UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 
 AT URBA1^A~CHAMPAIG^] 
 
 STACKS 
 
CENTRAL CIRCULATION BOOKSTACKS 
 
 The person charging this material is re- 
 sponsible for its renewal or its return to 
 the library from which it was borrowed 
 on or before the Latest Date stamped 
 below. The Minimum Fee for each Lost 
 Book is $50.00. 
 
 Theft/ mutilation/ and underlining of beolcs ore reasons 
 for disciplinary action and may result In dismissal from 
 the University. 
 TO RENEW CALL TELEPHONE CENTER/ 333-8400 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 ;/lU6 1 8 1994 
 SEP 7 ISS'i 
 
 When renewing by phone, write new due date below 
 previous due date. L162 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/trialmorelinksof01yong 
 
THE TRIAL: 
 
 d 
 Q 
 
 HERTZBERG - NE ' 'P^ 
 
 TITLE r 
 
 ? YONG 
 
 (M 
 
 SET ) 
 
 
 '4 •; A- 
 
 ..:-9 
 
 
 ♦ :I.^<- 
 
 CLOTH COLOR 
 
 CHARGING INF 
 
 STUBBING 
 
 HAND SEW 
 
 THRU SEW 
 
 THRU SEW ON TAPE 
 
 HEIGHT 
 
 :M a C M I L L a X AND c o. 
 
 1864. 
 
 The Right of Translation and Reproduction i'."? reserved. 
 
THE TRIAL: 
 
 MORE LINKS OF THE DAISY CHAIN 
 
 BV THK AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE." 
 
 VOLU]\IE I. 
 
 ITonbou anb Cambribgc : 
 
 M A C M I L L A X A X D C 0. 
 
 1864. 
 
 TliP Rlqht of Tran.^lnfion and Reprndnction ist reserved. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 R. CLAY, SOX, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, 
 
 BREAD STREET HILL. 
 

 THE TEIAL; 
 
 /OR, 
 
 ^ MORE LINKS OF THE DAISY CHAIN. 
 
 :x CHAPTER I. 
 
 "^ ~ ** Quand on vent dessecher un marais, on ne fait pas voter les 
 v^ grenouilles. " — Mnie. Emile de Girardin. 
 
 " Richard'? Thafs right ! Here's a tea-cup waiting for 
 you," as tTie almost thirty-year-old Incumbent of (Jocks- 
 moor, still lookiug like a young deacon, entered the room 
 with his quiet step, and silent greeting to its four inmates. 
 
 " Thank you, Ethel. Is papa gone out ?" 
 
 " I have not seen him since dinner-time. You said he 
 was gone out with Dr. Spencer, Aubrey V 
 
 " Yes, I heard Dr. Spencer s voice — ' I say Dick ' — 
 like three notes of consternation," said Aubrey ; " and olF 
 they went. I fancy there's some illness about in the 
 Lower Pond Buildings, that Dr. Spencer has been raging 
 so long to get drained." 
 
 " The knell has been ringing for a little child there, 
 added Mary ; " scarlatina, I believe — " 
 
 " But, Richard," burst forth the merry voice of tlie 
 youngest, " you must see our letters from Edinburgh." 
 
 VOT^ T. B 
 
2 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " You have heard, then ? It was the very thing I came 
 to ask." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! there were five notes in one cover," said 
 Gertrude. " Papa says they are to be laid up in the family 
 archives, and labelled * The Infants' Honeymoon/ " 
 
 " Papa is very happy with his own share," said Ethel. 
 " It was signed, ' Still his o^vn AATiite Flower,' and it had 
 two Calton Hill real daisies in it. I don't know when I 
 have seen him more pleased." 
 
 " And Hector's letter — I can say that by heart," con- 
 tinued Gertrude. * Mj dear Father, This is only to say 
 that she is the darlint, and for the pleasure of subscribing 
 myself Your loving Son,' — the son as big as aU. the rest 
 put together." 
 
 " I tell Blanche that he only took her for the pleasure 
 
 of being my father's son," said Aubrey, in his low lazy voice. 
 
 " WeU," said Mary " even to the last, I do believe he 
 
 had as soon drive papa out as walk with Blanche. Flora 
 
 was quite scandalized at it." 
 
 " I should not imagine that George had often driven my 
 father out," said Aubrey, again looking lazily up from 
 balancing his spoon. 
 
 Ethel laughed ; and even Eichard smiled ; then recovering 
 herself, she said, " Poor Hector, he never could call himseK 
 son to any one before." 
 
 " He has not been much otherwise here," said Eichard. 
 " No," said Ethel ; " it is the peculiar hardship of our 
 weddings to break us up by pairs, and carry off two instead 
 of one. Did you ever see me with so shabby a row of 
 tea-cups ? WTien shall I have them come in riding double 
 again r' 
 
THE TRIAL. 6 
 
 The recent wedding was the third in the family ; the 
 first after a five years' respite. It ensued upon an attach- 
 ment that had grown up with the young people, so that 
 they had been entirely one with each other ; and there 
 had been little of formal demand either of the maiden's 
 afiection or her father's consent ; but both had been implied 
 from the first. The bridegroom was barely of age, the 
 bride not seventeen, and Dr. May had owned it was very 
 shocking, and told Eichard to say nothing about it ! 
 Hector had coaxed and pleaded, pathetically talked of liis 
 great empty house at Maplewood, and declared that till 
 he might take Blanche away, he would not leave Stone- 
 borough ; he would bring down all sorts of gossip on his 
 courtship, he would worry Ethel and take care she finished 
 nobody's education. What did Blanche want with more 
 education? She knew enough for him. Couldn't Ethel 
 be satisfied with Aubrey and Gertrude ? or he dared say 
 she might have Mary too, if she was insatiable. If Dr. 
 !May was so unnatural as to forbid him to hang about the 
 house, why, he would take rooms at the Swan. In fact, 
 as Dr. May observed, he treated him to a modern red- 
 haired Scotch version of " Make me a willow cabin at 
 your gate ;" and as he heartily loved Hector and entirely 
 trusted him — and Blanche's pretty head was a wise and 
 prudent one, what was the use of keeping the poor lad 
 unsettled % 
 
 So Mrs. Rivers, the eldest sister and the member's wife, 
 had come to arrange matters and help Ethel, and a very 
 brilliant wedding it had been. Blanche was too entirely 
 at home with Hector for flutterings or agitations, and was 
 too peacefully happy for grief at the separation, which 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE TRIAL. 
 
 completed the destiny that she had always seen hefore 
 her. She was a picture of a hride ; and when she and 
 Hector hung round the Doctor, insisting that Edinburgh 
 should be the first place they should visit, and calling forth 
 minute directions for their pilgrimage to the scenes of his 
 youth, promising to come home and tell him all ; no wonder 
 he felt himself rather gaining a child than losing one. He 
 was very bright and happy ; and no one but Ethel under- 
 stood how all the time there was a sensation that the present 
 was but a strange dreamy parody of that marriage which 
 had been the theme of earlier hopes. 
 
 The wedding had taken place shortly after Easter ; 
 and immediately after, the Eivers family had departed for 
 London, and Tom May had returned to Cambridge, leaving 
 the home party at the minimum of four, since, Cocksmoor 
 Parsonage being complete, Eichard had become only a daily 
 visitor instead of a constant inhabitant. 
 
 There he sat, occupying his never idle hands with a net 
 that he kept for such moments, whilst Ethel sat behind 
 her urn, now giving out its last sighs, profiting by the 
 leisure to read the county newspaper, while she continually 
 filled up her cup -with tea or milk as occasion served, in- 
 different to the increasing pallor of the liquid. 
 
 Mary, a " fine young woman," as George Eivers called 
 her, of blooming face and sweet open expression, had begun, 
 at Gertrude's entreaty, a game of French billiards. Gertrude 
 had still her childish sunny face and bright hair, and even 
 at the trying age of twelve was pleasing, chiefl}'' owing to 
 the caressing freedom of manner belonging to an unspoilable 
 pet. Her request to Aubrey to join the sport had been 
 answered with a half petulant shake of the head, and he 
 
THE TRIAL. 5 
 
 flung himself into his father's chair, his long legs hanging 
 over one arm — an attitude that those who had ever been 
 under Mrs. May's discipline thought impossible in the 
 drawing-room; but Aubrey was a rival pet, and with the 
 family characteristics of aquiline features, dark grey eyes, 
 and beautiful teeth, had an air of fragility and easy languor, 
 that showed his exercise of the immunities of ill-health. 
 He had been Ethel's pupil till Tom's last year at Eton, 
 when he was sent thither, and had taken a good place ; 
 but his brother's vigilant and tender care could not save 
 him from an attack on the chest, that settled his public- 
 school education for ever, to his severe mortification, just 
 when Tom's shower of honours was displaying to him the 
 sweets of emulation and success. Ethel regained her pupil, 
 and put forth her utmost powers for his benefit, causing 
 Tom to examine him at each vacation, -svith adjurations to 
 let her know the instant he discovered that her task of 
 tuition was getting beyond her. In truth, Tom fraternally 
 held her cheap, and would have enjoyed a triumph over 
 her scholarship ; but to this he had not attained ; and in 
 spite of his desire to keep his brother in a salutary state 
 of humiliation, candour wrung from him the admission that, 
 even in verses, Aubrey did as well as other fellows of his 
 standing. 
 
 Conceit was not Aubrey^s fault. His father was more 
 guarded than in the case of his elder sons, and the home 
 atmosphere was not such as to give the boy a sense of 
 superiority, especially when diligently kept down by his 
 brother. Even the half year at Eton had not produced 
 superciliousness, though it had given Eton polish to the 
 home-bred manners : it had made sisters valuable, and 
 
6 THE TRIAL. 
 
 awakened a desire for masculine companionsliip. He did 
 not rebel against his sister's ride ; she was nearly a mother 
 to him, and had always been the most active president of his 
 studies and pursuits ; and he was perfectly obedient and 
 dutiful to her, only asserting his equality, in imitation of 
 Harry and Tom, by a little of the good-humoured raillery 
 and teazing that treated Ethel as the family butt, while she 
 was really the family authority. 
 
 " All gone, Ethel," he said, with a lazy smile, as Ethel 
 mechanically, with her eyes on the newspaper, tried all her 
 vessels round, and found cream-jug, milk-jug, tea-pot, and 
 urn, exhausted ; " will you have in the river next ? " 
 
 " What a shame ! " said Ethel, awakening and laughing. 
 " Those are the tea-maker's snares." 
 
 " Do send it away then," said Aubrey, " the urn oppresses 
 the atmosphere." 
 
 "Very well; I'll make a fresh brew when papa comes 
 home, and perhaps you'll have some then. You did not 
 half finish to-night." 
 
 Aubrey yawned ; and after some speculation about their 
 father's absence, Gertrude went to bed ; and Aubrey, calling 
 himself tired, stood up, stretched every limb portentously, 
 and said he should go off too. Ethel looked at him anxiously, 
 felt his hand, and asked if he were sure he had not a cold 
 coming on. " You are always thinking of colds," was all the 
 satisfaction she received. 
 
 " What has he been doing ? " said Eichard. 
 
 " That is what I was thinking. He was about all yester- 
 day afternoon with Leonard Ward, and perhaps may have 
 done sometliing imprudent in the damp. I never know 
 what to do. I can't bear him to be a coddle ; yet he is 
 
THE TRIAL. 7 
 
 always catching cold if I let hini alone. The question is, 
 whether it is worse for him to run risks, or to be thinkinL^ 
 of himself." 
 
 " He need not be doing that," said Eichard ; " he may be 
 thinking of your wishes and papa's." 
 
 " Very pretty of him and you, Eitcliie ; but he is not 
 three parts of a boy or man who thinks of his womankind's 
 wishes when there is anything spirited before him." 
 
 " Well, I suppose one may do one's duty without bein 
 three parts of a boy," said Richard gravely. 
 
 " I know it is true that some of the most saintly charac- 
 ters have been the more spiritual because their animal frame 
 was less vigorous ; but still it does not content me." 
 
 " Xo, the higher the power, the better, of course, should 
 the service be. I was only putting you in mind that there 
 is compensation. Eut I must be off. I am sorry I cannot 
 wait for papa. Let me know what is the matter to-morrow, 
 and how Aubrey is." 
 
 Eichard went ', and the sisters took up their employments 
 — Ethel writing to the Kew Zealand sister-in-law her history 
 of the wedding, Mary copying parts of a Xew Zealand letter 
 for her brother, the lieutenant in command of a gun-boat 
 on the Chinese coast. Those letters, whether from Xorman 
 May or his wife, were very delightful, they were so full of 
 a cheerful tone of trustful exertion and resolution, though 
 there had been perhaps more than the natural amount of 
 disappointments. J^orman's powers were not thought of the 
 description calculated for regular mission work, and some of 
 the chief aspirations of the young couple had had to be 
 relinquished at the voice of authority without a trial. They 
 had received the charge of persons as much in need of them 
 
8 THE TRIAL. 
 
 as unreclaimed savages, but to whom there was less apparent 
 glory in ministering. A wide-spread district of very colonial 
 colonists, and the charge of a college for their uncultivated 
 sons, was quite as troublesome as the most ardent self- 
 devotion could desire ; and the hardships and disagreeables, 
 though severe, made no figure in history — nay, it required 
 ingenuity to gather their existence from Meta's bright letters, 
 although from !Mrs. Arnott's accounts, it was clear that 
 the wife took a quadruple share. Mrs. Rivers had been 
 heard to say that Norman need not have gone so far, and 
 sacrificed so much, to obtain an under-bred English congre- 
 gation ; and even the Doctor had sighed once or twice at 
 having relinquished his favourite son to what was dull and 
 distasteful ; but Ethel could trust that this unmurmuring 
 acceptance of the less striking career, might be another step 
 in the discipline of her brother's ardent and ambitious 
 nature. It is a great thing to sacrifice, but a greater to 
 consent not to sacrifice in. one's own way. 
 
 Ethel sat up for her father, and Mary would not go to bed 
 and leave her, so the two sisters waited till they heard the 
 latch-key. Ethel ran out, but her father was already on the 
 stairs, and waved her back. 
 
 " Here is some tea. Are you not coming. Papa 1 — it is 
 all here." 
 
 " Thank you, I'll just go and take off this coat ; " and he 
 passed on to his room. 
 
 " I don't like that," said Ethel, returning to the drawing- 
 room, where Mary was boiling up the kettle, and kneeling 
 down to make some toast. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? " 
 
 "I have never known him go and change his coat but 
 
THE TRIAL. 9 
 
 when some infectious thing has been about. Besides, he 
 did not wait to let me help him off with it." 
 
 In a few seconds the Doctor came down in his dressincr- 
 
 o 
 
 gown, and let himself be put into his easy chaii- ; his two 
 daughters waiting on him with fond assiduity, their eyes 
 questioning his fagged weary face, but reading there fatigue 
 and concern that made them — rather awe-struck — bide then- 
 time till it should suit him to speak. Mary was afraid he 
 would wait till she was gone ; dear old Mary, who at twenty- 
 two never dreamt of regarding herself as on the same footing 
 with her three years' senior, and had her toast been browner, 
 would have relieved them of her presence at once. How- 
 ever, her father spoke after his first long draught of tea. 
 
 " Well ! How true it is that judgments are upon us while 
 we are marrying and giving in marriage ! " 
 
 " What is it. Papa 1 Xot the scarlatina ? " 
 
 " Scarlatina, indeed ! " he said contemptuously. ^' Scarlet- 
 fever in the most aggravated form. Two deaths in one 
 house, and I am much mistaken if there will not be another 
 before morning." 
 
 " WTio, Papa 1 " asked Mary. 
 
 "Those wretched Martins, in Lower Pond Buildings, are 
 the worst. Xo wonder, living in voluntary filth ; but it is 
 all over the street — will be all over the town unless there's 
 some special mercy on the place." 
 
 " But how has it grown so bad," said Ethel, " without our 
 having even heard of it 1 " 
 
 " Why — partly I take shame to myself — this business of 
 Hector and Blanche kept Spencer and me away last dis- 
 pensary day ; and partly it was that young coxcomb, Henry 
 Ward, thought it not worth while to trouble me about a 
 
10 THE TRIAL. 
 
 simple epidemic. Simple epidemic indeed ! " repeated Dr. 
 Ma}", changing his tone from ironical mimicry to hot indigna- 
 tion. " I hope he Avill be gratified with its simplicity ! I 
 wonder how long he would have gone on if it had not laid 
 hold on him." 
 
 *' You don't mean that he has it 1 " 
 
 " I do. It will give him a practical lesson in simple 
 epidemics." 
 
 '' And Henry Ward has it ! " repeated Mary, looking so 
 much dismayed that her father laughed, saying — 
 
 *'What, Mary thinks when it comes to fevers being so 
 audacious as to lay hold of the doctors, it is time that they 
 should be put a stop to." 
 
 " He seems to have petted it and made much of it," said 
 Ethel ; " so no wonder ! What could have possessed him?" 
 
 '•' Just this, Ethel ; and it is only human nature after all. 
 This young lad comes down, as Master Tom will do some 
 day, full of his lectures and his hospitals, and is nettled and 
 displeased to find his father content to have Spencer or me 
 called in the instant anything serious is the matter." 
 
 "But you are a physician, Papa," said ]\Iary. 
 
 " ]S"o matter for that, to Mr. Henry I'm an old fogie, and 
 depend upon it, if it were only the giving a dose of salts, he 
 would like to have the case to himself. These poor creatures 
 were parish patients, and I don't mean that his treatment 
 was amiss. Spencer is right, it was an atmosphere where 
 there was no saving any one ; but if he had not been so 
 delighted with his own way, and I had known what was 
 going on, I'd have got the Guardians and the Town Council 
 and routed out the place. Seventeen cases, and most of them 
 the worst form ! " 
 
THE TEIAL. 11 
 
 " Eut what was Mr. Ward about 1 " 
 
 *' * Says I to myself, here's a lesson for me ; 
 This man's but a picture of what I shall be ' 
 
 when Master Tom gets the upper hand of me," returned Dr. 
 May. *' Poor Ward, who has run to me in all his difficulties 
 these thirty years, didn't like it at all ; but Mr. Henry was 
 so confident with his simple epidemic, and had got him in 
 such order, that he durst not speak." 
 
 *' And what brought it to light at last ? " 
 
 " Everything at once. First the clerics go to see about 
 the family where the infant died, and report to Spencer ; he 
 comes after me, and we start to reconnoitre. Then I am 
 called in to see Shearman's daughter — a very ugly case that 
 — and coming out I meet poor Ward himself, wanting me to 
 see Henry, and there's the other boy sickening too. Then I 
 went down and saw all those cases in the Lower Ponds, and 
 have been running about the town ever since to try what can 
 be done, hunting up nurses, whom I can't get, stirring dishes 
 of skim milk, tr}dng to get the funerals over to-morrow 
 morning by daybreak. I declare I have hardly a leg to 
 stand on." 
 
 " Where was Dr. Spencer 1 " 
 
 " Pve nearly quarrelled with Spencer. Oh ! he is in 
 high feather ! he tvoQ have it that the fever rose up bodily, 
 like Kuhleborn, out of that unhappy drain he is always 
 worrying about, when it is a regular case of scarlet fever, 
 brought in by a girl at home fi'om service ; but he will have 
 it that his theory is proved. Then I meant him to keep 
 clear of it. He has always been liable to malaria and .all 
 that sort of thin^^, and has not strength for an illness. I 
 
12 THE TRIAL. 
 
 told him to mind the ordinary practice for me ; and what do 
 I find him doing the next thing, but operating upon one of 
 the worst throats he could find ! I told him he was as bad 
 as young Ward ; I hate his irregular practice. I'll tell you 
 what," he said, vindictively, as if gratified to have what must 
 obey him, "you shall all go off to Cocksmoor to-morrow 
 morning at seven o'clock." 
 
 " You forget that we two have had it," said Mary. 
 
 "Which of you?" 
 
 " AU down to Blanche." 
 
 " !N'ever mind for that. I shall have enough to do without 
 a sick house at home. You can perform quarantine with 
 Richard, and then go to Flora, if she will have you. Well, 
 what are you dawdling about 1 Go and pack up." 
 
 " Papa," said Ethel, who had been abstracted through all the 
 latter part of the conversation, " if you please, we had better 
 not settle my going till to-morrow morning," 
 
 " Come, Ethel, you have too much sense for panics. Don't 
 take nonsense into your head. The children can't have been 
 in the way of it." 
 
 " Stay, papa," said Ethel, her serious face arresting the 
 momentary impatience of fatigue and anxiety, " I am afraid 
 Aubrey was a good while choosing fishing-tackle at Shear- 
 man's yesterday with Leonard Ward ; and it may be nothing, 
 but he did seem heavy and out of order to-night ; I wish 
 you would look at him as you go up." 
 
 Dr. May stood stiU for a few moments, then gave one 
 long gasp, made a few inquiries, and went up to Aubrey's 
 room. The boy was fast asleep ; but there was that about 
 him which softened the weary sharpness of his father's 
 manner, and caused him to desire Ethel to look from the 
 
THE TRIAL. 13 
 
 window whence sTie could see wliether the lights were out in 
 Dr. Spencer's house. Yes, they were. 
 
 "Never mind. It will make no real odds, and he has 
 had enough on his hands to-day. The boy will sleep quietly 
 enough to-night, so let us all go to bed." 
 
 " I think I can get a mattress into his room without 
 waking him, if you will help me, Mary/' said EtheL 
 
 " ]S"onsense," said her father decidedly. " Mary is not to 
 go near him before she takes Gertrude to Cocksmoor ; and 
 you, go to your own bed and get a night's rest while you 
 can." 
 
 " You won't stay up, Papa." 
 
 " I — why, it is all I can do not to fall asleep on my feet. 
 Good night, children." 
 
 '' He does not trust himself to think or to fear,'^ said Ethel. 
 " Too much depends on him to let himself be unstrung." 
 
 " Bat, Ethel, you will not leave dear Aubrey." 
 
 " I shall keep his door open and mine ; but papa is right, 
 and it will not do to w^aste one's strength. In case I should 
 not see you before you go " 
 
 " Oh, but, Ethel, I shall come back ! Don't, pray don't 
 tell me to stay away. Eichard will have to keep away for 
 Daisy's sake, and you can't do all alone — nurse Aubrey and 
 attend to papa. Say that I may come back." 
 
 ""Well, Mary, I think you ougJit,'' said Ethel, after a 
 moment's thought. " If it were only Aubrey, I could 
 manage for him ; but I am more anxious about papa." 
 
 " You don't think he is going to have it ? " 
 
 " Oh no, no," said Ethel, '' he is what he calls himself, a 
 seasoned vessel ; but he will be terribly overworked, and un- 
 happy, and he must not come home and find no one to talk 
 
14 THE TRIAL. 
 
 to or to look clieerful. So, Mary, unless he gives any fresh 
 orders, or Eichard thinks it will only make things worse, I 
 shall be very glad of you." 
 
 Mary had never clung to her so gratefully, nor felt so much 
 honoured. " Do you think he will have it badly ? " she asked 
 timidly. 
 
 " I don't think at all about it," said Ethel, something in 
 her father's manner. " If we are to get through all this, 
 Mary, it must not be by riding out on perhapses. JSTow let 
 us put Daisy's things together, for she must have as little 
 communication wdth home as possible." 
 
 Ethel silently and rapidly moved about, dreading to give an 
 interval for tremblings of heart. Five years of family pros- 
 perity had passed, and there had been that insensible feeling 
 of peace and immunity from care which is strange to look 
 back upon when one hour has drifted from smooth water to 
 turbid currents. There was a sort of awe in seeing the 
 mysterious gates of sorrow again unclosed ; yet, darling of 
 her own as Aubrey was, Ethel's first thoughts and fears were 
 primarily for her father. Grief and alarm seemed chiefly to 
 touch her through him, and she found herself praying above 
 all that he might be shielded from suffering, and might be 
 spared a renewal of the pangs that had before wrung his 
 heart. 
 
 By early morning every one was astir ; and Gertrude, be- 
 wildered and distressed, yet rather enjoying the fun of 
 staying with Eichard, was walking off with Mary. 
 
 Soon after, Dr. Spencer was standing by the bedside of his 
 old patient, Aubrey, who had been always left to his manage 
 ment. 
 
 " Ah, I see," he said, with a certain tone of satisfaction, 
 
THE TPJAL. 15 
 
 " for once there will be a case properly treated. 'Kovi', Ethel, 
 you and I will show what intelligent nursing can do." 
 
 " I believe you are delighted," growled Aubrey. 
 
 " So should you be, at the valuable precedent you will 
 afford." 
 
 " I've no notion of being experimented on to prove your 
 theory," said Aubrey, still ready for lazy mischief 
 
 For be it known that the roving-tempered Dr. Spencer 
 had been on fire to volunteer to the Crimean hospitals, and 
 had umnllingly sacrificed the project, not to Dr. May's con- 
 viction that it would be fatal in his present state of health, 
 but to Ethel's private entreaty that he would not add to her 
 father's distress in the freshness of Margaret's death, and the 
 parting with Norman. He had never ceased to mourn over 
 the lost opportunity, and to cast up to his friend the dis- 
 coveries he might have made ; while Dr. May declared that 
 if by any strange chance he had come back at all, he would 
 have been so rabid on improved nursing and sanatory 
 measures, that there would have been no living with him. 
 
 It must be owned that Dr. May was not very sensible to 
 what his friend called Stoneborough stinks. The place was 
 fairly healthy, and his " town councillor's conservatism," and 
 hatred of change, as well as the amusement of skirmishing, 
 had always made him the champion of things as they were ; 
 and in the present emergency the battle whether the enemy 
 had travelled by infection, or was the product of the Pond 
 Buildings' miasma, was the favourite enlivenment of the dis- 
 agreeing doctors, in their brief intervals of repose in the stern 
 conflict which they were waging with the fever — a conflict in 
 which they had soon to strive by themselves, for the disease 
 not only seized on young Ward, but on his father ; and till 
 
16 THE TRIAL. 
 
 medical assistance was sent from London, they had the whole 
 town on their hands, and for nearly a week lived without a 
 night's rest. 
 
 The care of the sick was a still greater difficulty. Though 
 Aubrey was never in danger, and Dr. Spencer's promise of 
 the effects of " intelligent nursing" was fully realized, Ethel 
 and Mary were so occupied by him, tliat it was a fearful 
 thing to guess how it must fare with those households where 
 the greater number were laid low, and in want of all the 
 comforts that could do little. 
 
 The clergy worked to the utmost ; and a letter of Mr. 
 Wilmot's obtained the assistance of two ladies from a nursing 
 sisterhood, who not only worked incredible wonders with 
 their own hands among the poor, but made efficient nurses 
 of rough girls and stupid old women. Dr. May, who had at 
 first, in his distrust of innovation, been averse to the importa- 
 tion — as likely to have no effect but j)utting nonsense into 
 girls' heads, and worrying the sick poor — was so entirely con- 
 quered, that he took off his hat to them across the street, 
 importuned them to drink tea with his daughters, and never 
 came home without dilating on their merits for the few 
 minutes that intervened between his satisfying himself about 
 Aubrey and dropping asleep in his chair. The only counter 
 demonstration he reserved to himself was that he always 
 called them " Miss What-d'ye-call-her," and " Those gems of 
 women," instead of Sister Katherine and Sister Frances. 
 
THE TEIAL. 17 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 *• Good words are silver, but good deeds are gold." 
 
 Cecil and Mary. 
 
 *• It has been a very good day, Papa ; lie has enjoyed all 
 his meals, indeed was quite ravenous. He is asleep now, 
 and looks as comfortable as possible," said Ethel, five weeks 
 after Aubrey's illness had begun. 
 
 "Thank God for that, and all His mercy to us, Ethel; " 
 and the long sigh, the kiss, and dewy eyes, would have 
 told her that there had been more to exhaust him than his 
 twelve hours' toil, even had she not partly known what 
 weighed him down. 
 
 " Poor things ! " she said. 
 
 " Both gone, Ethel, both ! both ! " and as he entered the 
 drawing-room, he threw himself back m liis chair, and gasped 
 with the long restrained feeling. 
 
 " Both ! " she exclaimed. ** You don't mean that 
 Leonard — " 
 
 " Xo, Ethel ; his mother ! Poor children, poor children ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Ward ! I thought she had only been taken ill 
 yesterday evening." 
 
 VOL. 1. C 
 
18 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " She only then gave way — but she never had any con- 
 stitution — she was done up with nursing — nothing to fall 
 "back on — sudden collapse and prostration — and that poor 
 gii'l, called every way at once, fancied her asleep, and took 
 no alarm till I came in this morning and found her pulse all 
 but gone. We have been pouring down stimulants all day, 
 but there was no rousing her, and she was gone the first." 
 " And Mr. "Ward— did he know it ? " 
 " I thought so fi'om the way he looked at me ; but speech 
 had long been lost, and that throat was dreadful suffering. 
 AVell, ' In their death they were not divided.' " 
 
 He shaded his eyes with his hand ; and Ethel, leaning 
 against his chair, could not hinder herself from a shudder 
 at the longing those words seemed to convey. He felt her 
 movement, and put his arm round her, saying, " Xo, Ethel, 
 do not think I envy them. I might have done so once — I 
 had not then learnt the meaning of the discipline of being 
 without her — no, nor what you could do for nie, my child, 
 my children." 
 
 Ethel's thrill of bliss was so intense, that it gave her a 
 sense of selfishness in indulging personal joy at such a 
 moment ; and indeed it was true that her father had over- 
 lived the first pangs of change and separation, had formed 
 new and congenial habits, saw the future hope before him ; 
 and since poor jNIargaret had been at rest, had been without 
 present anxiety, or the sight of decay and disap^^ointment. 
 Her only answer was a mute smoothing of his bowed 
 shoulders, as she said, " If I could be of any use or comfort 
 to poor Averil Ward, I could go to-night. Mary is enough 
 for Aubrey." 
 
 " Not now, my dear. She can't stir from the boy, they 
 
THE TRIAL. 19 
 
 are giving him champagne every ten minutes, she has the 
 nurse, and Spencer is backwards and forwards ; I think 
 they will pull him through, but it is a near, a very near 
 touch. Good, patient, unselfish boy he is too." 
 
 " He always was a very nice boy," said Ethel, " I do hope 
 he will get well. It would be a terrible grief to Aubrey." 
 
 "Yes, I got Leonard to open his lips to-day by telling 
 him that Aubrey had sent him the grapes. I think he 
 will get through. I hope he will. He is a good friend for 
 Aubrey. So touching it was this morning to hear him 
 trying to ask pardon for all his faults, poor fellow — fits of 
 temper, and the like." 
 
 " That is his fault, I believe," said Ethel, " and I always 
 think it a wholesome one, because it is so visible and un- 
 justifiable, that people strive against it. And the rest? 
 "Was Henry able to see his father or mother 1 " 
 
 *' 'No, he can scarcely sit up in bed. It was piteous to see 
 him lying with his door open, listening. He is full of warm 
 sound feeling, poor fellow. You would like to have heard 
 the fervour with which he begged me to tell his father to 
 have no fears for the younger ones, for it should be the most 
 precious task of his life to do a parent's part by them." 
 
 " Let me see, he is just of Harry's age," said Ethel 
 thoughtfully, as if she had not the strongest faith in 
 Harry's power of supplying a parent's place. 
 
 " Well," said her father, " remember, a medical student is 
 an older man than a lieutenant in the navy. One sees as 
 much of the interior as the other does of the surface. We 
 must take this young Ward by the hand, and mind he does 
 not lose his father's practice, Eurdon, that young prig that 
 Spencer got down from London, met me at Gavin's, when I 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE TRIAL. 
 
 looked in there on my way home, and came the length of 
 Minster Street with me, asking what I thought of an opening 
 for a medical man — partnership with young Ward, &c. I 
 snubbed him so short, that I fancy I left him thinking 
 whether his nose was on or off his face." 
 
 " He ivas rather premature." 
 
 " I've settled him any way. I shall do my best to keep 
 the town clear for that lad ; there's not much more for him, 
 as things are now, and it will be only looking close after him 
 for a few years, which Spencer and I can very well manage." 
 
 "If he will let you." 
 
 " There ! that's the spitefulness of women ! Must you 
 be casting up that little natural spirt of independence 
 against him after the lesson he has had ? I tell you, he has 
 been promising me to look on me as a father ! Poor old 
 Ward ! he was a good friend and fellow-worker. I owe a 
 great deal to him." 
 
 Ethel wondered if he forgot how much of the unservice- 
 ableness of his maimed arm had once been attributed to 
 Mr. Ward's dulness, or how many times he had come home 
 boiling with annoyance at having been called in too late to 
 remedy the respectable apothecary's half measures. She 
 believed that the son had been much better educated than 
 the father, and after the fearful lesson he had received, 
 thought he might realize Dr. May's hopes, and appreciate his 
 kindness. They discussed the relations. 
 
 " Ward came as assistant to old Axworthy, and married 
 his daughter ; he had no relations that his son knows of, 
 except the old aunt who left Averil her 2000Z." 
 
 " There are some Axworthys still," said Ethel, " but not 
 very creditable people." 
 
THE TPJAL. 21 
 
 "You may say that," said Dr. May emphatically. "There 
 was a scapegrace brother that ran away, and was heard of no 
 more till he turned up, a wealthy man, ten or fifteen years 
 ago, and bought what they call the Yintry Mill, some way on 
 this side of Whitford. He has a business on a large scale ; but 
 AVard had as little intercourse with him as possible. A 
 terrible old heathen." 
 
 " And the boy that was expelled for bullying Tom is in 
 the business." 
 
 " I hate the thought of that ! " said the doctor. " If he 
 had stayed on, who knows but he might have turned out 
 as well as Ned Anderson." 
 
 " Has not he % " 
 
 " I'm sure I have no right to say he has not, but he is a 
 flashy slang style of youth, and I hope the young Wards 
 will keep out of his way." 
 
 " What will become of them ] Is there likely to be any 
 provision for them ? " 
 
 " Not much, I should guess. Poor Ward did as we are 
 all tempted to do when money goes through our hands, and 
 spent more freely than I was ever allowed to do. Costly 
 house, garden, greenhouses — he'd better have stuck to old 
 Axworthy's place in Minster Street — daughter at that grand 
 school, where she cost more than the whole half-dozen ot 
 you put together." 
 
 " She was more worth it," said Ethel ; " her music and 
 drawing are first-rate. Harry was frantic about her singing 
 last time he was at home — one evening when Mrs. Anderson 
 abused his good nature and got him to a tea-party — I began 
 to be afraid of the consequences." 
 
 " Pish ! " said the doctor. 
 
22 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " And really they kept her there to enable her to educate 
 her sisters," said Ethel. "The last time I called on poor 
 Mrs. AVard, she told me all about it, apologizing in the 
 pretty way mothers do, saying she was looking forward to 
 Averil's coming home, but that while she profited so much, 
 they felt it due to her to give her every advantage ; and did 
 not I think — with my experience — that it was all so much 
 for the little ones' benefit 1 I assured her, from my personal 
 experience, that ignorance is a terrible thing in governessing 
 one's sisters. Poor thing ! And Averil had only come home 
 this very Easter." 
 
 " And with everything to learn, in such a scene as that ! 
 The first day, when only the boys were ill, there sat the 
 girl, dabbling with her water-colours, and her petticoats 
 reaching half across the room, looking like a milliner's doll, 
 and neither she nor her poor mother dreaming of her doing 
 a useful matter." 
 
