very 
 kine and oxen, perceiving the phenomenon as 
 they grazed knee-deep in the fat pasture fields, 
 raised their heads and regarded him w^ith a look 
 of calm, bovine curiosity. Above all, at church, 
 where he had unwarily planted himself just by 
 the chancel door, in a seat facing down the 
 aisle, he found himself a mark for almost as 
 many pairs of eyes as there were heads in the 
 congregation. A stranger in their midst was 
 evidently an innovation on the established 
 order of things, to which the rustic mind took 
 some little time to adjust itself. 
 
 It did so at last, however, and in kindly 
 fashion, too. 
 
 " He's one o' the raight soort^ is yon," said 
 old Humphrey Blenkinsop, the spokesman of
 
 MORNING IN THE WOODS. 203' 
 
 the little knot of patriarchs who gathered on 
 the green, and a personage much looked up to 
 as being more weatherwise than anyone else in 
 Marholm. '^He's of a good mek of stuff; noan 
 o^ your fine folks' nonsense aboot him. I'se 
 warrant him to weer Avell, fine weather or foul." 
 
 And the Marholm folk accepted Humphrey's 
 verdict as in the main agreeing with that which 
 they had individually formed ; and, figuratively 
 speaking, they bestowed on the new comer the 
 freedom of the place, gave him back honest good- 
 will in return for his own, and, in short, took to 
 him as kindly and completely as he had shown 
 himself disposed to take to them. 
 
 That was a comfortable beginning of things. 
 Hugh felt the genial atmosphere as one feels 
 the sunshine in the air, and worked the better 
 for it. There was a subtle stimulus in the looks 
 of tacit or open friendliness which, from the 
 rectory down to the big kitchen of the '' Dan- 
 vers' Arms," he everywhere encountered ; a suf- 
 fused sense of fellowship that reduced to a 
 minimum the friction of daily life, and left every 
 power free to play at ease. It was astonishing 
 to himself how easily his work swung on, what
 
 204 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 force and energy he found himself able to put 
 forth; an energy to an artist so needful, 
 especially at the commencing stage of a picture, 
 when the creative faculty is put to its utmost 
 strain, and any initial feebleness of conception 
 must leave its trace in the iaipoverishment of 
 the completed task. 
 
 It was a glorious June, one such as Hugh 
 thought he had never since his boyhood known. 
 Rain came sometimes, but it came softly in the 
 night, leaving the morning to break only the 
 more resplendently. And it was this morning 
 effect that he was, above all, anxious to secure 
 in his picture ; the crisp, fresh clearness of the 
 woodland in that sweet beginning of the day 
 when the dew still lies on moss and bracken ; 
 when each tiniest flowercup holds unexhaled its 
 sparkle of golden light, while overhead every 
 leaf in the foliaged vault is quivering to the 
 breeze, and laughing in the sun-filled air. No 
 doubt, the long slant sunset rays gave richer 
 effects of warmth and colouring. He had been 
 tempted at first to paint the woods at eventide, 
 all steeped in the mellow slumberous light, 
 but afterwards he had given up the thought.
 
 MORNIXG IN THE WOODS. 205 
 
 Perhaps it was the stroDg, full tide of energy and 
 hope, pouring through his veins and vivifying 
 all his life just now, that made him feel more 
 in accord with the commencing than with the 
 declining day. Each morning broke for him 
 like a bridegroom coming forth from his chamber, 
 rejoicing like a strong man to run a race ; and 
 wisely he chose his task according to his mood. 
 He had a shed put up in the Chase^ at a spot 
 commanding the glen and upland which he had 
 selected for his subject; a sort of log "shanty," 
 like that of an American backwoodsman, roughly 
 knocked together, but substantial enough to 
 turn the rain, and sufficiently commodious to 
 hold both himself and the square yards of 
 canvas which he had stretched for the picture. 
 He had divers rude appliances for comfort, too ; 
 not unnecessary, considering that for two or 
 three months to come the shanty would have to 
 serve him as a home during the greater part of 
 every day. For every available hour he wanted 
 to spend at his easel ; indeed, when the day was 
 fine, after dispatching his six o'clock breakfast 
 in Mrs. Boynton's sunshiny parlour, he did not 
 often find his way back until dinner time came.
 
 206 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Toiind at six o'clock again. Nay, sometimes it 
 -was later even than that. For, if he chanced to 
 he more than usually absorbed in what he was 
 about, he would paint on till sundown surprised 
 him, and, pausing at his task, would wake up 
 io the fact that it was near two hours past the 
 time when he was due at the " Danvers' Arms." 
 There was a larder, to begin with^ improvis- 
 ed out of a hollow in an immense beecli-tree, 
 whose huge grey bole, gigantic in its girth, 
 formed the greater part of one end of the hut. 
 Another hollow underneath, lined with a natural 
 growth of softest, coolest moss, might have 
 lieen intended for a miniature wine-cellar, so 
 admirably did it answer the purpose to which it 
 was now applied. Hugh was no Sybarite. His 
 commissariat seldom extended beyond a loaf of 
 Mrs. Boynton^s home-made bread, and a well- 
 cut portion of one of the excellent Stiltons for 
 which the farmers^ wives in the neighbourhood 
 were famous. Still lunch of some sort in the midst 
 of a twelve hours' fast is a thing which even 
 artistic genius cannot quite dispense with. For 
 it is a fact that, if the brain is to distil its subtle 
 quota of creative force, it must be liberally sup-
 
 MORNING IN THE WOODS. 207 
 
 plied with that physical pabulum which it is the 
 part of its humbler associates to provide. A 
 fact which Hugh knew full well, and prudently 
 fell-to about mid-day, and that in no stinted 
 fashion either, upon his frugal fare, which, 
 washed down by a bottle of light wine, never 
 failed to afford him an excellent repast. 
 
 A wooden shelf served him for a table. 
 Chairs he had none. When he was at work he 
 liked to stand before his easel, so as to have the 
 full command of every limb; and this attitude 
 his well-knit muscles and a finely-poised frame 
 made easy to him, so that even the old camp- 
 stool which did duty for the well-stuffed easy- 
 chair of more luxurious studios, was somewhat 
 of a superfluity in his modest establishment. 
 But a couch he .had, luxurious enough ; for the 
 burly beech, most accommodating of trees, 
 curved forth its projecting roots in a way that 
 might almost have seemed to indicate some 
 pre-established harmony with the sinuosities of 
 the recumbent human form. Covered with a 
 bear-skin rug, no better lounge could be desired 
 for half an hour's siesta, or for indulgence in a 
 lazy pipe.
 
 208 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 These, with a miscellaneous litter of artists' 
 materials, oils, colours, brushes, rags, palettes, 
 and the like, completed the inventory of his 
 sylvan abode ; and hither daily Hugh repaired, 
 flinging himself upon his task like a lion on its 
 prey, each morning returning to it with fresh 
 zest and energy, and braced continually to 
 further effort by the consciousness that_, so far, 
 he was succeeding, almost beyond his hopes^ in 
 transferring to canvas the beauty of the scene 
 before him. 
 
 Lord Danvers would be satisfied, thoroughly 
 so. Hugh felt sure of that. He knew it by 
 that noble content in his work, as far removed 
 from vulgar complacency as from the disquiet 
 of baffled toil, which the true artist feels when 
 he has seized and fixed his own ideal. The 
 picture, if it were finished as he had begun it, 
 would be worth more^ even as the work of a 
 comparatively unknown artist, than the three 
 hundred pounds which had been settled as the 
 price of his commission. If it were exhibited 
 next spring, as he might hope it would be, this 
 " Morning in the Woods,^' shining in all its dewy 
 splendour from the Academy walls, might win
 
 MORNING IN THE WOODS. 209 
 
 for him name and fame, and place him at once 
 well up in the ranks of those who had made 
 their mark in the world of Art. His pulses 
 quickened at the thought. That was a goal 
 worth striving for. And then_, too — for fame 
 seldom comes empty-handed — he might snap his 
 fingers at those wretched dealers who had been 
 the plague of life to him hitherto, grinding him 
 down to part with his pictures for little more 
 than the cost of their production, and might 
 fill his hands for the future with commissions 
 direct from liberal purchasers. 
 
 Hugh was a genuine artist. He painted as 
 the birds sing, for very love of it ; and, if he 
 could have had his will, would never have sold 
 a single picture, keeping them by him as a man 
 would keep his children round his hearth. To 
 part with even a sketch to one of those bar- 
 gaining dealers, who would look upon it only in 
 the light of a marketable commodity, gave him 
 a pang as if he were passing it through the fire 
 to Aloloch. Yet now, as he paused before his 
 easel, and drew back, brush in hand, to consider 
 the effect of his advancing work, he found him- 
 self continually going off into calculations of 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 A SYLVAN QUEEN.- 
 
 the price which the success of his present work 
 might embolden him to set upon another, and 
 on the amount of work which he could turn 
 out in a year, supposing he were lucky enough 
 to get a run of good commissions. 
 
 Not that anything in the air of Marholm was 
 making him more mercenary than of old. Money 
 in the abstract was no more an object of attrac- 
 tion than ever it had been. Hugh was one who 
 had always sat easily to the superfluities of life. 
 He had managed somehow to keep in his pocket 
 enough to pay his way as he went along, and 
 his easy, half Bohemian life asked but little 
 for either luxury or need. AVith his brush in 
 his hand, and his old tanned meerschaum for 
 companion, he had faced the world contentedly; 
 and to have made a thousand pounds on a 
 picture, instead of a hundred, would have been 
 rather a source of perplexity than otherwise, as 
 involving him in an embarrassing superfluity of 
 cash. 
 
 But he could not deny, even to himself, that 
 he was beginning to look with a new respect on 
 money as a power. The fact was continually 
 obtruding itself upon him that a man whose
 
 MORNING IN THE WOODS. 211 
 
 annual income is hardly worth meutioning, 
 must shut his eyes to a good deal which he might 
 otherwise permit himself to contemplate. He had 
 done so himself in the past. Art had been his 
 mistress, the only one he had cared to serve ; and, 
 following her, he had scarcely felt inclined to 
 diverge into more flowery paths, from the rough 
 and beaten track which his narrow fortunes 
 had marked out for him. But a man can seldom 
 with any certainty forecast his future from his 
 past. Since his first visit at the rectory — Nay, 
 from the hour when he had leaned with folded 
 arms on that five-barred gate in the Chase, 
 watching the grey-clad figure passing quietly 
 out of sight — he had been conscious of an in- 
 fluence as subtle as it was persistent, impelling 
 his thoughts, almost against his will, in a direc- 
 tion which he was fain to acknowledge it would 
 be utterly impossible to pursue, except in con- 
 nection with a considerable increase in the 
 profits of his profession. 
 
 It was natural, of course, to speculate on the 
 somewhat improbable possibility of an immediate 
 largesse from Fortune's hand. Artists do leap 
 sometimes into celebrity on the strength of a 
 
 r2
 
 212 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 single picture ; and what others had done he 
 might do himself. Three months ago his 
 present commission had seemed to him a splen- 
 did thing. Who could say but that three years 
 hence he might be able to set a price of as many 
 thousands on a picture as now he was glad to 
 get hundreds? It might be so; but no wise 
 man would count with any confidence on such 
 a chance being his. Common sense would not 
 be cajoled by imagination, however she might 
 flatter ; and Hugh had a good deal of straight- 
 forward, practical common sense, balancing the 
 imaginative element in his character. 
 
 To fall in love with Miss Elphinstone would 
 be clearly a folly, so clearly that he hardly felt 
 himself in danger of committing it. Indeed, the 
 very consciousness of being on his guard made 
 him feel it the less incumbent on him to hold his 
 thoughts in too strict a leash, when they 
 swerved aside, as continually they did, to play 
 about that enchanting form. Hugh, in his own 
 way, had pride enough for the descendant of a 
 hundred earls. He would have scorned to 
 marry a girl whose fortune and position were 
 above his own ; and, in his present circum-
 
 MORNING IN THE WOODS. 213 
 
 etanceSj to have even dreamed of waking love 
 ill the heart of the Canon's niece would have 
 seemed to him a cowardly Idche, an absolute 
 breach of honour on his part, and betrayal of 
 the trust tacitly reposed in him. He had said 
 to himself, from the beginning, that the thought 
 •was not to be entertained. He did not mean to 
 entertain it. But that he found this girl most 
 exquisitely sweet and fair, full of all tender and 
 perfect grace, was no reason, surely, for rushing 
 into folly in an opposite direction, by churlishly 
 rejecting the Canon's proffered hospitality, and 
 shuttinghimself out altogether from the rectory. 
 He would lash himself to the mast safely, he 
 could trust himself for that, and listen to the 
 magic voice which just now was sounding soft 
 and low through every chamber of his soul.
 