 "Who is spiteful now. Papal That's all envy at not 
 having such an accomplished daughter. When she came 
 out in time of need so grandly, and showed all a woman's 
 instinct — " 
 
 " Woman's nonsense ! Instinct is for irrational brutes, 
 and the more you cultivate a woman, the less she has of 
 it, unless you work up her practical common sense too." 
 
 " Some one said she made a wonderful nurse." 
 
 " Wonderful ? Perhaps so, considering her opportunities, 
 and she does better with Spencer than with me ; I may have 
 called her to order impatiently, for she is nervous with me, 
 loses her head, and knocks everything down with her petti- 
 coats. Then — not a word to any one, Ethel — but imagine 
 her perfect blindness to her poor mother's state all yesterday? 
 
THE TRIAL. 23 
 
 and last night, not even calling Burdon to look at her ; why, 
 those ten hours may have made all the difference ! " 
 
 " Poor thing, how is she getting on now ? " 
 
 " Concentrated upon Leonard, too much stunned to admit 
 another idea — no tears — hardly full comprehension. One 
 can't take her away, and she can't bear not to do everything, 
 and yet one can't trust her any more than a child." 
 
 " As she is," said Ethel, " but as she won't be any longer. 
 And the two little ones 1 " 
 
 "It breaks one's heart to see them, just able to sit by 
 their nursery fii-e, murmuring in that weary, resigned, sick 
 child's voice, ' I wish nurse would come.' ' I wish sister 
 would come.' ' I wish mamma would come.' I went up to 
 them the last thing, and told them how it was, and let them 
 cry themselves to sleep. That was the worst business of alL 
 Ethel, are they too big for Mary to dress some dolls for them ? " 
 
 " I will try to find out their tastes the first thing to- 
 morrow," said Ethel ; " at any rate we can help them, if not 
 poor Averil." 
 
 Ethel, however, was detained at home to await Dr. Spencer's 
 visit, and Mary, Avhose dreams had all night been haunted 
 by the thought of the two little nursery prisoners, entreated 
 to go with her father, and see what could be done for them. 
 
 Off they set together, ]\Iary with a basket in her hand, 
 which was replenished at the toy shop in Minster Street 
 with two china-faced dolls, and, a little farther on, parted 
 with a couple of rolls, interspersed with strata of cold beef 
 and butter, to a household of convalescents in the stage for 
 kitchen physic. 
 
 Passing the school, still taking its enforced holiday, the 
 father and daughter traversed the bridge and entered the 
 
24 THE TRIAL. 
 
 growing suburb known as Bankside, wbere wretched cottages 
 belonging to needy, grasping proprietors, formed an uncom- 
 fortable contrast to the villa residences interspersed among 
 them. 
 
 One of these, with a well-kept lawn, daintily adorned 
 with the newest pines and ornamental shrubs, and with 
 sheets of glass glaring in the sun from the gardens at the 
 back, was the house that j)oor Mr. and Mrs. "\Yard had 
 bought and beautified ; " because it was so much better for 
 the children to be out of the town." The tears sprang into 
 Mary's eyes at the veiled Avindows, and the unfeeling con- 
 trast of the spring glow of flowering thorn, lilac, laburnum, 
 and, above all, the hard, flashing brightness of the glass ; 
 but tears were so unlike Ethel that Mary always was 
 ashamed of them, and disposed of them quietly. 
 
 They rang, but in vain. Two of the servants were ill, 
 and all in confusion ; and after waiting a few moments 
 among the azaleas in the glass porch, Dr. May admitted 
 himself, and led the way upstairs with silent footfalls, Mary 
 following with breath held back. A voice from an ojDen 
 door called, " Is that Dr. May ? " and he paused to look in 
 and say, " I'll be with you in one minute, Henry ; how is 
 Leonard ? " 
 
 " No worse, they tell me ; I say. Dr. May — " 
 
 " One moment ; " and turning back to Mary, he pointed 
 along a dark passage. " Up there, first door to the right. 
 You can't mistake ; " then disappeared, drawing the door 
 after him. 
 
 Much discomfited, Mary nevertheless plunged bravely on, 
 concluding " there " to be up a narrow, uncarpeted stair, 
 with a nursery wicket at the top, in undoing which, she was 
 
THE TPJAL. 25 
 
 relieved of all doubts and scruples by a melancboly little 
 duet from •vdtliiii. " Xary Mary, we want our breakfast ! 
 "We want to get up ! Mar}', Mary, do come ! please come I " 
 
 She was instantly in what might ordinarily have been a 
 light, cheerful room, but which was in all the dreariness 
 of grey cinders, exhausted night light, curtained windows, 
 and fragments of the last meal. In each of two cane cribs 
 was sitting up a forlorn cliilJ, with loose locks of dishevelled 
 hair, pale thin cheeks glazed with tears, staring eyes, and 
 mouths rounded with amaze at the apparition. One dropped 
 down and hid under the bed-clothes ; the other remained 
 transfixed, as her visitor advanced, saying, " T\"ell, my dear, 
 you called Mary, and here I am," 
 
 " Xot our own Mary," said the child, distrustfully. 
 
 " See if I can't be your own Mary." 
 
 " You can't. You can't give us our breakfast." 
 
 " Oh, I am so hungry 1 " from the other crib ; and both 
 burst into the feeble sobs of exhaustion. Eecovering from 
 fever, and still fasting at half-past nine ! Mary was aghast, 
 and promised an instant supply. 
 
 " Don't go ; " and a bird-like httle hand seized her on 
 either side. " Mary never came to bed, and nobody has 
 been here all the morning, and we can't bear to be alone." 
 
 " I was only looking for the bell." 
 
 " It is of no use ; Minna did jump out and ring, but 
 nobody will come." 
 
 Mary made an ineffectual experiment, and then persuaded 
 the children to let her go by assurances of a speedy return. 
 She sped down, brimming over with pity and indignation 
 to communicate to her father this cruel neglect, and as she 
 passed Henry AVard's door, and heard several voices, she 
 
26 THE TRIAL. 
 
 ventured on a timid summons of " Papa," but, finding it 
 unheard, she perceived that she must act for herself. Going 
 down stairs, she tried the sitting-room doors, hoping that 
 breakfast might be laid out there, but all were locked ; and 
 at last she found her way to the lower regions, guided by 
 voices in eager tones of subdued gossip. 
 
 There, in the glow of the huge red fire, stood a well- 
 covered table, surrounded by cook, charwoman, and their 
 cavaliers, discussing a pile of hot-buttered toast, to which 
 the little kitchen-maid was contributing large rounds, toasted 
 at the fire. 
 
 JNIary's eyes absolutely flashed, as she said, " The children 
 have had no breakfast." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Ma'am," and the cook rose, ''but 
 it is the nurse-maid that takes up the young ladies' meals," 
 
 Mary did not listen to the rest ; she was desperate, and 
 pouncing on the bread with one hand, and the butter with 
 the other, ran away with them to tlie nursery, set them 
 down, and rushed off for another raid. She found that 
 the commotion she had excited was resulting in the prepara- 
 tion of a tray. 
 
 "I am sure, Ma'am, I am very sorry," said the cook, in- 
 sisting on carrying the kettle, "but we are in such con- 
 fusion ; and the nurse-maid, whose place it is, has been up 
 most of the night with Mr. Leonard, and must have just 
 dropped asleep somewhere, and I was just giving their 
 breakfast to the undertaker's young men, but I'll call her 
 directly. Ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, no, on no account. I am sure she ought to sleep," 
 said Mary. " It was only because I found the little girls 
 quite starving that I came down. I will take care of them 
 
THE TEL\L. 27 
 
 now. Don't wake her, pray. Only I hope," and 'Mixvj 
 looked beseechingly, "that they will have something good 
 for their dinner, poor little things." 
 
 Cook was entirely pacified, and talked about roast chicken, 
 and presently the little sisters were sitting np in their beds, 
 each in her wrapper, being fed by tnrns with delicately- 
 buttered slices, Mary standing between like a mother-bird 
 feeding her young, and pleased to find the eyes grow brighter 
 and less hollow, the cheeks less wan, the voices less thin and 
 pipy, and a little laugh breaking out when she mistook 
 Minna for Ella. 
 
 ^VTiile tidying the room, she was assailed with entreaties 
 to call their Mary, and let them get up, they were so tired 
 of bed. She undertook to be still their Mary, and made 
 them direct her to the housemaid's stores, went down on her 
 knees at the embers, and so dealt with matches, chips, and 
 coal, that to her own surprise and pride a fire was evoked. 
 
 " But," said Ella, " I thought you were a Miss May." 
 
 " So I am, my dear." 
 
 " But ladies don't light fires," said Minna, in open-eyed 
 perplexity. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed the younger sister, "you know Henry 
 said he did not think any of the ]\Iiss Mays were first-rate, 
 and that our Ave beat them all to nothing." 
 
 The elder, Minna, began hushing ; and it must be con- 
 fessed that honest Mary was not superior to a certain crimson 
 flush of indignation, as she held her head into the grate, 
 and thought of Ethel, Elora, and Blanche, criticised by 
 Mr. Henry Ward. Little ungrateful chit ! Xo, it was not 
 a matter of laughing, but of forgiveness ; and the assertion 
 of the dignity of usefulness was speedily forgotten in the 
 
28 THE TETAL. 
 
 toilette of the small light skin-and-bone frames, in the 
 course of which she received sundry compliments — " her 
 hands were so nice and soft," " she did not pull their hair 
 like their own Mary," " they wished she always dressed 
 them." 
 
 The trying moment was when they asked if they might 
 kneel at her lap for their prayers. To Mary, the twelve 
 years seemed as nothing since her first prayers after the 
 day of terror and bereavement, and her eyes swam with 
 tears as the younger girl unthinkingly rehearsed her wonted 
 formula, and the elder, clinging to her, whispered gravely, 
 " Please, what shall I say V 
 
 With full heart, and voice almost unmanageable, Islaxj 
 prompted the few simple words that had come to her in 
 that hour of sorrow. She looked up, from stooping to the 
 child's ear, to see her father at the door, gazing at them 
 with face greatly moved. The children greeted him fondly, 
 and he sat down with one on each knee, and caressed them 
 as he looked them well over, drawing out their narration of 
 the wonderful things " she " had done, the fingers pointing 
 to designate who she was. His look at her over his spec- 
 tacles made Mary^s heart bound and feel compensated for 
 whatever Mr. Henry Ward might say of her. When the 
 children had finished their story, he beckoned her out of 
 the room, promising them that he would not keep her long. 
 
 " Well done, ^Slolly," he said smiling, " it is well to 
 have daughters good for something. You had better stay 
 with them till that poor maid has had her sleep out, and 
 can come to them." 
 
 "I should like to stay with them all day, only that 
 Ethel must want me." 
 
THE TRIAL. 29 
 
 "You liad better go home by dinner time, that Ethel 
 may get some air. Perhaps I shall want one of you in the 
 evening to be with them at the time of the funeral." 
 
 "So soon!" 
 
 "Yes, it must be. Better for all, and Henry is glad it 
 should be so. He is out on the sofa to-day, but he is 
 terribly cut up." 
 
 "And Leonard?" 
 
 " I see some improvement — Burdon does not — but I 
 think with Heaven's good mercy we may drag him through, 
 the pulse is rather better. Xow I must go. You'll not 
 wait dinner for me." 
 
 Mary spent the next hour in amusing the children by 
 the fabrication of the dolls' wardrobe, and had made them 
 exceedingly fond of her, so that there was a very poor 
 welcome when their own Mary at length appeared, much 
 shocked at the duration of her own slumbers, and greatly 
 obliged to ^liss May. The little girls would scarcely let 
 Mary go, though she pacified them by an assurance that 
 she or her si>ter would come in the evenino-. 
 
 "Don't let it be your sister. You come, and finish our 
 dolls' frocks ! " and they hung about her, kissing her, and 
 trying to extract a promise. 
 
 After sharing the burthen of depression, it was strange 
 to return home to so different a tone of spirits when she 
 found Aubrey installed in Ethel's room as his parlour, very 
 white and weak, but overflowing with languid fun. There 
 was grief and sympathy for the poor Wards, and anxious 
 inquiries for Leonard ; but it was not sorrow brought visibly 
 before him, and after the decorous space of commiseration, 
 the smiles were bright again, and Mary heard how her father 
 
30 THE TRIAL. 
 
 had popped in to boast of his daughter being " as good 
 as a housemaid, or as Miss AVhat's-her-name ;" and her foray 
 in the kitchen was more diverting to Aubrey than she was 
 as yet prepared to understand. " Eunning away with the 
 buttered toast from under the nose of a charwoman ! let 
 Harry never talk of taking a Chinese battery after that!" 
 her incapacity of perceiving that the deed was either valiant 
 or ludicrous, entertaining him particularly. " It had evidently 
 hit the medium between the sublime and ridiculous." 
 
 When evening came, Mary thought it Ethel's privilege 
 to go, as the most efficient friend and comforter ; but Ethel 
 saw that her sister's soul was with the "U^ards, and insisted 
 that she should go on as she had begun. 
 
 " Ethel, that was only with the little ones. K"ow jon 
 would be of use to poor Averil." 
 
 " And why should not you ? and of more use ? " 
 
 " You know I am only good for small children ; but if 
 you tell me — " 
 
 " You provoking girl," said Ethel. "All I tell you is, 
 that you are twenty- three years old, and I won't tell you 
 anything, nor assist your unwholesome desire to be second 
 fiddle." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Ethel ; of course you 
 always tell me what to do, and how to do it." 
 
 Ethel quite laughed now, but gave up the contest, only 
 Raying, as she fondly smoothed back a little refractory lock 
 on Mary's smooth open brow, "Very well then, go and do 
 Avhatever comes to hand at Bankside, my dear. I do really 
 want to stay at home, both on Aubrey's accomit, and because 
 papa says Dr. Spencer is done up, and that I must catch 
 him and keep him quiet this evening." 
 
THE TPJAL. 31 
 
 Mary was satisfied in her obedience, and set off with 
 her father. Just as they reached Bankside, a gig drove 
 up containing the fattest old man she had ever beheld ; 
 her father whispered that it was old ^Ir. Axworthy, and 
 sent her at once to the nursery, where she was welcomed 
 with a little shriek of delight, each child bounding in her 
 small arm-chair, and pulling her down between them on 
 the floor for convenience of double hugging, after which 
 she was required to go on with the doll-dressing. 
 
 Mary could not bear to do this, while the knell was 
 vibrating on her ear, and the two coffins being borne across 
 the threshold ; so she gathered the orphans within her 
 embrace as she sat on the floor, and endeavoured to find 
 out how much they understood of what was passing, and 
 whether they had any of the right thoughts. It was rather 
 disap2^ointing. The little sisters had evidently been well 
 and rehgiously taught, but they were too childish to dwell 
 on thoughts of awe or grief, and the small minds were 
 chiefly fixed upon the dolls, as the one bright s^Dot in 
 the dreary day. Islsury jielded, and worked and answered 
 their chatter till twilight came on, and the rival ]\Iary 
 came up to put them to bed, an operation in which she 
 gave her assistance, almost questioning if she were not 
 forgotten; but she learnt that her father was still in the 
 house, the nurse believed looking at papers in ^Mr. Henry's 
 room with the other gentlemeiu 
 
 " And you will sit by us while we go to sleep. Oh ! 
 don't go away ! " 
 
 The nurse was thankful to her for so doing, and a some- 
 what graver mood had come over Minna as she laid her 
 head on her pillow, for she asked the difficult question. 
 
32 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Can Mamma see us now ?" Avliicli Mary could only answer 
 with a tender " Perhaps/' and an attempt to direct the 
 child to the thought of the Heavenly Father ; and then 
 ]\Iinna asked, " AAlio will take care of us now ? " 
 
 " Oh, will you 1 " cried Ella, sitting up ; and both little 
 maids holding out their arms, made a proffer of themselves 
 to be her little children. They would be so good if she 
 would let them be — 
 
 Mary could only fondle and smile it off, and put them 
 in mind that they belonged to their brother and sister ; 
 but the answer was, '' Ave is not so nice as you. Oh, do 
 let us—" 
 
 " But I can't, my dears. I am Dr. May's child, you know. 
 What could I say to him 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! but Dr. May wouldn't mind ! T know he wouldn't 
 mind ! Mamma says there w\is never any one so fond of 
 little children, and he is such a dear good old gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Mary had not recognised him as an old gentleman at 
 fifty-eight, and did not like it at all. She argued on the 
 impracticability of taking them from their natural protectors, 
 and again tried to lead them upwards, finally betaking 
 herself to the repetition of hymns, which put them to 
 sleep. She had spent some time in sitting between them 
 in the summer darkness, when there was a low tap, and 
 opening the door, she saw her father. Indicating that 
 they slept, she followed him out, and a whispered conference 
 took place as he stood below her on the stairs, their heads 
 on a level. 
 
 " Tired, Mary ? I have only just got rid of old 
 Axworthy." 
 
THE TPJAL. 33 
 
 " The nurse said you were busy witli papers in Henry's 
 room." 
 
 " Ay — the "Will. Henry behaves very well ; and is full 
 of right feeling, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " AVhat becomes of those dear little girls 1 They want 
 to make themselves a present to me, and say they know 
 you would like it." 
 
 " So I should, the darlings ! Well, as things are left, it 
 all goes to Henry, except the 10,000^. Ward had insured 
 his life for, which divides between the five. He under- 
 takes, most properly, to make them a home — whether in 
 this house or not is another thing ; he and Averil will 
 look after them ; and he made a most right answer when 
 ]\Ir. Axworthy offered to take Leonard into his office," 
 proceeded the communicative doctor, unable to help pouring 
 himself out, in spite of time and place, as soon as he had 
 a daughter to himself. " Settle nothing now — education 
 not finished ; but privately he tells me he believes his 
 mother would as soon have sent Leonard to the hulks as 
 to that old rascal, and the scamp, his grandnephew." 
 
 Mary's answer to this, as his tones became incautiously 
 emphatic, was a glance round all the attic doors, lest they 
 should have ears. 
 
 " iN'ow then, do you want to get home 1 " said the doctor, 
 a little rebuked. 
 
 " Oh no, not if there is anything I can do." 
 
 " I want to get this girl away from Leonard. He is just 
 come to the state when it all turns on getting him off to 
 sleep quietly, and not disturbing him, and she is too excited 
 and restless to do anything with her ; she has startled him 
 twice already, and then gets upset — tired out, poor thing ! 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 THE TRIAL. 
 
 and will end in being hysterical if she does not get fed and 
 rested, and then we shall be done for ! IS^ow I want you to 
 take charge of her. See, here's her room, and I have ordered 
 np some tea for her. You must get her quieted down, make 
 her have a tolerable meal, and when she has worked off her 
 excitement, put her to bed — undressed, mind — and you 
 might lie down by her. If you can't manage her, call me. 
 That's Leonard's door, and I shall be there all night ; but 
 don't if you can help it. Can you do this, or must X get 
 Miss What-d'ye-call-her, the elder one, if she can leave the 
 Greens in Eandall's Alley ? " 
 
 AYell was it that Mary's heart was stout as well as 
 tender ; and instead of mentally magnifying the task, and 
 diminishing her own capabilities, she simply felt that she 
 had received a command, and merely asked that Ethel should 
 be informed. 
 
 " I am going to send up to her." 
 
 "And shall I give Averil anything to take ? " 
 
 " Mutton-chops, if you can." 
 
 " I meant sal-volatile, or anything to put her to sleep." . 
 
 " Xonsense ! I hate healthy girls drugging themselves. 
 You don't do that at home, ISIary ! " 
 
 Mary showed her white teeth in a silent laugh at the 
 improbability, there being nothing Ethel more detested than 
 what she rather rudely called nervous quackeries. Her 
 father gave her a kiss of grateful approbation, and was 
 gone. 
 
 There was a light on the table, and preparations for tea ; 
 and Mary looked round the pretty room, where the orna- 
 mental paper, the flowery chintz furniture, the shining brass 
 of the bedstead, the fi'illed muslin toilet, and et ceteras, were 
 
THE TRIAL. 35 
 
 more luxurious than wliat she ever saw, except when visiting 
 with Flora, and so new as to tell a tale of the mother's fond 
 preparation for the return of the daughter from school. In 
 a few moments she heard her father saying, in a voice as if 
 speaking to a sick child, " Yes, I promise you, my dear. Be 
 good, be reasonable, and you shall come back in the morning, 
 jN"©, you can't go there. Henry is going to bed. Here is a 
 friend for you. Xow, Mary, don't let me see her till she 
 has slept." 
 
 Mary took the other hand, and between them they 
 placed her in an arm-chair, whose shining fresh white ground 
 and gay rose-pattern contrasted with her heated, rumpled, 
 over- watched appearance, as she sank her head on her hand, 
 not noticing either Mary's presence or the doctor's departure. 
 Mary stood doubtful for a few seconds, full of pity and 
 embarrassment, trying to take in the needs of the case. 
 
 Averil T^^ard was naturally a plump well-looking girl of 
 eighteen, with clearly-cut features, healthy highly-coloured 
 complexion, and large bright hazel eyes, much darker than 
 her profuse and glossy hair, which was always dressed in the 
 newest and most styhsh fashion, which, as well as the whole 
 air of her dress and person, was, though perfectly lady-like, 
 always regarded by the Stoneborough Vorld as something 
 on the borders of presumption on the part of the entire 
 "Ward faroily. 
 
 To Mary's surprise, the five weeks terrible visitation, and 
 these last fearful five days of sleepless exertion and bereave- 
 ment, had not faded the bright red of the cheek, nor were 
 there signs of tears, though the eyes looked bloodshot. In- 
 deed, there was a purple tint about the eyelids and hj^s, a 
 dried-up appearance, and a heated oppressed air, as if the 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE TIIIAL. 
 
 faculties were deadened and burnt up, though her hand was 
 cold and trembling. Her hair, still in its elaborate arrange- 
 ment, hung loose, untidy, untouched ; her collar and sleeves 
 were soiled and tumbled ; her dress, with its inconvenient 
 machinery of inflation, looked wretched from its incongruity, 
 and the stains on the huge hanging sleeves. !N"ot a moment 
 could have been given to the care of her own person, since 
 the sole burthen of nursing had so grievously and suddenly 
 descended on her. 
 
 Mary's first instinct was to pour out ^ome warm water, 
 and^ bringing it with a sponge to say, "Would not this 
 refresh you ? " 
 
 Averil moved petulantly ; but the soft warm stream was 
 so grateful to her burning brow, that she could not resist ; 
 she put her head back, and submitted like a child to have 
 her face bathed, saying, " Thank you." 
 
 Mary then begged to remove her tight heavy dress, and 
 make her comfortable in her dressing-gown. 
 
 " Oh, I can't ! Then I could not go back." 
 
 " Yes, you could ; this is quite a dress ; besides, one can 
 move so much more quietly without crinoline." 
 
 "I didn't think of that;" and she stood up, and un- 
 fastened her hooks. "Perhaps Dr. May would let me go 
 back now 1 " as a mountain of mohair and scarlet petticoat 
 remained on the floor, upborne by an over-grown steel 
 mouse-trap. 
 
 " Perhaps he will by-and-by ; but he said you must sleep 
 first." 
 
 " Sleep — I can't sleep. There's no one but me. I 
 couldn't sleep." 
 
 " Then at least let me try to freshen you up. There. 
 
THE TRIAL. 37 
 
 You don't know what good it used to do my sister Blanche, 
 for me to brush her hair. I like it." 
 
 And Mary obtained a dreamy soothed submission, so that 
 she almost thought she was brushing her victim to sleep in 
 her chair, before the maid came up with the viands that Dr. 
 May had ordered. 
 
 " I can't eat that," said Averil, with almost disgust. 
 " Take it away." 
 
 " Please don't," said Mary. " Is that the way you use me, 
 Miss Ward, when I come to drink tea with you 1 " 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," was the mechanical answer. 
 Mary having made the long hair, glossy once more, into a 
 huge braid, and knotted it up, came forth, and insisted that 
 they were to be comfortable over their grilled chickens' legs. 
 She was obliged to make her own welcome, and entertain her 
 hostess; and strenuously she worked, letting the dry lips 
 imbibe a cup of tea, before she attempted the solids ; then 
 coaxing and commanding, she gained her point, and suc- 
 ceeded in causing a fair amount of provisions to be swal- 
 lowed ; after which Averil seemed more inclined to linger in 
 enjoyment of the liquids, as though the feverish restlessness 
 were giving place to a sense of fatigue and need of repose. 
 
 "This is all wrong," said she, ivith a faint bewildered 
 smile, as Mary filled up her cup for her. " I ought to be 
 treating you as guest. Miss May." 
 
 " Oh, don't call me Miss May ! Call me Mary. Think 
 me a sister. You know I have known something of like 
 trouble, only I was younger, and I had my sisters." 
 
 " I do not seem to have felt anything yet," said Averil, 
 passing her hands over her face. " I seem to be made of 
 stone." 
 
38 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " You have done : and that is better than feeling." 
 
 " Done ! and how miserably ! Oh, the difference it might 
 have made, if I had been a better nurse ! " 
 
 " Papa and Dr. Spencer both say you have been a wonder- 
 ful nurse, considering — " the last word came out before 
 Mary was aware. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. May has been so kind and so patient with me, 
 I shall never forget it. Even when I scalded his fingers 
 with bringing him that boiling water — but I always do 
 wrong when he is there — and now he won't let me go back 
 to Leonard." 
 
 " But, Averil, the best nurse in the world can't hold out 
 for ever. People must sleep, and make themselves fit to 
 go on." 
 
 " Not when there is only one : " and she gasped. 
 
 " All the more reason, when there is but one. Perhaps it 
 is because you are tu-ed out that you get nervous and agi- 
 tated. You will be quite different after a rest." 
 
 " Are you sure? " whispered Averil, with her eyes rounded, 
 " are you sure that is all the reason %'' 
 
 ^' What do you mean '? " said Mary. 
 
 Averil drew in her breath, and squeezed both hands tight 
 on her chest, as she spoke very low : " They sent me away 
 from mamma — they told me papa wanted me : then they 
 sent me from him ; they said I was better with Leonard ; 
 and — and I said to myself, nothing should make me leave 
 Leonard." 
 
 "It was not papa — mi/ father — that sent you without 
 telling you," said Mary confidently. 
 
 " No," said Averil. 
 
 " No 3 I have heard him say that he would take all risks, 
 
THE TltlAL. 39 
 
 rather than deceive anybody," said ^Nlary eagerly. " I have 
 heard him and Dr. Spencer argue about what they called 
 pious frauds, and he always said they were want of faith. 
 You may trust him. He told me Leonard was in the state 
 when calm sleep was chiefly wanted. I know he would 
 think it cmel not to call you if there were need j and I do 
 not believe there will be need." 
 
 Something like this was reiterated in different forms ; 
 and though Averil never regularly yielded, yet as they sat 
 on, there came pauses in the conversation, when Mary saw 
 her nodding, and after one or two vibrations in her chair, 
 she looked up with lustreless glassy eyes. Mary took one 
 of these semi-wakened moments, and in the tone of caressing 
 authority, that had been already found effectual, said she 
 must sleep in bed ; took no notice of the murmur of refusal, 
 but completed the undressing, and fairly deposited her in 
 her bed. 
 
 Mary's scrupulous conscience was distressed at having thus 
 led to the omission of all evening orisons ; but if her own 
 simple-hearted loving supplications at the orphan's bedside 
 could compensate for their absence, she did her utmost. 
 Then, as both the room-door and that of the sick-chamber 
 had been left open, she stole into the passage, where she 
 could see her father, seated at the table, and telegraphed to 
 him a sign of her success. He durst not move, but he smiled 
 and nodded satisfaction ; and Mary, after tidying the room, 
 and considering with herself, took off her more cumbrous 
 garments, wrapped herself in a cloak, and lay down beside 
 Averil, not expecting to sleep, but passing to thoughts of 
 Harry, and of that 23rd Psalm, which they had agreed to say 
 at the same hour every night. By how many hours was 
 
40 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Harry beforehand with her 1 Tliat was a calculation that to 
 Mary was always like the beads of the chaplain of Xorham 
 Castle. Certain it is, that after she had seen Harry lighting 
 a fire to broil chickens' legs in a Chinese temple, under the 
 willow-pattern cannon-ball tree, and heard Henry "Ward 
 sapng it was not like a lieutenant in the navy, she found 
 herself replying, "Use before gentility ;" and in the enuncia- 
 tion of this — her first moral sentiment — discovered that it 
 was broad daylight. 
 
 "What o'clock it was she could not guess. Averil was 
 sound asleep, breathing deeply and regularly, so that it was 
 a pleasure to listen to her ; and Mary did not fear wakening 
 her by a shoeless voyage of discovery to the place Avhence 
 Dr. May was visible. 
 
 He turned at once, and with his noiseless tread came to 
 her. " Asleep still 1 So is he. All right. Here, waken 
 me the moment he stirs." 
 
 And rather by sign than word, he took Mary into the sick- 
 room, indicated a chair, and laid himself on a sofa, where he 
 was instantaneously sound asleep, before his startled daughter 
 had quite taken everything in ; but she had only to glance at 
 his haggard wearied face, to be glad to be there, so as to 
 afford him even a few moments of \^gorous slumber with all 
 his might. 
 
 In some awe, she looked round, not venturing to stir hand 
 or foot. Her chair was in the full draught of the dewy 
 morning breeze, so chilly, that she drew her shawl tightly 
 about her ; but she knew that this had been an instance of 
 her father's care, and if she "wished to make the sliglitest 
 move, it was only to secure a fuUer view of the patient, from 
 whom she was half cut off by a curtain at the foot of the 
 
THE TRIAL. 41 
 
 bed. A sort of dread, liowever, made 'Mary gaze at every- 
 thing around lier before she brought her eyes upon him — 
 her father's watch on the table, indicating ten minutes to 
 four, the Minster Tower in the rising sun-hght — nay, the very 
 furniture of the room, and Dr. May's position, before she 
 durst famiharize herself with Leonard's appearance — he 
 whom she had last seen as a sturdy, ruddy, healthfal boy, 
 looking able to outweigh two of his friend Aubrey. 
 
 The original disease had long since passed into typhus, and 
 the scarlet eruption was gone, so that she only saw a yellow 
 whiteness, that, marked by the blue veins of the bared temples, 
 was to her mind death-like. Mary had not been sheltered 
 from taking part in scenes of suffering ; she had seen sickness 
 and death in cottages, as well as in her own home, and 
 she had none of the fanciful alarms, either of novelty or 
 imagination, to startle her in the strange watch that had so 
 suddenly been thrust on her ; but what did fill her with a 
 certain apprehension, was the new and lofty beauty of ex- 
 pression that sat on that sleeping countenance. "A nice 
 boy," " rather a handsome lad," " a boy of ingenuous face," 
 they had always called Leonard Ward, when animated with 
 health and spirits ; and the friendship between him and 
 Aubrey had been encouraged, but without thinking of him as 
 more than an ordinary lad of good style. ISTow, however, to 
 Mary's mind, the broad brow and wasted features in their 
 rest, had assumed a calm nobility that was like those of Ethel's 
 favourite champions — those who conquered by "suffering 
 and being strong." She looked and listened for the low 
 regular breath, almost doubting at one moment whether it 
 still were drawn, then only reassured by its freedom and 
 absence from effort, that it was not soon to pass away. There 
 
42 THE TRIAL. 
 
 "was something in that look as if death must set his seal on 
 it, rather than as if it could return to the flush of health, 
 and the struggle and strife of school-boy life and of 
 manhood. 
 
 More than an hour had passed, and all within the house 
 was as still as ever; and through the window there only 
 came such sounds as seem like audible silence — the twittering 
 of birds, the humming of bees, the calls of boys in distant 
 fields, the far-away sound of waggon wheels — when there was 
 a slight move, and Mary, in the tension of all her faculties, 
 had well-nigh started, but restrained herself ; and as she saw 
 the half-closed fingers stretch, and the head turn, she leant 
 forward, and touched her father's hand. 
 
 Dr. ^lay was on his feet even before those brown eyes 
 of Leonard's had had time to unclose ; and as Mary was 
 silently moving to the door, he made a sign to her to 
 wait. 
 
 She stood behind the curtain : " You are better for your 
 sleep." 
 
 " Yes, thank you — much better." 
 
 The doctor signed towards a tray, which stood by a spirit- 
 lamp, on a table in the further corner. Mary silently brought 
 it, and as quietly obeyed the finger that directed her to 
 cordial and spoon — well knowing the need — since that un- 
 serviceable right arm always made these operations trouble- 
 some to her father. 
 
 " Have you been here all night. Dr. May 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; and very glad to see you sleeping so welL" 
 
 " Thank you." And there was something that made 
 Mary's eyes dazzle with tears in the tone of that " Thank 
 you." The doctor held out his hand for the spoon she had 
 
THE TRIAL. 43 
 
 prepared, and there was another " Thank you ; " then, " Is 
 Ave there 1 " 
 
 " ^0, I made her go to bed. She is quite well ; but she 
 wanted sleep sorely." 
 
 " Thank you," again said the boy ; then with a moment's 
 pause, " Dr. May, tell me 7iow.'^ 
 
 Mary would have fled as breaking treacherously in uj^on 
 such tidings ; but a constraining gesture of her father obliged 
 her to remain, and keep the cordial ready for immediate 
 administration. 
 
 "My dear, I believe you know," said Dr. May, bending 
 over him — and Mary well knew what the face must be 
 saying. 
 
 " Both 1 " the faint tones asked. 
 
 " Eecollect the sorrow that they have been spared," said 
 Dr. May in his lowest tenderest tones, putting his hand out 
 behind him, and signing to Mary for the cordial. 
 
 " She could not have borne it j " and the feebleness of 
 those words made Mary eager to put the spoon once more 
 into her father's hands. 
 
 " That is right, my boy. Think of their being together ; " 
 and Mary heard tears in her father's voice. 
 
 "Thank you," again showed that the cordial was swal- 
 lowed ; then a pause, and in a quiet, sad, low tone, " Poor 
 Ave ! " 
 
 " Your mending is the best thing for her." 
 
 Then came a long sigh ; and then, after a pause, the doctor 
 knelt down, and said the Lord's Prayer— the orphan's prayer, 
 as so many have felt it in the hour of bereavement. 
 
 All was quite still, and both he and Mary knelt on for 
 some short space ; then he arose in guarded stillness, hastily 
 
44 THE TRIAL. 
 
 wiped away the tears that Avere streaming over his face, and 
 holding back the curtain, showed Mary the boy, again sunk 
 into that sweet refreshing sleep. " That is well over," he said, 
 with a deep sigh of relief when they had moved to a safe 
 distance. " Poor fellow ! he had better become used to the 
 idea while he is too weak to think." 
 
 " He is better ] " asked Mary, repressing her agitation with 
 difficulty. 
 
 " I believe the danger is over ; and you may tell his sister 
 so when she wakes." 
 
THE TRIAL. 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " And a heart at leisure from itself 
 To soothe and sympathise." 
 
 Miss Waring. 
 
 Recovery had fairly set in, and " better " was tlie universal 
 bulletin, eating and drinking the prevailing remedy. 
 
 Henry TTard had quickly thrown off his illness. The 
 sense that all depended on him, acted as a stimulus to his 
 energies ; he Avas anxious to be up and doing, and in a few 
 days was downstairs, looking over his father's papers, and 
 making arrangements. He was eager and confident, declaring 
 that his sisters should never want a home while he lived ; 
 and, when he first entered his brother's room, his effusion of 
 affection overwhelmed Leonard in his exceeding weakness, 
 and the thought of which during the rest of the day often 
 brought tears to his eyes. 
 
 Very grateful to Dr. ^lay, Henry declared himself anxious 
 to abide by his advice ; and discussed with him all his plans. 
 There had been no >vill, but the house and land of course 
 were Henry's. The other property gave about 2,000?. to each 
 of the family ; and Averil had about as much again from the 
 old aunt, from whom she had taken her peculiar name. The 
 
46 THE TRIAL. 
 
 home of all should, of course, still be their present one ; 
 Averil would teach her sisters, and superintend the house ; 
 and Leonard continue at the school, where he had a fair 
 chance of obtaining the Eandall scholarship in the course of 
 a year or two. " And if not," said Henry, " he may still not 
 lose his University education. My father was i)roud of 
 Leonard ; and if he would have sent him there, why should 
 not 1 1 " 
 
 And when Dr. May tliought how his own elder sons had 
 insisted on greater advantages of education for their juniors 
 than they had themselves enjoyed, he felt especially fatherly 
 towards the young surgeon. On only one point was he 
 dissatisfied, and that he could not press. He thought the 
 establishment at Bankside too expensive, and counselled 
 Henry to remove into the town, and let the house ; but this 
 was rejected on the argument of the uncertainty of finding a 
 tenant, and the inexpediency of appearing less prosperous ; 
 and considering that ]VIr. and Mrs. "Ward had themselves 
 made the place, Dr. May thought his proposal hard-hearted. 
 He went about impressing every one with his confidence in 
 Henry Ward, and fought successfully at the Board of 
 Guardians to have him considered as a continuation of his 
 father, instead of appointing a new union doctor ; and he 
 watched Avith paternal solicitude that the young man's first 
 return to his practice should be neither too soon for his own 
 health or his patients' fears ; giving him no exhortation 
 more earnest, nor more thankfully accepted, than that he 
 was to let no scruple prevent his applying to himself in the 
 slightest difficulty ; calling him in to pauper patients, and 
 privately consulting in cases which could not be visited 
 gratis. The patronage of Henry Ward was one of the hob- 
 
THE TKIAL. 47 
 
 bies that Dr. May specially loved, and he cantered off upon 
 it with vehemence such as he had hardly displayed for 
 years. 
 
 Aubrey recovered with the tardiness of a weakly constitu- 
 tion, and was long in even arriving at a drive in the 
 brougham : for Dr. May had set up a brougham. As long 
 as Hector EmesclifFe's home was at StoneborouEjh, drivins 
 the doctor had been his privilege, and the old gig had been 
 held together by diligent repairs ; but when Maplewood 
 claimed him, and Adams was laid aside by rheumatism, 
 Flora would no longer be silenced, and preached respect- 
 ability and necessity. Dr. May did not admit the plea, 
 unless Adams were to sit inside and drive out of window ; 
 but then he was told of the impropriety of liis daughters 
 going out to dinner in gigs, and the expense of flies. When 
 Flora talked of propriety in that voice, the family might 
 protest and grumble, but were always reduced to obedience ; 
 and thus Blanche's wedding had been the occasion of Ethel 
 being put into a hoop, and the doctor into a brougham. He 
 was better off under the tjTanny than she was, in spite of 
 the sohtude he had bewailed. Young Adams was not the 
 companion his father had been, and was no loss ; and he 
 owned that he now got through a great deal of reading, and 
 at times a great deal of sleep ; and mourned for nothing but 
 his moon and stars — so romantic a regret, that Dr. Spencer 
 advised him not to mention it. 
 
 After Aubrey^s first drives, Dr. Spencer declared that the 
 best way of invigorating him would be to send him for a 
 month to the sea-side, while the house could be thoroughlj- 
 purified before Gertrude's return. Dr. Spencer and Mary 
 would take care of Dr. Islay ; and Ethel had begun to look 
 
48 THE TRIAL. 
 
 forward to a tete-a-tete witli Aubrey Ly the sea, whicli they 
 had neither of tliem ever seen, when her anticipations were 
 somewhat dashed by her father's exclaiming, that it would be 
 the best thing for Leonard Ward to go with them. She 
 said something about his not being well enough to travel 
 so soon. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he will ! " said Dr. May ; *' he only wants 
 stimidus to get on fast enough. I declare I'll ask Henry 
 about it ; I'm just going to meet him at the hospital." 
 
 And before another word could be said, he let himself out 
 at the back door of the garden, in which they had been 
 meeting Eichard, who was now allowed to come thus far, 
 though both for Daisy's sake and his flock's, he had hitherto 
 submitted to a rigorous quarantine ; and the entire immunity 
 of Cocksmoor from the malady was constantly adduced by 
 each doctor as a convincing proof of his own theory. 
 
 " Well, I do hope that will go off ! " exclaimed Ethel, as 
 soon as her father was out of hearing. " It will be a terrible 
 upset to all one's peace and comfort with Aubrey ! " 
 
 "Indeed — what harm will the poor boy do?" asked 
 Richard. 
 
 "]\[ake Aubrey into the mere shame-faced, sister-hating, 
 common-place creature, that the collective boy thinks it due 
 to himself to be in society," said Ethel ; " and me from an 
 enjojdng sister, into an elderly, care- taking, despised spinster 
 — a burden to myself and the boys." 
 
 "But why, Ethel, can't you enjoy yourself?" 
 
 " ^ly dear Eichard, just imagine turning loose a lot of 
 boys and girls, w^ith no keeper, to enjoy themselves in some 
 wild sea place ! Xo, no : the only way to give the arrange- 
 ment any shade of propriety, will be to be elderly, infuse as 
 
THE TRIAL. 49 
 
 mucli \'inegar as possible into my countenance, wear my 
 spectacles, and walk at a staid pace up and down th.e parade, 
 while my two sons disport themselves on the rocks." 
 
 " K you really think it would not be proper," said Eichard, 
 rather alarmed, " I could run after my father." 
 
 " Stuff, Eichard ; papa must have his way ; and if it is to 
 do the boy good, I can sacrifice a crab — I mean myseK — not 
 a crustacean. I am not going to be such a selfish -wretch as 
 to make objections." 
 
 " But if it would not be the correct thing ? Or could not 
 you get some to stay with you 1 " 
 
 "I can make it the correct thing. It is only to abstain 
 from the fun I had hoped for. I meant to have been a girl, 
 and now I must be a woman, that's all ; and I dare say 
 Aubrey will be the happier for it — boys always are." 
 
 " If you don't like it, I wish you would let me speak to 
 papa." 
 
 " Eichard, have you these five years been the safety-valve 
 for my murmurs without knowing what they amount 
 to]" 
 
 "I thought no one complained unless to get a thing 
 remedied." 
 
 " Exactly so. That is man ! And experience never shows 
 man that woman's growls relieve her soul, and that she 
 dreads nothing more than their betug acted on ! All I wish 
 is, that this scheme may die a natural death ; but I should 
 be miserable, and deser\"ed to be so, if I raised a finger to 
 hinder it. ^Vhat, must you go ? Eule Daisy's lines if she 
 writes to Meta, please." 
 
 '* I did so. I have been trj^g to make her write 
 straighter." 
 
 VOL. J. E 
 
50 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Of course you have. I expect I shall find her organ of 
 order grown to a huge bump when she comes home. Oh ! 
 when will our poor remnants be once more a united family 1 
 and when shall I get into Cocksmoor school again 1 " 
 
 When Dr. May came home, his plan was in full bloom. 
 Henry had gratefully accepted it, and answered for his 
 brother being able to travel by the next Monday; and 
 Dr. May wanted Ethel to walk with him to Bankside, and 
 propose it there — talking it over with the sister, and making 
 it her o^vn invitation. Ethel saw her fate, and complied, 
 her father talking eagerly all the way. 
 
 " You see, Ethel, it is quite as much for his spirits as his 
 health that I wish it. He is just the age that our Norman 
 was." 
 
 That was the key to a great deal. Ethel knew that her 
 father had never admitted any of the many excuses for the 
 neglect of ^N'orman's suffering for the three months after his 
 mother's death ; but though it thrilled her all over, she was 
 not prepared to believe that any one, far less any "Ward, 
 could be of the same sensitive materials as ^N'orman. To 
 avoid answering, she went more than half way, by saying, 
 "Don't you think I might ask those poor girls to come 
 with him 1 " 
 
 " By no manner of means," said the doctor, stopping short. 
 
 It is just what I want, to get him away from his sister. 
 She minds nothing else ; and if it were not for Mary, I don't 
 know what the little ones would do ; and as to Henry, he is 
 very good and patient ; but it is the way to prevent him 
 from forming domestic tastes to have no mistress to his 
 house. He will get into mischief, or marry, if she does not 
 mind what she is about." 
 
THE TRIAL. 51 
 
 *' That must come to an end when Leonard is well, and 
 goes back to school." 
 
 "And that won't be till after the holidays. Xo, some 
 break there must be. "When he is gone, ^lary can put her 
 into the way of doing things ; she is anxious to do right ; 
 and we shall see them do very well. But this poor boy — 
 you know he has been always living at home, while the 
 others were away ; he was very fond of his mother, and the 
 first coming out of his room was more than he could bear. 
 I must have him taken from home till he is well again, and 
 able to turn to other things." 
 
 And before Ethel's eyes came a vision of poor Mrs. "Ward 
 leaning on her son's arm, on Saturday afternoon walks, 
 each looking fond and proud of the other. She felt her own 
 hardness of heart, and warmed to the desire of giving 
 comfort. 
 
 Bankside was basking in summer sunshine, ^-ith small 
 patches of shade round its young shrubs and trees, and a 
 baking heat on the little porch. 
 
 The maid believed Miss Ward was in the garden. ^Ir. 
 Leonard had been taken out to-day ; and the doctor moving 
 on, they found themselves in the cool pretty drawing- 
 room rather over-crowded with furniture and decoration, 
 fresh and tasteful, but too much of it, and a contrast to 
 the Mays' mixture of the shabby and the curious, in the 
 room that was so decidedly for use, and not for show. 
 
 What arrested the attention was, however, the very 
 
 sweetest singing Ethel had ever heard. The song was low 
 
 and sad, but so intensely sweet, that Dr. May held up his 
 
 hand to silence all sound, and stood with restrained breath 
 
 and moistened eyes. Ethel, far less sensitive to music, 
 
 E 2 
 ;i^RARY 
 
 ^ OF ILLINOI*? 
 
52 THE TPJAL. 
 
 was nevertheless touched as she had never before been by 
 sound ; and the more, as she looked through the window 
 and saw in the shade of a walnut-tree, a sofa, at the foot 
 of which sat Averil Ward in her deep mourning, her back 
 to the window, so that only her young figure and the 
 braids of her fair hair were to be seen ; and beyond, some- 
 thing prostrate, covered with wrappers. The sweet notes 
 ended, Dr. May drew a deep sigh, wiped his spectacles, and 
 went on ; Ethel hung back, not to startle the invalid by 
 the sight of a stranger ; but as Averil rose, she saw him 
 raising himself, "wdth a brightening smile on his pale face, 
 to hold out his hand to the doctor. In another minute 
 Averil had come to her, shaken hands, and seated herself 
 where she could best command a view of her brother. 
 
 " I am glad to see him out of doors," said Ethel. 
 
 "Henry was bent on it; but I think the air and the 
 glare of everything is too much for him ; he is so tired and 
 oppressed." 
 
 " I am sure he must like your singing," said Ethel. 
 
 " It is abnost the only thing that answers," said Averil, 
 her eyes wistfully turning to the sofa; *'he can't read, and 
 doesn't like being read to." 
 
 " It is very difficult to manage a boy's recovery," said 
 Ethel. " They don't know how to be ill." 
 
 " It is not that," replied the sister, as if she fancied 
 censure implied, " but his spirits. Every new room he goes 
 into seems to beat him down ; and he lies and broods. If 
 he could only talk !" 
 
 "I know that so well !" said Ethel. But to Averil the 
 May troubles were of old date, involved in the mists of 
 childhood. And Ethel seeini? that her words were not 
 
THE TRIAL. 53 
 
 taken as sympathy, continued, " Do not the little girls 
 amuse him 1 " 
 
 " Oh no ! they are too much for him ; and I am obliged to 
 keep them in the nursery. Poor little things ! I don't know 
 what we should do if your sister Mary were not so kind." 
 
 "Mary is very glad," began Ethel confusedly. Then 
 rushing into her subject : " 'Next week, I am to take 
 Aubrey to the sea- side ; and we thought if Leonard would 
 join us, the change might be good for him." 
 
 "Thank you," AverU answered, playing with her heavy 
 jet watch-guard. " You are very good ; but I am sure he 
 could not move so soon." 
 
 " Ave," called Leonard at that moment ; and Ethel, per- 
 ceiving that she likewise was to advance, came forth in time 
 to hear, " Ave ! I am to go to the sea next week, with 
 Aubrey May and his sister. "Won't it — '' 
 
 Then becoming aware of the visitor, he stopped short, 
 threw his feet off the sofa, and stood up to receive her. 
 
 " I can't let you come if you do like that," she said, 
 shaking his long thin hand ; and he let himself down again, 
 not, however, resuming his recumbent posture, and giving 
 a sHght but effective frown to silence his sister's entreaties 
 that he would do so. He sat, leaning back as though 
 exceedingly feeble, scarcely speaking, but his eyes eloquent 
 with eagerness. And very fine eyes they were ! Ethel 
 remembered her own weariness, some twelve or fourteen 
 years back, of the raptures of her baby-loving sisters about 
 those eyes ; and now in the absence of the florid colouring 
 of health, she was the more struck by the beauty of the 
 deep liquid brown, of the blue tinge of the white, and of 
 the lustrous light that resided in them, but far more by 
 
S-i THE TRIAL. 
 
 their power of expression, sometimes so soft and melancholy, 
 at other moments earnest, pleading, and almost flashing 
 wdth eagerness. It was a good mouth too, perhaps a 
 little inclined to sternness of mould about the jaw and 
 chin ; but that might have been j^artly from the absence 
 of all softening roundness, ageing the countenance for the 
 time, just as illness had shrunk the usually sturdy figure. 
 
 "Has Ethel told you of our plan?" asked Dr. May of 
 the sister. 
 
 " Yes," she hesitated, in evident confusion and distress. 
 " You are all very kind ; but we must see what Henry says." 
 
 " I have spoken to Henry ! He answers for our patch- 
 ing Leonard up for next w^eek ; and I have great faith in 
 Dr. Neptune." 
 
 Leonard's looks were as bright as Averd's were disturbed. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you very much ! but can he possibly 
 be well enough for the journey V* 
 
 Leonard's eyes said " I shall." 
 
 " A week will do great things," said Dr. May ; " and it is 
 a very easy journey — only four hours' railway, and a ten 
 miles' drive." 
 
 Averil's face was full of consternation ; and Leonard leant 
 forward -R^th hope dancing in his eyes. 
 
 " You know the place," continued Dr. May ; " Coombe 
 Hole. Quite fresh, and unhackneyed. It is just where 
 Devon and Dorset meet. I am not sure in which county ; 
 but there's a fine beach, and beautiful country. The 
 Riverses found it out, and have been there every autumn ; 
 besides sending their poor little girl and her governess 
 down when London gets too hot. Flora has ^vritten to 
 the woman of the lodgings she always has, and will lend 
 
THE TRIAL. 55 
 
 them the maid she sends with little Margaret ; so they 
 will be in clover." 
 
 " Is it not a very long way V said Averil, thinking how 
 long those ten ^^ards of lawn had seemed. 
 
 " !N'ot as things go," said Dr. May. " You want Dr. 
 Spencer to reproach you with being a Stoneborough fungus. 
 There are places in "V\^ales nearer by the map, but without 
 railway privilege ; and as to a great gay place, they would 
 all be sick of it." 
 
 " Do you feel equal to it ? as if you should like it, 
 Leonard V asked his sister, in a trembling would-be grateful 
 voice. 
 
 " Of all things," was the answer. 
 
 Ethel thought the poor girl had suffered constraint enough, 
 and that it was time to release the boy from his polite 
 durance ; so she rose to take leave, and again Leonard pulled 
 himself upright to shake hands. 
 
 ''Indeed," said Ethel, when Averil had followed them 
 into the drawing-room, " I am sorry for you. It would go 
 very hard with me to make Aubrey over to any one ! but 
 if you do trust him with me, I must come and hear all you 
 wish me to do for him." 
 
 " I cannot think that he will be able or glad to go 
 when it comes to the point," said Averil with a shaken 
 tone. 
 
 Dr. May was nearer than she thought, and s2X)ke peremp- 
 torily. " Take care what you are about ! You are not to 
 worry him with discussions. If he can go, he will ; if not, 
 he wiU stay at home ; but pros and cons are prohibited. 
 Do you hear, Averil V 
 
 " Yes ; very well." 
 
56 THE TEIAL. 
 
 "Papa ^oti really are very cruel to that poor girl," were 
 Ethel's first words outside. 
 
 " Am I ? I wouldn't be for worlds, Ethel. But some- 
 how she always puts me in a rage. I msh I knew she 
 was not worrying her brother at this moment ! " 
 
 No, Averil was on the stair-case, struggling, choking, 
 with the first tears she had shed. All this fortnight of 
 unceasing \^gilance and exertion, her eyes had been dry, 
 for want of time to realize, for want of time to weep ; 
 and now she was ashamed that hurt feeling rather than 
 grief had opened the fountain. She could not beheve that 
 it was not a cruel act of kindness, to carry one so weak 
 as Leonard away from home to the care of a stranger. She 
 apprehended all manner of ill consequences ; and then 
 nursing him and regarding his progress as her own work, 
 had been the sedative to her grief, which would come 
 on her, "like an armed man," in the dreariness of his 
 absence. Above all, she felt herself ill requited by his 
 manifest eagerness to leave her who had nursed him so 
 devotedly — her, his own sister, for the stiff, plain Miss !May 
 whom he hardly knew. The blow from the favourite com- 
 panion brother, so passionately watched and tended, seemed 
 to knock her down ; and Dr. ^lay, with medical harshness, 
 forbidding her the one last hope of persuading him out of 
 the wild fancy, filled up the measure. 
 
 Oh, those tears ! How they would swell np at each 
 throb of the wounded heart, at each dismal foreboding of 
 the desponding spirit. But she had no time for them ! 
 Leonard must not be left alone, with no one to cover him 
 u]) '^^ith his wrappers. 
 
 The tears were strangled, the eyes indignantly dried. She 
 
THE TRIAL. 57 
 
 ran out at the garden door. The sofa was empty ! Had 
 Henry come home and helped him in 1 She hurried on 
 to the window j Leonard was alone in the drawing-room, 
 resting breathlessly on an ottoman within the window. 
 ** Dear Leonard ! Why didn't you wait for me ? " 
 " I thought I'd try what I could do. You see I am much 
 stronger than we thought." And he smiled cheerfully, as 
 he helped himself by the furniture to another sofa. " I 
 say, Ave, do just give me the map — the one in Bradshaw 
 will do. I want to find this place." 
 
 "I don't think there is a Bradshaw," said Averil, re- 
 luctantly. 
 
 " Oh yes, there is — behind the candlestick, on the study 
 chimney-piece." 
 
 "Very well." There were more tears to be gulped down — 
 and perhaps they kept her from finding the book. 
 
 "Where's the Bradshaw 1 " 
 
 " I didn't see it." 
 
 " I tell you I know it was there. The left-hand candle- 
 stick, close to the letter-weight. I'll get it myself." 
 
 He was heaving himself up, when Averil prevented him 
 by hastening to a more real search, which speedily produced 
 the book. 
 
 Eagerly Leonard unfolded the map, making her steady 
 it for his shaking hand, and tracing the black toothed 
 lines. 
 
 "There's Bridport — ten miles from there. Can you see 
 the name, Ave 1 " 
 
 " Xo, it is not marked." 
 
 " Kever mind. I see where it is ; and I can see it is a 
 capital place ; just in that little jag, ^^ith famous bathing. 
 
58 THE TRIAL. 
 
 I wonder if they will stay long enougli for me to learn to 
 swim 1 " 
 
 " You are a good way from that as yet," said poor Averil, 
 her heart sinking lower and lower. 
 
 " Oh, I shall be well at once when I get away from here ! " 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Why, Ave ! " he cried, now first struck with her tone, 
 " don't you know I shall 1 " 
 
 " I don't know," she said, from the soreness of her heart ; 
 " but I can't tell how to trust you with strangers." 
 
 *' Strangers ! You ungrateful child ! " exclaimed Leonard, 
 indignantly. " ^"hy, what have they been doing for you all 
 this time 1 " 
 
 " I am sure Miss ^lay, at least, never came near us till 
 to-day." 
 
 " I'm very glad of it ! I'm sick of everythiug and every- 
 body I have seen ! " 
 
 Everybody ! That was the climax ! Averil just held her 
 tongue ; but she rushed to her own room, and wept bitterly 
 and angrily. Sick of her after all her devotion ! Leonard, 
 the being she loved best in the world ! 
 
 And Leonard, distressed and hurt at the reception of his 
 natural expression of the weariness of seven weeks' sickness 
 and sorrow, felt above all the want of his mother's ever-ready 
 s}Tnpathy and soothing, and as if the whole world, here, 
 there, and everywhere, would be an equally dreary waste. His 
 moment of bright anticipation passed into heavy despondency, 
 and turning his head from the light, he dropped asleep with 
 a tear on his cheek. 
 
 "When he awoke it was at the sound of movements in the 
 room, slow and cautious, out of regard to his slumbers — and 
 
THE TRIAL. 59 
 
 voices, likewise low — at least one was low, the other that 
 whisper of the inaudibility of which Averil could not be 
 disabused. He lay, looking for a few moments through his 
 eyelashes, before exerting himself to move. Averil, her face 
 still showing signs of recent tears, sat in a low chair, a book 
 in her lap, talking to her brother Henry. 
 
 Henry was of less robust frame than Leonard promised to 
 be, and though on a smaller scale, w^as more symmetrically 
 made, and had more regular features than either his brother 
 or sister, but his eyes were merely quick lively black beads, 
 without anything of the clear depths possessed by the others. 
 His hair too was jet black, whereas theirs was a pale nut 
 brown ; and his whiskers, long and curling, so nearly met 
 under his chin, as to betray a strong desire that the hirsute 
 movement should extend to the medical profession. Always 
 point-device in apparel, the dust on his boot did not prevent 
 its perfect make from being apparent ; and the entire sit of 
 his black suit would have enabled a cursory glance to decide 
 that it never came out of the same shop as Dr. May's. 
 
 " Henry ! " were the words that he first heard distinctly. 
 
 " It will be much better for every one — himself and you 
 included." 
 
 "Yes, if— " 
 
 " If — nonsense. I tell you he will be quite well enough. 
 See how well I am now ; how fast I got on as soon as I 
 took to tonics. — Ha, Leonard, old fellow ! what, awake 1 
 AVhat do you say to this plan of old May's ? " 
 
 " It IS very kind of him ; and I should be very glad if I 
 am well enough ; but next week is very soon," said Leonard, 
 waking in the depression in which he had gone to sleep. 
 
 " Oh, next week ! That is as good as next year in a 
 
60 THE TRIAL. 
 
 matter like this, as May agreed with me ; here, let us have 
 your pulse. You have let him get low, Averil. A basin of 
 good soup will put more heart into you, and you will feel 
 ready for anything." 
 
 " I have got on to-day," said Leonard, briskly raising 
 liimself, as though the cheerful voice had been cordial in 
 itself. 
 
 "Of course you have, now that you have something to 
 look forward to ; and you will be in excellent hands j the 
 very thing I wanted for you, though I could not see how to 
 manage it. I am going to dress. I shall tell them to send 
 in dinner ; and if I am not do^vTi, I shall be in the nursery. 
 — You won't come in to dinner, Leonard 1 " 
 
 "l!^o," said Leonard, with a shudder. 
 
 " I shall send you in some gravy soup, that you may thank 
 me for. Ave never would order anything but boiled chickens 
 for you, and forgets that other people ever want to eat. 
 There will be a chance of making a housekeeper of her 
 now." 
 
 How selfish, thought Averil, to want to get rid of poor 
 Leonard, that I may attend to his dinners. Yet Henry had 
 spoken in perfect good humour. 
 
 Henry came down with a little sister in each hand. Tliey 
 were his especial darlings ; and with a touch of fatherly fond- 
 ness, he tried to compensate to them for their sequestration 
 from the drawing-room, the consequence of Averil not having 
 established her authority enough to keep their spirits from 
 growing too riotous for Leonard's weakness. Indeed, their 
 chatter was Henry's sole enlivenment, for Averil was con- 
 stantly making excursions to ask what her patient would eat, 
 and watch its success ; and but for his pleasure in the little 
 
THE TRIAL. 61 
 
 girls popping about him, he would have had a meal as dull 
 as it was unsettled. As soon as the strawberries were eaten, 
 he walked out through the window with them clinging to 
 him, and Averil returned to her post. 
 
 " Some music, Ave," said Leonard, with an instinctive 
 dread of her conversation. 
 
 She knew her voice was past singmg, and began one of 
 her most renowned instrumental pieces, which she could play 
 as mechanically as a musical-box. 
 
 " !N'ot that jingling airified thing I" cried Leonard, " I want 
 something quiet and refreshing. There's an evening hymn 
 that the Mays have." 
 
 " The Mays know nothing of music," said Averil. 
 •' Stay, this is it : " and he whistled a few bars. 
 " That old thing ! Of course I know that. We had it 
 every Sunday at Brighton." 
 
 She began it, but her eyes were full of tears, partly because 
 she hated herself for the irritation she had betrayed. She 
 was a sound, good, honest-hearted girl ; but among all the 
 good things she had learned at Brighton, had not been num- 
 bered the art of ruling her own spirit. 
 
62 THE TRIAL. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' ' Griefs hidden in the mind like treasures, 
 Will turn with time to solemn pleasures." 
 
 On the Monday morning, tlie two convalescents shook hands 
 in the "waiting-room at the station, surveying each other 
 rather curiously ; while Ethel, trjing to conquer her tre- 
 ]3idation, gave manifold promises to Averil of care and 
 correspondence. 
 
 Dr. Spencer acted escort, being far more serviceable on 
 the railway than his untravelled friend, whose lame arm, 
 heedless head, and aptitude for missing trains and mistaking 
 luggage, made him a charge rather than an assistant. He 
 was always happiest among his patients at home ; and the 
 world was still ill enough to employ him so fully, that Ethel 
 hoped to be less missed than usual. Indeed, she believed 
 that her absence would be good in teaching him Mary's 
 full-grown worth, and Mary would be in the full glory of 
 notability in the purification of the house. 
 
 The change was likewise for Dr. Spencer's good. He had 
 almost broken down in the height of the labour, and still 
 looked older and thinner for it ; and after one night at 
 
THE TRIAL. 63 
 
 Coombe, he was going to refresli himself by one of his 
 discursive tours. 
 
 He was in high spirits, and the pink of courtesy ; ex- 
 tremely flattered by the charge of Ethel, and making her 
 the ostensible object of his attention, to the relief of the 
 boys, who were glad to be spared the sense of prominent 
 invalidism. The change was delightful to them. Aubrey 
 was full of life and talk, and sat gazing from the window, 
 as if the line from Stoneborough to Whitford presented a 
 succession of novelties. 
 
 ""What's that old place on the river there, wdth crow^- 
 stepped gables and steep roofs, like a Flemish picture ? " 
 
 " Don't you know ? " said Leonard, " it is the Yintry mill, 
 where my relative lives, that wants to make a dusty miller 
 of me." 
 
 " "No fear of that, old fellow," said Aubrey, regarding him 
 in some dismay, "you've got better things to grind at." 
 
 " Ay ; even if I don't get the Eandall next time, I shall 
 be sure of it another." 
 
 "You'll have it next." 
 
 " I don't know; here is a quarter clean gone, and the other 
 fellows will have got before me." 
 
 *' Oh, but most of them have had a spell of fever ! " 
 
 "Yes, but they have not had it so thoroughly," said 
 Leonard. " My memory is not properly come back yet; and 
 your father says I must not try it too soon." 
 
 "That's aiw^ays his way," said Aubrey. "He would not 
 let Ethel so much as pack up my little Homer." 
 
 Leonard's quick, furtive glance at Ethel was as if he sus- 
 pected her of having been barely prevented from torturiiig 
 him. 
 
64 THE TKIAL. 
 
 " Oh, it was not her doing," said Aubrey, " it was I ! I 
 thought Tom would find me gone back ; and, you know, 
 we must keep up together, Leonard, and be entered at St. 
 Jolin's at the same time." 
 
 For Aubrey devoutly believed in Tom's college at Cam- 
 bridge, which had recovered all Dr. May's allegiance. 
 
 The extra brightness was not of long duration. It was 
 a very hot day, such as exactly suited the salamander nature 
 of Dr. Spencer ; but the carriage became like an oven. 
 Aubrey curled himself up in a comer and went to sleep ; 
 but Leonard's look of oppressed resignation grieved Ethel, 
 and the blue blinds made him look so livid, that she was 
 always fancying him fainting ; and then his shyness was 
 dreadful — it was impossible to elicit from him any thing but 
 *'Xo thank you." 
 
 He did nearly faint when they left the train ; and while 
 Aubrey was eagerly devouring the produce of the refresh- 
 ment room, had to lie on a bench under Dr. Spencer's charge, 
 for Ethel's approach only brought on a dangerous spasm of 
 politeness. How she should get on with him for a month, 
 passed her imagination. 
 
 There was a fresher breeze when they drove out of the 
 station, up a Dorset ridge of hill, steep, high, terraced and 
 bleak ; but it was slow climbing up, and everyone was 
 baked and wearied before the summit was gained, and the 
 descent commenced. Even then, Ethel, sitting backwards, 
 could only see height develop above height, all green, and 
 scattered with sheep, or here and there an unfenced turnip- 
 field, the road stretching behind like a long white ribbon, 
 and now and then descending between steep chalk cuttings 
 in slopes, down which the carriage slowly scrooped on its 
 
 1 
 
THE TRIAL. 65 
 
 drag, leaving a broad blue-flecked trail. Dr. Spencer was 
 asleep, hat off, and the wind lifting his snowy locks ; and 
 she wished the others were, but Aubrey lamented on the 
 heat and the length, and Leonard leant back in his corner, 
 past lamentation. 
 
 Down, down ! The cuttings were becoming precipitous 
 cliffs, the drag made dismal groans ; Aubrey, after a great 
 slip forward, looking injured, anchored himself, with his feet 
 against the seat, by Ethel ; .and Dr. Spencer was effectually 
 wakened by an involuntary forward plunge of his opposite 
 neighbour. " Can this be safe 1 " quoth Ethel, " should not 
 some of us get out 1 " 
 
 " Much you know of hills, you level landers ! " was the 
 answer ; and just then they were met and passed by four 
 horses dragging up a stage coach, after the fashion of a fly on 
 a window-pane — a stage coach ! delightful to the old-world 
 eyes of Dr. Spencer, recalling a faint memory to Ethel, and 
 presenting a perfect novelty to Aubrey. 
 
 Then came a sudden turn upon flat ground, and a short 
 cry of wonder broke from Aubrey. Ethel was sensible of 
 a strange salt weedy smell, new to her nostrils, but only 
 saw the white-plastered, grey-roofed houses through which 
 they were driving ; but, with another turn, the buildings 
 were only on one side — on the other there was a wondrous 
 sense of openness, vastness, freshness — something level, 
 grey, but dazzling ; and before she could look again, the 
 horses stopped, and close to her, under the beetling, weather- 
 stained white cliff, was a low fence, and within it a verandah 
 and a door, where stood Flora's maid, Barbara, in all her 
 respectability. 
 
 Much wit had been expended by Aubrey on being left 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
QQ THE TRIAL. 
 
 to the tender mercy of cruel Barbara Allen, in whom Ethel 
 herself anticipated a tyrant ; but at the moment she was 
 invaluable. Every room was ready and inviting, and no- 
 thing but the low staircase between Leonard and the white 
 bed, which was the only place fit for him ; while for the 
 rest, the table was speedily covered with tea and chickens ; 
 Abbotstoke eggs, inscribed with yesterday's date ; and red 
 mail-clad prawns, to prove to touch and taste that this was 
 truly sea-side. The other senses knew it well : the open 
 mndow let in the indescribable salt, fresh odour, and the 
 entire view from it was shore and sea ; there seemed nothing 
 to hinder the tide from coming up the ridge of shingle, and 
 rushing straight into the cottage ; and the ear was constantly 
 struck by the regular roll and dash of the waves. Aubrey, 
 though with the appetite of recovery and sea air combined, 
 could not help pausing to listen ; and, when his meal was 
 over, leant back in his chair, listened again, and gave a sigh 
 of content. *' It is one constant hush, hushaby," he said ; 
 " it would make one sleep pleasantly." 
 
 His companions combined their advice to him so to use 
 it ; and in less than half an hour Ethel went to bid him 
 good-night, in the whitest of beds and cleanest of tiny 
 chambers, where he looked the picture of sleepy satisfac- 
 tion, when she opened his window, and admitted the swell 
 and dash that fascinated his weary senses. 
 
 " My child is all right," said Ethel, returning to Dr. 
 Spencer ; " can you say the same of yours ? " 
 
 "He must rest himself into the power of sleeping. I 
 must say it was a bold experiment ; but it will do very well, 
 when he has got over the journey. He was doing no good 
 at home." 
 
THE TRIAL. 67 
 
 '' I hope he will here." 
 
 " Depend on it he will And now what are you in- 
 tending ? " 
 
 " I am thirsting to see those waves near. 'Would it he 
 against the manners and customs of sea-places for me to 
 run do^^'n to them so late ? " 
 
 " Sea-places have no manners and customs." 
 
 Ethel tossed on her hat with a feeling of delight and 
 freedom. " Oh, are you coming, Dr. Spencer 1 I did not 
 mean to drag you out. You had rather rest, and smoke." 
 
 " Tliis is rest," he answered. 
 
 The next moment, the ridge of the shingle was passed, 
 and Ethel's feet were sinking in the depth of pebbles, her 
 cheeks freshened by the breeze, her lips salted by the spray 
 tossed in by the wind from the wave crests. At the edge of 
 the water she stood — as all others stand there — watching the 
 heaving from far away come nearer, nearer, curl over in its 
 pride of green glassy beauty, fall into foam, and draw back, 
 making the pebbles crash their accompanying " fi-sch." The 
 repetition, the peaceful majesty, the blue expanse, the straight 
 horizon, so impressed her spirit as to rivet her eyes and chain 
 her lips ; and she receded step by step before the tide, un- 
 heeding anything else, not even perceiving her companion's 
 eyes fixed on her, half curiously, half sadly. 
 
 " Well, Ethel," at last he said. 
 
 " I never guessed it I " she said, with a gasp. " Xo won- 
 der Harry cannot bear to be away from it. Must we leave 
 it ? " as he moved back. 
 
 " Only to smooth ground,'* said Dr. Spencer ; " it is too 
 dark to stay here among the stones and crab-pots." 
 