 214 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE canon's guest. 
 
 A DANGEROUS resolution, perhaps. But a 
 -^ man, a youug man especially, does not 
 often] contemplate the possibility of being mas- 
 tered by an inclination which he has determined 
 to resist. Besides, our artist reasoned, he could 
 hardly make a hermit of himself altogether ; and 
 though a modicum of attention had been shown 
 him by the half-pay officers and the elderly 
 dames and gentlemen who inhabited the houses 
 at the upper end of the village, and even by 
 one or two of the country gentlemen in the 
 neighbourhood, still the rectory was the only 
 house at which society was offered to him of a 
 kind that he would care to cultivate. It was
 
 THE CANON^S GUEST. 2 1 5 
 
 such a thoroughly hospitable house too, such a 
 perfect English home; and to a man who, like 
 Hugh, had been buifeted about a good deal in 
 the world, and with a disposition naturally 
 kindly had been compelled to see more of the 
 rough than of the gentle side of life, that in 
 itself was a strong attraction. Go when he 
 would, he always found a welcome, from the 
 Canon especially ; so that after the first week or 
 two of his residence at Marholm there were not 
 many evenings that did not find him at the 
 rectory, if it were only for five minutes' chat 
 with the ladies on the lawn, or a turn round the 
 garden with the Canon, who was fond of a 
 peripatetic post-prandial cigar. 
 
 Dinner itself he generally excused himself 
 from, though invitations were pressed cordially 
 enough upon him. He was such an uncertain 
 mortal, he said. He never could be sure before- 
 hand that, just when he wanted to put down 
 his brush, something in his work would not im- 
 peratively require his keeping at it for another 
 hour. But afterwards, when the more formal 
 repast was over, and everyone, as was the
 
 216 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 custom at the rectory, down even to Rouse 
 and Marjory's kitten, had turned out to enjoy 
 the sunset hour in that deUcious, old-fashioned 
 garden, it became almost an understood thing 
 that, if nothing stood in the way on either side, 
 Mr. Beverley should join the little group, to 
 have a cup of Miss Millicent's coffee, and to 
 smoke a friendly cigar with the Canon, as they 
 sat under the great walnut-tree on the lawn, or 
 sauntered through the shrubbery- walks. 
 
 No one could be a more agreeable companion 
 than Hugh when he found himself among people 
 with whom he could feel thoroughly at home. 
 He had a travelled ease of manner, a genuine 
 honJiomie, that seemed to warm all the atmo- 
 sphere about him ; a dash of humour, too, in 
 his ways occasionally, mellowing his speech and 
 giving a flavour of enjoyment to the merest 
 nothings of the hour. Such peals of laughter 
 rang out sometimes from under the shadow of 
 the walnut-tree as seriously to chagrin old 
 Caleb, who considered the dignity of his 
 master's establishment in danger of being 
 compromised thereby, and who would keep an 
 uneasy look-out at such times down the rectory
 
 THE canon's guest. 217 
 
 lane, lest an}^ of the village folk, passing 
 within earshot^ should be tempted into irreverent 
 remark. 
 
 The Canon's views, however, differed from 
 those of his trusty old servitor. There was no 
 finer test, he used to say, of a man's character, 
 or of a woman's either, than the power of hearty 
 laughter; fit time and place, of course, being 
 given. Surface cachinnation there might be, 
 both loud and long; but no shallow nature, he 
 maintained, was capable of that honest, whole- 
 souled laughter, wanting which the man himself 
 was incomplete. Only from depths within could 
 that glorious foam arise. 
 
 And yet at the heart of him there was 
 gravity enough in Hugh to meet the Canon's 
 deeper moods. Life had been no summer pastime 
 to him, any more than to the older man. He had 
 seen and known too much of its mystery and 
 strife, its baffling disappointments, its profound 
 and sad enigmas, to be no more than the com- 
 panion of a careless hour. Much discourse they 
 had, as they paced together up and down the 
 laurel-walk, on what his friends ^vere wont to 
 term "the Canon's Hobbies ;" things that the
 
 218 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 clerical conscience^, whether rightly or wrongly^ 
 generally holds itself supremely indifferent to, 
 but which the Rector of Marholm was terribly 
 in earnest about, pondering over them incessant- 
 ly, writing on them, labouring at them with all 
 his might. Much to the prejudice of his 
 own interests, people said. A good stirring 
 pamphlet on the Endowment of Bishoprics, or a 
 treatise on the Authority of the Ecclesiastical 
 Courts, would be far more likely to pave the 
 way to promotion than all this boring of 
 himself and others with plans for housing the 
 labouring poor or bringing up pauper children, 
 for the repression of crime, or the regulation of 
 the traffic in drink. If indeed a clergyman, 
 more especially a dignitary of the Church, was 
 justified in meddling at all with such purely 
 secular matters. 
 
 The Canon thought otherwise. He was apt 
 on a good many points, though by no means a 
 combative or disputatious man, to differ con- 
 siderably from the opinions that passed current 
 in the w^orld around him. Christianity, he held, 
 Avould never be a supreme power in the world 
 until man's duty to man was taught as distinctly
 
 THE canon's guest. 21^ 
 
 and urgently as its Founder himself had taught 
 it. Not love to the invisible God alone, but 
 love to the visible Neighbour too, must be the 
 rule of life ; and every nest of foul_, dilapidated 
 bouses in which the helpless poor were lodged, 
 every pauper orphan shut out from the charities 
 of a home, every sixpence taken for drink 
 served out to a drunken wretch, should be as 
 the groan of the man lying by the wayside 
 stripped and robbed and wounded. And if the 
 priest and Levite passed him by, woe be to 
 them ! for at their hands his blood should be 
 required. 
 
 That was the Canon's theory, and his prac- 
 tice too ; being, as all might know^ a man wha 
 had the courage of his convictions, and who 
 shaped his life by his belief. And this truth to 
 himself it was which had so attracted him to 
 Hugh, iu whom he found the like, and had set 
 open the rectory gate to the young man as a 
 frequent and welcome guest. 
 
 But it was under the walnut-tree on the lawn, 
 when they were all chatting gaily or quietly 
 together, or reading aloud as they often did, or 
 silently enjoying the peace and stillness of the
 
 220 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 sunset hour, that Hugh's pleasantest hours were 
 passed. They all felt so at home with one 
 another. That was the great charm of the 
 rectory; and if at times some sHght shadow of 
 distance folded round Marjory, or just a hint of 
 hauteur or seeming caprice disclosed itself in 
 her demeanour towards himself, to Hugh's 
 willing fancy it was no more than the little 
 thorn upon the rose, and did but heighten the 
 sense of her after-graciousness. For she was 
 gracious sometimes ; so sweet and winning in 
 her ways that Hugh found it a little hard to 
 keep the curb upon himself quite so tightly as 
 he wished. His coming was pleasant to her; 
 as indeed, to a girl living in a quiet country 
 parsonage, it was natural that it should be ; and 
 Hugh could not help knowing that it was so. 
 She liked the breeze of fresh life that he brought 
 in with him, stirring as it did the sunny calm in 
 which her days were passed. Above all, she 
 was grateful for the resource which his society 
 evidently was to her uncle. For, genial and 
 kindly as the Canon was, Marjory felt, with a 
 woman's keen perception, that he stood very 
 much alone in their little world. He had few
 
 THE canon's guest. 221 
 
 like-minded with himself, to whom he could 
 freely pour out the things that lay nearest to 
 his heart; and Hugh's attentive ear supplied 
 him with an outlet for much that was the daily 
 burden of his thought. 
 
 It always did Uncle Bernard good, so Marjory 
 used to say, to have a talk with some one who 
 could understand him. And there was never 
 a softer light upon her face^ or a sweeter 
 cadence in her voice, than when Hugh came 
 back for a word or two with the ladies, after 
 he and the Canon had been pacing the laurel- 
 walk, deep in discourse, for a longer time than 
 usual. Then if he ventured, as sometimes he 
 did, to ask for a song before he went away, he 
 was seldom put off with a refusal. And when 
 Marjory sang one song it was generally the 
 prelude to another, and another, until, before 
 she had ceased, twilight had often stolen on 
 them unawares. 
 
 She enjoyed it herself ; so did Miss Millicent, 
 as she sat purring her knitting-needles in the 
 cushioned bay of the great oriel window ; above 
 all, the Canon liked it too. It soothed and 
 rested him when the day was done to listen to
 
 222 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 the yonng clear voice, tender and deep some- 
 times, and rich with an iinconscions pathos. 
 
 " Go on, Marjory ; go on !" he wo aid say, if 
 the girl paused and turned round to them from 
 her seat at the piano, as if there was nothing 
 more to come. And Marjory was always ready 
 to obey her uncle's least behest. 
 
 At such times Hugh sat forgotten, content to 
 have it so. But Avhen the singing was ended, 
 and the Good-b3'es had been said, and he was 
 alone in the scented dusk, going down the gar- 
 den-path to the rectory gate, Marjory's voice 
 would still linger in his ear. And, as he took his 
 way homeward along the silent village street, 
 continually he found his steps keeping time to 
 some sweet or sad refrain which, like fragrance 
 in the air, seemed to fold him round and pene- 
 trate his very soul with languorous delight. 
 His discussions with the Canon were not often 
 remembered then ; and if his thoughts turned 
 to the picture slowly growing on its canvas 
 yonder in the Chase, it was chiefly in undefined 
 association with future prices. 
 
 Hugh w^as thirty years old, and had been 
 toughened by a good deal of knocking about in
 
 THE canon's guest. 223 
 
 life ; but, going back to bis lodgings after tbese 
 evenings at tbe rectoiy, tbe soft summer star- 
 ligbt raining down influence upon bim, be 
 became conscious, at times, of a yielding fibre 
 in tbe moral muscle of bis will. Tben, witb a 
 gesture of impatience at bis weakness, be would 
 sbake bimself out of bis unreal world, and balf 
 resolve to make a longer pause tban usual be- 
 tween bis visits. Sometimes be kept bis resolu- 
 tions ; but more frequently tbe next evening- 
 found bim at tbe rectory again, an expectant 
 and expected guest, braced anew against 
 temptation, and prepared afresb to expose bim- 
 self to its dangerous deligbts.
 
 22'i 
 
 CHAPTER XVl. 
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 
 
 *' /\H, dear, Mrs. Boyntc 
 ^' me !" cried Madge, 
 
 -nton, how you startled 
 Ige, as the good lady, ia 
 her coloury shawl and Sunday silk, sent her 
 voice before her from the garden -gate to the 
 porch, where, for the last half hour, Madge had 
 been sitting, her work dropped idly on her 
 knees, and her thoughts lost among the dreams 
 which were now so suddenly dispersed. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton laughed, and fanned her face 
 with her pocket-handkerchief, as she came up 
 the garden-path and deposited herself upon the 
 bench in the porch. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts/' she cried; 
 " they were off somewheres away from home,
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 225 
 
 I'll be bound. lu the new dairy at the Moor 
 Farm, maybe V 
 
 " They were nowhere near the Moor Farm, 
 Mrs. Boynton/' said Madge, ruffling up, a 
 little consciously. '' They are not so fond 
 of travelling that way as some folk seem to 
 think." 
 
 The landlady nodded her head with a know- 
 ing air. 
 
 " They might go farther and fare worse," she 
 returned_, her comely visage broadening into a 
 sagacious smile. '* But, however, that is your 
 business more than mine. I am not the woman, 
 and never was_, to put my key into other folk's 
 doors. I had as lief steal a sovereign as a 
 secret from them that hasn^t a mind to give 
 it me. But I have no time to stop talking now. 
 I just came round to see if you would walk with 
 me as far as the Priory House. The Squire has 
 gone up to London with Mr. Pelham, and I've 
 been promised ever so long to go and have tea 
 with Mrs. Mapperly when she had the house to 
 herself. I thought it would be a bit of a change 
 for you, and we should be company coming 
 home. It is lonesome over that moor by oue- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 self at nights, and it is enough to walk one's 
 legs off going round by the road." 
 