 The summer twdight was closing in ; lights shining in the 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE TRIAL. 
 
 village under the cliffs, and looking mysterious on distant 
 points of the coast ; stars were shining forth in the pale blue 
 sky, and the young moon shedding a silver rippled beam on 
 the "water. 
 
 " If papa were but here ! " said Ethel, wakening from 
 another gaze, and recollecting that she was not making her- 
 self agreeable. 
 
 " So you like the expedition 1 " 
 
 " The fit answer to that would be, ' It is very pretty,' as 
 the Cockney said to Coleridge at Lodore." 
 
 ** So I have converted a Stoneborough fungus ! " 
 " 'Whs.t ! to say the sea is glorious 1 A grand con- 
 version ! " 
 
 " To find anything superior to Minster Street." 
 " Ah, 3'ou are but half reclaimed ! You are a living 
 instance that there is no content unless one has begun life 
 as a fungus." 
 
 She was startled by his change of tone. "True, Ethel. 
 Content might have been won, if there had been resolution 
 to begin without it." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she faltered, " I ought not to have 
 said it. I forgot there was such a cause." 
 " Cause — you know nothing about it." 
 She was silent, distressed, dismayed, fearing that she had 
 spoken wrongly, and had either mistaken or been misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 " Tell me, Ethel," he presently said, " what can you know 
 of what made me a wanderer 1 " 
 " Only what papa told me." 
 ** He — he was the last person to know." 
 " He told me," said Ethel, hurrying it out in a fright, 
 
THE TRIAL. 69 
 
 " that you went away — out of generosity — not to interfere 
 with, his happiness." 
 
 Then she felt as if she had done a shocking thing, and 
 waited anxiously, while Dr. Spencer deliberately made a 
 deep hole in the shingle with his stick. " Well," at last 
 he said, *' I thought that matter was unknown to all men — 
 above all to Dick ! " 
 
 " It was only after you were gone, that he put things 
 together and made it out." 
 
 " Did — she — know ? " said Dr. Spencer, with a long 
 breath. 
 
 " I cannot tell," said Ethel. 
 
 " And how or why did he tell you 1 " (rather hurt.) 
 
 " It was when first you came. I am sure no one else 
 knows it. But he told me because he could not help it j 
 he was so sorry for you." 
 
 They walked tlie whole length of the parade, and had 
 turned before Dr. Spencer spoke again; and then he said, 
 " It is strange ! My one vision was of walking on the sea- 
 shore with her ; and that just doing so with you, should 
 have brought up the whole as fresh as five-and-thirty years 
 ago ! " 
 
 " I msh I was more like her," said Ethel. 
 
 Xo more was wanting to make him launch into the de- 
 scriptions, dear to a daughter's heart, of her mother in her 
 sweet serious bloom of young womanhood, giving new em- 
 bellishments to the character already so closely enshrined in 
 his hearer's heart, the more valuable that the stream of 
 treasured recollection flowed on in partial oblivion of the 
 person to whom it was addressed, or, at least, that she was 
 the child of his rival; for, from the portrait of the quiet 
 
70 THE TRUL. 
 
 briglit maiden, lie passed to the sufferings that his o^vn 
 reserved nature had undergone from his friend's out-spoken 
 enthusiasm. The professor's visible preference for the youth 
 of secure prospects, had not so much discouraged as stung 
 him ; and in a moment of irritation at the professor's treat- 
 ment, and the exulting hopes of his unconscious friend, he 
 had sworn to himself, that the first involuntary token of 
 regard from the young lady towards one or the other, should 
 decide him whether to win name and position for her sake, 
 or to carry his slighted passion to the utmost parts of the 
 earth, and never again see her face. 
 
 " Ethel," he said, stopping short, " never threaten Provi- 
 dence — above all, never keep the tlireat." 
 
 Ethel scarcely durst speak, in her anxiety to know what 
 cast the die ; though with all Dr. Spencer's charms, she 
 could not but pity the delusion that could have made him 
 hope to be preferred to her father — above all, by her mother. 
 !N"or could she clearly understand from him what had dis- 
 pelled his hopes. Something it was that took place at the 
 pic-nic on Arthur's Seat, of which she had previously heard 
 as a period of untold bliss. That something, still left in 
 vague mystery, had sealed the fate of the two friends. 
 
 " And so," said Dr. Spencer, " I took the first foreign 
 appointment that offered. And my poor father, who had 
 spent liis utmost on me, and had been disappointed in all his 
 sons, was most of all disappointed in me. I held myself 
 bound to abide by my rash vow ; loathed tame Enghsh life 
 without her, and I left him to neglect in his age." 
 
 " You could not have kno\^'n or expected ! " exclaimed 
 Ethel. 
 
 " What right had I to expect anything else ? It was only 
 
THE TRIAL 71 
 
 myself that I thought o£. I pacihed him by talk of traveUing, 
 and extending my experience, and silenced my conscience by 
 intending to return when ordinary life should hare become 
 tolerable to me — ^a time that never has coma At last, in the 
 height of that pestilential season in India, came a letter, 
 •warning me that my brother's widow had got the masteij 
 over my poor father, and was cruelly abusing i^ so that only 
 my return could deliver him. It was when hundreds were 
 perishing, and I the only medical man near ; when to have 
 left my post would have been both disgraceful and murderous. 
 Then I was laid low myself ; and while I was conquering the 
 ejects of cholera, came tidings that made it nothing to me 
 whether they or I conquered* This," and he touched one of 
 his white curling locks, "was not done by mere bodily 
 exertion or ailment." 
 
 " You would have I : : ^ :v" 7 
 
 "Xo, not if I had gone immediatclT. I : .: ! _ : 
 
 him out of that woman's hands, and : - le happy iut 
 
 years. There was the sting, but th '.. ■ ^ een long 
 
 before. You know the rest. I had nu L 7 . r-::n,no 
 
 heart to come home ; and then came t I 
 
 drifted wherever restlessness or impulse : t 
 
 working years were over, and till the day wL :. ■_. .: :: 
 
 your father's wedding-ring showed me :„i: I should not 
 break my mad word by accepting the only welcome that any 
 creature gave me." 
 
 " And, oh ! surely you have been comforted by him I ** 
 
 " Comforted I Cut to the heart would be truer. One 
 
 moment, I could only look at him as having borne off my 
 
 treasore to destroy it ; but then there rose on me his loving 
 
 patient, heart-broken humility and cheerfulness ; and I saw 
 
72 THE TPJAL. 
 
 such a character, such a course, as showed me how much 
 better he had deserved her, and filled me with shame at 
 having ever less esteemed him. And through all, there was 
 the same dear Dick May, that never, since the day we first 
 met at the pump in the school court, had I been able to 
 help loving with all my heart — the only being that was 
 glad to see me again. AVTien he begged me to stay and 
 watch over your sister, what could I do but remain while 
 she lived ? " 
 
 "So he bound you down ! Oh, you know how we thank 
 you ! no, you can't, nor what you have been to him, and 
 to all of us, through the worst of our sad days. And 
 though it was a sacrifice, I do not think it was bad for 
 you." 
 
 "]S'o, Ethel. '^^"llen you implored me to give up my 
 Crimean notion, to spare your father pain, I did feel for once 
 that you at least thought me of value to some one." 
 
 " I cannot bear you to speak so," cried Ethel. " You to 
 talk of having been of no use ! " 
 
 " Xo honest man of principle and education can be utterly 
 useless ; but w^hen, three days ago, I recollected that it was 
 my sixtieth birthday, I looked back, and saw nothing but 
 desultory broken efforts, and restless changes. Your father 
 told me, when I thought him unaware of the meaning of his 
 words, that if I had missed many joys, I had missed many 
 sorrows ; but I had taken the way to make my one sorrow a 
 greater burden than his many." 
 
 " But you do not grieve for my mother still 1 " said Ethel 
 anxiously. "Even his grief is a grave joy to him now ; and 
 one is always told that such things, as it was with you, are 
 but a very small part of a man's life." 
 
THE TRIAL. 73 
 
 " I am not one of the five hundred men, whom any one 
 of five hundred women might have equally pleased/' said 
 Dr. Spencer; "but it is so far true, that the positive pain 
 and em-y wore out, and would not have interfered with my 
 after hfe, but for my own folly. Xo, Ethel ; it was not 
 the loss of her that embittered and threw away my existence ; 
 it was my own rash vow, and its headstrong fulfilment, which 
 has left me no right to your father's peaceful spirit." 
 
 " How little we guessed ! " said Ethel. " So cheerful and 
 ready as you always are." 
 
 " I never trouble others," he said abruptly. " Xeither 
 man nor woman ever heard a word of all this j and you 
 would not have heard it now, but for that sea ; and you have 
 got your mother's voice, and some of her ways, since you 
 have groAvn older and more sedate." 
 
 '* Oh, I am so glad ! " said Ethel, who had been led to 
 view her likeness to her father as natural, that to her mother 
 as acquired. 
 
 Those were the last words of the conversation ; but Ethel, 
 leaning from her window to listen to the plash of the waves, 
 suspected that the slowly moving meteor she beheld, denoted 
 that a cigar was soothing the emotions excited by their 
 dialogue. She mused long over that revelation of the 
 motives of the life that had always been noble and generous, 
 in the midst of much that was eccentric and way^'ard ; and 
 constantly the beat of the waves repeated to her the half- 
 comprehended words, " !N"ever threaten Providence." 
 
 After superintending Aubrey's first bath, and duly in- 
 stalling the vice-M.D. and her charges. Dr. Spencer departed; 
 and Ethel was launched on an unknown ocean, as pilot to 
 an untried crew. She had been told to regard Leonard's 
 
74 THE TRIAL. 
 
 bashfulness as a rare grace ; but it was very inconvenient to 
 have the boy wretchedly drooping, and owning nothing amiss, 
 apparently unacquainted with any English words, except 
 ' Thank you ' and ' Xo, thank you.' Indeed, she doubted 
 whether the shjTiess were genuine, for stories were afloat 
 of behaviour at Stoneborough parties, which savoured of 
 audacity; and she vainly consulted Aubrey whether the 
 cause of his discomfiture were her age or her youth, her 
 tutorship or her plain face. Even Aubrey could not elicit 
 any like or dislike, wish or complaint ; and shrugging up his 
 shoulders, decided that it was of no use to bother about it ; 
 Leonard would come to his senses in time. He was passive 
 when taken out walking, submissive when planted on a three- 
 cornered camp-stool that expanded from a gouty walking- 
 stick, but seemed so inadequately perched, and made so 
 forlorn a spectacle, that they were forced to put him in-doors 
 out of the glare of sea and sky, and hoping that he would 
 condescend to the sofa when Ethel was out of sight. 
 
 Punctilio broke down the next morning; and in the 
 midst of breakfast, he was forced to lie down, and allow 
 Ethel to bathe his face with vinegar and water ; while she 
 repented of the "make-the-best-of-it" letter of the yesterday, 
 and sent Aubrey out on a secret commission of inquiry about 
 medical men, in case of need. Aubrey was perfectly well, 
 and in such a state of desultory enjoyment and sea-side 
 active idleness, that he was quite off her mind, only en- 
 livening her morning of nursing by his exits and entrances, 
 to tell of fresh discoveries, or incidents wonderful to the 
 inland mind. 
 
 After dinner, which had driven Leonard to lie on his bed, 
 Aubrey persuaded his sister to come to see his greatest prize ; 
 
THE TRIAL. 75 
 
 a quaint old local naturalist, a seafaring man, with a cottage 
 crammed "vvitli pans of live wonders of the deep in water, 
 and shelves of extinct ones, " done up in stane pies," not a 
 creature, by sea or land, that had haunted Coombe for a few 
 million of ages, seemed to have escaped him. Such sea-side 
 sojourns as the present, are the prime moments for coquetries 
 with the lighter branches of natural science ; and the brother 
 and sister had agreed to avail themselves of the geological 
 facilities of their position, the fascinations of Hugh Miller's 
 autobiography having entirely gained them during Aubrey's 
 convalescence. Ethel tore herself away from the discussion 
 of localities with the old man, who was guide as well as 
 philosopher, boatman as well as naturalist, and returned to 
 her patient, whom she found less feverish, though sadly low 
 and languid. 
 
 " I wish I knew w^hat to do for you," she said, sitting 
 down by him. " AATiat would your sister do for you 1 " 
 
 " 1^0 thing," he wearily said ; " 1 mean, a great deal too 
 much." 
 
 Tlie tone so recalled Gorman's dejected hopelessness, that 
 she could not help tenderly laying her cool hands on the hot 
 brow, and saying, " Yes, I know how little one can do as a 
 sister — and the mockery it is to think that one jjlace can ever 
 ])e taken ! " 
 
 The brown eyes looked at her with moist earnestness that 
 she could hardly bear, but closed with a look of relief and 
 soothing, as she held her hand on his forehead. Presently, 
 however, he said, " Don't let me keep you in." 
 
 " I have been out, thank you. I am so glad to try to do 
 anything for you." 
 
 " Thank you. "What o'clock is it, please 1 Ali, then 
 
76 THE TRIAL. 
 
 I ought to take that draught ! I forgot it in the 
 
 
 mommg. 
 
 He permitted her to fetch it and pour it out ; but as she 
 recognised a powerful tonic, she exclaimed, " Is this what 
 you are taking 1 May it not make you feverish 1 " 
 
 " Xo doubt it does," he said, lying down again ; " it was 
 only Henry — " 
 
 " What ! did not my father know of it ? " 
 
 " Of course he does not ; as it seems to be poison." 
 
 " ^N'ot exactly that," said Ethel ; " but I was surprised 
 for it was talked of for Aubrey ; but they said it wanted 
 watching." 
 
 " Just like Henry," observed Leonard. 
 
 "Well," said Ethel, repressing her indignation, "I am 
 glad, at least, to find a jDossible cause for your bad night. 
 "We shall see you refreshed to-morrow, and not wishing your- 
 self at home." 
 
 " Don't think that I "v\ish that. Home is gone for ever." 
 
 " Home may be gone higher — up to the real Home," said 
 Ethel, blushing with the effort at the hint, and coming 
 down to earthlier consolations ; " but even the fragments 
 will gTow into home again here, and you will feel very 
 differently." 
 
 Leonard did not answer ; but after a pause said, " Miss 
 May, is not it a horrid pity girls should go to school ? " 
 
 " I am no judge, Leonard." 
 
 " You see," said the boy, " after the little girls were born, 
 my mother had no time for Ave, and sent her to Brighton, 
 and there she begged to stay on one half after another, 
 learning all sorts of things ; but only coming home for short 
 holidays, like company, for us to wonder at her and show 
 
THE TEIAL. 77 
 
 her about, thinking herself ever so much in advance of my 
 poor mother ; and now she knows just nothing at all of 
 her ! " 
 
 " You cannot tell, Leonard, and I am sure she has been 
 devoted to you." 
 
 " If she had stayed at home like you, she might have 
 known how to let one alone. Oh, you can't think what 
 peace it was yesterday ! " 
 
 " "VVas it peace ? I feared it was desertion." 
 
 " It is much better to be by oneself, than always worried. 
 To have them always at me to get up my spiiits, when the 
 house is miserable — " 
 
 " Ah," said Ethel, " I remember your mother rejoicing 
 that she had not to send you from home, and saying you 
 were always so kind and gentle to her."' 
 
 " Did she ?" cried the boy eagerly. " Oh, but she forgot — " 
 and he hid his face, the features working with anguish. 
 
 " So pleased and proud she used to look, walking \\ith 
 you on Saturday afternoons." 
 
 " Those Saturdays ! They were the only walks she ever 
 would take ; but she would always come with me.'' 
 
 More followed in the same strain ; and Ethel began to 
 gather more distinct impressions of the Ward family. She 
 saw that her present charge was warm and sound-hearted, 
 and that the strength of his affections had been chiefly 
 absorbed by the homely housewifely mother, comparatively 
 little esteemed by the modernized brother and sister. Of 
 the loss of his father he seemed to think less ; it seemed, 
 indeed, rather to reconcile him to that of his mother, by the 
 gri'ef it spared her; and it confirmed Ethel's notion, that 
 Mr. AVard, a busy and dull man, paid no great attention 
 
78 THE TELVL. 
 
 to his childi-en between the plaything period and that of 
 full development. The mother was the home ; and Averil, 
 though Leonard showed both love for and pride in her, had 
 hitherto been a poor substitute ; wdiile as to Henry, there 
 was something in each mention of him which gave Etliel 
 an undefined dread of the future of the young household, 
 and a doubt of the result of her father's kind schemes of 
 patronage. 
 
 At any rate, this conversation had the happy effect of 
 banishing constraint, and satisfying Ethel that the let-alone 
 system Avas kindness, not neglect. She was at ease in 
 discussing fossils, though he contributed no w^ord, and she 
 let him sleep or wake as he best liked ; whilst Aubrey read 
 to her the " Cruise of the Betsey." 
 
 Henry's prescription was sent to invigorate the fishes, 
 when its cessation was found to be follo^ved by the recovery 
 of sleep and appetite ; and in the cool of the evening, by a 
 disposition to stroll on the beach, and lie under the lee of 
 a rock upon a railway rug, which Ethel had substituted for 
 the "three-legged delusion." 
 
 There he w^as left, while his companions went fossil- 
 hunting, and staj'ed so long as to excite their comiDunction, 
 and quicken their steps wdien they at length detached them- 
 selves from the enticing blue lias. 
 
 " AMiat has he got there 1 " cried Aubrey. " Hillo, old 
 fellow ! have you fallen a prey to a black cat 1 " 
 
 " Cat ! " returned Leonard indignantly ; " don't you see it 
 is the j oiliest little dog in the world 1 " 
 
 " You call that a dog V said the other boy with redoubled 
 contempt ; " it is just big enough for little Margaret's Xoah's 
 Ark ! " 
 
THE TEIAL. 79 
 
 " It really is a beauty ! " said Ethel. " I have known one 
 of Flora's guests bring a bigger one in her muff." 
 
 " It is the most sensible little brute," added Leonard. 
 " See ; beg, my man, beg ! " 
 
 And the beauteous little black-coated Iving Charles erected 
 itseK on its hind legs, displaying its rich ruddy tan waistcoat 
 and sleeves, and beseeching with its black diamond eyes for 
 the biscuit, dropped and caught in mid-air. It was the first 
 time Leonard had looked bright. 
 
 " So you expect us to sanction your private dog stealing ? " 
 said Aubrey. 
 
 " I have been watching for his mistress to come back," 
 said Leonard ; " but she must have passed an hour ago ; and 
 she does not deserve to have him, for she never looked back 
 for him ; and he had run up to me, frisking and making 
 much of me, as if he had found an old friend." 
 
 " Perhaps it will run home when we move." 
 
 Xo such thing; it trotted close at Leonard's heels, and 
 entered the house with them. Earbara was consulted, and 
 on Leonard's deposition that the dog's mistress was in deep 
 mourning, opined that she could be no other than the widow 
 of an officer, who during his lingering illness had been often 
 laid upon the beach, and had there played with his little 
 dogs. This one, evidently very young, had probably, in the 
 confusion of its puppy memory, taken the invalid for its lost 
 master. 
 
 " Stupid little thing," said Aubrey ; "just like an under- 
 sized lady's toy." 
 
 " It knows its friends. These little things have twice the 
 sense of overgro-svn dogs as big and as stupid as jackasses." 
 
 A retort from Leonard was welcome in Ethel's ears, and 
 
80 THE TRIAL. 
 
 she quite developed his conversational powers, in an argument 
 on the sagacity of all canine varieties. It was too late to 
 send the little animal home ; and he fondled and played 
 with it till bedtime, when he lodged it in his own room ; 
 and the attachment was so strong, that it was with a dee]) 
 sigh, that at breakfast he accepted Aubrey's offer of con- 
 veying it home. 
 
 " There she is ! " he exclaimed in the midst, gazing from 
 he window. 
 
 *' And see the perfection of the animal ! " added Aubrey, 
 poijiting to a broad-backed waddling caricature of the little 
 black fairy. 
 
 *' Eestitution must be made, little as she deserves you, you 
 little jewel," said Leonard, picking up the object of his 
 admiration. " I'll take you out." 
 
 " 'No, no ; I am not so infectious, "said Ethel, tying on her 
 hat ; " I liad better do it." 
 
 And after Leonard's parting embrace to his favourite, she 
 received it ; and quickly overtaking the pensive steps of the 
 lady, arrested her progress with, " I beg your pardon, but I 
 think this is your dog." 
 
 '' Poor little Mab ! " as the dog struggled to get to her, 
 and danced gladly round her. " I missed her last night, and 
 was coming to look for her." 
 
 " She joined one of our party," said Ethel ; " and he was 
 not strong enough to follow you. Indeed, he has had scarlet 
 fever, so perhaps it was better not. But he has taken great 
 care of the little dog, and hopes it is not the worse." 
 
 "Thank you. I wish poor Mab may always meet such 
 kind friends," said the lady sadly. 
 
 " She secured her welcome," said Ethel. " We were very 
 
THE TEIAL. 81 
 
 grateful to her, for it was tlie first thing that has seemed to 
 interest him since his illness ; and he has just lost both his 
 parents." 
 
 "Ah! Thank you." 
 
 Ethel wondered at herself for having been so communi- 
 cative ; but the sweet sad face and look of interest had 
 drawn her words out ; and on her return she made such a 
 touching history of the advenlure, that Leonard listened 
 earnestly, and Aubrey looked subdued. 
 
 When they went out Leonard refused to spread his rug 
 in that only bed of pulverized shingle ; and Ethel respected 
 his avoidance of it as delicacy to her whose husband had 
 no doubt often occupied that spot. 
 
 "He is a thorough gentleman," said she, as she walked 
 away with Aubrey. 
 
 " He might be an Eton fellow," was the significant reply. 
 
 " I wonder what made him so 1 " said Ethel musingly. 
 
 " Looking at Tom," returned Aubrey, not in jest. 
 
 "Even with that advantage, I don't quite see where he 
 learnt that refined consideration." 
 
 " Pshaw, Ethel ! The light of nature would show that 
 to any one but a stupex." 
 
 Ethel was not sorry that such were Aubrey's views of 
 courtesy ; but all thought of that subject was soon lost in 
 the pursuit of ammonites. 
 
 " I wonder what Leonard will have picked up now ? " 
 they speculated, as they turned homewards with their weighty 
 baskets ; but what was their amazement, when Leonard 
 waved his hand, pointing to the little black dog again at 
 his feet ? 
 
 " She is mine ! " he exclaimed, " my own ! Mrs. Gisborne 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 THE TRIAL. 
 
 has given her to me ; and she is to be the happiest little 
 mite going ! " 
 
 " Given ! " 
 
 " Yes. She came as soon as you were gone, and sat by me, 
 and talked for an hour, but she goes to-morrow to live ^^dth 
 an old hag of an aunt." 
 
 " Eeally, you seem to have been on confidential terms." 
 
 " I mean that she must be a nuisance, because she doesn't 
 like dogs ; so that Mrs. Gisborne can only take the old one, 
 which she could never part with. So she wanted to give 
 jNIab to some one who would be kind to her ; and she has 
 come to the right shop ; hasn't she, my httle queen ? " 
 
 " I thought she almost wished it this morning," said Ethel, 
 " when she heard how you and IMab had taken to each other : 
 but it is a very choice present j the creature looks to me to 
 be of a very fine sort." 
 
 *'Xow Miss May, how could you know that ? " 
 
 " Why, by her own deportment ! Don't you know the 
 aristocratic look that all high bred animals have — even 
 bantams 1 " 
 
 Leonard looked as if this were the most convincing proof 
 of Ethel's wisdom, and proceeded. " Well, she is descended 
 from a real King Charles, that Charles II. brought from 
 Erance, and gave to Mrs. Jane Lane ; and they have kept up 
 the breed ever since." 
 
 " So that Mab will have the longest pedigree in Stone- 
 borough ; and we must all respect her ! " said Ethel, stroking 
 the black head. 
 
 " I am only surprised at Leonard's forgetting his place," 
 said Aubrey. " Walking before her majesty, indeed ! " 
 '• Oh, attendants do come first sometimes." 
 
THE TRIAL. 83 
 
 " Tlien it should be backwards ! I have a mind to try lying 
 on the beach to-morrow, looking interesting, to see what will 
 descend upon me ! " 
 
 " A great yellow mongrel," said Ethel, '' as always befalls 
 imitators in the path of the hero." 
 
 " "What 1 You mean that it was all the work of Leonard's 
 beaux yeiix 1 " 
 
 Leonard gave a sort of growl, intimating that Aubrey was 
 exciting his displeasure ; and Ethel was glad to be at home, 
 and break off the conversation ; but in a few minutes Aubrey 
 knocked at her door, and edging himself in, mysteriously 
 said, " Such fun ! So it was your beaux ym.x, not Leonard's, 
 that made the conquest ! " 
 
 "I suppose she was touched with what I said of poor 
 Leonard's circumstances, and the pleasure the creature gave 
 him." 
 
 "That is as prosy as Mary, Ethel. At any rate, the 
 woman told Leonard yours was the most irresistibly attractive 
 countenance she ever saw, short of beauty ; and that's not 
 the best of it, for he is absolutely angry." 
 
 " Ko wonder," laughed EtheL 
 
 " Xo, but it's about the beauty ! He can't conceive a 
 face more beautiful than yours." 
 
 "Except the gurgoyle on the church tower," said Ethel, 
 gaping into as complete a model of that worthy as flesh and 
 blood could perpetrate. 
 
 **But he means it," persisted Aubrey, fixing his eyes 
 critically on his sister's features, but disturbed by the con- 
 tortions into whtch she threw them. " 2^ow don't, don't. I 
 never saw any fellow with a hundredth part of your gift for 
 making faces," he added, between the unwilling paroxysms of 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE TRIAL. 
 
 mirth at each, fresh grimace ; " but I want to judge of you ; 
 and — oh ! that solemn one is worse than all ; it is like Julius 
 Cajsar, if he had ever been photographed ! — but really, when 
 one comes to think about it, you are not so very ugly after 
 all ; and ai-e much better looking than Flora, whom we were 
 taught to believe in." 
 
 " Poor Flora ! You were no judge in her blooming days, 
 before Avear and tear came." 
 
 "And made her like our Scotch grandfather." 
 
 " But Blanche ! your own Blanche, Aubrey ! She might 
 have extended Leonard's ideas of beauty." 
 
 " Blanche has a pretty little visage of her own ; but it's 
 not so well worth looking at as yours," said Aubrey. " One 
 has seen to the end of it at once ; and it won't light up. 
 Hers is just the May blossom ; and yours the — the — I knov/ 
 — the orchis ! I have read of a woman with an orchidaceous 
 face ! " 
 
 Teeth, tongue, lips, eyes, and nose, were at once made to 
 serve in hitting off an indescribable likeness to an orchis 
 blossom, which was rapturously applauded, till Ethel, relax- 
 ing the straiu and permitting herself to laugh triumphantly 
 at her own achievement, said " There ! I do pride myself on 
 being of a high order of the grotesque." 
 
 " It is not the grotesque that he means," said Aubrey, " he 
 is very cracked indeed. He declares that when you came and 
 sat by him the day before yesterday, you were perfectly 
 lovely." 
 
 " then, I understand and it is no matter," said Ethel. 
 
THE TEUL. 85 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " They stwons, tliev stwous, they stwons, they shvons." 
 
 Scouring of the White Horse. 
 
 " So (wrote Etliel in lier daily letter to her father), mine is 
 at present a maternal mission to Leonard, and it is highly 
 gratifying. I subscribe to all your praise of him, and repent 
 of my ungtacious murmurs at his society. You had the 
 virtue, and I have the reward (the usual course of this 
 world), for his revival is a very fresh and pleasant spectacle, 
 burning hot with enthusiasm. AYhatever we do, he overdoes, 
 till I recollect how AYilkes said he had never been a "Wilkite. 
 Three days ago, a portentous looking ammonite attracted his 
 attention ; and whereas he started from the notion that earth 
 was dirt, and stones were stones, the same all over the world, 
 he lias since so far outstripped his instructors, that as I write 
 this he is dra^ving a plan of the strata, with the inhabitants 
 dramatically arranged, Aubrey suggesting tragic scenes and 
 uncomplimentary likenesses. His talent for drawing shows 
 that Averil's was worth culture* If our geology alarm 
 Ptichard, tell him that I think it safer to get it over young, 
 and to face apparent discrepancies with revelation, rather 
 
86 THE TRIAL. 
 
 than leave tliem to be discovered afterwards as if they had 
 "been timidly kept out of sight. And whether Hugh Miller's 
 theory be right or wrong, his grand fervid language leaves 
 the conviction that undoubting confidence in revelation con- 
 sists with the clearest and most scientific mind." 
 
 ^^ June 30th. — I consider my boys as returned to their 
 normal relations. I descended on them as they were sparring 
 like lion cubs at play ; Leonard desisted in confusion at my 
 beholding such savage doings, but cool and easy, not having 
 turned a hair ; Aubrey, panting, done up, railing at him as 
 first cousin to Hercules, all as a delicate boast to me of his 
 friend's recovered strength. Aubrey's forte is, certainly vene- 
 ration. His first class of human beings is a large one, though 
 quizzing is his ordinary form of adoration. For instance, he 
 teazes Mab and her devoted slave some degrees more than the 
 victim can bear, and then relieves his feelings in my room by 
 asseverations that the friendship with Leonard will be on the 
 May and Spencer pattern. The sea is the elixir of life to 
 both ; Leonard looks quite himself again, " onli/ more so," 
 and Aubrey has a glow never seen since his full moon visage 
 waned, and not all tan, though we are on the high road to be 
 coffee berries. Aubrey daily entertains me vrith heroic tales 
 of diving and floating, till I tell them they will become 
 enamoured of some * lady of honour who lives in the sea,' 
 grow fishes' tails and come home no more. And really, as 
 the time wanes, I feel that such a coast is Elysium — above 
 all, the boating. The lazy charm, the fresh purity of air, the 
 sights and sounds, the soft summer wave when one holds 
 one's hand over the side, the excitement of sea- weed catching, 
 and the nonsense we all talk, are so delicious and such new 
 sensations, (except the nonsense, which loses by your absence. 
 
THE TRIAL. 87 
 
 learned doctor !) that I fully perceive how pleasures un- 
 tried cannot even be conceived. But ere the lotos food has 
 entirely depraved my memory, I give you warning to come 
 and fetch us home, now that the boys are in full repair. 
 Come yourself, and be feasted on shrimps and mackerel, and 
 take one sail to the mouth of the bay. I won't say who 
 shall bring you ; it would be fun to have Daisy, and Mary 
 ought to have a holiday, but then Eichard would take better 
 care of you, and Tom would keep you in the best order. 
 Could you not all come? only if you don't yourself, I won't 
 promise not to take up with a merman." 
 
 ***** * 
 
 " July ith. — Yery well. If this is to make a strong man 
 of Aubrey, tant mieux, and even home and Cocksmoor 
 yearnings concern me little in this Castle of Indolence, so 
 don't flatter yourself that I shall grumble at having had to 
 take our house on again. Let us keep Leonard ; we should 
 both miss him extremely, and Aubrey would lose half the 
 good without some one to swim, scramble, and fight with. 
 Indeed, for the poor fellow's own sake, he should stay, for 
 though he is physically as strong as a young megalosaur, and 
 in the water or on the rocks all day, I don't think his head 
 is come to application, nor his health to bearing depression ; 
 and I see he dreads the return, so that he had better stay 
 away till school begins again." 
 
 ^ y^ 71^ ^ ^ 'P 
 
 " Juli/ 1th. — Oh ! you weak-minded folks ! Xow I know 
 why you wanted to keep me away — tliat you might yield 
 yourselves a prey to Flora. Paper and chintz forsooth ! All 
 I have to say is this, ^Miss Mary — as to my room, touch it if 
 you dare ! I leave papa to protect his own study, but for the 
 
88 THE TRIAL. 
 
 rest, think, Mary, what your feelings would be if Harry were 
 to come home, and not know what room he was in ! If 
 I am to choose between the patterns of chintz, I prefer the 
 sea-weed variety, as in character with things in general, and 
 with the present occasion ; and as to the carpet, I hope that 
 Flora, touched with our submission, will not send us anything 
 distressincr," 
 
 * * * 
 
 '•'- July 11th. — Can you send me any more of the ISTew 
 Zealand letters? I have copied out the whole provision 
 I brought with me for the blank book, and by the way have 
 inoculated Leonard with such a missionary fever as frightens 
 me. To be sure, he is cut out for such work. He is intended 
 for a clergyman (on grounds of gentility, I fear), and is too 
 full of physical energy and enterprise to take readily to sober 
 parochial life. His ardour is a gallant thing, and his home 
 ties not binding ; but it is not fair to take advantage of his 
 present inflammable state of enthusiasm, and the little we 
 have said has been taken up so fervently, that I have 
 resolved on caution for the future. It is foolish to make so 
 much of a boy's eagerness, especially when circumstances 
 have brought him into an unnatural dreamy mood ; and 
 probably these aspirations will pass away with the sound of 
 the waves, but they are pretty and endearing while they last 
 in their force and sincerity. 
 
 * Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
 "WTien thought is speech, and speech is trath ; ' 
 
 and one's heart beats at the thought of what is possible to 
 creatures of that age." 
 
 « ^ ^ ^(t W: *< 
 
THE TEIAL, 89 
 
 ^^Jul.y 2\st. — You, who taught us to love our "Walter 
 Scott next to our Christian Year, and who gave us half- 
 crowns for rehearsing liini when other children were learning 
 the Eohin's Petition, what think you of this poor hoy 
 Leonard knowing few of the novels and none of the poems \ 
 ^"0 wonder the taste of the day is grovelling lower and lower, 
 when people do not begin with the pure high air of his 
 world ! To take up one of his works after any of our present 
 school of fiction is like getting up a mountain side after a 
 feverish di'awing-room or an offensive street. If it were 
 possible to know the right moment for a book to be really 
 tasted — not thrust aside because crammed down — no, it 
 would not be desirable, as I was going to say, we should 
 only do double mischief. "We are not sent into the world to 
 mould people, but to let them mould themselves ; and the 
 internal elasticity will soon unmake all the shapes that just 
 now seem to form under my fingers like clay. 
 
 " At any rate, the introduction of such a congenial spirit 
 to Sir "Walter was a real treat ; Leonard has the very nature 
 to be fired by him, and Aubrey being excessively scandalized 
 at his ignorance, routed a cheap ' Marmion ' out of the little 
 book-shop, and we beguiled a wet afternoon with it ; Aubrey 
 snatching it from me at all the critical passages, for fear 
 I should not do them justice, and thundering out the battle, 
 which stirred the other boy like a trumpet sound. Indeed, 
 Leonard got Mab into a corner, and had a very bad cold in 
 the head when De "Wilton was re-knighted ; and when ' the 
 hand of Douglas was his own,' he jumped up and shouted 
 out, * "Well done, old fellow ! ' Then he took it to himself 
 and read it all over again, introductions and all, and has 
 raved ever since. I wish you could see Aubrey singing out 
 
90 THE TEIAL. 
 
 some profane couplet of ' midnight and not a nose,' or some 
 more horrible original parody, and then dodging apparently 
 in the extremity of terror, just as Leonard furiously charges 
 him. 
 