 Madge made a feint of hesitation. Her father 
 had gone to St. Bede's, she said, and would not 
 be back till late, and there had need be some 
 one at home to mind the house. But Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton's invitation was too welcome to be refused 
 in earnest. It fitted itself, with a sort of odd 
 surprise, to the thoughts that had been flitting 
 through her brain. Nay, it seemed almost like 
 a step towards shaping them into reality; for 
 was not the Priory the very stage itself on 
 which she had been treading in her dreams? 
 She yielded her scruples to a little friendly 
 pressure, folded up her work in token of con- 
 sent, and went indoors to change her blue 
 linsey for her Sunday gown, and make sundry 
 small additions to her toilette, such as the 
 formality of going out to tea required. 
 
 Mrs.Boynton eyed her approvingly when she 
 re-appeared. She was a wholesome, honest- 
 hearted woman, whose comely middle age did 
 not grudge to others the possession of that 
 youthful bloom which in herself had developed 
 into a somewhat expansive maturity.
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 227 
 
 " I do declare, Madge," she exclaimed, " I 
 never did see anyone your equal for doing 
 credit to a bit of dress. Not as you need it like 
 a many do ; for if you was to go about in a sack 
 you would contrive to look well in it. But, for 
 all thatv, a bit of dress does set you off. You 
 must make haste and get married, for it will be 
 as pretty a sight as ever there was in Marholm 
 church the day you are a bride." 
 
 " That's a poor reason as ever was for getting 
 married, Mrs. Boynton," said Madge, laughing, 
 as she locked the door and put the key in her 
 pocket. " If you can't find a better, I may as 
 well stay as I am." 
 
 " Nay, nay," rejoined the dame ; " you'll none 
 do that, reason or no reason. They are a poor 
 lot are the men, w^hen all's said and done ; but 
 we must either put up with them as they are 
 or do without them. And I will say, Madge, I 
 should like to see you settled down comfortable ; 
 and a good dairy, and a silk gown, and a house 
 of your own, and everything respectable, as a 
 girl like you has a right to look for." 
 
 Madge smiled a little loftily at this mild 
 enumeration of the honours and emoluments of 
 
 q2
 
 228 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 matrimony ; but she said nothing, and MrSe 
 Bo^mton, with a strong conjecture that her 
 penetration had not been in fault, got up, shook 
 out her ample skirts, and turned the current of 
 remark by declaring that her rest had made 
 her feel quite fresh again for her walk, and that 
 they had better be setting off. 
 
 It was a brilliant afternoon. The air out on 
 the moor was full of zest and freshness, the 
 larks were singing high up in the blue ; and at 
 the end of their walk, as Mrs. Boynton had fore- 
 told, there was a hearty welcome for them both 
 from Mrs. Mapperly. Visitors were few and far 
 between, and life somewhat of the dullest, at 
 the Priory House, and of all luxuries there were 
 none for which the Squire's housekeeper had a 
 keener relish than for a gossip with a friend 
 over a comfortable cup of tea. She had spied 
 her guests coming up the weedy walk that led 
 round to the side entrance, and herself was at 
 the door to greet them. She wore a limp black 
 silk dress, and bands of limp grey hair on either 
 side of her face, and presented altogether a 
 limp and washed-out aspect, as of a woman who 
 took her meals mostly by herself, and in whose
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 229 
 
 life there was a lack of that strong motive 
 power which in Mrs. Boynton conduced to such 
 decided energy of action. 
 
 Her slightly lugubrious countenance bright- 
 ened with almost pathetic satisfaction as she 
 ushered her company down a long, half-lighted 
 corridor and into her own peculiar sanctum. 
 Here Mrs. Boynton, whose stream of talk was 
 in full tide, sat down, and_, throwing back her 
 bonnet-stringSj declared that after their long- 
 walk nothing would be more acceptable than 
 the cup of tea which Mrs. Mapperly was solici- 
 tously suggesting should be prepared at once. 
 
 Excellent tea it was^ too ; strengthened on 
 the part of the elder ladies by the addition of 
 what Mrs. Mapperly euphemistically termed " a 
 spoonful of currant wine." 
 
 " Not as I allow myself to it other ways," she 
 observed, with an explanatory cadence in her 
 tone ; " without it was now and again a drop of 
 something warm at night. But in my tea I 
 do resort to it thankfully sometimes, for the air 
 of this house is depressing to that extent while 
 you might think you were living in a well." 
 
 " It's along of there being no lady at the
 
 230 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Priory House," said Mrs. Boynton, her rosy 
 visage beamiug under the influence of the 
 cheering beverage. "A house always feels lost 
 without it has a mistress of its own. The old 
 Squire had ought to have married again and 
 furnished up a bit, and had things comfortable 
 about him. But you will be having Mr. Pelham 
 married one of these days, Mrs. Mapperly, and 
 then there will be a change. It is three years 
 this Michaelmas since he come of age, and time 
 he was beginning to look about, if his father 
 means him to settle. It would make all the 
 difference in the world if the Squire had a nice 
 handsome young daughter-in-law to 'liven 
 things up a bit." 
 
 The housekeeper shook her head doubtfully. 
 ^' I don't see much chance of that, Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton ; without Mr. Pelham and his father were to 
 be a bit less contrairy than what they are now. 
 The Squire is as close with his money as if he 
 had to earn every penny that he spends, and he 
 Avould never go to the expense of a wife for 
 Mr. Pelham when he will scarce let him have 
 what he wants to keep himself upon." 
 
 " Then he stands in his own light, that's what
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 231 
 
 lie does," cried Mrs. Boynton, who, in common 
 with not a few of the Marholm folk, had a de- 
 cided leaning towards the impecunious but 
 affable young heir. " Where is the use of his 
 screwing and stinting that way, when there is 
 nobody but Mr. Pelham for it all ? I wouldn't 
 blame him if he had been left with a heavy 
 family on his hands, and nothing for them to 
 look to but what he could save off the estate 
 whilst he lived. It would be in the way of 
 duty then to pinch and scrape a bit, so as he 
 did it like a gentleman ; but there is neither 
 sense nor reason in it now. Mr. Pelham had 
 ought to be looking to settle, and let to go 
 courting; and there is Miss Marjory, his own 
 cousin, grown up ready for him, and a fortune 
 in her hand, and everything convenient. And 
 what would the Priory be then, Mrs. Mapperly, 
 with a young lady like her to hold things up, 
 and bring company to it, and turn it right end 
 uppermost again, as it hasn't been^ to my know- 
 ledge, for these thirty years and more?" 
 
 The housekeeper shook her head again with 
 a despondent smile. Mrs. Boynton pushed back 
 her chair from the table, and fanned herself with
 
 232 A SYLYAN QUEEN. 
 
 her pocket-handkerchief, Her tea and indigna- 
 tion together had made her warm. 
 
 " There's many a young man goes wrong," 
 she resumed, " with nothing but being reined 
 np over- tight at home. They will break loose 
 if they can, and Mr. Pelham has a deal of sperrit 
 in him. You mark my words, Mrs. Mapperly. 
 If the Squire don't give him his chances^ and 
 settle him down as a young gentleman in his 
 place has a right to look for, either he'll go to 
 the bad, right away, and there will be his debts 
 on the estate when he comes into it, or he'll 
 get picked up by some girl without a penny, 
 that will be willing to marry him on nothing, 
 and wait for the old man dropping off. There 
 are plenty would do that, gentle or simple ; for 
 a better-looking, aflfabler young gentleman you 
 needn't ask for than Mr. Pelham. He favours 
 his mother there_, though she wasn't quality 
 born. And that puts me in mind, Mrs. Mapperly, 
 I was saying to myself only the other da^^ that 
 next time I came here I would have a look at 
 her picture again, the one the Squire had painted 
 in Italy. And here is our Madge may see it too, 
 and then she can judge for herself whether she
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 233 
 
 was handsome or she wasn't ; for she has asked 
 ine oftens enough about her. Bless me," she 
 added, turning to the girl, " what a colour you 
 Lave, to be sure ! This room is warm, and that's 
 the truth_, Mrs. Mapperly, what with the walk, 
 and what with the tea." 
 
 " It will be cooler upstairs," said the house- 
 keeper. And her visitors having assured her 
 already that they could not possibly take an- 
 other cup, though pressed to do so on the plea 
 that the best of the tea remained in the pot, she 
 proposed that they should at once adjourn to 
 the Blue Parlour, where the family portraits 
 hung. 
 
 Their footsteps echoed as they went through 
 the unmatted corridor, and up the wide oaken 
 staircase of the dreary old mansion ; and the air 
 felt chill and unstirred around them, when the 
 housekeeper, selecting a key from the bunch 
 which she carried at her side, unlocked a pon- 
 derous double door, and ushered her guests into 
 a stately, half-lighted room, where the silent 
 company^ gazing at them from the massive 
 frames that lined the wall^ seemed blankly to 
 question this intrusion on their solitude. Madge
 
 234 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 felt her heart beat a little tremulously. She 
 glanced furtively around, impressed by the faded 
 splendour and funereal gloom, and then her 
 eyes were arrested by a brilliant, beaming face, 
 on which a flood of mellow sunlight poured, as 
 Mrs. Mapperly, who had stepped on tiptoe 
 across the room, raised one of the heavy 
 Venetian blinds that obscured the windows. 
 
 A vine-wreathed terrace, a background of 
 blue Italian sky, and^ standing out against it, a 
 golden head, a cloud of shining hair, and a tall, 
 imperially moulded figure, to which the sweep- 
 ing folds of an embroidered \Vatteau robe 
 lent a certain careless stateliness. It was the 
 low-born lady of the Priory House ! Madge 
 knew it by the likeness to the young Squire ; 
 and a sudden pang smote through her at sight 
 of the flashing beauty, which seemed for the 
 moment to crush her with a sense, unknown till 
 now, of mortified inferiority. 
 
 "Ay, that's her!" cried Mrs. Boynton, her 
 ringing tones dispelling the silence, as the sun- 
 light had dispersed the gloom. ^'How she 
 features Mr. Pelham, to be sure ! Anybody 
 may tell where he got his good looks from.
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 235^ 
 
 Dear, dear!" she added, dropping to a lower 
 key ; " one needn't wonder that the Squire was 
 took with her, struck all of a heap, Vyq heard 
 folks say, the very first time he set eyes on her. 
 Though that is not to say he should have 
 demeaned himself to marry her. Quality is 
 quality, I always say ; and commonalty is com- 
 monalty, be it as handsome as it may." 
 
 " But she wouldn^t look like that when she 
 lived up at Langley Pike ?" said Madge, glanc- 
 ing down at her own ninepenny calico, and 
 struggling desperately against the sense of 
 contrast between her humble self and this dazz- 
 ing dame, who, to her jealous fancy, seemed 
 eyeing her with looks of gay disdain. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton laughed. 
 
 " She didn't wear her satins and pearls, Til 
 warrant, when she was making butter and 
 scrubbing floors in her father^s cottage. But 
 there are some folk, same as I was saying to 
 you, Madge, it doesn't signify what they wear. 
 They'd look well in anything, be it a sack or a 
 satin gown." 
 
 *' She thought a deal about her dress, any- 
 how, did Madam ;" interposed the housekeeper. 
 "Hours and hours I've known her sit, studying
 
 236 A SYLYAX QUEEN. 
 
 Avbat would become her best, and trying on 
 this thing and that, till she had got everything 
 to her mind. And then what a picture she was, 
 to be sure ! I wouldn't Avish to disparage what 
 you was saying, Mrs. Boynton, but there's no 
 denying it, dress does make a difference. Now, 
 Madam was handsome enough for anything, 
 and if ever she looked so it was when I'd got 
 her sat down before the glass, with just her 
 muslin wrapper on, and her hair all tumbling- 
 down like yellow gold about her shoulders. 
 But it was dress made her look the lady, Mrs. 
 Boynton, like what she is in her portrait there." 
 "■Mrs. Mapperly," said the landlady, with the 
 air of a woman laying down the law on matters 
 which she well understood, '• that was along of 
 Madam not being quality to begin with. 
 There's Miss Marjory now. She is not what 
 you would call regularly handsome, though I 
 always say she is as sweet as a rose in 
 June, and she has the loveliest shapes, and a 
 step like a princess. But, let her wear what she 
 will, she is the lady, every inch of her. I've 
 seen her in a holland dress that hasn't cost as 
 much as this that Madge has on now, and a
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 237 
 
 straw hat with just a bit of brown ribbon round 
 the crown, and stood talking maybe to some 
 poor body on the green, and there was 
 * quality ' wrote on her as plain as the ' I 
 believe ' on the church Tables. It's bred and 
 born in her, Mrs. Mapperly, that^s what it is. 
 And if she was to marry to a title instead of to 
 Mr, Pelham, and there's no knowing but what 
 she may, she wouldn't need to be beholden, like 
 Madam there, to a satin train and a string of 
 pearls, to look the lady that she is." 
 