 " But you would have been struck with their discussions 
 over it. Last night, at tea, they began upon the woeful 
 result of the Wager of Battle, which seemed to oppress them 
 as if it had really happened. Did I believe in it ? Was I of 
 the Lady Abbess's opinion, that 
 
 * Percliance some form was unobsen^ed, 
 Perchance iu prayer or faith he swerved ? ' 
 
 This from Aubrey, while Leonard rejoined that even if De 
 Wilton had so done, it was still injustice that he should be 
 so cruelly ruined, and Marmion's baseness succeed. It would 
 be like a king wilfully giving wrong judgment because the 
 right side failed in some respectful observance. He was sure 
 such a thing could never be. Did I ever know of a real case 
 where Heaven did not show the right ? It was confusing 
 and alarming, for both those boys sat staring at me as if 
 I could answer them ; and those wonderful searching eyes of 
 Leonard's were fixed, as if his whole acquiescence in the 
 dealings of Providence were going to depend on the reply, 
 that could but be unsatisfactory. I could only try plunging 
 deep. I said it was Job's difficulty, and it was a new light 
 to Leonard that Job was about anything but patience. He 
 has been reading the Book all this Sunday evening ; and is 
 not De Wilton a curious introduction to it? But Aubrey 
 knew that I meant the bewilderment of having yet to dis- 
 cover that Divine Justice is longer sighted than human 
 justice, and he cited the perplexities of high-minded heathen. 
 
THE TRIAL. 91 
 
 Thence we came to the Christian certainty that * to do well 
 and suffer for it is thank-worthy ; ' and that though no 
 mortal man can be so innocent as to feel any infliction wholly 
 unmerited and disproportioned, yet human injustice at its 
 worst may be working for the sufi'erer an exceeding weight 
 of glory, or preparing him for some high commission below. 
 'Was not Ealph de Wilton far nobler and purer as the poor 
 palmer, than as Henry the Eighth's courtier ? And if you 
 could but have heard our sequel, arranging his orthodoxy, 
 his Scripture reading, and his guardianship of distressed 
 monks and nuns, you would have thought he had travelled 
 to some purpose ; only he would certainly have been burnt 
 by one party, and beheaded by the other. On the whole, 
 I think Leonard was a little comforted, and I cannot help 
 hoping that the first apparently cruel wrong that comes 
 before him may be the less terrible shock to his faith from 
 his having been set to think out the question by * but half a 
 robber and but half a knight.' " 
 
 ^^ August \st. — Yesterday afternoon we three were in our 
 private geological treasury. Leonard making a spread-eagle 
 of himself in an impossible place on the cliff side, trying to 
 disinter what hope, springing eternal in the human breast, 
 pronounced to be the paddle of a saurian ; Aubrey, climbing 
 as high as he durst, directing operations and making dis- 
 coveries ; I, upon a ledge half way up, guarding Mab and 
 poking in the debris, when one of the bridal pairs, with 
 whom the place is infested, was seen questing about as if 
 disposed to invade our premises. Aubrey, reconnoitring in 
 high dudgeon, sarcastically observed that all red-haired men 
 are so much alike, that he should have said yonder was 
 Hec — . The rest ended in a view halloo from above and 
 
92 THE TRIAL. 
 
 below, and three bounds to the beach, whereon I levelled my 
 glass, and perceived that in very deed it was Mr. and Mrs, 
 Ernescliffe who were hopping over the shingle. Descending, 
 I was swung off the last rock in a huge embrace, and Hector's 
 fiery moustache was scrubbing both my cheeks before my feet 
 touched the ground, and Blanche with both arms round my 
 waist. They were ready to devour us alive in their famine 
 for a Stoneborough face ; and as Flora and Mary are keeping 
 home uninhabitable, found themselves obliged to rush away 
 from i\Iaplewood in the middle of their county welcomes for 
 a little snatch of us, and to join us in vituperating the new 
 furniture. If Mary could only hear Hector talk of a new 
 sofa that he can't put his boots upon — he says it is bad 
 enough at Maplewood, but that he did hope to be still 
 comfortable at home. They have to get back to dine out 
 to-morrow, but meantime the fun is more fast and furious 
 than ever, and as soon as the tide serves, we are to fulfil our 
 long-cherished desire of boating round to Lyme. I won't 
 answer for the quantity of discretion added to our freight, 
 but at least there is six feet more of valour, and Mrs. Blanche 
 for my chaperon. Bonnie Blanche is little changed by her 
 four months' matrimony, and only looks prettier and more 
 stylish, but she is painfully meek and younger-sisterish, 
 asking my leave instead of her husband's, and distressed at 
 her smartness in her pretty shady hat and undyed silk, 
 because I was in trim for lias-grubbing. Her appearance 
 ought to be an example to all the brides in the place with 
 skirts in the water, and nothing on to keep off eyes, sun, or 
 wind from their faces. I give Flora infinite credit for it. 
 Blanche and Aubrey walk arm in arm in unceasing talk, and 
 that good feUow, Hector, has included Leonard in the general 
 
THE TRIAL. 93 
 
 fraternity. They are highly complimentary, saying they 
 should have taken Aubrey for Harry, he is so much stouter 
 and rosier, and that Leonard is hugely grown. Here come 
 these three boys shouting that the boat is ready ; I really 
 think Hector is more boyish and noisy than ever. 
 
 * Five precious souls and all agog, 
 To dash through thick or thin.' 
 
 I'll take the best care of them in my power. Good-bye." 
 
 " A ugust 2nd. — Safe back, without adventure, only a great 
 deal of enjo}Tnent, for which I am doubly thankful, as I 
 almost fancied we were fey, one of the many presentiments 
 that come to nothing, but perhaps do us rather good than 
 harm for all that. I hope I did not show it in my letter, 
 and communicate it to you. Even when safe landed, I could 
 not but think of the Cobb and Louisa Musgrove, as I suppose 
 everyone does. We slept at the inn ; drove with the Emes- 
 cliffes to the station this morning, and came back to this place 
 an hour ago, after having been steeped in j)leasure. I shall 
 send the description of Lyme to Daisy to-morrow, having no 
 time for it now, as I want an answer from you about our going 
 to Maplewood. The ' married babies ' are bent upon it, and 
 Hector tries to demonstrate that it is the shortest way home, 
 to which I can't agree ; but as it may save another journey, 
 and it will be nice to see them in their glory, I told them 
 that if you could spare us, we would go from the 29th to the 
 4th of September, lids will bring Leonard home four days 
 before the end of the holidays, for he has been most warmly 
 invited. Hector adopting him into the brotherhood of papa's 
 pets. I am glad he is not left out ; and 'Ma.iy had better 
 prove to Averil that he will be much happier for having no 
 
94 THE TKIAL. 
 
 time at liome before the half year begins. He still shrinks 
 from the very name being brouglit before him. Let me 
 know, if you please, whether this arrangement will suit, as 
 1 am to write to Blanche. Dear little woman, I hope Hector 
 won't make a spoilt child of her, they are so very young, and 
 their means seem so unlimited to them both. Hector wanting 
 to make her and us presents of whatever we admired, and 
 when she civilly praised Mab, vehemently declaring that she 
 should have just such another if money could purchase, or if 
 not, he would find a way. * Thank you. Hector dear, I had 
 rather not,' placidly responds Blanche, making his vehemence 
 fall so flat, and Leonard's almost exulting alarm glide into 
 such semi-mortification, that I could have laughed, though I 
 remain in hopes that her ' rather not ' may always be as 
 prudent, for I believe it is the only limit to Hector's gifts. 
 ****** 
 
 " 29th, 8 A.M. — Farewell to the Coombe of Coombes. I 
 write wliile waiting for the fly, and shall post this at Wey- 
 mouth, where we are to be met. We have been so happy 
 here, that I could be sentimental, if Leonard were not tete-a- 
 tete with me, and on the verge of that predicament. ' Never 
 so happy in his life,' quotha, ' and never will be again — 
 wonders when he shall see this white cliff again.' But, 
 happily, in tumbles Aubrey with the big claw of a crab, which 
 he insists on Leonard's wearing next his heart as a souvenir 
 of Mrs. Gisborne ; he is requited with an attempt to pinch 
 his nose therewith, and — 
 
 '•2.30. P.M. Weymouth. — The result was the upset of my 
 ink, whereof you see the remains ; and our last moments 
 were spent in reparations and apologies. My two squires are 
 in different plight from what they were ten weeks ago, racing 
 
THE TEIAL. 95 
 
 up hills that it then half killed them to come down, and 
 lingering wistfully on the top for last glimpses of our bay. I 
 am overwhelmed with their courtesies, and though each is 
 lugging about twenty pounds weight of stones, and Mab 
 besides in Leonard's pocket, I am seldom allowed to carry 
 my own travelling bag. Hector has been walking us about 
 while his horses are resting after their twenty miles, but we 
 think the parade and pier soon seen, and are tantalized by 
 ha^ang no time for Portland Island, only contenting our- 
 selves with an inspection of shop fossils, which in company 
 with Hector, is a sort of land of the ' Three Wishes,' or 
 worse ; for on my chancing to praise a beautiful lump of 
 Purbeck stone, stuck as full of paludince as a pudding with 
 plums, but as big as my head and much heavier, he brought 
 out his purse at once ; and when I told him he must either 
 enchant it on to my nose, or give me a negro slave as a means 
 of transport, Leonard so earnestly volunteered to be the bearer, 
 that I was thankful for my old rule against collecting curio- 
 sities that I do not find and carry myself. 
 
 ^'-August 30th, Maplewood. — I wonder w^hether these good 
 children can be happier, unless it may be when they receive 
 you ! How much they do make of us ! and what a goodly 
 sight at their own table they are ! They are capable in them- 
 selves of making any place charming, though the man must 
 have been enterprising who sat down five-and- twenty years 
 ago to reclaim this park from irreclaimable do^^^l. I asked 
 where were the maples ? and where was the wood 1 and was 
 shown five stunted ones in a cage to defend them from the 
 sheep, the only things that thrive here, except little white 
 snails!, with purple lines round their shells. ' There now, 
 isn't it awfully bleak ? ' says Hector, with a certain comical 
 
96 THE TEIAL. 
 
 exultation. * How was a man ever to live here without 
 her ? ' And the best of it is, that Blanche thinks it beautiful 
 — delicious free air, open space, view over five counties, &c. 
 Inside, one traces Flora's presiding genius. Hector would 
 never have made the concern so perfect without her help ; 
 and Blanche is no child in her own house, but is older and 
 more at home than Hector, so that one would take her for 
 the heiress, maldng him welcome and at ease. 'Not that it is 
 like the Grange, Blanche is furious if I remark any little un- 
 conscious imitation or similarity — *As if we could be like 
 Flora and George indeed ! ' Nor will they. If Blanche 
 rules, it ^vill be unawares to herself. And where Hector is, 
 there will always be a genial house, overflowing with good 
 humour and good nature. He has actually kept the 1st of 
 September clear of shooting parties that he may take these 
 two boys out, and give them a thorough day's sport in his 
 turnip fields. 'License? Konsense, he thought of that 
 before, and now Aubrey may get some shooting out of George 
 Rivers.' After such good nature my mouth is shut, though, 
 ay di me, all the world and his wife are coming here on 
 Monday evening, and unless I borrow of Blanche, Mrs. 
 
 Ernescliffe's sister mil 'look like ane scrub.'" 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Septemler 2nd. — Train at Stoneborough, G.30. That's the 
 best news I have to give. Oh, it has been a weary while to 
 be out of sight of you all, though it has been pleasant enough, 
 and the finale is perfectly brilliant. Blanche, as lady of the 
 house, is a sight to make a sister proud ; she looks as if she 
 were born to nothing else, and is a model of prettiness and 
 elegance. Hector kept coming up to me at every opportunity 
 to admire her. ' JS^ow, old Ethel, look at her ! Doesn't she 
 
THE TRIAL. 97 
 
 look like a picture? / chose that gown, you know;' then 
 again after dinner, * Well, old Ethel, didn't it go ofif well 1 
 Did you ever see anything like her 1 There, just watch her 
 among the old ladies. I can't think where she learnt it all, can 
 3'ou V And it certainly was too perfect to have been learnt. 
 It was not the oppression that poor dear Flora gives one by 
 doing ever^-thing so well, as if she had perfectly balanced what 
 was due to herself and everybody else ; it was just Blanche, 
 simple and ready, pleasing herself by doing what people 
 liked, and seeing what they did Hke. It was particularly 
 pretty to see how careful both she and Hector were not to 
 put Leonard aside — indeed, they make more of him than of 
 Aubrey, who is quite able to find his own level. Even his 
 tender feelings as to Mab are respected, and Blanche always 
 takes care to invite her to a safe seat on a fat scarlet cushion 
 on the sofa, (Mrs. Ledwich's wedding present,) when the 
 footmen with the tea might be in danger of demolishing her. 
 Leonard, and his fine eyes, and his dog, were rather in fashion 
 yesterday evening. Blanche put out his Coombe sketches 
 for a company trap, and people talked to him about them, 
 and he was set to sing with Blanche, and then with some of 
 the young ladies. He seemed to enjoy it, and his nice modest 
 gentlemanhke manner told. The party was not at all amiss 
 in itself. I had a very nice clerical neighbour, and it is a 
 very diiferent thing to see and hear Hector at the bottom of 
 the table from having poor dear George there. But oh ! 
 only one dinner more before we see our own table again, and 
 Tom at the bottom of it. Hurrah ! I trust this is the last 
 letter you will have for many a day, from 
 
 " Your loving and dutiful daughter, 
 
 "Etheldred May." 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 THE TRIAL. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 " The XII. statute remember to observe 
 For all the paiue thou hast for love and wo 
 All is too lite her mercie to deserve 
 Thou musten then thinke wher er thou ride or go 
 And mortale wounds suffre thou also 
 All for her sake, and thinke it well besette 
 Upon thy love, for it male not be bette." 
 
 Chaucer's Court of Love. 
 
 " Good-bye, Leonard," said Ethel, as tlie two families, after 
 mustering strong at the station, parted at the head of Minster 
 Street ; and as she felt the quivering lingering pressure of 
 his hand, she added with a smile, " Eemember, any Saturday 
 afternoon. And you will come for the books." 
 
 Glad as she was to be anchored on her father's arm, and 
 clustered round with rejoicing brothers and sisters, she could 
 not be devoid of a shade of regret for the cessation of the 
 intimate intercourse of the last nine weeks, and a certain 
 desire for the continuance of the confidential terms that had 
 arisen. The moment's pang was lost in the eager inter- 
 change of tidings too minute for correspondence, and in 
 approval of the renovation of the drawing-room, wliich was 
 so skilful that her first glance would have detected no alter- 
 
THE TRIAL. 99 
 
 ation in tlie subdued tones of paper, carpet, and cliintz, so 
 complete was their loyalty to the spirit of perpetuity. Flora 
 told no one of the pains that, among her many cares, she had 
 spent upon those tints, not so much to gratify Ethel, as 
 because her own wearied spirit craved the repose of home 
 sameness, nor how she had finally sent to Paris for the paper 
 that looked so quiet, but was so exquisitely finished, that the 
 whole room had a new air of refinement. 
 
 The most notable novelty was a water-coloured sketch, a 
 labour of love from the busy hands in l^ew Zealand, which 
 had stolen a few hours from their many tasks to send Dr. 
 May the presentment of his namesake grandson. Little 
 Dickie stood before them, a true son of the humming-bird 
 sprite, delicately limbed and featured, and with elastic 
 springiness, visible even in the pencilled outline. The 
 dancing dark eyes were all Meta's, though the sturdy clasp of 
 the hands, and the curl that hung over the brow, brought 
 back the reflection of Harry's baby days. 
 
 It would have been a charming picture, even if it had not 
 been by Meta's pencil, and of ISTorman's child, and it chained 
 Ethel for more than one interval of longing loving study. 
 
 Tom interrupted her in one of these contemplations. 
 " Poor Flora," he said, with more feeling than he usually 
 allowed to affect his voice, "that picture is a hard trial to 
 her. I caught her looking at it for full ten minutes, and at 
 last she turned away with her eyes full of tears." 
 
 " I do not wonder," said Ethel. " There is a certain 
 likeness to that poor little Leonora, and I think Flora misses 
 her more every year." 
 
 " Such a child as Margaret is just the thing to cause the 
 other to be missed." 
 
 h2 
 
100 THE TRIAL. 
 
 "What do you think of Margaret this time?" said Ethel, 
 for Tom alone ever durst seriously touch on the undefined 
 impression that all entertained of Flora's only child. 
 
 " K Flora were only silly about her," said Tom, " one 
 might have some hope ; but unluckily she is as judicious 
 there as in everything else, and the child gets more deplorable 
 every year. She has got the look of deformity, and yet 
 she is not deformed ; and the queer sullen ways of deficiency, 
 but she has more wit than her father already, and more 
 cunning." 
 
 " As long as there is a mind to work on, one hopes," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 " I could stand her better if she were foolish ! " exclaimed 
 Tom, "but I can't endure to see her come into the room to 
 be courted by every one, and be as cross as she dares before 
 her mother. Behind Flora's back, I don't know which she 
 uses worst, her father or her grandfather. I came down 
 upon little Miss at last for her treatment of the doctor, and 
 neither he nor Eivers have forgiven nie." 
 
 " Poor child ! I don't believe she has ever known a 
 moment's thorough health or comfort ! I always hope that 
 with Flora's patience and management she may improve." 
 
 " Pshaw, Ethel ! she will always be a misfortune to her- 
 self and everybody else." 
 
 " I have faith in good coming out of misfortunes." 
 
 " Illustrated, I suppose, by ravings about your young 
 Ward. Mary is crazy about his sister, and the doctor 
 lunatic as to the brother, who will soon kick at him for his 
 pains." 
 
 " I own to thinking Leonard capable of great things." 
 
 Tom made a grimace equal to what Ethel could do in that 
 
THE TRIAL. 101 
 
 way, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and philoso- 
 phically observed, " Behold the effects of patronage ! Elind 
 Cupid is nothing to him." 
 
 Ethel let it pass, caring too much for Leonard to set him 
 up as a mark for Tom's satire, which was as different from 
 Aubrey's as quinine from orange peel, though properly used, 
 it was a bracing tonic, such as she often found wholesome. 
 A cynical younger brother is a most valuable possession 
 to a woman who has taken a certain position in her own 
 world. 
 
 Tom was a sterling character, highly and deeply principled, 
 though not demonstrative, and showing his Scots descent. 
 None of the brothers had been extravagant, but Tom, with 
 the income of his lately achieved fellowship, performed feats 
 of economy, such as attaining to the purchase of an ultra 
 perfect microscope, and he was consistently industrious, so 
 exactly measuring his own powers that to undertake was 
 with him to succeed, and no one suffered anxiety on his 
 account. As Dr. Spencer said, he was as sure to fall on his 
 legs as a sandy cat, and so nobody cared for him. At home 
 he was sufficient to himself, properly behaved to his father, 
 civil to Eichard, unmerciful in ridicule, but merciful in do- 
 minion over the rest, except Ethel, whom he treated as an 
 equal, able to retort in kind, reserving for her his most highly 
 flavoured sallies, and his few and distant approaches to such 
 confidence as showed her how Httle she knew him. His 
 father esteemed but did not " get on with " him, and liis 
 chief and devoted adherent was Aubrey, to whom he was 
 always kind and helpful. In person Tom was tall and well- 
 made, of intelligent face, of which his spectacles seemed a 
 natural feature, well-moulded fine-grained hand, and dress 
 
102 JHE TRIAL. 
 
 the perfection of correctness, though the precision and 
 dandyism had been pruned away. 
 
 Ethel would have preferred that Leonard and Averil 
 should not have walked in on the Saturday after her return, 
 just when Tom had spread his microscope apparatus over the 
 table, and claimed Mary's assistance in setting up objects ; 
 and she avoided his eye when Mary and Averil did what he 
 poetically called rushing into each other's arms, whilst she 
 bestowed her greetings on Leonard and Mab. 
 
 " Then she may come in 1 " said Leonard. " Henry has 
 banished her from the drawing-room, and we had much ado 
 to get her allowed even in the school-ioom." 
 
 " It is so tiresome," said his sister, "just one of Henry's 
 fancies." 
 
 Ethel, thinking this disloyal, remarked that those who 
 disliked dogs in the house could not bear them, and did 
 not wonder that Tom muttered " Original." 
 
 " But such a little darling as this ! " cried Averil, " and 
 after Mrs. Ernescliffe had been so kind. Mary, you must 
 see how clever she is. Leonard is teaching her to play on 
 the piano." 
 
 " I congratulate you," quietly said Tom ; and somehow 
 Ethel felt that those three w^ords were a satire on her 
 " capable of great things ; " while Leonard drew up, and 
 Averil coloured, deferring the exhibition of Mab's accom- 
 plishments till "another time," evidently meaning out of 
 Tom's presence. 
 
 "Aubrey is gone to the Grange with papa," Ethel said, 
 glad to lead away from Mab. 
 
 " He told me he was going," said Leonard, " but he said 
 you would be at home." 
 
THE TRIAL. 103 
 
 Ethel knew tliat the intouation of that yrju had curled 
 Tom's lip with mischief, and dreading that Leonard should 
 discover and resent his mood, she said, " "We think one of 
 your sea eggs has got among ours ; will you come to the 
 school-room and see ? " 
 
 And leaving Tom to teaze and be bored by the young 
 ladies, she led the way to the school-room, where Aubrey's 
 fossils, each in its private twist of paper, lay in confusion on 
 the floor, whence they were in course of being transferred to 
 the shelf of a cupboard. 
 
 Leonard looked at the disorder with astonished admiration. 
 
 "Yes," said Ethel, "it is a great mess, but they are to 
 have a regular cabinet, when Eichard has time, or Aubrey 
 has money, two equally unlikely chances." 
 
 " How much does a cabinet cost ? " 
 
 "Jones would make a plain deal one for about five-and- 
 twenty shillings." 
 
 "I can't unpack mine properly," said Leonard discon- 
 solately. " Ave is going to make a place for them, but 
 Henry votes them rubbish." 
 
 " They are dreadful rubbish," said Ethel. " It goes 
 against my conscience to guard them from the housemaid, 
 and if my sister Elora came in here, I should be annihilated." 
 
 " Of course one expects that in women r 
 
 " Oh, Eichard would be as much distracted ! It is a 
 provision of Nature that there should be some tidy ones, 
 or what would the world come to ? " 
 
 " It would be a great deal less of a bore." 
 
 " Kot at all ; we should stifle ourselves at last if we had 
 our own way. Xever mind, Leonard, we make them go 
 through quite as much as they make us." 
 
104 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " I am sure I hope so." 
 
 " No, no, Leonard," she said, becoming less playful, " we 
 must not do it on purpose. Even unconsciously, we plague 
 the spirits of order quite enough, and they have the right on 
 their side after all." 
 
 " I think a lady is the person to say what one may do or 
 not in the dramng-room ; don't you 1 " said Leouard. 
 
 « That depends." 
 
 "And you let your brother spread his things all over 
 yours 1 " 
 
 " So I do ; but I would not if i)apa minded it, or even if 
 this were Richard's house, and he did not like it. Don't 
 begin with worries about trifles, pray, Leonard." 
 
 "It is not / that care about trifles," returned the boy. 
 " How was one to reckon on a man setting up a monomania 
 about dogs' paws in the hall 1 " 
 
 " I have feared we were rather foolish ; I ought to have 
 reminded you to ask whether Mab would be welcome." 
 
 " I was not going to ask leave, I have no one whose 
 leave to ask," said Leonard, in tones at first proud, then 
 sad. 
 
 "That's a bad beginning," returned Ethel. "As master 
 of the house, your brother has a right to your compliance, 
 and if you do not all give way to each other, you will have 
 nothing but dissension and misery." 
 
 ^^ All to each other ; yes, that is fair." 
 
 " He must have given way to you in letting you keep 
 the dog at all iu the house," said Ethel. "It is a real 
 instance of kindness, and you are bound to let her be as 
 little in his way as possible." 
 
 "He does mean well, I suppose," said Leonard; "but he 
 
THE TEIAL. 105 
 
 is an awful bother, and poor Ave gets the worst of it. One 
 has no patience with finikin ways in a man." 
 
 " There's no telling how much I owe to my finikin brother 
 Eichard," said Ethel ; '* and if you teach Ave to be loyal to 
 the head of your family, you will do her as much good as 
 you will do harm by chafing against his ordinances." 
 
 " Don't you hate such nonsense, ^liss May 1 " 
 
 " I can't love order as much as I honour it. Set tastes 
 aside. The point is, that if you are to hold together, 
 Leonard, it must be by bearing and forbearing, and above 
 all, to your elder brother." 
 
 "Well, it is a blessing that I shall be in school on 
 Monday." 
 
 "So it is," said Ethel; "but, barring these fidgets, 
 Leonard, tell me," and she looked kindly at him, " how is it 
 at home 1 Better than you expected, I hope." 
 
 " Blank enough," said Leonard ; " I didn't think I should 
 have minded the sound of the surgery door so much." 
 
 "You will have Sunday to help you." 
 
 " Yes, Ave and I have been down to the churchyard ; 
 Ave does care, poor girl. She knows better what it is now, 
 and she was glad to have me to talk to again, though [Miss 
 ^lary has been so kind to her." 
 
 " Oh, nobody can be so much to her as you.*' 
 
 " Poor Ave ! " said Leonard tenderly. " And look here, 
 this is my father's watch, and she made me this chain of 
 my mother's hair. And they have given me a photograph 
 of my mother's picture; Henry had it done long ago, but 
 thought it would upset me to give it before I went away. 
 If he could but have guessed how I lay and ^vished for 
 one ! " 
 
106 THE TRIAL. 
 
 "Those are the things one never can guess, even when 
 one would give worlds to do so." 
 
 " You — Miss May, you always know the thing that is 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Well," said Ethel, " what will be comfortable now is 
 that you should be the man above being affronted by other 
 people's nonsense — the only way to show we did not all spoil 
 each other at Coombe. 'Now, here is Woodstock for you, 
 and tell me if this be not your Cidaris. Oh, and we have 
 found out the name of your funny spiked shell." 
 
 Ten minutes of paloeontology ensued j and she was lead- 
 ing the way back to the drawing-room, when he exclaimed, 
 " Have you heard about the match. Miss May 1 " 
 
 " Match ? Oh, the cricket match % " 
 
 " Stoneborough against All England, on St. Matthew's 
 Day, so I shall have got my hand Iil" 
 
 " All England, meaning every one that can be scraped up 
 that is not Stoneborough," returned Ethel. " George 
 Larkins has been over here canvassing Tom and Aubrey. 
 But you can't be going to play, Leonard j papa does not half 
 like it for Aubrey." 
 
 " Perhaps not for Aubrey," said Leonard ; " but I am as 
 well as ever, and luckily they can't make up a decent eleven 
 without me. You will come and see us, ]\Ii5s May? I'll 
 find you the jolKest place between the old lime and the 
 cloister door." 
 
 "As if I had not known the meads ages before your 
 time ! " said Ethel. 
 
 " I thought you never came to the matches ?" 
 
 " Ah ! you don't rememl^er my brothers' Stoneborough 
 days, when IS^orman was cricket mad, and Harry after him, 
 
THE TRIAL. 107 
 
 and my fatlier was the best cricketer in Stoneborougli till 
 his accident." 
 
 " Yes, Dr. May always comes to see the matches," said 
 Leonard. " You will, won't you now, IMiss May 1 I didn't 
 think you knew anything about cricket, but it will be all the 
 better now." 
 
 Ethel laughed, and half promised. 
 
 Cocksmoor existed without Ethel on that holiday; and 
 indeed she was seK-reproachful, though pleased, at finding 
 her presence so great a treat to her father. Leonard might 
 do the honours of the lime tree nook, but she spent but 
 little time there, for Dr. May made her walk about with 
 him as he exchanged greetings with each and all, while 
 Gertrude led Eichard about at her will, and Mary con- 
 sorted with the Ward girls. With no one on her mind, 
 Ethel could give free attention to the smoothly shaven 
 battle field, where within the grey walls shaded by the 
 overhanging elms, the young champions were throwing 
 all the ardour and even the chivalry of their nature into 
 the contest. 
 
 The annual game had been delayed by the illness in the 
 spring, and the school had lost several good players at the 
 end of the half year ; but on the other hand, the holidays 
 being over, George Larkins had been unable to collect an 
 eleven either in full practice or with public school training ; 
 and the veteran spectators were mourning the decay of 
 cricket, and talking of past triumphs. The school had the 
 first innings, which resulted in the discomfiture of Fielder, 
 one of their crack champions, and with no great honour 
 to any one except Eolliot, the dux, and Leonard Ward, who 
 both acquitted themselves so creditably, that it was allowed 
 
108 THE TRIAL. 
 
 that if others had done as well, Stoneborough might have 
 had a chance. 
 
 But when * All England ' went in, the game seemed to be 
 more equally balanced. Aubrey May, in spite of devoted 
 practice under Tom's instructions, was, from nervous eager- 
 ness, out almost as soon as in, and in his misery of shame 
 and despair felt like the betrayer of his cause. But in due 
 time, with the sun declining, and the score still low, Tom 
 May came forward, as the last hope of 'All England,' lissom, 
 active, and skilled, walking up to his wicket with the easy 
 confidence of one not greatly caring, but willing to show the 
 natives what play might be. 
 
 And his play was admirable ; the fortunes of the day 
 began to tremble in the balance ; everyone, spectators and 
 all, were in a state of eager excitement ; and Aubrey, out of 
 tone and unable to watch for the crisis, fairly fled from the 
 sight, rushed through the cloister door, and threw himself 
 with his face down upon the grass, shivering with suspense. 
 There he lay till a sudden burst of voices and cheers showed 
 that the battle was over. 
 
 The result 1 He could not believe eyes or ears as he 
 opened the door, to behold the triumphant gestures of Stone- 
 borough, and the crest-fallen air of his own side, and heard 
 the words, " Folliot missed two chances of longleg — ^Ward 
 — tremendous rush — caught him out — with only one run 
 to tie." 
 
 Dr. May was shaking hands with Leonard in congratulation, 
 not solely generous, for let his sons be where they would, 
 Stoneborough triumi:)hs were always the doctor's, and he was 
 not devoid of gratitude to any one who would defeat Tom. 
 IS'oting, however, the flitting colour, fluttering breath, and 
 
TPIE TRIAL. 109 
 
 trembliDg limbs, that showed the effect of the day's fatigue 
 and of the final exertion, he signed back the boys, and 
 thnist Leonard Tvithin the cloister door, bidding Aubrey 
 fetch Tiis coat, and Ethel keep guard over him, and when he 
 was rested and cooled, to take him home to the High Street, 
 where his sisters would meet him. 
 
 "But — Sir — the — supper!" gasped Leonard, leaning 
 against the door-post, unable to stand alone. 
 
 " I dare say. Keep him safe, EtheL" 
 
 And the doctor shut the door, and offered himself to appease 
 the lads who were clamouring for the hero of their cause ; 
 while Leonard sank back on the bench, past words or looks 
 for some moments. 
 
 " You have redeemed youi* pennon mth your last gasp," 
 said Ethel, half reproachfully. 
 
 " I was determined," panted the boy. " I don't know how 
 I did it. I couldn't fail with you looking on. You did it 
 by coming." 
 
 Eeply was spared by Aubrey's return, with the coat in one 
 hand, and a glass of ale in the other. " You are to go home 
 with Ethel at once," he pronounced with the utmost zest, 
 " that is, as soon as you are nested My father says you 
 must not think of the supper, unless you particularly wish 
 to be in bed for a week,; but we'll all drink your health, and 
 m return thanks — the worst player for the best." 
 
 This was the first time Aubrey had been considered in 
 condition for such festivities, and the gratification of being 
 superior to somebody might account for his glee in invaliding 
 his friend. 
 
 Cricket suppers were no novelties to Leonard ; and either 
 this or hisexhaustion must have made him resign himseK 
 
110 THE TRIAL. 
 
 to his fate, and walk back with Ethel as happily as at 
 Coombe. 
 
 The sisters soon followed, and were detained to drink tea. 
 The cricketers' mirth must have been fast and furious if it 
 exceeded that at home, for the doctor thought himself bound 
 to make up for the loss to Leonard, put forth all his powers 
 of entertainment, and was comically confidential about "these 
 Etonians that think so much of themselves." 
 
 Averil was lively and at ease, showing herself the pleasant 
 well-informed girl whom Ethel had hitherto only taken on 
 trust, and acting in a pretty motherly way towards the little 
 sisters. She was more visibly triumphant than was Leonard, 
 and had been much gratified by a request from the Bankside 
 curate that she would entirely undertake the harmonium at 
 the chapel. She had been playing on it during the absence 
 of the schoolmaster, and with so much better effect than he 
 could produce, that it had been agreed that he would be best 
 in his place among the boys. 
 
 " Ah !" said the doctor, "two things in one are apt to be 
 like Aubrey's compromise between walking-stick and camp- 
 stool — a little of neither." 
 
 "I don't mean it to be a little of neither with me. Dr. 
 May," said Averil. " I shall have nothing to do with my 
 choir on week days, till I have sent these pupils of mine 
 to bed." 
 
 " Are you going to train the choir too 1 " asked Leonard. 
 
 " I must practise with them, or we shall not understand 
 one another ; besides, they have such a horrid set of tunes, 
 Mr. Scudamour gave me leave to change them. He is going 
 to have hymnals, and get rid of Tate and Brady at once." 
 
 " Ah ! poor Kahum ! " sighed the doctor with such a 
 
THE TEIAL. Ill 
 
 genuine sigh, that Averil turned round on him in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes," said Ethel, " I'm the only one conservative enough 
 to sympathize with you, papa." 
 
 *' But does any one approve of the Xew Version ? " cried 
 Averil, recovering from her speechless wonder. 
 
 " Don't come down on me," said the doctor, holding up 
 his hands. " I know it all ; hut the singing psalms are the 
 singing psalms to me — and I can't help my bad taste — I'm 
 too old to change." 
 
 " Oh ! but, papa, you do Like those beautiful hymns that 
 we have now ? " cried Gertrude. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes, Gertrude, I acquiesce. They are a great 
 improvement ; but then, wasn't it a treat when I got over to 
 "Woodside Church the other day, and found them singing, 
 ' Xo change of times shall ever shock 1 ' " and he began to 
 hum it. 
 
 " That is the Sicilian Mariners' hymn," said Averil. '' I 
 can sing you that whenever you please." 
 
 " TTiank you ; on condition you sing the old Tate and 
 Brady, not your ' Sanctissima, Purissima,' " said the 
 doctor a little mischievously. 
 
 " AVhich is eldest, I wonder ? " asked Ave, smiling, pleased 
 to comply with any whim of his ; though too young to 
 understand the associations that entwine closely around all 
 that has assisted or embodied devotion. 
 
 The music went from the sacred to the secular ; and Ethel 
 owned that the perfectly pronounced words and admirable 
 taste made her singing very different from that which 
 adorned most dinner parties. Dr. May intensely enjoyed, 
 and was between tears and bravos at the charge of the vSix 
 
112 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Hundred, when the two brothers entered, and stood silently 
 listening. 
 
 That return brought a change. Aubrey was indeed open 
 and bright, bursting out with eager communications the 
 moment the song ceased, then turning round with winning 
 apologaes, and hopes that he was not interrupting ; but Tom 
 looked so stifif and polite as to chill everyone, and Averil 
 began to talk of the children's bed time. 
 
 The doctor and Aubrey pressed for another song so 
 earnestly that she consented ; but the spirit and animation 
 were gone, and she had no sooner finished than she made 
 a decided move to depart, and Dr. May accompanied the 
 party home. 
 