 '- That is true, Mrs. Boynton," returned the 
 housekeeper, apologetically, "and I wouldn't 
 go for to even them together. But I will say, 
 though she wasn't a lady born, no one could 
 look more like one than Madam, when she was 
 dressed up to it." 
 
 " I donH doubt it," replied the landlady, drily. 
 " ' Fine feathers make fine birds.' I'll be bound 
 for it our Madge would look as much like a 
 lady, if she was dressed up to it, as ever Madam 
 Elphinstone did." 
 
 ^' Me !" cried Madge, startled into speech by 
 this open assertion of what she had been secretly 
 cogitating herself.
 
 238 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 "To be sure," said the landlady, her face 
 brightening with a sudden thought. "Bless me! 
 why, truth is no flattery ; and, by what I remem- 
 ber of her, there is not a pin to choose between 
 you and Madam Elphinstone for looks. Mrs. 
 Mapperly, you'll excuse me, I know, but there 
 are them dresses of Madam's that you have laid 
 l)y in yon big wardrobe would be no worse for 
 being shook out a bit. We might go and have 
 a look at them, if you was agreeable. There is 
 nothing I enjoy more than seeing a bit of dress, 
 and Madge has a figure that would set them off 
 beautiful. She would do you credit, I know, if 
 you was to try your hand upon her, and nobody 
 would be the worse for their being put on just 
 for once." 
 
 Mrs. Mapperly looked aghast for a moment 
 at the sacrilegious suggestion, and then warmed 
 to the proposal. Certainly Madge did look 
 uncommonly handsome, and the temptation 
 of having this blooming young creature under 
 her hands^ and transforming her for the nonce 
 into an imaginary lady of the Priory House, 
 was more than she could resist. 
 
 " It would never do to mention it," she said,
 
 A SUDDEN THOUGHT. 239 
 
 fingering her keys with a cautionary air. " But 
 I don't see as there would be any harm, if it 
 was to obhge you, Mrs. Boynton ; and the things 
 do w^ant airing. I haven't had them opened 
 out since last spring was a twelvemonth." 
 
 Mrs. Boynton beamed triumphantly. 
 
 "It is time you had them looked at, then. 
 There's nothing mildews things like having 
 them folded up from year's end to year's end. 
 Come, Madge! We'll have you dressed out 
 while you won't know yourself again." 
 
 Madge tossed her head with an air of coquet- 
 tish indifference. She would not for the world 
 that anyone should know how the blood was 
 dancing at her heart at the bare idea of the 
 splendid transformation-scene in which she was 
 to bear a part ; or how she was longing, yet 
 fearing, too, to put herself to the test which 
 only the other day she had dreamed of in her 
 little attic at home as an unattainable delight. 
 
 " We could see the things just as well without 
 me trying them on," she said, inwardly quaking 
 lest she should be taken at her word. 
 
 But ^Irs. Boynton struck in with good- 
 humoured authority.
 
 240 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 " Just you hold your tongue, Madge, and do 
 as you are bid. We are out for a bit of pleas- 
 uring, and we may as well have it while we 
 have the chance. It isn't often that the Squire 
 is out of the way, and all convenient. Come, 
 Mrs. Mapperly, lead the way !"
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CINDERELLA. 
 
 1 TRS. MAPPERLY obeyed, nothing loath, and 
 -^'-^ convoyed her company again through the 
 long, resounding corridors, and up another 
 flight of the wide oak staircase, to the great 
 state bed-room, a solemn, silent apartment, look- 
 ing empty, swept, and garnished, as it had been 
 for the last twenty years or more. For since 
 the late Mrs. Elphinstone's death no guests ever 
 came to the Priory ; or if by chance a stranger 
 stayed all night, it was no one of more import- 
 ance than the Squire's man of business, or some 
 bachelor acquaintance of Mr. Pelham's who 
 might be put up anywhere. 
 
 Madge shivered a little, oppressed by the 
 same aspect of funereal gloom which had reigned 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 212 A SYLYAN QUEEN. 
 
 iu the Blue Parlour down below. Everything 
 in the room was dark and massive, and, to her 
 unaccustomed eyes, magnificent beyond any- 
 thing that she had ever seen before. The bed- 
 stead of black oak, richly carved, stood out with 
 its hangings of mulberry-coloured damask like 
 a huge catafalque into the room. Between the 
 shrouded windows was a dressing-table, set out 
 with costly toilet china and foreign glass, of 
 glowing tints and curious device, and bearing 
 two bronze candelabra, branching out on either 
 side of a tall mirror, in w^hich, as Madge entered 
 the room, she was startled by a vision of her 
 own figure, advancing as from some shadowy 
 distance towards her. The chairs and couches 
 w^ere covered with faded embroidery ; there 
 w^ere portraits on the walls, faded too ; and in 
 a recess on the further side of the room was an 
 immense armoire of black oak, which Mrs. Map- 
 perly approached, her footsteps falling soft and 
 soundless on the thick-plied carpet, and 
 solemnly unlocked. 
 
 A fragrant odour issued from the shelves 
 within, as the doors swung slowly open — a 
 scent of lavender and roses, whose dead sweet-
 
 CINDERELLA. 243 
 
 ness had lain prisoned there with the feminine 
 paraphernalia now so long unneeded and un- 
 worn. Madge went forward, fluttered and ex- 
 pectant, and looked on with eager eyes as the 
 housekeeper took out a limp white package of 
 portentous size, carefully enveloped in muslin, 
 and laid it upon the bed. 
 
 "That_," she said, in a muffled voice, ^^is the 
 identical pearl satin that Madam wore to have 
 her portrait took. And this," she added, bring- 
 ing forth another, " is the blue brocade that she 
 had made for Mr. Pelham's christening, and 
 never put on again, poor thing ! And this is 
 her black velvet, and, to my mind, the one she 
 always looked the best in, too." 
 
 " Ay, now ! Let us have a look at that first," 
 said Mrs. Boyntou, who had been drawing back 
 the window curtains with brisk decision, and 
 was now prepared to give her whole attention 
 lo the business in hand. " Never mind the 
 others just now : they only spoil one another to 
 gee them together. Ah, there's dress for you I" 
 she exclaimed, as the housekeeper, having re- 
 moved the muslin wrapping, shook out the 
 velvet folds, and displayed the robe in all its
 
 244 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 sable splendour to her guests. '' ^Vhy, a 
 duchess might be proud of it. We'll have it 
 tried on, Madge ; and see what sort of a lady 
 Mrs. Mapperly can make out of you. Nay, don't 
 be foolish, child !"' For Madge, with flushed 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, was still coyly 
 holding back from the magnificent ordeal. " It 
 -won't hurt you, nor the velvet either, to put it 
 on, and you'll never have such anotlier chance."" 
 
 Madge only w^aited to be persuaded, and, 
 finding that she could yield w^ith a good grace, 
 she slipped off the niuepenuy print, fallen sadly 
 now in her regards, and stood up in her short 
 white skirt and scarlet bodice, ready for Mrs. 
 Mapperly's transforming hand. 
 
 But even Mrs. Boynton could not refrain from 
 a cry of astonishment, when, a moment later, 
 the handsome head emerged from its cloud of 
 drapery, and the creamy shoulders rose in their 
 young smoothness above the velvet darkness of 
 the sumptuous robe, which Mrs. Mapperly, with 
 pursed-up lips and skilful hands, was busily 
 adjusting. 
 
 " My goodness gracious, Madge, why, I should 
 scarce have known you ! it is just, for all the
 
 CINDERELLA. 245 
 
 world, as if you had had a fairy godmother 
 touched you with her wand, as we used to read 
 in the story-books when I was a girl." 
 
 *' And fits her as if it had been made for her," 
 said the housekeeper, who was threading a lace 
 deftly in and out of innamerable eyelet holes. 
 '' She is Madam's figure exact. But good figures 
 are sure to match ; it is the poor ones that are 
 some one shape and some another. One will 
 be long and lank, and another thick-set, and 
 another has the shoulders over high, and an- 
 other has the back as round as a bolster. But 
 -a real handsome, well-made figure is like another 
 that is handsome and well-made, all the world 
 over; just one maybe a trifle stouter or slighter 
 perhaps than another. 
 
 " And your waist just the size of Madam's, 
 too/' continued the good lady, melting like a 
 deliquescent jelly mould into quite a flow of 
 reminiscence. " It wasn't a small waist. That 
 is to say, it wasn't small, according to what 
 ladies used to lace themselves to in those days, 
 pinched up, while you would wonder where all 
 their insides had got to. For it stands to reason 
 ladies have insides, same as other folk. Many
 
 246 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 is the good stroDg lace that I have broke id 
 my time over young ladies' waists ; and I will 
 say, when I have been dressing Madam, I have- 
 begged and prayed of her to let me tighten her 
 just the least bit, for I could have done it easily,, 
 and left her quite comfortable too. But, No I 
 ' Mapperly,' sheM say, 'it is all a mistake about 
 a tight waist being a beauty ; there is nothing 
 spoils a good shape like lacing tight. Just you 
 look at the Medicy Venus' she would say, for 
 we were living in Rome then, where there were 
 galleries full of pictures and statues, that I was 
 used to go to with her. ' That Venus is reck- 
 oned to be the most beautiful figure of a woman 
 in all the world, and her waist is twenty-seven 
 inches round, so donH you try to lace me down 
 
 to less.' 
 
 "And I never did," added the housekeeper, 
 
 " for she had a will of her own, had Madam. 
 
 She might have been a born Elphinstone, she 
 
 had such a will." 
 
 " Elphinstone or no Elphinstone, she w^as in 
 
 the right there,^' cried Mrs. Boynton. ''' I can't 
 
 abide the looks of a wasp waist myself. There 
 
 is always a bad digestion goes along wuth it, if
 
 CINDERELLA. 247 
 
 that is what you mean by being genteel ; and it 
 is ruination to the complexion, is a bad digest- 
 ion. You have done well not to spoil yours 
 that way, Madge. Dear me ! why, them shoulders 
 of yours are as if they were cut in ivory. It is 
 wonderful how that black velvet sets them off. 
 But doesn't there want a bit of lace, Mrs. Map- 
 perly, just for a finish ?" 
 
 *'To be sure there does," said the house- 
 keeper, who was settling the folds of the train 
 wdth professional gravity. " Black velvet asks 
 for lace, I always say; and there is Madam's 
 set of Venice point I thought of putting on her. 
 We^ll have her turned out complete, Mrs. 
 Boynton, while we are about it. And a flower 
 in her hair, and a pair of kid slippers, and 
 everything proper. And then she shall take a 
 look at herself in the glass." 
 
 " I shall be like Mrs. Boynton, I expect, and 
 hardly know myself again," said Madge, with 
 as much carelessness as she could assume. For 
 she felt her colour glowing, and her heart beat- 
 ing high with a tumult of expectation and 
 delight. " But you are giving yourself a deal 
 of trouble, Mrs. Mapperly."
 
 248 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 "Don't you talk of trouble. It's a pleasure," 
 returned the housekeeper, diving, as she spoke, 
 into one of the drawers of the armoire, and 
 bringing out the Venetian point. " I could al- 
 most think I was turned lady's-maid again, and 
 dressing up Madam for a dinner or a ball, as 
 I was used to do years and years ago. How 
 choice she was_, to be sure, over this set ! And 
 well she might, for it cost a heap of money. 
 But she knew what suited her, and, if it was to 
 ruin the Squire, have it she would ; as you may 
 judge, when I tell you that 3^ou have got over 
 a hundred pounds' worth of lace on you this 
 very minute." 
 
 " A hundred pounds' worth !" echoed Madge, 
 her eyes wandering vainly in the direction of 
 the mirror, which chanced to be so adjusted as 
 to reflect nothing but the portrait of an elderly 
 gentleman, in a bag wig and ruffles, who 
 appeared to be attentively surveying the 
 proceedings. 
 
 " And now something for your hair/' con- 
 tinued Mrs. Mapperly, searching in the armoire 
 again, and selecting thence a single crimson 
 rose, which she fastened amongst the girl's
 
 CINDERELLA. 24<) 
 
 lich raven tresses, Mrs. Bojiiton, ^vitll her 
 Lead on one side, critically regarding the opera- 
 tion, while Madge, trembling with repressed 
 curiosity, stood passive under her tirewoman's 
 hands. Then came the white kid slippers, 
 fitting like Cinderella's own to the arched and 
 rounded feet, whose fine contour even the Mar- 
 holm shoemaker's clumsy boots had not quite 
 concealed. And then the toilette was complete. 
 Mrs. Mapperly retired a few paces, the better 
 to note the general effect. Mrs. Boynton^s 
 rosy visage beamed with triumph. 
 
 " There now, Mrs. Mapperly ! didn't I say 
 that she would do credit to a bit of dress? I'll 
 warrant Madam herself never looked better in 
 them identical thiugs than what our Madge 
 does, standing there this very minute. Ay, 
 that's right, Madge. Come and take a look in 
 the glass. It isn't every day you have a chance 
 to see yourself in black velvet and lace." 
 
 Madge went, with a strange flutter at her 
 heart, eager yet half afraid of what the mirror 
 might reveal. It was all very well to have 
 Mrs. Boynton's assurance that she looked as 
 much of a lady as Madam herself had done.
 
 250 A SYLVAX QUEEN. 
 
 She craved her own assurance too ; and that, 
 not even the consciousness of being magnificent- 
 ly clad, nor the sweep of her velvet robe trail- 
 ing behind her as she walked, sufficed to give. 
 Handsome she knew she was. Mr. Pelham's 
 admiring eyes had confessed plainly enough 
 to the charm which her gipsy-like beauty 
 exerted over him ; but how would it be^ if he 
 could see her now ? Would he think her 
 awkward and foolish-looking in her unaccus- 
 tomed grandeur, a daw in peacock's plumes? 
 Or did dress really make such a difference as to 
 leave nothing for him to be ashamed of, if — 
 and her colour deepened at the thought which 
 was growing almost at home in the secret of 
 her bosom now — if he should do as the old 
 Squire had done before him, and take his wife 
 from a cottage home to be mistress of the 
 Priory?" 
 
 A moment she stood, scarcely daring to look 
 up. Then her lips parted with a quick breath 
 of amazement and delight as she raised her 
 eyes, and the whole dazzling vision burst at 
 once upon her. 
 
 In the little looking-glass that stood upon the
 
 CINDERELLA. 25 L 
 
 chest of drawers in her attic at home, it had 
 been, of course, impossible to obtain more than 
 a piecemeal prospect of her face and figure. 
 Indeed, it was only by a considerable amount of 
 adjustment that she could succeed in including 
 more than her head and a portion of her fine 
 sloping shoulders in the same field of view. 
 But in this ample expanse she saw reflected, 
 from head to foot, what seemed to her the most 
 superb-looking creature she had ever in her life 
 beheld. With a figure like that of a young 
 princess, and dark eyes flashing with excite- 
 ment, and a rich, w^arm bloom as of a nectarine 
 ripening on a sunny w^all. And ah ! how lovely 
 those rounded arms, and smooth soft shoulders- 
 looked in their setting of filmy lace ; and what 
 magnificence there was altogether in that 
 velvet gown, sweeping so grandly down to the 
 ground ; and then that little white-slippered 
 foot peeping out. How charming and how 
 w^onderful it was ! 
 
 Mrs. Boynton well might say she was one to 
 do credit to a bit of dress. If, indeed, that 
 really was herself, Madge Brown, standing in 
 such splendour there ! looking, if possible, more
 
 252 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 beautiful, and certainly quite as much the lady as 
 eA^en the pictured presence in the room below. 
 Ashamed of her ! And Madge drew back her 
 head with a gesture of coquettish pride. Mr. 
 Pelham would have no reason for that. It was 
 only a pity he could not see her now, to judge 
 for himself how well she would be able to take 
 her place among the quality when the time 
 came to do so ; as come it must, and should. 
 For ^ladge was feeliog, in that first exultant 
 moment, as if a sceptre had been suddenly put 
 into her hand, which she needed only to stretch 
 forth, and all that she had dreamed of would be 
 hers. 
 
 '^ I do declare, it's as good as a play," broke 
 in Mrs. Boynton, who had noticed the girl's 
 triumphant pleasure in herself. '' I wouldn't 
 have missed it for ever so much. You ought to 
 have been born a lady, Madge ; that's the truth. 
 For I never did see how you carry it off." 
 
 "There's many a lady born wouldn't carry it 
 as well," said Mrs. Mapperly, with a look of 
 almost pathetic complacency. " They've poor 
 figures, has a many of them, all padding and 
 whalebone. You might as well dress a clock-
 
 CINDERELLA. 253 
 
 case, and expect it to look well, as try to turn 
 them out passably, take what pains you will- 
 Dear, dear ! and to think of shoulders like thera 
 being wasted, as you may say, and never no one 
 to see them from year's end to j^ear's end. Why,, 
 they would be worth a thousand pounds to a 
 many young ladies as I have known." 
 
 Madge smiled serenely, and turned a little 
 sideways, so as to see herself from a fresh 
 point of view. These complimentary expres- 
 sions were very pleasant, none the less so 
 because she had her own approval to confirm 
 them now. Her doubts and fears had vanished 
 like mists before the full blaze of the noonda^r 
 sun, and the sense of mortified inferiority^ which 
 had stung her so sharply when she found herself 
 in the Blue Parlour, face to face with that gay, 
 disdainful dame, had changed into a thrill of 
 most delicious triumph with the first glimpse of 
 her own transfigured form. Even the faded 
 old portraits on the walls seemed to be follow- 
 ing her about approvingly with their dim, lustre- 
 less eyes. So she fancied, at least, as she shook 
 out her rich draperies, and made a regal pro- 
 gress down the whole length of the room and
 
 254 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 back again, her velvet train sweeping the 
 ground in a way that she felt to be the very 
 essence of dignity and grace, and her white- 
 slippered feet peeping most bewitchingly in and 
 out as she paced along. It was like dreaming 
 with her eyes open. If only Mr. Pelham had 
 been there to see it instead of Mrs. Boynton and 
 the housekeeper. But it would all come one 
 day. It would be sure to come ! And with the 
 thought Madge ruffled her plumes again as she 
 stood before the glass, and a smile of full- 
 assured content rippled unconsciously across 
 her face. It was all so certain now to come ! 
 
 And when, at last, the " play" was over, and 
 Mrs. Mapperly, with carefnl hands, had reversed 
 the process that had been gone through before, 
 and Madge w^as left like Cinderella when the 
 clock had struck, stripped of her splendid para- 
 phernalia, and standing in her scarlet bodice 
 and short white skirt, she felt still the thrill of 
 triumph which had come with that fresh, keen 
 consciousness of beauty and of power. The 
 calico gown, as she put it on again, seemed like 
 a poor disguise, in which she, the future lady of
 
 CINDERELLA. 255 
 
 the Priory, must be content for awhile to hide 
 "the splendour of her charms. Only for a little 
 while, though ; until Mr. Pelliam should come 
 back to Marholm — and to her. And then what 
 <ionquests lay before her ! 
 
 Madge was but a country girl, humbly born 
 and humbly bred. But all the passions of hu- 
 manity may beat in a village breast, and the 
 passion for distinction was as strong in hers as 
 in that of any newly-fledged M.P., whose am- 
 bition, as he makes his maiden speech, forecasts 
 nothing less than the Premiership itself. To be 
 the lady of the Priory, to sway the young Squire 
 by the Avitchery of her beauty, was a prize 
 worth striving for; and that glance into the 
 mirror had been like a revelation that it was 
 hers to win. 
 
 The velvet dress was solemnly laid by, and 
 the pearl-grey silk and blue brocade as solemnly 
 unfolded by the housekeeper, amid a running 
 flow of comment and ejaculation on the part of 
 Mrs. Boynton, whose admiration seemed oniy to 
 grow more voluble with each fresh call upon it. 
 Madge looked on with fluttered complacency, as
 
 256 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 at the insignia of her future sovereignty. It 
 was astonishing how familiar this feminine 
 finery had sudden!}" become, and how easy it 
 seemed, now that she had felt what dress could 
 do, to fancy herself moving about those rooms 
 and corridors, as much the lady in her sumptu- 
 ous array as ever Madam herself had been. Her 
 spirits rose with her new content, and the 
 smouldering ambition, fanned suddenly into 
 flame, just curved her lip, and drew into firmer 
 poise her handsome head. Mrs. Boynton could 
 not help observing the air of dignity that 
 she had unconsciously assumed, and rallied her 
 good-naturedly upon it. But Madge only 
 straightened her tall figure to a yet more pine- 
 like stateliness, and smiled quietly to herself. 
 It was all very well for Mrs. Boynton to take 
 these little liberties now. How astonished she 
 would be if she should find out by-and-by that 
 it was the young Squire's chosen bride with 
 whom she had been making so free to-day. 
 Mrs. Mapperly, too. If she could but know 
 that it was perhaps her future mistress whom 
 she had been dressing up ! As there was no 
 telling but she might have to dress her many
 
 CINDEEELLA. 257 
 
 a time again, when she was a ladj on her own 
 account, and no make-believe one, such as she 
 had been this afternoon. 
 
 But these were secrets to be kept locked and 
 double-locked in her own breast as yet ; con- 
 cealed as carefully as any hedge-row bird hides 
 its nest. Not for worlds must she let Mrs, 
 Boynton guess that she looked any higher for a 
 husband than to Mark Staniland or Kalph 
 Burton, either of whom, Madge was aware,, 
 would be considered by the Marholm folk as an 
 excellent match, certainly quite good enough 
 for a gamekeeper's daughter. 
 
 They went downstairs at last, to have a slice 
 of cake and a glass of gooseberry wine in the 
 housekeeper's sanctum, before taking leave. 
 For time was wearing on. Already the cedar- 
 trees upon the lawn were casting long shadows 
 across the ragged grass, and, as Mrs. Boynton 
 said, it was a good step back to Marholm. It 
 was past eight, however, before they finally set 
 out. Even gooseberry champagne, when im- 
 bibed under favourable circumstances, has ex- 
 hilarating properties, conducive to sociability, 
 and goes down pleasantly over matronly palates. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Indeed, Mrs. Mapperly was quite drawn out 
 into cheerfulness under its dulcet influences, and 
 was so loath to let her guests depart that, if it 
 had not been for Mrs. Boynton's dread of pass- 
 ing the quarry-pits after dusk, and Madge's 
 fears lest her father should return from St. 
 Bede's before she was at home herself, there was 
 uo knowing when they would have got away. 
 
 " But you'll come again," urged the house- 
 keeper, relapsing into limpness, as she went 
 with her guests down the weedy garden to the 
 gate. ^^ You'll come again. It's a charity, that's 
 what it is, and nothing less, to take a cup of 
 tea with a lone body like me." 
 
 "Eh, dear! Mrs. Mapperly," said the land- 
 lady, panting already in prospect of her long 
 trudge home, "this will have to last me while 
 another summer, I doubt. It fair takes the 
 breath out of me only to think of that steep bit 
 of bank there is to pull up on the other side of 
 Lowstone Beck. And then there's over two 
 miles through the Chase. But here is our 
 Madge can come over and see you again, now 
 she has made a start. It's none so ftir from her
 
 CINDERELLA. 259 
 
 place, and young legs reckons nothing of a bit 
 of a climb." 
 
 Madge on her part promised willingly to 
 repeat her visit some afternoon while the even- 
 ings were long. Not that she felt any lively 
 pleasure in the prospect of a tete-a-tete with the 
 Squire's housekeeper. But her thoughts, flashing 
 hither and thither among the possibilities of 
 the future, seized at once on the advantage 
 which it might be to have an easy excuse for 
 going over to the Priory at any time, if affairs 
 of her own should make it desirable to do so. 
 Already, like a skilful general, she was recon- 
 noitring the ground, and making tentative plans 
 for the campaign which the young Squire's 
 return was to be the signal for commencing. 
 Mrs. Boynton thought she was uncommonly 
 quiet as they came home together, and^ pri- 
 vately, was a little put out to find her, as she 
 expressed it to herself, such poor company on 
 the road. But no busier brain could be than 
 Madge's as she walked on by Mrs. Boynton's 
 side in the gathering twilight, revolving all the 
 chances of her young ambition. Phoebe Gale 
 
 s2
 
 260 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 had been handsome in her way, but not one bit 
 handsomer than she was herself; and, as for 
 bein^ like a lady, who could make a better 
 figure in velvet and lace, and all that belonged 
 to the quality, than she, Madge Brown, had 
 found out now that she could herself? And 
 who was there that Mr. Pelham might be more 
 proud to make the mistress of the Priory House, 
 seeing that he did not seem any way ashamed 
 of owning to his mother's birth, and was cer- 
 tainly, if looks and words told true, beginning 
 at least to be in love with her ? 
 