 " Is my father going to put that fellow to bed 1 " said 
 Tom, yawning, as if injured by the delay of bed time thus 
 occasioned. 
 
 " Your courtesy does not equal his," said Ethel 
 
 *' Nor ever will," said Tom. 
 
 " Never," said Ethel, so emphatically that she nettled him 
 into adding, 
 
 " He is a standing warning against spoiling one's patients. 
 I wouldn't have them and their whole tag-rag and bobtail 
 about my house for something ! " 
 
 " Tom, for shame ! " cried Mary, bursting out in the 
 wrath he had intended to excite. 
 
 " Ask him which is tag, which rag, and which bobtail," 
 suggested Ethel. 
 
 " ]\Iab, I suppose," said Gertrude, happily closing the 
 discussion, but it was re-animated by her father's arrival. 
 
 " That's a nice girl," he said, " very nice ; but we must 
 not have her too often in the evening, Mary, without Henry. 
 It is not fair to break up people's home party." 
 
THE TRIAX. 113 
 
 " Bobber than bobtail," murmured Tom, with, a gesture 
 only meant for Ethel. 
 
 " Ave said he would be out till quite late, papa," said 
 Mary in self-defence. ^^ 
 
 " She ought to have been back before him," said Dr. May. 
 " He didn't seem best pleased to have found her away ; and 
 let me tell 3^ou, young woman, it is hard on a man who has 
 been at work all day to come home and find a dark house 
 and nobody to speak to." 
 
 Mary looked melancholy at this approach to reproof, and 
 Tom observed in an under tone, 
 
 " Xever mind, Mary, it is only to give papa the oppor- 
 tunity of improving his pupil, while you exchange confidence 
 with your bosom friend. I shall be gone in another month, 
 and there will be nothing to prevent the perfect fusion of 
 families." 
 
 No one was sorry that the evening here came to an end. 
 
 " I hope," said Dr. May at the Sunday's dinner, " that the 
 cricket match has not done for that boy ; I did not see him 
 among the boys." 
 
 " Xo," said Mary, " but he has met with some accident, 
 and has the most terrible bruised face. Ave can't make out 
 how he did it. Do you know, Aubrey ? " 
 
 The doctor and his two sons burst out laughing. 
 
 " I thought," said Ethel rather grieved, " that those things 
 had gone out of fashion." 
 
 " So Ethel's proteg6, or prodigy, which is it ? " said Tom, 
 " is turning out a muscular Christian on her hands." 
 
 " Is a muscular Christian one who has muscles, or one 
 who trusts in muscles ] " asked Ethel. 
 
 " Or a better cricketer than an Etonian?" added the doctor. 
 
 VOL, I. I 
 
114 THE TEIAL. 
 
 Tom and Aubrey returned demonstrations that Eton's 
 glory was untarnished, and the defeat solely o^ving to " such 
 a set of sticks." 
 
 " Aubrey," said Ethel, in their first private moment, "was 
 this a fight in a good cause 1 for if so, I will come down 
 with you and see him." 
 
 Aubrey made a face of dissuasion, ending in a whistle. 
 
 *' Do at least tell me it is nothing I should be sorry for," 
 she said anxiously. 
 
 He screwed his face into an intended likeness of Ethel's 
 imitation of an orchis, winked one eye, and looked 
 comical. 
 
 " I see it can't be really bad," said Ethel, " so I will rest 
 on your assurance, and ask no indiscreet questions." 
 
 " You didn't see, then 1 " said Aubrey, aggrieved at the 
 failure of his imitation. " You don't remember the beauty 
 he met at Coombe ? " 
 
 " Beauty ! Xone but Mab." 
 
 " AYell, they found it out and chaffed him. Eielder said 
 he would cut out as good a face out of an old knob of apple 
 wood, and the doctor in petticoats came up again, he got 
 into one of his rages, and they had no end of a shindy, 
 better than any, they say, since Lake and Benson fifteen 
 years ago ; but Ward was in too great a passion, or he would 
 have done for Eielder long before old Hoxton was seen 
 mooning that way. So you see, if any of the fellows should 
 be about, it would never do for you to be seen going to bind 
 lip his wounds, but I can tell him you are much obliged, and 
 aU that." 
 
 " Obliged, indeed ! " said Ethel. " AYhat, for making me 
 the laughing-stock of the school ? " 
 
THE TRIAL. 115 
 
 " No, indeed," cried Aubrey, distressed. " He said not a 
 word — they only found it out — because he found that seat 
 for you, and papa sent him away with you. They only 
 meant to poke fun, and it was his caring that made it come 
 home to him. I wonder you don't like to find that such a 
 fellow stood up for you." 
 
 " I don't like to be made ridiculous." 
 
 " Tom does not know it, and shall not," eagerly interposed 
 Aubrey. 
 
 " Thank you," said she, with all her heart. 
 
 " Then don't be savage. You know he can't help it if 
 he does think you so handsome, and it is very hard that you 
 should be affronted with him, just when he can't see out of 
 one of his eyes." 
 
 " For that matter," said Ethel, her voice trembling, " one 
 likes generosity in any sort of a cause ; but as to this, the 
 only way is to laugh at it." 
 
 Aubrey thought this " only way " hardly taken by the 
 cachinnation with which she left him, for he was sure that 
 her eyes were full of tears ; and after mature consideration 
 he decided that he should only get into a fresh scrape by 
 letting Leonard know that she was aware of the combat and 
 its motive. 
 
 " If I were ten years younger, this might be serious," 
 meditated Ethel. " Happily, it is only a droll adventure for 
 me in my old age, and I have heard say that a little raving 
 for a grown-up tvoman is a wholesome sort of delusion at his 
 time of life. So I need not worry about it, and it is pretty 
 and touching while it lasts, good fellow ! " 
 
 Ethel had, in fact, little occasion to worry herself ; for all 
 special manifestations of Leonard's devotion ceased. Whether 
 
 I 2 
 
116 THE TRIAL. 
 
 it were that Tom with his grave satirical manner contrived 
 to render the house disagreeable to both brother and sister, 
 or whether Leonard's boyish bashfulness had taken alarm, and 
 his admiration expended itself in the battle for her charms, 
 there was no knowing. All that was certain was, that the 
 "Wards seldom appeared at Dr. May's, although elsewhere 
 Mary and Aubrey saw a great deal of their resj)ective friends, 
 and through both, Ethel heard from time to time of Leonard, 
 chiefly as working hard at school, but finding that his illness 
 had cost him not only the last half year's learning, but some 
 memory and power of aj)plication. He was merging into 
 the ordinary school boy — a very good thing for him no 
 doubt — though less beautiful than those Coombe fancies. 
 And what were they worth ? 
 
THE TRIAL. 117 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 " Little specks of daily trouble- 
 Petty grievance, petty strife — 
 Filling up with drops incessant 
 To the brim the cup of life. 
 
 Deeper import have these tiifles 
 
 Than we think or care to know : 
 In the air a feather floating, 
 
 Tells from whence the breezes blow. " 
 
 Rev. G. Mmisell. 
 
 The first brightening of the orphaned house of Bankside had 
 been in Leonard's return. The weeks of his absence had 
 been very sore ones to Averil, while she commenced the 
 round of duties that were a heavy burthen for one so young, 
 and became, instead of the petted favourite, the responsible 
 head of the house. 
 
 She was willing and glad to accept the care of her little 
 sisters — docile bright children — who were pleased to return 
 to the orderly habits so long interrupted, and were so in- 
 telligent, that her task of teaching was a pleasant one ; and 
 almost motherly love towards them grew up as she felt their 
 dependence on her, and enjoyed their caresses. 
 
 With Henry she had less in common. He expected of 
 
118 THE TRIAL. 
 
 her what she had not learnt, and was not willing to acquire. 
 A man interfering in the woman's province meets little 
 toleration ; and Henry was extremely precise in his require- 
 ments of exact order, punctuality, and excellence, in all the 
 arrangements of his house. Wliile breaking her in to house- 
 keeping, he made himself appear almost in the light of a 
 task-master — and what was worse, of a despised task-master. 
 Averil thought she could not respect a brother whose dis- 
 pleasure was manifested by petulance, not sternness, and 
 who cared not only about his dinner, but about the tidy 
 appearance of the drawing-room — nay, who called that tasty 
 which she thought vulgar, made things stiff where she meant 
 them to be easy and elegant, and prepared the place to be the 
 butt of Tom May's satire. 
 
 Henry was not a companion to her. His intellect was 
 lower, his education had not been of the same order, and he 
 had not the manly force of character that makes up for 
 everything in a woman's eyes. Where she had talents, he 
 had pretensions — just enough to make his judgments both 
 conceited and irritating ; and where her deeper thoughts and 
 higher aspirations were concerned, she met either a blank or 
 a growing jealousy of the influence of the clerg}^ and of the 
 May family. 
 
 Yet Henry "Ward was really a good brother, sacrificing 
 much to his orphan sisters, and living a moral and religious 
 life — such as gained for him much credit, and made ]\Irs. 
 Ledwich congratulate Averil on the great excellence and 
 kindness of her incomparable brother. 
 
 Averil assented, and felt it a dreary thing to have an 
 incomparable brother. 
 
 But when Leonard came home, the face of the house was 
 
THE TRIAL. 119 • 
 
 changed. Xow slie had somethirg to look forward to. Xow 
 there was something to hear that stirred her deeper feelings 
 — some one who would understand and respond — some one 
 to make common cause with. Little as she saw of the school- 
 boy, there was life in her day, for sympathy and compre- 
 hension had come home with him. 
 
 After aU, there were recesses in Leonard's confidence to 
 wliich Ave did not penetrate ; but there was quite enough to 
 be very happy upon, especially those visions that had been 
 built on the Melanesian letters. They were not near enough 
 to terrify her with the thought of separation, and she was 
 sufficiently imbued with Mary ]May's sentiments to regard 
 mission-work as the highest ambition. Leonard's strong will 
 and manly disposition would have obtained her homage and 
 affection, even without the lofty sentiments and the lesser 
 graces that made the brother and sister thoroughly suited to 
 one another ; and the bond of union was unfortunately 
 cemented by equal annoyance at Henry's peculiarities. 
 
 It certainly was rather hard on a young head of a family 
 to have a younger brother his superior in every respect, and 
 with an inseparable sister. That Henry had not found out 
 Leonard's superiority was no reason that it should not gall 
 him ; and his self-assertions were apt to be extremely irri- 
 tating. Even in the first flush of welcome, he had made it 
 plain that he meant to be felt as master of the house, and to 
 enforce those petty regulations of exact order that might be 
 easily borne from a mother, or played with in a sister — would 
 be obeyed grudgingly from a father, but could be intolerable 
 in a brother. 
 
 The reception of Mab and the ammonites was but an 
 earnest of simdar unmracious acts on the one hand, and 
 
•120 THE TKIAL. 
 
 aggressions on the other, often unintentional. Averil did, 
 indeed, smooth matters, but she shared Leonard's resent- 
 ment ; and outward submission was compensated by murmur 
 and mockery in private. 
 
 Still the household worked on fairly ; and Mrs. Ledwich 
 was heard to declare, with tears in her eyes, that it was 
 beautiful to see such a happy family of love as those dear 
 young Wards ! 
 
 "The happy family in Trafalgar Square!" muttered Dr. 
 Spencer. 
 
 The confidence of the happy family was on this wise. 
 When Leonard came home with his unpresentable face, he 
 baffled all Ave's anxious questions ; and she was only en- 
 lightened by Henry's lamentations, in his absence, over the 
 hopelessness of a brother who was so low and vulgar as to 
 box ! Her defence being met by a sneer, she flew to tell 
 Leonard of the calumny, and was laughed at for her inno- 
 cence ; but extorted that he had fought with a fellow that 
 talked impudently of some of the Mays — cause fully suf- 
 ficient in her eyes ; nor did Henry utter any open reproof, 
 though he contrived to exasperate his brother into fierce 
 retort and angry gesture by an unnecessary injunction not to 
 show that ungentlemanly face. 
 
 Full consciousness of the difficulties presented by the 
 characters of the two brothers w^ould have been far too 
 oppressive ; and perhaps it was better for Averil that she 
 had it not, but had her own engrossing interests and employ- 
 ments drawing off her attention and enlivening her spirits. 
 Her church music was her object in life — the dedication of 
 the talent that had been cultivated at so much time and 
 cost, and the greatest honour and enjoyment she could 
 
THE TRIAL. 121 
 
 imagine ; and she had full participation from Leonard, -who 
 had a hearty love for sacred music, readily threw himself 
 into her plans, and offered voice and taste to assist her 
 experiments. 'Nor had her elder brother any objection to 
 her being thus brought forward : he was proud of her per- 
 formance, and gratified with the compliments it elicited ; and 
 all went well till the new hjminals arrived, and books upon 
 books, full of new tunes, anthems, and chants, were accumu- 
 lating on the music-stand. 
 
 *' What are you about there all the evening, not opening 
 your lips 1 " 
 
 " Leonard is writing out his verses, and I am copying 
 music," 
 
 " I wonder you neither of you will remember that that 
 table was never meant to be littered over with all sorts of 
 rubbish ! " 
 
 "I thought tables were to put things on," returned 
 Leonard coolly. 
 
 " Drawing-room tables were not made to be inked ! That 
 cover will be ruined in a day or two ! " 
 
 " Very well — then we'll pay for it ! " said Leonard, in the 
 same aggravating tone. 
 
 " Here are newspapers spread between it and the ink," 
 said Averil, displaying them with an air of injured innocence 
 that made Henry subside ; but he presently exclaimed : 
 
 " Is that copying to go on all night ? Can't you speak, 
 nor play anything, to send one off to sleep 1 " 
 
 AVith a martyr look, yet a satirical glance, Averil opened 
 the piano ; and Henry settled himself in the master's arm- 
 chair, as one about to enjoy well-earned rest and entertain- 
 ment after a hard day's work. 
 
122 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " I say, what doleful drone have you there ? " 
 
 " I am trying a new chant for the Nunc Dimittis." 
 
 " Nothing but that day and night ! Give us something 
 worth hearing." 
 
 " I thought you only wanted to go to sleep." 
 
 " I don't want to dream myself into church, listening to 
 Scudamour's proses : I've quite enough of that on Sunday." 
 
 Ave began to play one of her school waltzes ; and the 
 touch of her fingers on the keys had so sharp-edged and 
 petulant a tone, that Leonard smiled to himself as he ran his 
 fingers through his hair over his books. Nor was it soothing 
 to Henry, who, instead of going to sleep, began to survey 
 the room, and get food for annoyance. 
 
 " I say," said he, looking across at a little brass-barred 
 book-case of ornamental volumes on the opposite cheffoniere, 
 " what book is out there % " 
 
 " Scott's Lay," said Leonard ; *'it is up in my room." 
 
 " I told you, Ave, not to let the drawing-room books be 
 carried about the house to be spoilt ! " said Henry, who 
 seldom reproved his brother direct, but generally through 
 Ave. 
 
 " You'd better get some made of wood then," said 
 Leonard. 
 
 " Eemember then, Ave, I say I will not have my books 
 taken out, and left about over the house." 
 
 Leonard dashed out of the room passionately, and presently 
 came thundering down again, every step audible the whole 
 way, and threw the book on the table, bringing in a whirl- 
 wind, and a flaring sloping candle dropping upon the precious 
 cloth. Henry started up and pointed. 
 
 " I'm glad of it ! " exclaimed Leonard ; " it will be a 
 
THE TRIAL. 123 
 
 little amusement for you. Good niglit, Ave ! I'm going to 
 finish upstairs, since one can't read, write, or touch a book 
 without your being rowed ! " 
 
 He was gone, and Averil, though rather frightened, gave 
 him infinite credit for keeping his temper ; and perhaps he 
 deserved it, considering the annoyance and the nature of the 
 provocation ; but she did not reflect how much might have 
 been prevented by more forethought and less pre-occupation. 
 She said not a^ word, but quietly returned to her copying ; 
 and when Henry came with paper and poker to remove the 
 damage, she only shoved back her chair, and sat waiting, pen 
 in hand, resigned and ironical. 
 
 '' I declare," grumbled Henry, as he examined the re- 
 maining amount of damage, " these day-schools are a great 
 inconvenience ; there's no keeping a place fit to be seen with 
 a great uncivilized lad always hanging about ! " 
 
 " Leonard is considered particularly gentlemanlike," said 
 Ave, with lips compressed, to keep back something about old 
 bachelors. 
 
 "Now, I should have thought a lady would have some 
 regard to her own drawing-room, and object to slovenliness 
 — elbows on table, feet everj-where ! " 
 
 "Xothing is in worse taste than constraint," said Ave from 
 the corners of her mouth — " at least for those that can trust 
 their manners without it." 
 
 " I tell you, Ave, you are spoiling the boy. He is more 
 conceited than ever since the Mays noticed him." 
 
 " Leonard conceited ! " 
 
 " Yes ; he is getting as stuck up as Tom May himself — 
 your model, I believe ! " 
 
 " I thought he was yours ! " 
 
I2i THE TRIAL. 
 
 "Mine]" 
 
 "Yes; you always seem to aim at a poor imitation of 
 him." 
 
 There was a blushing angry stammer in reply ; and she 
 suppressed her smile, but felt triumphant in having hit the 
 mark. Unready at retort, he gathered himself up, and said : 
 " Well, Ave, I have only this to say, that if you choose to 
 support that boy in his impertinences, there will be no bearing 
 it ; and I shall see what I shall do." 
 
 Seeing what shall be done is a threat stimulating to some, 
 but appalling to others ; and Averil was of the latter class, 
 with no desire for such a spectacle, be it what it might. She 
 did not apologize for the trifle — possible ink, a spot of wax, 
 a borrowed book, were far beneath an apology ; but she made 
 up her mind to humour Henry's follies magnanimously, and 
 avoid collisions, like an admirable peace-maker. As soon as 
 bed-time came, she repaired to Leonard's room ; and Henry, 
 as he went along the passage, heard the two young voices 
 ringing with laughter ! Her retort had been particularly 
 delightful to Leonard. " That's right, Ave ! I'm glad you 
 set him down, for I thought afterwards whether I ought not 
 to have stood by you, only his w^ay of pitching into me 
 through you puts me into such a rage : I shall do something 
 desperate some day ! " 
 
 " Never mind it, Leonard ; it does not hurt me ; and if it 
 did, I should like to bear a great deal for you." 
 
 " That's all the wrong way," said Leonard, smiling afi'ec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " No ; men do and women suffer." 
 
 " That's trite ! " said Leonard, patting her fondly. " I like 
 you to do — as you call it — Miss May does, and everyone that 
 
THE TRIAL. 125 
 
 is worth anything. I say, Ave, when I go out to the islands, 
 you are coming too 1 " 
 
 " Oh yes ! I know I could do a great deal. If nothing else, 
 I could sing ; and they have a great aptitude for singing, 
 Mary was telling me. But that reminds me I must finish 
 copying the hymn for next Sunday ; Henry hindered me, and 
 I have six copies more to do." 
 
 " I'll do some of them," said Leonard. " Let us go down 
 now the coast is clear, if the fire is not out." 
 
 They went down softly, ^lab and all, nursed up the fire 
 that Henry had raked out ; and if Saturnalia could be held 
 over the writing out of a hymn tune, they did it ! At any 
 rate, it had the charm of an assertion of independence ; and 
 to Averil it was something like a midnight meeting of per- 
 secuted Christians — to Leonard it was "great fun." 
 That evening was not a solitary specimen. 
 Averil and Leonard intended to obviate causes of offence ; 
 but they were young and heedless, and did not feel bound to 
 obedience. A very little temptation made them forget or defy 
 Henry's fancies ; and Leonard was easily lashed into answers 
 really unbecoming and violent, for which he could not bring 
 himself to be sorry, when he thought over the petty interfer- 
 ence and annoyance that had caused them. 
 
 These small tjTannies and frets made Averil the more 
 devoted to the music, which was her rest, her delight, and 
 not only exalted her above cares, but sanctioned her oblivion 
 of them. The occupation grew upon her, never ending, still 
 beginning, with fresh occasions for practice and new lessons, 
 but though Bankside boys were willing to be taught, yet it 
 was chiefly in hope of preferment as choristers at the Minster ; 
 and she soon found that a scholar no sooner proved his voice 
 
126 THE TEIAL. 
 
 good for anything, than he went off to be trained for the 
 choir on the foundation, which fed, clothed, and apprenticed 
 its young singers. She found she must betake herself to an 
 elder race if she wanted a reliable staff of voices ; and some 
 young men and women showing themselves willing, a practice, 
 with Mr. Scudamour to keep order, was organized for late 
 evenings, twice in the week. This was rather much ! Henry 
 opposed at first, on the ground that the evening would be 
 broken up ; to which she answered that for such a purpose 
 they ought to be willing to sacrifice a little domestic comfort ; 
 and when he muttered a petulant " Pshaw," looked at him in 
 reproof for sacrilege. She was not going to be one of the 
 womankind sitting up in a row till their lords and masters 
 should be pleased to want them ! 
 
 !N'ext, he insisted that he would not have her going about 
 the place after dark; but she was fortified by the curate's 
 promise to escort her safely, and reduced him to a semi- 
 imprecation which she again viewed as extremely wicked. 
 The existence of that meek little helpless Mrs. Scudamour, 
 always shut up in a warm room with her delicate baby, cut 
 off Henry from any other possible objection, and he was 
 obliged to submit. 
 
 Leonard would gladly have been his sister's companion on 
 her expeditions, but he must remain at home and prepare 
 for the morrow's school-work, and endure the first hour of 
 dreariness unenlivened by her smile and greeting, and, what 
 was worse, without the scanty infusion of peace produced by 
 her presence. Her rapid departure after dinner always dis- 
 composed Henry ; and the usual vent for his ill-humour was 
 either a murmur against the clergy and all their measures, or 
 the discovery of some of Leonard's trangressions of his code. 
 
THE TEIAL. 127 
 
 Fretted and irritable at the destruction of evening comfort, 
 he in his turn teazed the fiery temper of his brother. If 
 there were nothing worse, his grumbling remarks interrupted, 
 and too often they were that sort of censure that is expres- 
 sively called knagging. Leonard would reply angrily, and 
 the flashes of his passion generally produced silence. Neither 
 brother spoke to Averil of these evening interludes, which 
 were becoming almost habitual ; but they kept Leonard in a 
 constant sore sense of injury, yet of uneasy conscience. He 
 looked to the Randall scholarship as his best hope of leaving 
 home and its torments, but his illness had thrown him back : 
 he had not only lost the last quarter, but the acquirements of 
 the one before it were obscured ; and the vexations them- 
 selves so harassed and interrupted his evening studies, that 
 he knew it was unreasonable to hope for it at the next ex- 
 amination, which, from various causes, was to come after the 
 Christmas holidays ; and it would be well if he could even 
 succeed in the summer. 
 
 Linocent as the Mays were of the harmonium business, 
 Henry included them in the annoyance it gave. It was the 
 work of the curate — and was not Dr. May one in everything 
 with the clergy ? had he not been instrumental 'in building 
 the chapel 1 was it not the ^lays and the clergy who had 
 made Ave inconveniently religious and opinionative, to say 
 nothing of Leonard ? The whole town was priest-led and 
 bigoted ; and Dr. May was the despot to whom all bowed 
 down. 
 
 This was an opinion Henry would hardly have originated : 
 
 it was the shaft of an abler man than he — no other than 
 
 Harvey Anderson, who had lately become known to the 
 
 I world by a book proving King John to have been the most 
 
128 THE TRIAL. 
 
 enlightened and patriotic of English, sovereigns, enduring the 
 Interdict on a pure principle of national independence, and 
 devising Magna Charta from his own generous brain — in fact, 
 presenting a magnificent and misunderstood anticipation of 
 the most advanced theories of the nineteenth century. The 
 book had made so much noise in the world, that the author 
 had been induced to quit his college tutorship, and become 
 editor of a popular magazine. He lived in London, but 
 often came down to spend Sunday with his mother, and had 
 begun to be looked on as rather the lion of the place. Henry 
 took in his magazine, and courted his notice, often bringing 
 him into Averil's way that she might hear her heroes treated 
 with irony more effectual than home-made satire ; but Ave 
 was staunch. She hated the sight of IMr. Anderson ; never 
 cut the leaves of his magazine ; and if driven to sing to him, 
 took as little pains as her musical nature would let her do. 
 But the very strength of her dislike gave it an air of preju- 
 dice, and it Avas set down less to principle than to party 
 spirit and May influence. 
 
 There was another cause for Henry's being soured. He was 
 not of the nature to be filial with Dr. May ; and therefore 
 gratitude oppressed, and patronage embittered him. The 
 first months of warm feeling at an end, the old spirit of inde- 
 pendence revived, and he avoided consulting the physician 
 as much as possible. More than once his management of a 
 case was not approved by Dr. May ; and the strong and 
 hasty language, and the sharp reproofs that ensued, were not 
 taken as the signs of the warm heart and friendly interest, 
 but as the greatest offences — sullenly, but not the less bitterly 
 endured. 
 
 Moreover, one of the Whitford surgeons had been called 
 
THE TRIAL. 129 
 
 in by a few of the out-lying families who had hitherto been 
 patients of the "Wards ; and worse than all, Mrs. Rivers took 
 her child up to London for three days in !N'oveniber, and it 
 became known — through a chain of tongues — that it was for 
 the enlargement of tonsils, on which ISIr. Ward had operated 
 a year before. 
 
 " Old May , was playing him false ! " was Henry^s cry. 
 " His professions were humbug ! He would endure no one 
 who did not submit to his chctation ; and he would bring in 
 a stranger to ruin them all ! " 
 
 Little did Henry laiow of Dr. May's near approach to 
 untruth in denying that he had a house to let to the 
 opposition surgeon — of his attestations to his daughter that 
 young Ward was a skilful operator — or of his vexation 
 when she professed herself ready to undergo anything for his 
 pleasure, but said that little Margaret's health was another 
 thing. 
 
 Yet even this might have been forgiven, but for that 
 worst rub of all — Tom May's manners. His politeness was 
 intense — most punctilious and condescending in form — 
 and yet provoking beyond measure to persons who, like 
 Henry and Averil, had not playfulness enough to detect 
 with certainty whether they were being made game of or 
 not, nor whether his smoothly-uttered compliments were 
 not inuendos. Henr}^ was certain of being despised, and 
 naturally chafed against the prospect of the future connexion 
 between the two medical men of the town ; and thoucrh Tom 
 was gone back to Cambridge, it was the rankling remembrance 
 of his supercilious looks that, more than any present offence 
 or independence of spirit, made the young surgeon kick against 
 direction from the physician. Here, too, Averil was of the 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 THE TPJAL. 
 
 same mind. She had heard Tom May observe that his sister 
 Gertrude would play quite well enough for a lady ; for the 
 mission of a lady's music was to put one to sleep at home, and 
 cover conversation at a party ; as to the rest — unprofessionals 
 were a mistake ! 
 
 After that, the civil speeches with which Tom would 
 approach the piano only added insult to injury. 
 
THE TRIAL. 131 
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 ** Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call. 
 Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 
 Than now in danger shall be thine, 
 Thy dauntless voluntary line. " 
 
 Marmion. 
 
 *' Drive fast, "Will," said Dr. May, hastily stepping into 
 his carriage in the early darkness of a December evening. 
 " Five already, and he is to be there by 5.25." 
 
 " He " was no other than Harry May, and " there " was 
 the station. "With the tidings of the terrible fight of Peiho 
 had come a letter from a messmate of Harry's with an 
 account of his serious wound in the chest, decribing it as 
 just short of immediately dangerous. Another letter had 
 notified his amendment, and that he was invalided home, a 
 few cheery words from Harry himself scrawled at the end 
 showing that his power was far less than his good will : and 
 after two months' waiting and suspense, a telegram had come 
 from Plymouth, with the words, 'SStoneborough, 5.25." 
 
 In ignorance as to the state of the traveller, and expecting 
 to find him in a condition requiring great care and watching, 
 Dr. May had laid his injunctions on the eager family not to 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE TRIAL. 
 
 rush up to the station en masse to excite and overwhelm, but to 
 leave the meeting there entirely to himself and his brougham. 
 He had, therefore, been exceedingly'- annoyed that one of 
 Henry Ward's pieces of self-assertion had delayed him unne- 
 cessarily at a consultation ; and when at last he had escaped, 
 he spent most of his journey with his body half out of window, 
 hurrying Will Adams, and making noises of encouragement 
 to the horse ; or else in a strange tumult of sensation 
 between hope and fear, pain and pleasure, suspense and 
 thankfulness, the predominant feeling being vexation at not 
 having provided against this contingency by sending Eichard 
 to the station. 
 
 After all the best efforts of the stout old chesnut, he and 
 the train were simultaneously at the station, and the pas- 
 sengers were getting out on the opposite platform. The 
 Doctor made a dash to cross in the rear of the train but was 
 caught and held fast by a porter with the angry exclamation, 
 " She's backing. Sir : " and there he stood in an agony, 
 feeling all Harry's blank disappointment, and the guilt of it 
 besides, and straining his eyes through the narrow gaps 
 between the blocks of carriages. 
 
 The train rushed on, and he was across the line the same 
 instant, but the blank was his. Up and down the gas-lighted 
 platform he looked in vain among the crowd, only his eye 
 suddenly lit on a black case close to his feet, with the three 
 letters MAY; and the next moment a huge chest appeared 
 out of the darkness, bearing the same letters, and lifted on a 
 truck by the joint strength of a green porter, and a pair of 
 broad blue shoulders. Too ill to come on — telegraph, mail 
 train — rushed through the poor doctor's brain as he stepped 
 forward as if to interrogate the chest. The blue shoulders 
 
THE TRIAL. 13 
 
 q 
 
 turned, a ruddy sun-burnt face lighted up, and the inarticulate 
 exclamation on either side was of the most intense relief and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "AYhere are the rest?" said Harry, holding his father's 
 hand in no sick man's grasp. 
 
 " At home ; I told them not to come up ; I thought — " 
 
 ** Well, we'll walk down together ! Tve got you all to 
 myself. I thought you had missed my telegram. Hollo, 
 "Will, how d'ye do ? what, this thing to drive down in ? " 
 
 "I thought you were an invalid, Harry," said Dr. May, 
 with a laughing yet tearful ring in his agitated tone, as he 
 packed himself and his son in. 
 
 " Ay ! I wished I could have let you know sooner how 
 well I had got over it," said Harry, in the deep full voice 
 of strong healthy manhood. "I am afraid you have been 
 very anxious." 
 
 "We are used to it, my boy," said the doctor huskily, 
 stroking the great firm fingers that were lying lovingly on 
 his knee ; *• and if it always ends in this way, it ought to do 
 us more good than harm," 
 
 "It has not done harm, I hope," said Harry, catching him 
 up quick. "aSoI to old Mary 1" 
 
 " Xo, Mary works things off, good girl. I flatter myself 
 you will find us all in high preservation." 
 
 " AU— aU at home ! That's right." 
 
 " Yes, those infants from Maplewood and all. You are 
 sure you are aU right, Harry ?" 
 
 " As sure as my own feelings can make me, and the 
 surgeon of the Dexter to back them," said Harry. " I don't 
 believe my lungs were touched after all, but you shall all 
 sit upon me when you like — Tom and all. It was a gi-eater 
 
134 THE TRIAL. 
 
 escape than I looked for," he added, in a lower voice. *• I 
 did not think to have had another Christmas here." • 
 
 The silence lasted for the few moments till the carriage 
 drew up behind the limes ; the doors were thrown open, 
 and the doctor shouted to the timid anxious figure that 
 alone was allowed to appear in the hall, " Come and lift 
 him out, Mary." 
 
 The dra-vving-room was a goodly sight that evening ; 
 and the doctor, as he sat leaning back in weary happiness, 
 might be well satisfied with the bright garland that still 
 clustered round his hearth, though the age of almost all 
 forbade their old title of Daisies. The only one who still 
 asserted her right to that name was perched on the sailor's 
 knee, insisting on establishing that there was as much room 
 for her there as there had been thi'ee years ago ; though, as 
 he had seated himself on a low foot-stool, her feet were 
 sometimes on the ground, and moreover her throne was 
 subject to sudden earthquakes, which made her, nothing 
 loth, cling to his neck, draw his arm closer round her, 
 and lean on his broad breast, proud that universal consent 
 declared her his likeness in the family ; and the two pre- 
 senting a pleasant contrasting similarity — the open honest 
 features, blue eyes, and smile, expressive of hearty good-will 
 and simple happiness, were so entirely of the same mould 
 in the plump, white- skinned, rosy-cheeked, golden-haired, 
 girl, and in the large powerful bronzed ruddy sailor, with 
 the thick mass of curls, at which Tom looked with hostility 
 as fixed, though less declared, than that of his Eton days. 
 
 Those were the idle members upon the hearth-rug. On 
 the sofa, with a small table to herself, and a tall embroidery 
 frame before her, nearly hiding her slight jDcrson, sat 
 
THE TRIAL. 135 
 
 Mrs. Ernescliffe, her 'pretty head occasionally looking out 
 over the top of her work to smile an answer, and her 
 artistically arranged hair and the crispness of her white 
 dress and broad blue ribbons marking that there was a 
 step in life between her and her sisters ; her husband sat 
 beside her on the sofa, with a red volume in his hand, 
 with "Orders," the only word visible above the fingers, 
 one of which was keeping his place. Hector looked very 
 happy and spirited, though his visage was not greatly 
 ornamented by a moustache, sandier even than his hair, 
 giving effect to every freckle on his honest face. A little 
 behind was Mary, winding one of Blanche's silks over the 
 back of a chair, and so often looking up to revel in the 
 contemplation of Harry's face, that her skein was in a wild 
 tangle, which she studiously concealed lest the sight should 
 compel Eichard to come and unravel it with those wonderful 
 fingers of his. 
 
 Eichard and Ethel were arranging the "sick albums," 
 which they had constructed — one of cheap religious prints, 
 with texts and hymns, to be lent in cases of lingering 
 illness ; the other, commonly called the " profane," of such 
 scraps as might please a sick child, pictures from worn-out 
 books or advertisements, which Ethel was colouring — Aubrey 
 volunteering aid that was received rather distrustfully, as 
 his love of effect caused him to array the model school 
 children in colours .gaudy enough, as Gertrude complained, 
 " to corrupt a saint." Xor was his dilettante help more 
 appreciated at a small stand, well provided with tiny 
 drawers, and holding a shaded lamp, according to Gertrude, 
 " burning something horrible ending in gen, that would 
 kill anybody but Tom, who managed it, " but which threw 
 
130 THE TRIAL. 
 
 a beautiful liglit upon the various glass dishes, tubes, and 
 slides, and the tall brass microscope that Tom was said to 
 love better than all his kith and kin, and which afforded 
 him occupation for his leisure moments. 
 
 " I say, Harry," he asked, " did you get my letter '? " 
 
 " Your letter — of what date 1 I got none since Mary's 
 of the second of iMay, when every one was down in the 
 fever. Poor old Ward, I never was more shocked ; what 
 is become of the young ones 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! you must ask Mary, Miss Ward is a bosom friend 
 of hers." 
 
 " What ! the girl that sang like the lark 1 I must hear 
 her again. But she won't be in tune for singing now, poor 
 thing ! AMiat are they doing 1 Henry Ward taken to the 
 practice ? He used to be the dirtiest little sneak going, but 
 I hope he is mended now." 
 