 Poor Mrs. Boynton ! And she had been 
 teazing her that very afternoon, Madge said 
 to herself, about Ralph Burton and the Moor 
 Farm. As if that was a thing that was ever 
 likely now to come to pass !
 
 261 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 
 
 rpHE June month slipped by, pleasant every- 
 -*- where, but surely nowhere more so than in 
 the woods and meadows and blossomy lanes of 
 Marholm. Where else would you find such gay 
 garniture of wild rose and eglantine, and purple 
 vetch and twisted briony, or such wealth of 
 honeysuckle trailing its perfumed Avreaths over 
 the green hedgerows ? Where did wild-flowers 
 ever blossom, amid fern and moss, with such 
 luxuriance as in the dells and glades of Marholm 
 Chase? — or the lark sing his morning song in 
 such an ecstasy of intolerable joy as when he 
 quivered upwards through the sunlit air 
 from his nest in the daisied pastures that lay 
 girdled by the great brown Marholm moors ?
 
 2Q2 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Those bare brown moors, whose rugged brows 
 all the long winter through had darkened with 
 a sullen frown, scarce relaxing even in the sweet 
 spring-time. But now, what a tender bloom 
 stole over them as, far and wide, myriads of 
 bracken fronds uncurled themselves, until over 
 the sunny heights and swelling slopes a veil of 
 softest emerald everywhere was drawn. 
 
 That was a glorious June ; one in a thousand. 
 So even old Humphrey Blenkinsop declared, 
 sitting in conclave with his fellow -patriarchs 
 under the beech-tree on the green_, and compar- 
 ing it with the long-dead Junes whose roses he 
 and they had plucked, wandering at twilight 
 down the Marholm lanes, as the village lovers 
 wandered now with their sweethearts by their 
 side. A June full of all manner of pleasantness, 
 and of promise too. There would be a splendid 
 hay harvest, the farmers said — '•' a most uncom- 
 mon heavy crop," though it would be a little 
 later than usual this year on account of the 
 spring having been somewhat backward. But 
 no one grumbled at that, unless it might be the 
 farmers themselves, who liked to have a good 
 space clear between hay-time and harvest.
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 26S 
 
 Otherwise Marholm in general was well-pleased 
 to have it so, as giving time for the Feast to be 
 held and comfortably over before the business 
 of mowing commenced. 
 
 The great day of the Marholm year was this 
 Feast-day, as good as a Midsummer Christmas 
 Day for extra cheer and family gatherings. The 
 lads and lasses out in service, even as far away 
 as St. Bede's, were sure to have a holiday for 
 Marholm Feast, and after midday no one even 
 thought of keeping at work ; everyone turned 
 out, dressed in their Sunday best, to see what 
 was doing on the green. Pleasure enough of 
 all sorts was there, for old and young slike. 
 Booths and stalls with toys and sweetmeats for 
 the children ; such plenitude of cakes and 
 candy, such mountains of nuts and oranges ; 
 dolls for the little girls ; whips, and balls, and 
 tops, and jack-knives enough for a whole world 
 of boys. And, for the village swains, what time 
 in all the year was like this for choosing and 
 making presents that might facilitate the course 
 of true love, so apt to run anything but smooth- 
 ly ? What treasures there were to choose from ! 
 — collars and neck-ribbons : brooches, lockets, and
 
 264 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 ear-rings that were to be distinguished from real 
 gold only by the price. Hearts hard as the nether 
 mill-stone might relent^ if plied with presents 
 such as these. And, truth to tell, many a rustic 
 beauty, from time immemorial, had reckoned 
 back to Marholm Feast as the day when, with 
 responsive blushes, she had listened to the 
 clumsy declaration which her bashful lover had 
 needed the courage of his gifts to make. 
 
 And then for the elderly folk there were the 
 neighbourly meetings ; for, besides those who 
 trudged in on foot to the Feast, numbers from 
 distant villages came jogging in on sturdy- 
 going nags, or in their own spring-carts. For 
 the Marholm matrons there Avas the dear delight 
 of unlimited gossip on the green, with hospita- 
 ble attentions to be offered afterwards in the 
 form of invitations to tea and cake at home. 
 And for the men there Avere the news of the 
 country side to be heard, and perhaps a little 
 business to be transacted over a pipe and mug 
 of ale in the sanded parlour of the '' Danvers' 
 Arms " or the " Chequers." 
 
 Besides all this, there were swings and merry- 
 go-rounds for the youngsters, and shows ex-
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 265 
 
 hibited in gaily-painted caravans, even the out- 
 sides of which, to say nothing of the wonders 
 within, were a sight to be seen. There were 
 races, too ; running in sacks, and donkey races, 
 hopping races, and races backwards ; and in the 
 evening there was dancing on the green, old 
 Tomnay Donkio, the blind fiddler, being specially 
 retained for the occasion. Even the "quality" 
 themselves did not disdain to honour the Feast 
 with their presence. Generally two or three 
 carriages, at least, drove through Marholm in 
 the afternoon, belonging to the gentlefolk from 
 the neighbourhood, who came to look at what 
 was going on, though they were never known to 
 patronize the stalls or shows. 
 
 The Canon, and Miss Daylmer, and Miss Mar- 
 jory were more condescending still, and went 
 about quite affably among the merry-makers, 
 with smiles and greetings, and kindly inquiries 
 for all. To some, indeed, half the pleasure of 
 the Feast would have been lost, if they had not 
 had a word or a friendly nod from "his Rever- 
 ence/' or if they could not have gone home 
 to tell how Miss Daylmer or Miss Marjory had 
 stopped before all the folk to speak to them.
 
 26G A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Harmless boasting, theirs. Surely one of the 
 blessed things of life it is to have amongst us 
 those whom the heart does truly reverence, some 
 to whom loyal love can honestly be given. And 
 the Marholm villagers were happy in this : that, 
 from the old man tottering to the grave down 
 to the latest toddler on the green, all loved the 
 Canon, and looked up to him as one whose life 
 was true in all things to the lessons which he 
 taught — a friend in whose good-will they trust- 
 ed as securely as in heaven itself. 
 
 It was, perhaps, a little hard on Mrs. Bo^'nton 
 that the exigencies of her position as landlady 
 of the "Danvers' Arms" precluded her on these 
 occasions from taking her full share in the 
 festivities. No busier time in all the year there 
 was for her than Marholm Feast. The dinners 
 that were cooked and eaten on that day at the 
 " Dauvers' Arms/' the comfortable glasses dis- 
 pensed from the bar of her snug parlour, and 
 the numbers of gigs, spring-carts, nags, and 
 ponies that required accommodation on her pre- 
 mises, exceeded the whole custom of any 
 ordinary fortnight. No wonder that, from
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 267 
 
 morning to night, she could seldom squeeze so 
 much as half an hour from her numerous avoca- 
 tions, to don her Sunday shawl and bonnet, and 
 step out, Kke the rest of her neighbours, to see 
 what was going on. 
 
 She had her compensations, however, for 
 even this enforced seclusion from the various 
 gaieties on the green. The incessant stream of 
 company pouring in the livelong day afforded 
 opportunities for unlimited gossip at home ; and 
 as Mrs. Boynton was one of those notable 
 dames who can not only use their tongue and 
 their hands at the same time, but can keep eyes 
 and ears open also to what others are about,^ 
 she probably got as much enjoyment out of the 
 Feast as any woman in the village, to say no- 
 thing of the store of silver that chinked at 
 night in her till. Everyone who had anything 
 to drive " put up " at the " Danvers' Arms," the 
 entertainment offered at the "Chequers" being 
 of quite an inferior description, and adapted 
 chiefly for those whose requirements ranged 
 no higher than pipes and beer. In her plum- 
 coloured gown, fitting well over a somewhat
 
 26S A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 bountiful form, and pink cap-ribbons profusely 
 flying, the buxom dame herself had doubtless no 
 small share in attracting custom to her hostel. 
 Indeed, it was well known that more than one 
 substantial yeoman in the neighbourhood would 
 not unwillingly constitute himself Luke Boyn- 
 ton's successor, were it not for the chevaux de 
 /rise of sharp-tipped speech which the good 
 lady instantly erected round her when the most 
 distant approach to matrimonial overtures was 
 in any quarter indicated. 
 
 It was whispered, however, though only 
 whispered, that the dame might not prove 
 equally impregnable in every direction. The 
 more venturesome of the village gossips had 
 speculated sub rosd on the chances which Giles 
 Brown might have, were he to push his for- 
 tunes there. One thing ever^^one might see, 
 that they pretty often happened to meet one 
 another coming out of church, though whether 
 the accident of meeting was due to Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton or the keeper, was matter of profound un- 
 certainty. Nor were there any means of getting 
 at the truth by the hints and innuendoes and 
 knowing looks available in such cases generally.
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 2G9 
 
 For the dark-visaged keeper was not a man to 
 be trifled with ; Madge, too, was a girl whose 
 temper was quickly np ; and as for Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton, everyone knew it would be dangerous to 
 put her upon her mettle. 
 
 It may be supposed, therefore, that the cir- 
 cumstance did not pass without remark when 
 the landlady, who had popped out about five 
 o'clock to take a look round, was seen to join 
 the keeper and his daughter as they sat watch- 
 ing the throng from the bench that girdled the 
 great beech-tree on the green. Madge had not 
 been there long herself. Instead of coming 
 down^ as she had always done before, quite 
 early in the afternoon, so as to have as much 
 as possible of the Feast, she had waited at 
 home for her father, and had come in with him. 
 Marholm Feast this year seemed different to her 
 somehow from any that had been before. Ther 
 excitement had gone strangely out of it. The 
 booths and stalls, the painted shows, and all 
 the variegated bustle of the scene, were there ; 
 the rustic beaux, looking a little uncomfortable 
 in their Sunday suits, the village belles, her 
 ancient rivals, with blowsy faces and resplen-
 
 270 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 dent ribbons, were laughing and talking with 
 their respective admirers, all evidently bent 
 on making the most of the occasion. But 
 Madge was living now in a world quite apart 
 from this — a world whose splendour paled into 
 insignificance these commoner delights. It 
 was with a sort of careless condescension that 
 she looked about her as she came on the green 
 with her father, who wondered a little that, in- 
 stead of caring to make the round of the gaily- 
 bedizened stalls, she chose rather to sit down 
 quietly at once on the bench upon the green. 
 
 They had hardly been there a moment, when 
 Mark Staniland came up, bringing with him a 
 cabbage-leaf full of gigantic strawberries, which 
 he gallantly pressed on Madge. Mark had 
 l)een indulging previously in an incipient flirta- 
 tion with httle Nelly Mossop, a daughter of one 
 of the neighbouring farmers, whom he had been 
 escorting about the green for the last hour or 
 more. He managed to drop her, however, 
 when he caught sight of Madge, having a 
 shrewd misgiving that his cause with the un- 
 certain beauty would not be furthered b}^ the 
 appearance of a rival on the field.
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 271 
 
 Mark really was a fine-looking fellow. Madge 
 could not help owning it to herself, as he stood 
 talking to her there, while she shared with her 
 father the cool delicious fruit, which their long 
 walk and the warmth of the afternoon had 
 made as acceptable as the giver could desire. 
 Straight and tall, with his hair well brushed 
 up, his flowered waistcoat, and a rose in his 
 button-hole, he was, she thought, an extremely 
 personable young man, and a beau that many a 
 girl would be proud enough to possess. She 
 was not averse herself to having him there be- 
 side her, evidently doing his best to make him- 
 self agreeable. But, as for coquetting with him, 
 that was a thing of the past, an amusement that 
 was no longer worth the trouble. TheMarholm 
 girls were welcome enough now to Mark's 
 attentions. He was of no more consequence 
 to her, from an ulterior point of view, than 
 if he had been one of the pack of schoolboys 
 who, with shouts of laughter, were being tossed 
 up and down in the swing boat at the further 
 end of the green. 
 
 Perhaps, if Mark had known the secret of her 
 easy affability, he might have taken himself
 
 272 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 away sooner than he did. As it was, he stood 
 his ground, not a little elated by the readiness 
 Avith which his attentions were permitted, until 
 disturbed by the arrival of Mrs. Boynton. 
 Madge dropped him then as coolly as Nelly 
 Mossop had been dropped awhile ago by him, 
 and, the strawberries being all consumed, she 
 gave him the empty cabbage-leaf to carry 
 away. 
 
 Mrs. Boynton was lively as usual in conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 *'It has been as much as ever I could do to 
 get away for ten minutes," she declared, as she 
 plumped her capacious person upon the bench 
 beside Madge. "Right on end have I been at 
 it, from five o'clock this morning till this blessed 
 minute ; and the day's work not done yet by 
 five good hours or more. There's an uncommon 
 sight of company in Marholm this Feast, and 
 more shows and things than ever I recklect of 
 before. They do say them waxworks beats 
 everything. But you^ll have seen them, Madge, 
 I reckon. Some one has been and took you in, 
 so many beaux as there is about." 
 
 " Indeed they haven't, Mrs. Boynton," return-
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 273 
 
 ed Madge, with an air of indifference. '' We 
 have only just got here, father and me. 
 We stopped and had our teas before we 
 started." 
 
 "Then I don't see as we could do better 
 than all of us go in together," said Mrs. Boyn- 
 ton, briskly ; '' and I'll stand treat myself. 
 They are something quite out of the common 
 way, by what folks say ; as natural as life, and 
 the beautifullest dresses. There's Queen Victoria 
 in her coronation robes, and the Princess of 
 Wales, all in white tulle and spangles, and the 
 Lord Mayor of London, and Rob Roy, and lots 
 besides. It would be a pity to miss it. What 
 do you say, Mr. Brown?" she added, turn- 
 ing on the keeper a glance of confident 
 appeal. 
 
 " I'm agreeable,^' said Giles, looking a little 
 doubtfully to his daughter, •* if our Madge here 
 has a mind to it.'^ 
 
 But Madge had pricked her ears at the 
 mention of the dresses, and needed no persua- 
 sion now. 
 
 A splendid sight was that waxwork show, 
 like a gorgeous dream to the unsophisticated 
 
 VOL. I . T
 
 274 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 eyes of Marholm rusticity. Fierce brigands, in 
 the most striking and chromatic costumes, side 
 by side with ladies of resplendent charms ; 
 kings and queens, highwaymen and cavahers, 
 Lord Nelson and the Queen of Sheba ; all of 
 them, according to the showman, authentic 
 likenesses, and the dresses unrivalled for 
 magnificence by any similar establishment. Mrs. 
 Boynton was loud in her exclamations. Madge 
 was fairly awed by the imposing spectacle, 
 though she was conscious, too, of a dim feeling ' 
 of compassion as she gazed at some of the more 
 conspicuous among thew^axen beauties standing 
 there in such superb array and moving everyone 
 to admiration. It seemed almost a pity they 
 should not know how beautiful they were. For 
 Madge had her own experience on the subject 
 now, which she brought to bear upon the silent 
 company around her. No moment in her life 
 seemed to her in the retrospect so full of ecstasy 
 as that when she had turned her delighted gaze 
 upon her own figure in the mirror at the 
 Priory House, after Mrs. Mapperly had dressed 
 her in Madam's black velvet and Venetian point. 
 She felt her bosom throb afresh as she recalled
 
 MARHOLM FEAST. 275 
 
 it. Certainly, she thought, even some of these 
 waxen ladies were not more beautiful than she 
 had been herself that afternoon; and unconscious- 
 ly she drew herself up, and moved with a more 
 stately gait. That had been only the trying on 
 of her dignity. When it was her very own, as 
 it would be if ever she was lady of the Priory 
 House, how she would queen it then before an 
 admiring world ! 
 
 Each batch of spectators was allowed a 
 quarter of an hour only in the show ; but even 
 that consumed a large portion of the scanty 
 furlough which Mrs. Boynton felt able to allow 
 herself. 
 
 ^*I had ought to be going home again now," 
 she said, as they came down the steps of the 
 caravan, " or, I'll be bound for it, there'll be 
 something gone wrong when I get back. 
 There's no trusting girls a minute 'when your 
 back is turned; or else it does seem a shame 
 not to have just a look at the stalls and things." 
 
 " Never heed the girls," said Giles, breaking 
 gruffly into speech. As Mrs. Boynton had 
 " stood treat " for the '' Waxworks," he felt 
 himself bound in honour to be equally liberal in 
 
 T 2
 
 276 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 return. ^' They'll do well enough, I'll warranty 
 for another ten minutes; and we can just take 
 a turn round the green, and see what's doing." 
 The landlady acceded, nothing loath; and 
 Giles, relapsing into silence, made a way 
 through the throng of starers who were crowded 
 in front of the caravan, and convoyed his charge- 
 across the green.
 
 277 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 POOR RALPH ! 
 
 THEY were stopped about half way over by 
 no less a personage than Mr. Beverley 
 himself. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, Mr. Beverley, sir I" cried the 
 landlady, with a smile and curtsey. " Who 
 would have thought of seeing you here ?" 
 
 " I have come, like the rest of the world, Mrs. 
 Boynton, to see what is going on ;" said Hugh, 
 who had included the whole party in a cordial 
 salute, which the keeper returned by a grip of 
 the fur cap he wore, and Madge with a most 
 becoming blush, as she dropped her eyes and 
 instinctively made a curtsey too. 
 
 Her father had several times fallen in with 
 their late guest as he was passing through the
 
 278 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 Chase, and once Mr. Beverley had been to their 
 cottage when, unluclvily, she had chanced her- 
 self to be away. She had seen him at church of 
 course, but this was the first time that he had 
 crossed her path since the evening when she 
 had prepared supper for him, on his way to 
 Marholm_, the night of his arrival. Madge did 
 not forget the impression that her good looks 
 had evidently made upon their guest, nor how 
 he had shaken hands with her, and even lifted 
 his hat, quite as if she were a lady, when he 
 took his leave. It all flashed into her remem- 
 brance now, and roused the coquettish consci- 
 ousness which had remained passive under 
 Mark Staniland's attentions. 
 
 " I just wanted to tell you, Mrs. Boynton/' 
 said Hugh, " that I shall not be in to dinner. 
 I am going to the rectory, so you need not 
 prepare anything for me. I daresay you have 
 enough on your hands to-day in other ways." 
 
 "Indeed, sir, you may well say we are 
 throng," returned the landlady, with another 
 curtsey. ^'And I am greatly obHged to you 
 for letting me know about the dinner. I had 
 only just stepped out for a minute to take a
 
 POOR Ralph! 279 
 
 look round," she added, as if mindful that her 
 presence on the green at such a time might be 
 supposed to require an apology. 
 
 *"' To be sure, Mrs. Boynton_, to be sure ! Don't 
 let me keep you," said Hugh. But^ instead of 
 moving away, he turned and actually walked 
 with them towards the booths ; to the intense 
 satisfaction of the landlady, who was quite 
 alive to the importance which this recognition 
 by the " quality " conferred upon her in the 
 eyes of the Marholm w^orld. 
 
 Madge, too_, felt an unwonted sense of exul- 
 tation when Mr. Beverley, turning aside a little 
 from the others, addressed himself with equal 
 affability to her father and herself. It was a 
 new sensation altogether to be talking to a 
 gentleman like Mr. Beverley, with all Marholm 
 there to see. Talking to him, too, as easily 
 as if he had been an old acquaintance of their 
 own. For Hugh had a way of putting people 
 at ease with him from the first ; though, through 
 all the air of camaraderie that marked his man- 
 ners, a certain inward dignity disclosed itself 
 which made it difficult for anyone to pass the 
 boundary between ease and familiarity. Madge
 
 280 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 was quite sensible of the difference between Mr. 
 Beverley and J\Ir. Pelham Elphinstone ; for, 
 though he was treating her as politely as if she 
 had been " quality *' like himself, she somehow 
 found it impossible to play off her little 
 coquetries, and to air her graces for his beneJSt, 
 as she could have done had it been the young 
 Squire who was walking and talking with 
 them. 
 
 It was supremely pleasant_, however, to be 
 thus distinguished. Madge carried her hand- 
 some head more proudly than before ; her colour 
 rose, and she trod the turf like some young 
 princess at a pageant. Nor was it a mere 
 passing triumph either, for when they reached 
 the great centre booth, where all manner of 
 tempting wares were displayed for sale, Mr. 
 Beverley, after a moment's search, chose out a 
 beautiful pressed-glass bowl for holding flowers, 
 which he begged her to accept. By way of 
 return, he said, for the excellent supper she had 
 been good enough to give him awhile ago. 
 
 The keeper's black brows relaxed as he saw 
 the pleasure that flashed from his daughter's 
 face.
 
 POOR RALPH ! 281 
 
 " YouVe setten her up now, sir," he said, with 
 one of his grim smiles, as Hugh put the bowl 
 into her hands. While Madge, surprised for 
 the moment into forgetful ness of everything 
 €xcept the gift itself, raised such glowing eyes 
 to the giver that further thanks, even if she 
 could have given them utterance at once, would, 
 have been superfluous. 
 
 Hugh did not wait for them. Thanks were 
 his special aversion ; and, having discharged his 
 little debt of honour, he moved away, just lift- 
 ing his hat to Madge as he went. He did it 
 instinctively, as he had done before when he 
 parted from his young hostess at the cottage 
 door. It was the man's involuntary tribute to 
 the beauty of the girl, and to that careless 
 queenliness which seemed in Madge to claim 
 such homage as a natural due. 
 
 " My goodness gracious !*' ejaculated, the 
 landlady, " you may well say she is set up, Mr. 
 Brown. Why, he couldn't have shown more 
 manners if.it had been Miss Marjory herself. 
 But T never did see the like of you, Madge, for 
 making folk feel as if the best of everything was 
 yours by right."
 
 282 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 " There's no one has a better right, anyhow," 
 said the keeper, eyeing his daughter proudly. 
 "But come^ Mrs. Boynton, you shan't need to 
 be jealous. Til make you a present myself of a 
 bowl like hers. Here, master, reach us down 
 the fellow to this here bowl." 
 
 The man at the stall obeyed Avith alacrity, 
 glancing slily askance at the buxom dame, who 
 betrayed, however, no signs of embarrassment, 
 but with high-handed ease accepted the gift, 
 declaring that she would put it to use that very 
 day. Her colour at all times was rather high, 
 and_, if on the present occasion it was a little 
 more so than usual, the fact might fliirly be set 
 down to the warmth of the afternoon and the 
 extra exertions which she had been called upon 
 to make. 
 
 It was a pity Mrs. Bo^-nton could not have 
 stayed a little longer to eujoy the company of 
 her friends, for she had hardly said good-bye to 
 them, and was still bearing full sail across the 
 green, carrying her trophy with her, when no 
 less a personage than Miss Daj'lmer herself, 
 and her niece Marjory with her, came up and 
 accosted Madge. She had been wanting to see
 
 POOR RALPH ! 283 
 
 her^ she said, to ask if she would kindly do a 
 little service for them. They were talking of 
 having a picnic in the Chase some afternoon 
 next week. Would Madge boil them a kettle 
 of water for their tea ? 
 
 "We have always had a gipsy fire before," 
 explained Marjory, " but there has been so 
 much said lately about the danger of lighting 
 fires in the wood, that we do not like to set the 
 example of doing it ourselves." 
 
 Madge made the promise with unlimited satis- 
 faction. There was a genuine goodwill about 
 her which enjo^^ed the opportunity of doing a 
 kindness to anyone ; but to be asked to oblige 
 Miss Daylmer touched her self-importance, too. 
 And then the request was made so graciously, 
 quite as if it were a favour they were asking 
 from some one like themselves. Indeed, Miss 
 Marjory, she was sure, could not have spoken 
 more pleasantly even to the quality. 
 
 "Every inch a lady," Madge thought, as she 
 stood beside her now, and drew a quick com- 
 parison between herself and this high-bred girl, 
 with her delicate dress and clear-cut features, 
 and voice that rang like a silver bell. It was
 
 284 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Miss Marjory that Mrs. Boyntou had said was 
 a likely young lady for Mr. Pelham to marry. 
 And for a moment Madge could not quell the 
 sense of dull discomfort that oppressed her, as 
 she felt how much the young Squire's cousin 
 had the advantage of her in that nameless 
 charm which rank and breeding can bestow. 
 Just for a moment, and then the tide of return- 
 ing confidence flowed back. There was not so 
 very much, she thought, after all, to be afraid 
 of in Miss Marjory^s quiet face. It was not half 
 so handsome, Madge considered, as her own ; 
 and that little grey velvet hat, though it had 
 cost ever so much, no doubt, was not nearly 
 so becoming, she was sure, as her ow^n coarse 
 straw, with the knot of crimson ribbons that 
 sat so well against her dark hair. If Mr. 
 Pelham were there just now, Madge thought 
 she knew which of them he w^ould admire the 
 most. 
 