 '' Ask my father," said mischievous Tom ; and Dr. May 
 answered not, nor revealed his day's annoyance with Henry. 
 
 " He is doing his best to make a home for his brother 
 and sisters," said Eichard. 
 
 " My letter," said Tom, " was written in Whitsun week ; 
 I wish you had had it." 
 
 *' Ay, it would have been precious from its rarity," said 
 Harry. " What commission did it contain, may I ask 1" 
 
 " You have not by good luck brought me home a Chinese 
 flea r 
 
 " He has all the fleas in creation," said Daisy confidentially ; 
 ** cats', and dogs', and hedgehogs', and human ; and you 
 would have been twice as welcome if you had brought one." 
 
 " I've brought no present to nobody, I'd got my eye 
 on a splendid ivory junk, for Blanche's wedding present, 
 
THE TRIAL. 137 
 
 at Canton, but I couldn't even speak to send any one after 
 it. You have uncommon bad luck for a sailor's relatives." 
 
 " As long as you bring yourself home we don't care," 
 said Blanche, treating the loss of the junk with far more 
 resi2:nation than did Tom that of the flea. 
 
 "If you only had a morsel of river mud sticking any- 
 wliere," added Tom, "you don't know the value the in- 
 fusoria might be." 
 
 "I had a good deal more than a morsel sticking to me 
 once," said Harry ; "it was owing to my boat's crew that I 
 am not ever so many feet deep in it now, like many better 
 men. They never lost sight of me, and somehow hauled 
 me out." 
 
 Gertrude gave him a hug, and ]\Iary's eyes got so misty, 
 that her skein fell into worse entanglements than ever. 
 
 " Were you conscious 1 " asked Ethel. 
 
 " I can't say. I'm clear of nothing but choking and 
 gasping then, and a good while after. It was a treacherous 
 unlucky affair, and I'm afraid I shaU miss the licking of 
 rascally John Chinaman. If all I heard at Plymouth is 
 true, we may have work handy to home." 
 
 " At home you may say," said his father, " Duke ef, <&c. 
 is our motto. Didn't you know what a nest of heroes we 
 have here to receive you ] Let me introduce you to Captain 
 Ernescliffe, of the Dorset Volunteer Eifle Corps ; Private 
 Thomas May, of the Cambridge University Corps ; and 
 Mr. Aubrey Spencer May, for whom I have found a riile, 
 and am expected to find a uniform as soon as the wise heads 
 have settled what colour will be most becoming." 
 
 '' Becoming ! Xo, papa ! " indignantly shouted Aubrey : 
 " it is the colour that will be most invisible in skirmishing." 
 
138 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Grey, faced with scarlet," said Hector, decidedly. 
 
 " Yes, that is the colour of the invincible Dorsets," said 
 Dr. May. "There you see our great authority with his 
 military instructions in his hand." 
 
 " Xo, sir," replied Hector, " it's not military instructions, 
 it is Crauford's General Orders." 
 
 " And," added the doctor, " there's his bride working the 
 colours, and Mary wanting to emulate her." 
 
 "I don't think George will ever permit us to have 
 colours," said Ethel ; " he says that Rifles have no business 
 with them, for that they are of no use to skirmishers." 
 
 " The matter has been taken out of George's hands," 
 said Aubrey ; " there would not have been a volunteer in 
 the country if he had his way." 
 
 " Yes," explained Ethel, " the real soldier can't believe in 
 volunteers, nor cavalry in infantry ; but he is thoroughly in 
 for it now." 
 
 " Owing to his Eoman matron," quoth Tom. " It was a 
 wonderful opening for public spirit when Lady Walkingham, 
 insisted on Sir Henry refusing the use of the park for 
 practice for fear we should make targets of the children. 
 So the Spartan mother at Abbotstoke, gallantly setting 
 Margaret aside, sent for the committee at once to choose 
 the very best place in the park." 
 
 " Papa is chairman of the committee," added Aubrey ; 
 " he is mayor this year, so we must encourage it." 
 
 "And Aubrey hit four times at a hundred yards," tri- 
 umphantly declared Gertrude, " when Edward Anderson 
 and Henry Ward only got a ball in by accident." 
 
 " Henry AA^'ard ought to be shot at himself," was Aubrey's 
 sentiment, " for not letting Leonard be in the corps." 
 
THE TELVL. 139 
 
 " The fellow tliat you brought to Maplewood 1 " asked 
 Hector. " I thought he was at school." 
 
 " Didn't you know that old Hoxton has given leave to 
 any of the sixth form to drill and practice ? and that 
 trumpery fellow, Henry, says he can't afford the outfit, 
 though his sister would have given the uniform." 
 
 "Let me tell you, young folks," said the doctor, "that 
 you are not to suppose it always hails crack rifles on all 
 sorts of improved systems, as it does when Captain Hector 
 is in the house." 
 
 " They are only on trial, sir," apologized Hector. 
 
 " Very odd then that they all have an eagle and H. E. on 
 them," observed the doctor drily. 
 
 " Oh ! they'll take them again, or I shall find a use for 
 them," said Hector. 
 
 " Well, if Henry can't afford two," said Aubrey, holding 
 to his point, " he ought to give up to his brother ; he 
 knows no more how to handle a rifle — " 
 
 " That's the very reason," muttered Tom. 
 
 "And Flora is going to give a great part}^," proceeded 
 Gertrude, " as soon as the uniform is settled, and they 
 are enrolled. Blanche and Hector are to stay for it, 
 and you'll have to wear your lieutenant's uniform, Harry." 
 
 "I can't be going to balls till I've been up to report 
 myself fit for service," said HaiTy. 
 
 " It is not to be a ball," said Blanche's soft serious voice 
 over her green silk banner ; " it is to be a breakfast and 
 concert, ending in a dance, such as we had at Maplewood." 
 
 " HoUo ! " said Harry, starting, " now I begin to believe 
 in Mrs. Ernesclifl'e, when I hear her drawing down herself 
 as an example to Flora." 
 
140 THE TUIAL. 
 
 " Only a precedent," said Blanche, blushing a little, but 
 still grave. " We have had some experience, you know. 
 Our corps vras one of the earliest enrolled, and Hector 
 managed it almost entirely. It was the reason we have 
 npt been able to come here sooner, but we thought it 
 right to be foremost, as the enemy are sure to attempt our 
 coast first." 
 
 '* I believe the enemy are expected on every coast at first," 
 was Ethel's aside, but it was not heard ; for Harry was 
 declaring, 
 
 *' Your coast ! they will never get the length of that. I 
 was talking to an old messmate of mine in the train, who 
 was telling me how we could burn their whole fleet before 
 it could get out of Cherbourg." 
 
 " If they should slip by," began Hector. 
 
 " Slip by ! " and Harry had weU nigh dislodged Daisy by 
 his vehemence in demonstrating that they were welcome to 
 volunteer, but that the Channel Fleet would prevent the 
 rifles from being seriously put to the proof — a declar- 
 ation liighly satisfactory to the ladies, and heartily backed 
 up by the doctor, though Blanche looked rather discomfited, 
 and Hector argued loud for the probability of active 
 service. 
 
 " 1 say, Aubrey," said Tom, rather tired of the land and 
 sea debate, " do just reach me a card, to take up some of this 
 sand upon." 
 
 Aubrey obeyed, and reading the black-edged card as he 
 handed it, said, "Mrs. Pug. What? Pug ought to have 
 been calling upon Mab." 
 
 " Maybe she will, in good earnest," observed Tom again in 
 Ethel's ear ; while the whole room rang with the laughter 
 
THE TRIAL. 141 
 
 that always befalls the unlucky wight guilty of a blunder 
 in a name. 
 
 • "You don't mean that you don't know who she is, 
 Aubrey 1 " was the cry. 
 
 " I— how should I ? " 
 
 " What, not ]Mrs. Pugh 1 " exclaimed Daisy. 
 
 " Pew or Pug — I know nothing of either. Is this edge as 
 mourning for all the old pews that have been demolished in 
 the church r' 
 
 "For shame, Aubrey," said Mary seriously. "You must 
 know it is for her husband." 
 
 Aubrey set up his eyebrows in utter ignorance. 
 
 " How true it is that one half the world knows nothing of 
 the other ! " exclaimed Ethel. " Do you really mean you 
 have never found out the great Mrs. Pugh, Mrs. Ledwich's 
 dear suffering Matilda V 
 
 " I've seen a black lady sitting with Mrs. Ledwich in church." 
 
 " Such is life," said Ethel. " How little she thought 
 herself living in such an unimpressible world ! " 
 
 " She is a pretty woman enough," observed Tom. 
 
 " And very desirous of being useful," added Eichard. 
 "She and Mrs. Eedwich came over to Cocksmoor this 
 morning, and offered any kind of assistance." 
 
 " At Cocksmoor ! " cried Ethel, much as if it had been the 
 French. 
 
 " Every district is filled up here, you know," said Eichard, 
 
 " and Mrs. Ledwich begged me as a personal favour to give 
 
 j her some occupation that would interest her and cheer her 
 
 ! spirits, so I asked her to look after those new cottages at 
 
 , Gould's End, quite out of your beat, Ethel, and she seemed 
 
 to be going about energetically." 
 
142 THE TPJAL. 
 
 Tom looked unutterable things at Ethel, who replied with 
 a glance between diversion and dismay. 
 
 ""Who is the lady]" said Blanche. "She assaulted me 
 in the street with inquiries and congratulations about Harry, 
 declaring she had known me as a child, a thing I particu- 
 larly dislike : " and Mrs. Ernescliffe looked like a ruffled 
 goldfinch. 
 
 " Forgetting her has not been easy to the payers of duty 
 calls," said Ethel. " She was the daughter of Mrs. Ledwich's 
 brother, the Colonel of Marines, and used in old times to 
 be with her aunt ; there used to be urgent invitations to 
 Elora and me to drink tea there because she was of our age. 
 She married quite young, something very prosperous and 
 rather aged, and the glories of dear Matilda's villa at Bristol 
 have been our staple subject ; but !Mr. Pugh died in the 
 spring, leaving his lady five hundred a year absolutely her 
 o^^Ti, and she is come to stay with her aunt, and look for 
 a house." 
 
 " Et cetera," added Tom. 
 
 " What, in the buxom widow line 1 " asked Harry. 
 
 " !N'o, no ! " said Eichard, rather indignantly. 
 
 " Xo, in the pathetic line," said Ethel ; " but that requires 
 some self-denial." 
 
 " Our tongues don't lose their venom, you see, Harry," put 
 in the doctor. 
 
 " ^K'o indeed, papa," said Ethel, really anxious to guard her 
 brothers. " I was very sorry for her at first, and perhaps I 
 pity her more now than even then. I was taken with her 
 pale face and dark eyes, and I believe she was a good wife, 
 and really concerned for her husband ; but I can't heljo seeing 
 that she knows her grief is an attraction." 
 
THE Tr.LAX. 143 
 
 "To simple parsons," muttered Tom along the tube of his 
 microscope. 
 
 " The sound of her voice shovved her to be full of preten- 
 sion," said Blanche. " Besides, ^Irs. Ledwich's trumpeting 
 would iix my opinion in a moment." 
 
 " Just so," observed the doctor. 
 
 " !N'o, papa," said Ethel, " I was really pleased and touched 
 in spite of ^Irs. Ledwich's devotion to her, till I found out a 
 certain manoeuvring to put herself in the foreground, and not 
 let her sorrow hinder her from any enjoyment or display." 
 
 " She can t bear any one to do what she does not." 
 
 " What ! Mary's mouth open against her too ? " cried Dr. 
 May. 
 
 " "Well, papa," insisted ^Fary, " nobody wanted her to 
 insist on taking the harmonium at Bankside last Sunday, 
 just because Averil had a cold in her head ; and she played 
 so fast, that every one was put out, and then said she would 
 come to the practice that they might understand one another. 
 She is not even in the Bankside district, so it is no business 
 of hers." 
 
 " There, Ptichard, her favours are equally distributed," said 
 Aubrey ; " but if she would take that harmonium altogether, 
 one would not mind — it makes Henry Ward as sulky as a 
 bear to have his sister going out all the evening, and he visits 
 it on Leonard. I dare say if she stayed at home he would 
 not have been such a brute about the rifle." 
 
 " I should not wonder," said Dr. May. " I sometimes 
 doubt if home is sweetened to my friend Henry." 
 
 " papa ! " cried Mary, bristling up, " Ave is very hard 
 worked, and she gives up ever5i:hing in the world but her 
 church music, and that is her great duty and delight." 
 
144 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Miss "Ward's music must be a sore trial to the Pug,'* said 
 Tom ; " will it be at this affair at Abbotstoke 1 " 
 
 " That's the question," said Ethel. " It never goes out, 
 yet is to be met everywhere, just over-persuaded at the last 
 moment. Kow Flora, you will see, will think it absolutely 
 improper to ask her ; and she will be greatly disappointed 
 not to have the chance of refusing, and then yielding at the 
 last minute." 
 
 " Flora must have her," said Harry. 
 
 " I trust not," said Blanche, shrinking. 
 
 " Flora will not ask her," said Tom, " but she will be there." 
 
 " And will dance with me," said Harry. 
 
 " JS'o, with Eichard," said Tom. 
 
 " What ! " said Pdchard, looking up at the sound of his 
 name. 
 
 All laughed, but were ashamed to explain, and were relieved 
 that their father rang the bell. 
 
 " At that unhappy skein still, Mary ? " said Mrs. Ernes- 
 cliffe, as the good-nights were passing. " What a horrid 
 state it is in ! " 
 
 " I shall do it in time," said Mary, ''when there is nothing 
 to distract my attention. I only hope I shall not hurt it 
 for you." 
 
 " Chuck it into the fire at once ; it is not worth the 
 trouble," said Hector. 
 
 Each had a word of advice, but Mary held her purpose, 
 and persevered till all had left the room except Richard, 
 who quietly took the crimson tangle on his wrists, turned 
 and twisted, opened passages for the winder, and by the 
 magic of his dexterous hands, had found the clue to the 
 maze, so that all was proceeding well, though slowly, when 
 
THE TRIAL. 145 
 
 the study door opened, and Harry's voice was heard in a last 
 good-night to his father. Mary's eyes looked wistful, and 
 one misdirection of her winder tightened an obdurate loop 
 once more. 
 
 " Eun after Harry," said Eichard, taking possession of the 
 ivory. " Good night ; I can always do these things best 
 alone. I had rather — yes, really — good night : " and his 
 kiss had the elder brother's authority of dismissal 
 
 His Maimouna was too glad and grateful for more than 
 a summary " thank you," and flew up stairs in time to find 
 Harry turning, baffled, from her empty room. " What, only 
 just done that interminable yam ? " he said. 
 
 " Eichard is doing it. I could not help letting him, this 
 first evening of you." 
 
 ^ Good old Eichard ! he is not a bit altered since I first 
 went to sea, when I was so proud of that," said Harry, 
 taking up his midshipman's dirk, which formed a trophy on 
 Mar/s mantel-shell 
 
 *' Are we altered since you went last 1 " said Mary. 
 
 "The younger ones, of course. I was in hopes that 
 Aubrey would have been more like old June, but he'll 
 never be so much of a fellow." 
 
 ** He is a very dear good boy," said ^Mary, warmly. 
 
 " Of course he is," said Harry, " but, somehow, he will 
 always have a woman-bred way about him. Can't be helped, 
 of course ; but what a pair of swells Tom and Blanche are 
 come out ! " and he laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "Is not Blanche a beautiful dear darling?" cried Mary, 
 eagerly. "It is so nice to have her. They could not 
 come at first because of the infection, and then because of 
 the rifle corps, and now it is delicious to have all at home." 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " TVell, Molly, I'm glad it wasn't you that liave married. 
 Mind, you mustn't marry till I do." 
 
 And Harry -was really glad that Mary's laugh was per- 
 fectly " fancy free," as she answered, *' I'm sure I hope not ; 
 but I won't promise, because that might be unreasonable? 
 you know." 
 
 " Oh, you prudent, provident Polly ! Eut," added Harry, 
 recalled to a sense of time by a clock striking eleven, "I 
 came to bring you something, Mary. You shall have it, 
 if you will give me another." 
 
 Mary recognised, with some difficulty, a Prayer-Book with 
 limp covers that Margaret had given him after his first 
 voyage. Not only was it worn by seven years' use, but it 
 was soiled and stained with dark brownish red, and a 
 straight round hole perforated it from cover to cover. 
 
 " Is it too bad to keep ? " said Harry. " Let me just cut 
 out my name in ^Margaret's hand, and the verse of the 
 107th Psalm ; luckily the ball missed that." 
 
 " The ball 1 " said ISIary, beginning to understand. 
 "Yes. Every one of those circles that you see cut out 
 there, was in here," said Harry, laying his hand over his 
 chest, " before the ball, which I have given to my father." 
 
 " Harry ! " was aU Mary could say, pointing to her own 
 name in a pencil scrawl on the fly leaf 
 
 " Yes, I set that down because I could not speak to tell 
 what was to be done with it, when we didn't know that 
 that book had really been the saving of my life. That hair's- 
 breadth deviation of the bullet made all the difference." 
 !Mary was kissing the blood-stained book, and sobbing. 
 "Why, Mary, what is there to cry for? It is all over 
 now, I tell you. I am as well as man would wish, and 
 
THE TRIAL. 147 
 
 there's no more about it but to thank God, and trj' to 
 deserve His goodness/' 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know, Harry ; but to think how little we 
 knew, or thought, or felt — going on in our own way when 
 you were in such danger and suffering ! " 
 
 " Wasn't I very glad you were going on in your own 
 way 1 " said Harry. " Why, Mary, it was that which did it 
 — it has been always that thought of you at the !Minster 
 every day, that kept me to reading the Psalms, and so 
 having the book about me. And did not it do one good to 
 lie and think of the snug room, and my father's spectacles, 
 and all as usual 1 When they used to lay me on the deck 
 of the Dexter at night, because I could not breathe below, 
 I used to watch old Orion, who was my great friend in 
 the Loyalty Isles, and wish the heathen name had not stuck 
 to the old fellow, he always seemed so like the Christian 
 warrior, climbing up with his shield before him and his. 
 A home like this is a shield to a man in more ways than 
 one, ]\Iary. Hollo, was that the street door ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Eitchie going home. Fancy his being at the silk 
 all this time ! I am so sorry ! " 
 
 Maugre her sorrow, there were few happier maidens in 
 England ^than Mary ^Eay, even though her service was dis- 
 tracted by the claims of three slave-owners at once, bound 
 as she was, to Ethel, by habitual fidelity, to Harrj'-, by eager 
 adoration, to Blanche, by willing submission. Luckily, their 
 requisitions (for the most part unconscious) seldom clashed, 
 or, if they did, the two elders gave way, and the bride 
 asserted her supremacy in the jDlenitude of her youthful 
 importance and prosperity. 
 
 Thus she carried off Mary in her barouche to support 
 
 l2 
 
148 THE TRIAL. 
 
 her in the return of bridal calls, while the others were 
 organizing a walk to visit Flora and the rifle target. Ger- 
 trude's enthusiasm was not equal to walking with a weapon 
 that might be loaded, nor to being ordered out to admire 
 the practice, so she accompanied the sisters ; Tom was 
 reading hard; and Ethel found herself, Aubrey, and the 
 sailor, the only ones ready to start. 
 
 This was a decided treat, for Aubrey and she were so 
 nearly one, that it was almost a tete-^-tete with Harry, 
 though it was not his way to enter by daylight, and with- 
 out strong impulse, on what regarded himself, and there 
 were no such confidences as those to Mary on the previous 
 night ; but in talking over home details, it was easier to 
 speak without Tom's ironical ears and caustic tongue. 
 
 Among other details, the story of the summer that Ethel 
 and Aubrey had spent at Coombe was narrated, and Aubrey 
 indulged himself by describing what he called Ethel's 
 conquest. 
 
 " It is more a conquest of Norman's, and of Melanesia," 
 said Ethel. " If it were not nonsense to build upon people's 
 generous visions at seventeen, I should sometimes hope a 
 spark had been lit that would shine some day in your 
 islands, Harry." 
 
 Going up that hill was not the place for Ethebed May 
 to talk of the futility of youthful aspirations ; but it did not 
 so strike either of the brothers, to whom Cocksmoor had 
 long been a familiar fact. Harry laughed to hear the old 
 Ethel so like herself; and Aubrey said, "By the by, what 
 did you do, the day you walked him to Cocksmoor 1 he was 
 fuller of those islands than ever after it." 
 
 " I did not mean it," said Ethel ; " but the first day of 
 
THE TRIAL. 149 
 
 the holidays I came on him disconsolate in the street, with 
 nothing to do, and very sore about Henry's refusal to let 
 him volunteer j he walked on with me till we found our- 
 selves close to Cocksmoor, and I found he had never seen 
 the church, and would like to stay for evening service, so 
 I put him into the parsonage while I was busy, and told 
 him to take a book." 
 
 " I know," said Aubrey ; " the liveliest literature you can 
 get in Eichard's parlour are the Missionary Eeports." 
 
 " Exactly so ; and he got quite saturated with them ; and 
 when we walked heme, I was so thankful that the rifle 
 grievance should be a little displaced, that I led him on to 
 talk and build castles rather more than according to my 
 resolutions." 
 
 "HoUo, Ethel!" said Harry. 
 
 ^' Yes, I think spontaneous castles are admirable, but 
 I mistrust all timber from other people's woods." 
 
 "Eut isn't this a horrid shame of Henry?" said Aubrey. 
 " Such a little prig as he is, to take the place of such a fellow 
 as Leonard, a capital shot already." 
 
 " I wish Hero-y had been magnanimous," said Ethel. 
 
 "I'd as soon talk of a magnanimous weasel from what 
 I recollect," said Harry. 
 
 " And he is worse now, Harry," continued Aubrey. " So 
 spruce and silky out of doors, and such a regular old tyran- 
 nical bachelor in-doors. He is jealous of Leonard, any one 
 can see, and that's the reason he won't give him his due," 
 
 "You observe," said Ethel, "that this boy thinks the 
 youngest brother's due is always to come first." 
 
 " So it is, in this family," said Harry. "I^o one comes so 
 last as old Eitchie." 
 
150 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " But of course," said Aubrey, rather taken aback, " if I 
 were not youngest, I should have to knock under to some 
 one." 
 
 Ethel and Harry both laughed heartily ; one congratu- 
 lating him on not having carried the principle into the cock- 
 pit, the other adding, " Don't indoctrinate Leonard with it ; 
 there is enough already to breed bitterness between those 
 brothers ! Leonard ought to be kept in mind that Henry 
 has so much to harass him, that his temper should be borne 
 patiently with/' 
 
 "He!" 
 
 "I don't think papa's best endeavours have kept all his 
 father's practice for him, and I am sure their rate of living 
 must make him feel pinched this Christmas." 
 
 " Whew ! He will be in a sweeter humour than ever !" 
 
 "I have been trying to show Leonard that there's room 
 for magnanimity on his side at least ; and don't you go and 
 upset it all by common-place abuse of tutors and governors." 
 
 "I upset it!" cried Aubrey: "I might as well try to 
 upset the Minster as a word from you to Leonard ." 
 
 "Nonsense! What's that?" For they were hailed from 
 behind, and looking round saw two tall figures — weapon in 
 hand, in pursuit. They proved to be Hector Ernescliffe and 
 Leonard Ward, each bearing one of what Dr. May called the 
 H. E. rifles ; but Leonard looked half shy, half grim, and so 
 decidedly growled off all Aubrey's attempts at inquiry or con- 
 gratulation, that Ethel hazarded none, and Aubrey looked 
 discomfited, wearing an expression which Harry took to mean 
 that the weight of his rifle fatigued him, and insisted on 
 carrying it for him, in spite of his rather insulted protests 
 and declarations that the sailor was an invalid. Ethel had 
 
THE TUI.VL. 151 
 
 walked forwards, and found Leonard at her side, with a 
 darkening brow as he glanced back at the friendly contest. 
 
 *' Harry spoils Aubrey as much as all the others do," said 
 Ethel lightly, deeming it best to draw out the sting of the 
 rankling thought. 
 
 " Ay ! Xone of them would leave him to be pitied and 
 offered favours by some chance person," said Leonard. 
 
 " You don't call my brother Hector a chance person 1 " 
 
 "Did you say anything to him, ]Miss ]\Iay ?" said Leonard, 
 turning on her a flushed face, as if he could almost have been 
 angered with her. 
 
 " I said not one word." 
 
 "Xor Aubrey?" 
 
 "The volunteer politics were discussed last night, and 
 Henry got abused among us ; but papa defended him, and 
 said it did not rain rifles. That's all — whatever Hector may 
 have done was without a word to either of us — very likely 
 on the moment's impulse. Did he go to Bankside after 
 you?" 
 
 *'Xo. I was looking in at Shearman's window," said 
 Leonard, rather sheepishly, "at the locks of the new lot 
 he has got in, and he came and asked if I were going to 
 choose one, for he had got a couple down from London, and 
 the man had stupidly put his cypher on both, so he would 
 be glad if I would take one ofi" his hands. I didn't accept 
 — I made that clear — but then he begged, as if it was to 
 oblige him, that I would come out to Abbotstoke and help 
 him try the two, for he didn't know which he should 
 keep." 
 
 " Very ingenious of him," said Ethel, laughing. 
 
 " Xow, ;Mis3 May, do tell me what I ought to do. It is 
 
152 THE TRIAL. 
 
 such a iDeauty, better than any Shearman ever dreamt of; 
 just look at the finish of the lock," 
 
 " By the time you have shot with it — " 
 
 " Now don't, pray," said Leonard, " I haven't any one to 
 trust for advice but you." 
 
 " Indeed, Leonard, I can see no objection. It is a great 
 boon to you, and no loss to Hector, and he is quite enough 
 my father's son for you to look on him as a friend. I can't 
 but be very glad ; for the removal of this vexation ought to 
 make you get on all the better with your brother." 
 
 "Ave would be delighted," said Leonard; "but some- 
 how—" 
 
 " Somehow " was silenced by a coalescing of the party 
 at a gate ; and Hector and Harry were found deep in an 
 argument in which the lieutenant's Indian reminiscences of 
 the Naval Brigade was at issue with the captain's South- 
 down practice, and the experiences of the one meeting the 
 technicalities of the other were so diverting, that Leonard 
 forgot his scruples till at the entrance of the park he turned 
 off towards the target with Hector and Aubrey, while the 
 other two walked up to the house. 
 
 The Grange atmosphere always had a strange weight of 
 tedium in it, such as was specially perceptible after the 
 joyous ease of the house in the High Street. No one was 
 in the drawing-room, and Harry gazed round at the stiff, 
 almost petri&ed, aspect of the correct and tasteful arrange- 
 ment of the tables and furniture, put his hands in his 
 pockets, and yawned twice, asking Ethel why she did not 
 go in search of Flora. Ethel shook her head; and in 
 another moment Elora appeared in eager welcome ; she 
 had been dressing for a drive to Stoneborough to see her 
 
THE TEUL. 153 
 
 brother, little expecting him to be in a state for walking 
 to her. With her came her little girl, a child whose 
 aspect was always a shock to those who connected her 
 with the two Margarets whose name she bore. She had 
 inherited her father's heavy mould of feature and dark 
 complexion, and the black eyes had neither sparkle in 
 themselves nor relief from the colour of the sallow cheek: 
 the pouting lips were fretful, the whole appearance unhealthy, 
 and the dark bullet-shaped head seemed too large for the thin 
 bony little figure. Worn, fagged, and aged as Flora looked, 
 she had still so much beauty, and far more of refinement and 
 elegance, as to be a painful foil and contrast to the child that 
 clung to her, waywardly refusing all response to her uncle's 
 advances. 
 
 Flora made a sign to him to discontinue them, and talked 
 of her husband, who was hunting, and heard the history of 
 Harry's return and recovery. In the midst, Kttle Margaret 
 took heart of grace, crossed the room, and stood by the sailor, 
 and holding up a great India-rubber ball as large as her own 
 head, asked, " Uncle Harry, were you shot -uith a cannon- 
 ball as big as this ? " 
 
 Thereupon she was on his knee, and as he had aU his 
 father's fascination for children, he absolutely beguiled her 
 into ten minutes of genuine childish mirth, a sight so rare 
 and precious to her mother, that she could not keep up her 
 feint of talking to Ethel. The elderly dame, part nurse, 
 part nursery governess, presently came to take IMiss Eivers 
 out ; but Miss Eivers, with a whine in her voice, insisted 
 on going nowhere but to see the shooting, and Uncle Harry 
 must come with her ; and come he did, the little bony fingers 
 clasping tight hold of one of his large ones. 
 
154< THE TRIAL.- 
 
 "Dear Harry ! " said Flora, " he wins every one ! It is 
 like a cool refreshing wind from the sea when he comes in." 
 
 In Flora's whole air, voice, and manner, there was apparent 
 a relaxation and absence of constraint such as she never 
 allowed herself except when alone with Ethel. Then only 
 did she relieve the constant strain, then only did the veri- 
 table woman show herself and the effort, the toil, the 
 weariness, the heart-ache, of her life become visible ; but 
 close together as the sisters lived, such tete-a-tetes were 
 rare, and perhaps were rather shunned than sought, as 
 perilous and doubtful indulgences. Even now, Flora at 
 once fixed a limit by ordering the carriage to meet her in 
 a quarter of an hour at the nearest point to the rifle ground, 
 saying she would walk there, and then take home Ethel and 
 any brother who might be tired. 
 
 "And see that Margaret does not come to harm," said 
 Ethel. 
 
 " I am not afraid of that," said Flora, something in her 
 eye belying her ; " but she might be troublesome to Harry, 
 and I had rather he did not see one of her fights with Miss 
 Morton." 
 
 " How has she been ? I thought her looking clearer and 
 better to-day," said Ethel, kindly. 
 
 "Yes, she is pretty well just now," said Flora, allowing 
 herself in one of her long deep sighs, before descending 
 into the particulars of the child's anxiously -watched health. 
 If she had been describing them to her father, there would 
 have been the same minuteness, but the tone would have 
 implied cheerful hope ; whereas to Ethel she took no pains 
 to mask her dejection. One of the points of anxiety was 
 whether one shoulder were not outgrowing the other, but 
 
THE TRIAL. 155 
 
 it was not easy to discover whether the appearance were 
 not merely owing to the child's feeble and ungainly carriage. 
 "I cannot torment her about that," said Flora. *' There are 
 enough, miseries for her already without making more, and as 
 long as it does not affect her health, it matters little." 
 
 " 'No, certainly not," said Ethel, who had hardly expected 
 this from Flora. 
 
 Perhaps her sister guessed her thought, for she said, 
 " Things are best as they are, Ethel ; I am not fit to have 
 a beautiful admired daughter. All the past would too easily 
 come over again, and my poor Margaret's troubles may be the 
 best balance for her." 
 
 '' Yes," said Ethel, " it is bad enough to be an heiress, but 
 a beautiful heiress is in a worse predicament." 
 
 " Health would improve her looks," began the maternal 
 instinct of defence, but then breaking off. "^Ve met Lord 
 
 H yesterday, and the uniform is to be like the northern 
 
 division. Papa will hear it officially to-morrow." 
 
 " The northern has grey, and green facings." 
 
 " You are more up in it than I. All we begged for was, 
 that it might be inexpensive, for the sake of the towns- 
 people." 
 
 " I hear of little else," said Ethel, laughing ; " Dr. Spencer 
 is as hot on it as all the boys. !N"ow, I suppose, your party 
 is to come off ? " 
 
 " Yes, it ought," said Flora, languidly ; " I waited to see 
 how Harry was, he is a great element towards making it go 
 off well. I "vvill talk it over with Blanche ; it will give some- 
 body pleasure if she thinks she manages it." 
 
 " Will it give George no pleasure ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; he calls it a great nuisance, but he would 
 
156 THE TEIAL. 
 
 not like not to come forward, and it is quite right that he 
 should." 
 
 " Quite right," said Ethel; "it is every one's duty to try 
 to keep it up." 
 
 With these words the sisters came within sight of the 
 targets, and found Margaret under Harry's charge, much 
 interested, and considerably iu the way. The tidings of 
 the colour of the uniform were highly appreciated ; Aubrey 
 observed that it would choke off the snobs who only wanted 
 to be like the rifle brigade, and Leonard treated its inexpen- 
 siveness as a personal matter, ha\ang apparently cast off his 
 doubts, under Hector's complimentary tuition. Indeed, before 
 it grew too dark for taking aim, he and the weapon were so 
 thoroughly united, that no further difficulty remained but of 
 getting out his thanks to jMr. Ernescliffe. 
 
 Averil was sitting alone over the fire in the twilight, in a 
 somewhat forlorn mood, when the door was pushed ajar, and 
 the muzzle of a gun entered, causing her to start up in alarm, 
 scarcely diminished by the sight of an exultant visage, though 
 the words were, " Your money or your life." 
 
 " Leonard, don't play with it, pray ! " 
 
 " It's not loaded." 
 
 *' Oh ! but one never can tell : " then, half ashamed of her 
 terror, "pray put it back, or we shall have an uproar with 
 Henry." 
 
 "This is none of Henry's. He will never O'wn such a 
 beauty as this." 
 
 " AVhose is it ? Xot your's ? Is it really a rifle ? H. E. ? 
 What's that ? " 
 
 " Hector Ernescliffe ! Didn't I tell you he was a princely 
 fellow?" 
 
THE TRIAL. 157 
 
 " Given it to you 1 Leonard, dear, I am so happy ! Xow 
 I don't care for an}i)liing ! "What a gallant volunteer you 
 will make ! " and she kissed him fondly. " TVe will order 
 the uniform as soon as ever it is settled, and I hope it will 
 be a very handsome one." 
 
 " It will be a cheap one, which is more to the purpose. I 
 could get part myself, only there's the tax for Mab, and the 
 subscription to the cricket club." 
 
 " I would not have you get any of it ! You are m2/ volun- 
 teer, and I'll not give up my right to any one, except that 
 Minna and Ella want to give your belt." 
 
 " Where are those children ? " he asked. 
 
 " Henry has taken them to Laburnum Grove, where I am 
 afraid they are being crammed with cake and all sorts of 
 nonsense." 
 
 " What could have made him take them there ? " 
 
 " Oh ! some wish of ]\Irs. Pugh's to see the poor little dears," 
 said Averil, the cloud returning that had been for a moment 
 dispelled. 
 
 " What's the row 1 " asked Leonard, kindly. " Has he been 
 bothering you ? " 
 
 " He wants me to sound j\Iary May about an invitation for 
 Mts. Pugh to ^Irs. Eivers's volunteer entertainment. I am 
 glad I did not say no one in mourning ought to go, for I 
 must go now you are a volunteer." 
 
 " But you didn't consent to mention her ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ! I knew very well you would say it was a 
 most improper use to make of the Mays' kindness, and I can't 
 see what business she has there ! Then he said, no, she was 
 certain not to go, but the attention would be gratifying and 
 proper." 
 
158 THE TRIAL. 
 
 "That is Mrs. Eivers's look-out." 
 