 But nothing of all this told itself as she stood 
 before the parsonage ladies, proud to be seen 
 talking to them, prouder still in the secret confi- 
 dence that her own fine face, and her coquettish 
 airs, would be more likely by far to fascinate
 
 POOR RALPH ! 285- 
 
 the youDg Squire than any beauty of the sort 
 which Miss Marjory, quality though she might 
 be, could boast of. She was just, to them, the 
 Madge Brown w^ho had the finest voice in all 
 the village choir, and who had been Miss Milli- 
 cent's best scholar in the Sunday school not so 
 very long ago. A handsome, wailful girl, rather 
 too conscious, perhaps, of her good looks, and 
 not quite guiltless of flirtations with the Mar- 
 holm beaux ; but a good girl on the whole, w^ho 
 would settle down by-and-by, no doubt, into a 
 capital wife, and make some honest fellow's 
 home as comfortable as she made her father's 
 now. 
 
 And yet there was a subtle change upon her, 
 the outcome of those ambitious dreams, making 
 itself already distinctly felt. She had been 
 living of late in another world than formerly, 
 and her manners, her expression, the very ac- 
 cent of her voice were catching the tone of that 
 invisible companionship. Miss Millicent could 
 not help remarking upon it afterwards to her 
 brother, who had come out as well as herself, 
 and was moving about among the people, taking 
 the opportunity of shaking hands and having a
 
 286 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 word with as many of his more distant 
 parishioners as possible. 
 
 "What a fine young woman Madge Brown 
 has grown into," she said, as they stood to- 
 gether for a moment watching the frolics on 
 the green. " And her manners, too, are so 
 superior, not at all what you would look for in 
 lier position in life." 
 
 "One might almost fancy she had been 
 changed in her cradle,^' said Marjory. " The 
 cottage baby taken away, and some little prin- 
 cess put in its place." 
 
 The Canon turned his eyes to where Madge, 
 at a little distance, was walking by her father's 
 side. She had put her hand within the keeper's 
 arm, and was talking to him as they went. 
 They seemed proud of one another, proud and 
 fond ; the man in his dark, rough strength, the 
 girl, like some bright exotic, in her rich, warm 
 l^loom. 
 
 ^•' There is something very distinctive about 
 her, certainly," said the Canon ; " a sort of 
 gipsy queenliness not common in a cottage-bred 
 girl." But there was a shade of gravity in his 
 voice as he spoke. He had caught what his
 
 POOR Ralph! 287 
 
 sister had missed, the half defiant beauty of 
 the girl, as well as her lessening rusticity ; a 
 hint of that hidden restlessness which was 
 chafing even now against the bars of circum- 
 stance, and giving that air of resistant pride 
 which nevertheless sat so w^ell upon her. 
 Nature, in her very kindliness, gives dangerous 
 gifts sometimes. It might be, the good pastor 
 thought doubtfully to himself, that she had 
 dowered this seeming favourite amiss. And 
 Madge had no mother either to watch over her. 
 *' We must look after her a little," he added, 
 presently, " and not let her feel that she is less 
 cared for than she used to be, now that she has 
 slipped out of childhood into womanhood. She 
 is just at an age when girls most need some 
 wise guidance over them, and her father, I sus- 
 pect, lets her rule herself entirely, and yields to 
 her in everything." 
 
 *' She does not look as if it would be easy for 
 anyone else to rule her," said Marjory. '' But 
 how proud her father seems of her. I do believe 
 he cares as much to have people admire her as 
 she does herself." 
 
 " There is Ralph Burton going up to them/'
 
 288 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 said Miss Millicent, a sudden smile mantling- 
 over her comfortable face. Miss Millicent was 
 the confidante of half the parish, and good Mrs. 
 Burton, not long ago, had entrusted to her the 
 secret of her son's desire to win Madge Brown 
 for his wife. " He is giving her a fairing, too. 
 I have seen him carrying that dainty little 
 basket about with him all the afternoon. I 
 thought it must be meant for her. I wish the 
 young gipsy would make up her mind to have 
 him, instead of playing with his love like a cat 
 with a mouse. Poor Ralph ! he has not much to 
 say for himself, but I believe he worships the 
 very ground she treads on. To see him in church, 
 listening to her voice in the choir, you might 
 think he heard an angel singing !" 
 
 "Aunt Millicent!" laughed Marjory, "I de- 
 clare you are talking poetry. But perhaps she 
 does love him a little, really ; only she won't let 
 him find it out until he asks her. See, she has 
 taken his basket, and is lifting the moss from 
 what is inside it ; and now she is smiling quite 
 kindly upon him. The course of true love may 
 be running smoothly, after all." 
 
 Miss Millicent shook her head somewhat
 
 POOR RALPH ! 289 
 
 doubtfully still ; but wheu, an hour or so after- 
 wards, she saw them all, apparently going- 
 home together, Ralph with his arms full of 
 Madge's parcels, and Madge herself, with down- 
 dropped eyes, walking quietly beside him, she 
 began to hope that the Moor Farm might be 
 in a fair way for having its new mistress, after 
 all. 
 
 If she could have seen Ralph, as he climbed 
 the moorland path on his way home again that 
 evening, the red sunset light falling on a face 
 from which all brightness of its own had died 
 away, she would have come to a different con- 
 clusion. Madge, meaning no mischief — nay, 
 wishing rather to avoid it, had lured him to his 
 fate with those too kindly smiles. He had 
 staked his all, and lost it too ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 
 
 MADGE had visitings of compunction after- 
 wards. The next few days were not 
 spent altogether in inward ease. She was 
 vexed beyond measure with Ralph for having 
 blundered out his tale of unwelcome love. Just 
 as if she could have helped taking his fairing 
 pleasantly, with her father standing by to see 
 how she behaved to him ! Was he to go home 
 with them and ask her to marry him on the 
 strength of it? And yet she could not help 
 being vexed with herself as well, for having 
 been so sharp and scornful with him. She had 
 seen the wretchedness in his face as she flouted 
 him with her careless words, the look of pain, 
 like that in the eyes of some dumb animal, as
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 291 
 
 he turned away, wounded by the hand he 
 loved ; and conscience whispered that, even for 
 his love, she was not altogether guiltless. 
 
 Madge knew full well that the young man's 
 passion had been fed sometimes with smiles and 
 glances, which had been to it like fuel to the 
 flame. She knew the time had been, and that 
 not so very long ago, when Ralph might have 
 been well excused for thinking that she meant 
 him, sooner or later, to succeed. She had 
 coquetted with her other lovers, and had liked 
 it to be known that she had so many of them ; 
 but, with all her faults, Madge was maidenly 
 and true womanly at the heart of her, and she 
 remembered now, with blushes and remorse, 
 some tender passages which she had not meant 
 once should be the last. 
 
 Poor Ralph ! She might have sent him away 
 a little more kindly. She wished she had. But 
 she wished still more that she could have done 
 it without her father's knowledge. Everything 
 at home had been so uncomfortable since. Not 
 that her father was angry with her, or even out 
 of temper, but he was moody and disappointed, 
 and when he sat down of an evening with his 
 
 u2
 
 292 A SYLVAN QUEEX. 
 
 pipe, had never a word to say, but would just 
 turn himself to the fire, and smoke on for an 
 hour together without once looking up. It was 
 his wa}^ to be quiet, when things went wrong 
 with him ; but Madge knew what he was 
 brooding over, as he sat with his black brows 
 bent, and his eyes looking out with that dull 
 light in them from under their dark pent-house. 
 It made her feel uncomfortable, out of tune 
 with herself and everything about her, and 
 Madge hated to be uncomfortable ; above all 
 things, she hated to feel any jar between her 
 father and herself. It seemed to turn all the 
 sunshine of her life into east wind and cloudy 
 to prick her with a sense of perpetual reproach ; 
 and the worst of it was that there was no pos- 
 sibility of coaxing him right again, except by 
 owning herself in the wrong, and that was the 
 last thing that Madge was disposed to do. 
 
 Her only escape was into the world of 
 dreams which she had created round her, and 
 in that she lived, all the more intensely, per- 
 haps^ because the real one just now was so 
 unsatisfactory and perverse. 
 
 That delightful dream-world ! There, at all
 
 THE NEW LOVE AND THE OLD. 29a 
 
 events, things could be made to happen exactly 
 to her mind ; there, the goal of her ambition 
 could be reached at once ; there, the wrong- 
 lover kept out of the way, and the right one 
 came precisely as he ought. There, she heard 
 herself wooed with honeyed speech, such as 
 had dropped already from the young Squire's 
 lips. There, she listened enchanted to the clang 
 of wedding bells, and saw the flower-wreathed 
 arches up the churchyard path, and the Mar- 
 holm folk looking on at the bridal state and 
 splendour, and the Priory House decorated for 
 its new mistress, and Mr. Pel ham proud as 
 proud could be of the handsome young wife 
 whom everyone, even the quality themselves, 
 were admiring and envying for her dress and 
 beauty and high good-fortune. 
 
 How she would queen it then ! How grandly 
 she would sweep along, with her velvet train 
 behind her, and her beautiful round arms and 
 creamy neck and shoulders bare, carrying her- 
 self, too, like the lady that she was ! It was 
 rather misty beyond that. What the great 
 world really was, or what there would be for 
 her to do, further than to dress and be admired,
 
 294 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 Madge was not quite clear. But there was 
 enough up to that point to keep her fancy well 
 at work. All day long, as she went to and fro 
 about her household tasks, her busier brain was 
 weaving its romance — if that could be called 
 romance which to her was all solid, sober real- 
 ity, no mere day-dream of pleasant things that 
 might be^ but the rehearsal in her own mind of 
 what was really by-and-by to make up the 
 substance of her own actual life. 
 
 If Mr. Pelham admired her so much as she 
 was sure he did, he must begin soon to love 
 her too. And if he loved her, then what was to 
 prevent his doing as his father had done before 
 him, and marrying the handsomest wife that 
 lie could get? The steps were so few, so 
 simple, and every time she thought about them 
 they seemed more certain too. No logician of 
 the schools could be more assured of the con- 
 nection between premises and conclusion than 
 was Madge that, present circumstances given, 
 her own promotion to be lady of the Priory 
 House must be the inevitable result. If only it 
 were not so long to the young Squire's return ! 
 It was the first week in July now, nearly two
 
 THE NEW LOYE AND THE OLD. 295 
 
 months before be would be home again, and 
 that was such a tedious time to wait. 
 
 But Mr. Pelham Elphinstone came down 
 before then. He, too, had been dreaming his 
 dreams and laying his plans. For across the 
 dull background of that cousinly wooing which 
 was to follow these weeks of stupid barrister 
 life, there had been passing, more persistently 
 than he could have imagined possible, the 
 vision of a handsome gipsy head, and a pair of 
 dark eyes, full of fire and softness, glancing 
 bewitchingly askance. It would be worth some 
 trouble, the young man thought, to have a 
 good look into the depths of those dark eyes, 
 and worth more still to persuade them to look 
 back into his in return. The more he thought 
 about it, the more it seemed to him an absolute 
 necessity that he should make the attempt, and 
 the more impossible it seemed that he should 
 put off doing so until his return in September. 
 Besides, who could tell what might happen in 
 the meantime, with those bumpkin lovers hang- 
 ing round? The chances were that one or 
 other of them would be setting up as a future 
 husband for her, and when a girl once got the
 
 -296 A SYLVAN QUEEN. 
 
 notion ot raaiTjing in her head, there was 
 precious little room for anything else until that 
 was past. 
 
 Mr. Pelham found his logic, on the whole, as 
 convincing as ^ladge had discovered hers to be ; 
 sufficiently so to take him down to Marholm 
 on the strength of it. The Squire had a bad 
 attack of gout just then, an unusually bad one, 
 which his son and heir decided would make a 
 decent excuse for running down to see how he 
 was getting on. Not that he cared much to 
 face his father under those conditions, bat, of 
 course, he must have some hinge of a reason for 
 showing himself at home before the end of his 
 three mouths' probation had arrived. Then, 
 naturally, with the pointer pup to inquire after, 
 he would be at no loss for an errand to Giles 
 Brown's cottage. Things could not have ar- 
 ranged themselves more to the purpose, Mr. 
 Pelham thought, as he put a ten-pound note 
 into his pocket, and took the early mail to 
 Stretton, where he had written overnight to 
 Summers, the Priory groom, to meet him with 
 a horse and trap. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 

 
 UNIVERSITY OF I1.UN013.URB.NA 
 
 3 01 1 2 042231404