 " So I said, but Henry never will hear reason. I did not 
 tell you of our scene yesterday over the accounts ; he says 
 that we must contract our expenses, or he shall be ruined ; 
 so I told him I was ready to give up the hot-house, or the 
 footman, or the other horse, or anything he would specify ; 
 but he would not hear of it — he says it would be fatal to alter 
 our style of living, and that it is all my fault for not being 
 economical ! Leonard, it is very hard to give up all 
 one cared for to this housekeeping, and then never to 
 please ! " 
 
 Leonard felt his brother a tyrant. "J^ever mind, Ave 
 dear," said he, "go on doing right, and then you need not 
 care for his unreasonableness. You are a dear good girl, and 
 I can't think how he can have the heart to vex you." 
 
 "I dorCt care while I have you, Leonard," she said, 
 clinging to him. 
 
 At that moment the others were heard returning, and an 
 ironical look passed between the brother and sister at certain 
 injunctions that were heard passing about the little India- 
 rubber goloshes ; but Henry had returned in high good 
 humour, was pleased to hear of his brother's good fortune, 
 pronounced it very handsome in Mr. Ernescliffe, and even 
 offered to provide the rest of the equipment ; but this was 
 proudly rejected by Averil, with some of the manifestations 
 of exclusive partiality that naturally wounded the elder 
 brother. He then announced an engagement that he had 
 made with Mrs. Ledwich for a musical evening the next 
 week Averil had her harmonium at her tongue's end, but 
 the evening was a free one, chosen on purpose to accommodate 
 her ; she had no excuse, and must submit. 
 
THE TRIAL. 159 
 
 *' And practise some of your best pieces, Ave," said Henry. 
 "Mrs. Pugh was kind enough to offer to come and get up 
 some duets with you." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged," said Averil, drily, " but I do not 
 play duets." 
 
 "You would do wisely to accept her kindness," argued 
 Henry. " It would be a great advantage to you to be intimate 
 with a lady of her opportunities." 
 
 " I do not like patronage," said Averil. 
 
 " Ave ! Ave ! " cried the children, who had been trying to 
 attract her attention, "if you will let us go to Laburnum 
 Grove by twelve o'clock to-morrow, Mrs. Pugh will show us 
 her book of the pretty devices of letters, and teach us to 
 make one." 
 
 " You vaW have not finished lessons by twelve." 
 
 "But if we have?" 
 
 " ^0, certainly not ; I can't have you bothering every one 
 about that nonsensical fashion." 
 
 "You shaU go, my dears," said Henry. "I can't think 
 why your sister should be so ill-natured." 
 
 Averil felt that this was the way to destroy her authority, 
 and though she kept silence, the tears were in her eyes, and 
 her champion broke forth, " How can you be such a brute, 
 Henry?" 
 
 " Come away, my dears," said Averil, rising, and holding 
 out her hands to her sisters, as she recollected how bad the 
 scene was for them ; but it was only Minna who obeyed the 
 call, Ella hung about Henry, declaring that Leonard was 
 naughty, and Ave was cross. 
 
 "Well," shouted Leonard, "I shan't stay to see that child 
 
IGO THE TRIAL. 
 
 set against her sister ! I wonder what you mean lier to come 
 to, Henry]" 
 
 It was no wonder that Minna and Ella squabbled together 
 as to which was cross, Henry or Averil, and the spirit of party 
 took up its fatal abode in the house of Bankside. 
 
THE TRIAL. 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 ** Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
 
 That secret grief thou fain wouldst hide — 
 The passing pang of humbled pride. " 
 
 Scott. 
 
 The winter was gay, between musical evenings, cliildren's 
 parties, clerical feastings of district visitors, soirees for Sunday- 
 school teachers, and Christmas-trees for their scholars. Such 
 a universal favourite as Harry, with so keen a relish for 
 amusement, was sure to fall an easy prey to invitations ; but 
 the rest of the family stood amazed to see him accompanied 
 everywhere by Tom, to whom the secular and the rehgious 
 dissipations of Stoneborough had always hitherto been equally 
 distasteful. Yet he submitted to a Christmas course of music, 
 carpet-dances, and jeux de societe on the one hand, and on the 
 other conferred inestimable obligations on the ecclesiastical 
 staff by exhibitions of his microscope and of some of the 
 ornamental sports of chemistry. 
 
 " The truth is," was the explanation privately dropped 
 out to Ethel, " that some one really must see that those two 
 don't make fools of themselves." 
 
 Ethel stared ; then, coming to the perception who " those 
 two" meant, burst out laughing, and said, "My dear Tom, 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 THE TRIAL. 
 
 I beg your pardon, Lut, on tlie whole, I think that is more 
 likely to befall some one else." 
 
 Tom held his head loftily, and would not condescend to 
 understand anything so foolish. 
 
 He considered Bankside as the most dangerous quarter, 
 for Harry was enraptured with Miss Ward's music, extolled 
 her dark eyes, and openly avowed her attraction ; but there 
 were far more subtle perils at Laburnum Grove. The fair 
 widow was really pretty, almost elegant, her weeds becoming ; 
 and her disposition so good, so religious, so charitable, that, 
 with her activity, intelligence, and curate-worship, she was 
 a dangerous snare to such of mankind as were not sensible 
 of her touch of pretension. As to womankind, it needed a 
 great deal of submissiveness to endure her at all ; and this 
 was not Averil Ward's leading characteristic. 
 
 In fact, the ubiquity of Mrs. Pugh was a sore trial to that 
 young lady, just so superior herself as to detect the flimsiness 
 of the widow's attainments. It was vexatious to find that 
 by means of age, assum23tion, and position, these shallow 
 accomplishments made a prodigious show in the world, while 
 her own were entirely overlooked. She thought she despised 
 the admiration of the second-rate world of Stoneborough, but 
 it nettled her to see it thus misplaced ; and there was some- 
 thing provoking in the species of semi-homage paid in that 
 quarter by the youths of the May family. 
 
 As to the sailor, Averil frankly liked him very much ; 
 he was the pleasantest young man, of the most open and 
 agreeable manners, who had ever fallen in her way. He was 
 worthy to be Mary's brother, for he was friendly to Leonard, 
 and to herself had a truthfully flattering way that was 
 delightful "Without any sentiment in the case, she always 
 
THE TRIAL. 163 
 
 felt disappointed and defrauded if she Tvere prevented from 
 having a conversation with him ; and when this happened, 
 it was generally either from his heing seized upon by 
 Mrs. Pugh, or from her being baited by his brother Tom. 
 
 Averil was hard to please, for she was as much annoyed 
 by seeing Tom May sitting courteous and deferential by the 
 side of IMrs. Pugh, as by his attentions to herself. She knew 
 that he was playing the widow off, and that, when most 
 smooth and bland in look and tone, he was inwardly chuck- 
 ling ; and to find the identical politeness transferred to 
 herself made her feel not only affronted but insulted by 
 being placed on the same leveL Thus, when at a ^'reunion" 
 at Laburnum Grove, she had been looking on with intense 
 disgust while Tom was admiring Mrs. Pugh's famous book 
 of devices from letters, translating the mottoes, and pro- 
 mising contributions, the offence was greatly increased by 
 his coming up to her (and that too just as Harry was released 
 by the button-holding Mr. Grey) and saying, 
 
 " Of course you are a collector too, Miss Ward ; I can 
 secure some duplicates for you." 
 
 She hoard such fooleries ? She have Mrs. Pugh's dupli- 
 cates? JS'o wonder she coldly answered, "My little sister 
 has been slightly infected, thank you, but I do not care for 
 such things." 
 
 " Indeed ! "Well, I always preserve as many as I can, as 
 passports to a lady's favour." 
 
 ''That depends on how much sense the lady has," said 
 Averil, trusting that this was a spirited set down. 
 
 " You do not consider. Philosophically treated, they 
 become a perfect school in historical heraldry, nay in 
 languages, in mathematical drawing, in illumination," said 
 
 M 2 
 
164 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Tom, looking across to the album in whicli Mrs. Pugli's 
 collection was enshrined, each device appropriately framed 
 in bright colours. His gravity was intolerable. Was this 
 mockery or not ? However, as answer she must, she said, 
 
 "A very poor purpose for which to learn such things, and 
 a poor way of learning them." 
 
 "True," said Tom, "one pastime is as good as another; 
 and the less it pretends to, the better. On the whole, it 
 may be a beneficial outlet for the revival of illumination." 
 
 Did this intolerable person know that there was an 
 " illuminator's guide" at home, and a great deal of red, blue, 
 and gold paint, with grand designs for the ornamentation of 
 Eankside chapell Whether he knew it or not, she could 
 not help answering, "Hlumination is desecrated by being 
 used on such subjects." 
 
 "And is not that better than the subjects being desecrated 
 by the illumination ?" 
 
 Mrs. Pugh came to insist on that " sweet thing of Mendels- 
 sohn's" from her dear Miss Ward ; and Averil obeyed, not 
 so glad to escape as inflamed by vexation at being prevented 
 from fighting it out, and learning what he really meant; 
 though she was so far used to the slippery nature of his 
 arguments as to know, that it was highly improbable that 
 she should get at anything in earnest. 
 
 " If his sisters were silly, I should not mind," said she to 
 Leonard ; " then he might hold all women cheap from 
 knowing no better ; but when they like sensible things, why 
 is every one else to be treated like an ape V 
 
 " Never mind," said Leonard, " he sneers at everybody aU 
 alike ! I can't think how Dr. May came to have such a son, 
 or how Aubrey can run after him so." 
 
THE TRIAL. 165 
 
 " I should like to know whether they really think it irre- 
 verent to do illuminations." 
 
 '* l!^onsense, Ave ; why should you trouble yourself about 
 what he says to teaze you 1 bad luck to him ! " 
 
 Nevertheless Averil was not at ease till she had asked 
 Mary's opinion of illumination, and Mary had referred to 
 Ethel, and brought back word that all depended on the 
 spirit of the work ; that it was a dangerous thing, for mere 
 fashion, to make playthings of texts of Scripture ; but that 
 no one could tell the blessing there might be in dwelling on 
 them with loving decoration, or having them placed where 
 the eye and thought might be won by them. In fact, Ethel 
 always hated fashion, but feared prejudice. 
 
 The crown of the whole carnival was to be the Abbotstoke 
 entertainment on the enrolment of the volunteers. Prepa- 
 rations went on with great spirit, and the drill sergeant had 
 unremitting work, the target little peace, and Aubrey and 
 Leonard were justly accused of making fetishes of their 
 rifles. The town was frantic, no clothes but uniforms could 
 be had, and the tradesmen forgot their customers in the 
 excitement of electing officers. 
 
 Averil thought it very officious of Mrs. Pugh to collect 
 a romantic party of banner-working young ladies before the 
 member's wife or the mayo/s family had authorized it ; and 
 she refused to join, both on the plea of want of time, and 
 because she heard that Mr. Eivers, a real dragoon, declared 
 colours to be inappropriate to riflemen. And so he did ; but 
 his wife said the point was not martial correctness, but 
 popular feeling ; so Mary gratified the party by bringing her 
 needle, Dr. Spencer took care the blazonry of the arms of the 
 old abbey was correct, and Flora asked the great lady of the 
 
166 THE TRIAL. 
 
 county to present the banner, and gave the invitation to 
 Mrs. Pugh, who sighed, shook her head, dried her eyes, and 
 said something about goodness and spirits ; and Mrs. Eivers 
 professed to understand, and hope Mrs. Pugh would do 
 exactly as best suited her. 
 
 Was this manoeuvring, or only living in the present 1 
 Mary accompanied Harry for a long day of shopping in 
 London when he went to re^Dort himself, starting and 
 returning in the clouds of night, and transacting a prodigious 
 amount of business with intense delight and no fatigue ; and 
 she was considered to have fitted out the mayor's daughters 
 suitably with his municipal dignity, of which Ethel piqued 
 herself on being proud. 
 
 The entertainment was not easy to arrange at such a 
 season, and Blanche's " experience," being of early autumn, 
 was at fault ; but Flora sent for all that could embellish her 
 conservatories, and by one of the charities by which she 
 loved to kill two birds with one stone, imported a young 
 lady who gained her livelihood by singing at private concerts, 
 and with her for a star, supported by the Minster and 
 Cathedral choirs, hoped to get up sufficient music to occupy 
 people till it should be late enough to dance. She still had 
 some diplomacy to exercise, for Mrs. Ledwich suggested 
 asking dear Ave Ward to sing, her own dearest Matilda 
 would not object on such an occasion to assist the sweet 
 girl ; and Mrs. Eivers, after her usual prudent fashion, 
 giving neither denial nor assent, Mrs. Ledwich trotted off, 
 and put Averil into an agony that raised a needless storm 
 in the Bankside house ; Leonard declaring the request an 
 insult, and Henry insisting that Ave ought to have no 
 scruples in doing anything Mrs. Pugh thought proper to 
 
THE TEIAL. 1G7 
 
 be done. And finally, when Ave rushed with her despair 
 to Mary May, it was to be relieved at finding that Mrs, 
 Rivers had never dreamt of exposing her to such an 
 ordeal. 
 
 Though it was the year 1860, the sun shone on the 
 great day, and there were exhilarating tokens of spring, 
 singing birds, opening buds, sparkling drops, and a general 
 sense of festivity ; as the grey and green began to flit about 
 the streets, and while Mr. Mayor repaired to the Town Hall 
 to administer the oaths to the corps, his unmartial sons and 
 his daughters started for the Grange to assist Flora in the 
 reception of her guests. 
 
 The Lord Lieutenant's wife and daughters, as well as the 
 Ernescliflfes, had slept there, and Ethel found them all with 
 Flora in the great hall, which looked like a "winter garden, 
 interspersed with tables covered with plate and glass, where 
 eating and drinking might go on all day long. But Ethel's 
 heart sank within her at the sight of Flora's haggard face and 
 sunken eyes. " What is the matter 1 " she asked Blanche, an 
 image of contented beauty. 
 
 " Matter ? Oh, they have been stupid in marking the 
 ground, and Hector is gone to see about it. That's all. He 
 is not at all tired." 
 
 " I never supposed he was," said Ethel ; "but what makes 
 Flora look so ill?" 
 
 " Oh, that tiresome child has got another cold, and fretted 
 half the night. It is all their fault for giving way to her ; 
 and she has done nothing but whine this whole morning 
 because she is not well enough to go out and see the practice ! 
 I am sure it is no misfortune that she is not to come down 
 and be looked at." 
 
168 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Ethel crossed over to Flora, and asked whether she should 
 go up and see little Margaret. 
 
 " I should be so thankful," said poor Flora ; " but don't 
 excite her. She is not at all well, and has had very little 
 sleep." 
 
 Ethel ran up-stairs, and found herself in the midst of a 
 fight between the governess and Margaret, who wanted to go 
 to the draughty passage window, which she fancied had a 
 better view than that of her nursery. Luckily, Aunt Ethel 
 was almost the only person whom Margaret did not like to 
 see her naughty ; and she subsided into a much less 
 objectionable lamentation after Uncle Harry and his anchor 
 buttons. Ethel promised to try whether he could be foimd, 
 and confident in his good nature, ran down, and boldly cap- 
 tured him as he was setting out to see Hector's operations. 
 He came with a ready smile, and the child was happy 
 throughout his stay. Flora presently stole a moment's visit, 
 intending her sister's release as well as his ; but Ethel, in 
 pity to governess as well as pupil, declared the nursery 
 window to be a prime post of observation, and begged to be 
 there left. 
 
 Margaret began to believe that they were very snug there, 
 and by the time the bugles were heard, had forgotten her 
 troubles in watching the arrivals. 
 
 Up came the grey files, and Ethel's heart throbbed and 
 her eye glistened at their regular tread and military bearing. 
 Quickly ]\[argaret made out papa ; but he was too real a 
 soldier to evince consciousness of being at his own door, 
 before the eyes of his wife and daughter ; and Aubrey's 
 young face was made up in imitation of his impassiveness. 
 Other eyes were less under control, and of these were a 
 
THE TRIAL. 169 
 
 brown pair that wandered restlessly, till tliey were raised to 
 the nursery window, and there found satisfaction. 
 
 The aunt and niece were too immediately above the terrace 
 to see what passed upon it, nor could they hear the words ; 
 so they only beheld the approach of the Ensign, and after a 
 brief interval, his return with the tall green silk colours, 
 with the arms of the old abbey embroidered in the comer 
 and heard the enthusiastic cheer that rang out from all the 
 corps. 
 
 Then the colours led the way to the ground for practice, 
 for manoeuvres were as yet not ready for exhibition. Almost 
 all the gentlemen followed ; and such ladies as did not 
 object to gunpowder or damp grass, thither betook them- 
 selves, guided by the ardent !Mrs. Ernescliffe. Having dis- 
 posed of the others in the drawing-rooms and gardens, Flora 
 and her father came to the nursery, and Ethel was set at 
 liberty to witness the prowess of her young champions, being 
 assured by Mora, that she would be of more use there in 
 keeping the youthful population out of danger than in enter- 
 taining the more timid in the house. 
 
 She slipped out and hurried down a narrow path towards 
 the scene of action, presently becoming aware of four figures 
 before her. which her glass resolved into Harry and Tom, a 
 lady in black, and a child. Evidently the devoted Tom was 
 keeping guard over one of the enchantresses, for the figure 
 was that of Averil Ward, though, as Ethel said, shaking 
 hands, she was hardly to be known with only 07ie sister. 
 
 " We have been delayed," said Averil ; " poor little Ella 
 was in an agony about the firing, and we could not leave her 
 till your brother" — indicating Harry — "was so kind as to 
 take her to Gertrude." 
 
170 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " True to the Englishwoman's boast of never having seen 
 the smoke of an engagement," said Tom. 
 
 " A practising is not an engagement/' said EtheL 
 
 "There may be quite as many casualties," quoth Tom, 
 indulging in some of the current ready-made wit on the 
 dangers of volunteering, for the pure purpose of teazing ; 
 but he was vigorously fallen upon by Harry and Ethel, and 
 Averil brightened as she heard him put to the rout. The 
 shots were already heard, when two more black figures were 
 seen in the distance, going towards the gate. 
 
 " Is that Kichard 1 " exclaimed Tom. 
 
 " Ay, and I do believe, the Avidow ! " rejoined Harry. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Averil. " I heard her talking about 
 Abbotstoke Church, and saying how much she wished to see 
 ii. She must have got Mr. May to show it to her." 
 
 Ethel, who had no real fears for Richard herself, looked 
 on amused to watch how the guardian spirit was going to 
 act. He exclaimed, " By the by, Miss "Ward, would you not 
 like to see it ? They have a very nice brass to old Mr. 
 Pavers, and have been doing up the chancel" 
 
 " Thank you," said Ave, " I should prefer going to see 
 how Leonard is getting on." 
 
 " Eight, Miss "Ward," said Harry ; "the church won't run 
 away." 
 
 "Well, then," said Tom, after a moment's hesitation, "I 
 think I shall just run down, as the church is oj^en, and see 
 what sort of work they have made of the chancel." 
 
 Ethel had the strongest fancy to try what he would do if 
 she were to be seized with a desire to inspect the chancel ; 
 but she did not wish to let Harry and Averil appear on the 
 ground under no escort but Minna's, and so permitted Tom 
 
THE TRIAL, 171 
 
 to leave tliem to her keeping, and watched him hasten to 
 break up the tete-a-tete. 
 
 Coming among the spectators, who, chiefly drawn up on 
 the carriage drive, were watching from a safe distance the 
 grey figures in turn take aim and emit from their rifles the 
 flash and cotton- wool-like tuft of smoke. Ethel's interest was 
 somewhat diminished by hearing that all the other marks- 
 men had been distanced by the head keepers of Abbotstoke 
 and Drydale, between whom the contest really lay. 
 
 "The rest is a study of character," said Dr. Spencer, 
 taking a turn up and down the road with her. " I have 
 been watching the various pairs of brothers ; and I doubt if 
 an}^ stand the test as well as the house of May." 
 
 " There's only one in the field to-day." 
 
 "Yes, but I've seen them together before now, and I 
 will say for even Tom that he has no black looks when his 
 junior shoots better than he does." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! But then it is Aubrey ! " 
 
 Dr. Spencer laughed. " Lucky household where that ' it 
 is ' accounts for all favours to the youngest, instead of for 
 the countenance falling at his successes." 
 
 " I am afraid I know whom you mean. But he has no 
 generosity in him." 
 
 " And his sister helps to make him jealous." 
 
 " I am afraid she does ; but though it is very sad, one 
 can't wonder at her preference of the great to the small." 
 
 " Poor girl, I wonder how she will get on when there is a 
 new inmate in the happy family." 
 
 " Ha ! you shocking old gossip, what have you found out 
 now ] " 
 
172 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Xegociation for the introduction of a Pug dog from the 
 best circles — eh 1 " 
 
 " Well, if he were alone in the world, it would be a capital 
 match." 
 
 " So she thinks, I fancy; but 500/. a year might do better 
 than purchase so many incumbrances. Depend upon it, the 
 late lamented will remain in the ascendant till there are no 
 breakers ahead." 
 
 In process of time, ladies, volunteers, and all, were as- 
 sembled in the great music- room for the concert ; and Ethel, 
 having worked hard in the service of the company, thought 
 her present duty lay with the sick child, and quietly crept 
 away, taking, however, one full view of the entire scene, 
 partly for her own satisfaction, partly in case Margaret 
 should be inclined to question her on what every one was 
 doing. 
 
 There was the orchestra, Avhose erection Eichard had super- 
 intended ; there was the conductor in his station, and the 
 broad back of the Cathedral organist at the piano, the jolly 
 red visages of the singing men in their ranks, the fresh faces 
 of the choristers full of elation ; the star from London, 
 looking quiet and lady-like, courteously led to her place by 
 George Rivers himself. But, for all his civility, how bored 
 and sullen he looked ! and how weary were poor Flora's 
 smiles, though her manner was so engaging, and her uni- 
 versal attention so unremitting ! What a contrast to the 
 serene, self-enfolded look of happiness and prosperity on 
 the pretty youthful face of Blanche, her rich delicate silk 
 spreading far beyond the sofa where she sat among the great 
 ladies j and her tall yellow-haired husband leaning against 
 
THE TRIAL. 173 
 
 the wall behind her, in wondering contemplation of his 
 Blanche taking her place in her own county. 
 
 Further back, among the more ordinary herd, Ethel per- 
 ceived ]\Irs. Pugh, bridling demurely, with Tom on guard 
 over her on one side, and Henry Ward looking sulky on the 
 other, with his youngest sister in his charge. The other was 
 looking very happy upon Leonard's knee, close to Averil and 
 Mary, who were evidently highly satisfied to have coalesced. 
 Averil was looking strikingly pretty — the Hght fell favour- 
 ably on her profuse glossy hair, straight features, and bril- 
 liant colouring ; her dark eyes were full of animation, and 
 her lips were apart with a smile as she listened to Leonard's 
 eager narration ; and Ethel glanced towards Harry to see 
 whether he were admiring. No ; Harry was bringing in a 
 hall arm-chair in the background, for a very large, heavy, 
 vulgar-looking old man, who seemed too ponderous and in- 
 firm for a place on the benches. Eichard made one of a 
 black mass of clergy, and Aubrey and Gertrude had asserted 
 their independence by perching themselves on a window-seat, 
 as far as possible from all relations, whence they nodded 
 a merry saucy greeting to Ethel, and she smiled back again, 
 thinking her tall boy in his grey tunic and black belt, and 
 her plump girl in white with green ribbons, were as goodly 
 a pair as the room contakied. 
 
 But where was the Doctor ? 
 
 Ethel had a shrewd suspicion where she should find him ; 
 and in the nursery he was, playing at spillekens with his left 
 hand. 
 
 It was not easy to persuade him that the music would be 
 wasted on her, and that he ought to go down that it might 
 receive justice ; but Margaret settled the question. " You 
 
174; THE TRIAL. 
 
 may go, grandpapa, Aunt Ethel is best to play at spillekens, 
 for she has not got a left hand." 
 
 "There's honour for me, who used to have two!" and 
 therewith Ethel turned him out in time for the overture. 
 
 Margaret respected her aunt sufficiently not to be extra 
 wayward with her, and between the spillekens, and a long 
 story about cousin Dickie in New Zealand, all went well till 
 bed-time. There was something in the child's nervous tem- 
 perament that made the first hours of the night peculiarly 
 painful to her, and the sounds of the distant festivity added 
 to her excitability. She fretted and tossed, moaned and 
 wailed, sat up in bed and cried, snapped off attempts at 
 hymns, would not listen to stories, and received Ethel's 
 attempts at calm grave commands with bursts of crying, and 
 calls for mamma and papa. The music had ceased, tuning of 
 violins was heard, and Ethel dreaded the cries being heard 
 down stairs. She was at her wits' end, and was thinking 
 who would most avail, and could be fetched with least sensa- 
 tion ; when there was a soft knock at the door, and Harry's 
 voice said, " Hollo, what's the matter here 1 " In he came 
 with his white glove half on, and perceiving the state of the 
 case said, " Can't go to sleep V 
 
 " Oh Uncle Harry, take me ; " and the arms were stretched 
 out, and the tear-stained face raised up. 
 
 "We'll put you to sleep as sound as if you were in a 
 hammock just off middle watch," said Harry ; and the next 
 moment he had her rolled up in her little blue dressing-gown, 
 nestling on his broad shoulder, while he walked up and down 
 the room, crooning out a nautical song, not in first-rate style, 
 but the effect was perfect ; the struggles and sobs were over, 
 and when at the end of a quarter of an hour Harry paused 
 
THE TRIAL. 175 
 
 and looked at the little thin sharp face, it was softened by 
 peaceful sleep. 
 
 Ethel pointed to the door. There stood Flora, her eyes 
 full of tears. 
 
 Harry laid the little sleeper on her bed, and covered her 
 up. Flora laid her arm on his shoulder and gave him such 
 a kiss as she had not given even when he had come back as 
 from the dead. Then she signed to them to come, but sped 
 away before them, not trusting herself to speak. Ethel tarried 
 with Harry, who was in difficulties with gloves too small for 
 his broad hand, and was pshawing at himseK at having let 
 Tom get them for him at Whitford. 
 
 " Oh Harry," said Ethel, " you are the most really like papa 
 of us all ! How did you come to think of it ? " 
 
 " I'd have given a good deal if any one would have walked 
 quarter deck with me some nights last summer," said Harry, 
 still intent on the glove. '' What is to be done, Ethel? that 
 rogue Tom always snaps up all the beauty. I dare say he has 
 engaged Miss Ward and the widow both." 
 
 It was no time for sentiment ; so Ethel suggested getting 
 half into one glove, and carrying the other. " You'll be quite 
 irresistible enough, Harry ! And if all the beauty is engaged, 
 I'll dance with you myself." 
 
 " Will you 1 " cried the Lieutenant with sparkling eyes, 
 "then you are a jolly old Ethel ! Come along, then ;" and 
 he took her on his arm, ran down stairs with her, and before 
 she well knew where she was, or what was going on, she 
 found herself in his great grasp passive as a doll, dragged 
 off into the midst of a vehement polka that took her breath 
 j away. She trusted to him, and remained in a passive, lialf- 
 I frightened state, glad he was so happy ; but in the first pause 
 
176 THE TEIAL. 
 
 heartily -wishing he would let her go, instead of which she 
 only heard, " Well done, old Ethel, you'll he a prime dancer 
 yet ! you're as light as a feather ; " and before she had re- 
 covered her breath, o£f he led her with " Go it again ! " 
 
 AMien at length, panting and bewildered, she was safely 
 placed on a seat, with " You've had enough, have you 1 mind, I 
 sha'n't let you off another time," she found that her aberration 
 had excited a good deal of sensation in her own family. 
 Blanche and Gertrude could not repress their amusement ; 
 and Dr. May, with merry eyes, declared that she was coming 
 out in a new light. She had only time to confide to him the 
 reason that she had let Harry do what he pleased with her, 
 before two volunteers were at her side. 
 
 " Miss May, I did not think you ever danced ! " 
 
 " 'Not I," said Ethel ; " but you see what sailors can do 
 with one." 
 
 " JS'ow, Ethel," said the other over his shoulder, " now 
 you have danced with Harry, you must have this waltz with 
 me." 
 
 " A dangerous precedent, Ethel," said the Doctor, laughing. 
 
 " I couldn't waltz to save my life, Aubrey," said Ethel ; 
 " but if you can bear me through a polka as well as Harry 
 did, you may try the next." 
 
 " And won't you — will you — for once dance with me ?" said 
 his companion imploringly. 
 
 " Very well, Leonard, if I ,can get through a quadrille ; " 
 and therewith Ethel was seized upon by both boys to hear 
 the story of every hit and miss, and of each of the difficulties 
 that their unpractised corps had encountered in getting round 
 the comers between Stoneborough and the Grange. Then 
 came Leonard's quadrille, which it might be hoped was grati- 
 
THE TRIAL. 177 
 
 l'}ing to him ; but which he executed with as much solemn 
 deference as if he had been treading a minuet with a princess, 
 plainly regarding it as the great event of the day. In due 
 time, he resigned her to Aubrey j but poor Aubrey had been 
 deluded by the facility with which the strong and practised 
 sailor had swept his victim along ; and Ethel grew terrified 
 at the danger of collisions, and released herself and pulled 
 him aside by force, just in time to avoid being borne down 
 by the ponderous weight of Miss Boulder and her partner. 
 
 " You did not come to grief with Harry ! " muttered the 
 discomfited boy. 
 
 " Xo more did the lamb damage the eagle ; but remember 
 the fate of the jackdaw, Mr. Grey-coat ! I deserve some ice 
 for my exertions, so come into the hall and get some, and tell 
 me if you have had better luck elsewhere." 
 
 " I have had no partner but Minna AVard, and she trips as 
 if one was a dancing master." 
 
 " And how has Tom been managing 1 " 
 
 " Stunningly civil ! He began with Ave "Ward, in the 
 Lancers, and it was such fun — he chafied her in his solemn 
 way, about music I believe it was, and her harmonium. I 
 could not quite hear, but I could see she was in a tremendous 
 taking, and she won't recover it all the evening." 
 
 " AATiat a shame it is of Tom ! " 
 
 " Oh ! but it is such fun ! And since that he has been 
 parading with Pug." 
 
 " She has not danced ! " 
 
 " Oh no ! She got an audience into ]Meta's little sitting- 
 room — Henry Ward, Harvey Anderson, and some of the 
 curates ; they shut the door, and had some music on their 
 own hook," 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 THE TPJAL. 
 
 " Was Richard there ? " 
 
 " At first ; but either he could not bear to see Meta's piano 
 profaned, or he thought it too strong when they got to the 
 sacred line, for he bolted, and is gone home." 
 
 " There's Harry dancing with Fanny Anderson. He has 
 not got Miss Ward all this time." 
 
 " Nor will," said Aubrey. " Tom had put her in such a 
 rage that she did not choose to dance with that cousin of 
 hers, Sam Axworthy, so she was obliged to refuse every one 
 else ; and I had to put up with that child ! " 
 
 " Sam Axworthy ! He does not belong to our corps. How 
 does he come here ? " 
 
 " Oh ! the old man has some houses in the borough, and 
 an omnium gatherum like this was a good time to do the 
 civil tiling to him. There he is ; peep into the card-room, 
 and you'll see his great porpoise back, the same old man that 
 Harry iu liis benevolence assisted to a chair. He shook 
 hands with Leonard, and told him there was a snug desk at 
 the Vintry Mill for him." 
 
 " I dare say ! " 
 
 " And when Leonard thankod him, and said he hoped to 
 get off to Cambridge, he laughed that horrid fat laugh, and 
 told him learning would never put him in good case. Where 
 shall I find you a place to sit down 1 Pug and her tail have 
 taken up all the room," whispered Aubrey, as by the chief of 
 the glittering tables in the hall, he saw Mrs. Pugh, drinking 
 tea, surrounded by her attendant gentlemen, and with her 
 aunt and Ella Ward, like satellites, a little way from her. 
 
 " Here is a coign of vantage," said Ethel, seating herself on 
 a step a little way up the staircase. " How those people have 
 taken possession of that child all day ! " 
 
THE TKLVL. 179 
 
 " I fancy Leonard is come to reclaim her," said Aubrey, 
 " don't you see him trying to work through and get at her ? 
 and Miss Ward told me she was going home early, to put the 
 children to bed. Ha ! what's the row ? There's Leonard 
 flaring up in a regular rage ! Only look at his eyes — and 
 Henry just like Gertrude's Java sparrow in a taking — " 
 
 " It must not be," cried Ethel, starting up to attempt she 
 knew not what, as she heard Leonard's words, '' Say it was a 
 mistake, Henry I You cannot be so base as to persist ! " 
 
 There it became evident that Ethel and Aubrey were seen 
 over the balusters ; Leonard's colour deepened, but his eye 
 did not flinch ; though Henry quailed and backed, and the 
 Avidow gave a disconcerted laugh ; then Leonard pounced on 
 his little sister and carried her off to the cloak-room. ""What 
 treason could it have been 1 " muttered Aubrey ; "we shall 
 get it all from "Ward ; " but when Leonard re-appeared it was 
 with his sister cloaked and bonneted on his arm, each leading 
 a little one ; he took them to the entrance and was seen no 
 more. 
 
 Xor was the true history of that explosion ever revealed 
 in the May family, though it had grave consequences at 
 Bankside. 
 
 Eumour had long declared at Stoneborough that the mem- 
 ber's little daughter was carefully secluded on account of 
 some deformity, and jVIrs. Pugh had been one of many ladies 
 who had hoped to satisfy their curiosity on this head upon 
 the present occasion. She had asked Henry Ward whether 
 it were so, and he had replied with picj^ue that he had no 
 means of judging, he had never been called in at the Grange. 
 By way of salve to his feelings, the sympathizing lady had 
 suggested that the preference for London advice might be 
 
 N 2 
 
180 THE TRIAL. 
 
 from the desire of secrecy, and improbable as he knew this to 
 be, his vanity had forbidden him to argue against it. When 
 no little Miss Rivers appeared, the notion of her affliction 
 gained ground, and Leonard, whose grey back was undis- 
 tinguishable from other gi-ey backs, heard Mrs. Pugh citing 
 his brother as an authority for the misfortune which Mr. and 
 Mrs. Rivers so carefully concealed as to employ no surgeon 
 from their own neighbourhood. 
 
 Falsehood, slander, cruelty, ingratitude, breach of hos- 
 pitality, were the imputations that fired the hot brain of 
 Leonard, and ^Tithed his lips, as he started round, confronted 
 the lady, and assured her it was a — a — a gross mistake. His 
 father had always attended the child, and she must have 
 misunderstood his brother. Then, seeing Henry at a little 
 distance, Leonard summoned him to contradict the allegation ; 
 but at that moment the sudden appearance of the two Mays 
 put the whole conclave to silence. 
 
 iN'ot aware that ^Irs. Pugh had confounded together his 
 intelligence and her surmise, and made him responsible for 
 both, Henry was shocked and grieved at his brother's in- 
 sulting and violent demeanour, and exhausted himself in 
 apologies and denunciations ; while the kind-hearted lady 
 interceded for the boy, declaring that she doted on his 
 generous spirit, but not confessing the piece of female em- 
 broidery which had embroiled the matter, probably not even 
 aware of it, though sincerely and kindly desirous to avert the 
 brother's anger. Her amiability therefore only strengthened 
 Henry's sense of his brother's outrage, and his resolve to call 
 him to account. 
 
 It was impossible that night, for Leonard had gone home 
 with the sisters, and was in bed long before his brother 
 
THE TRIAL. 181 
 
 retiirned. But at breakfast Henry found the forces drawn up 
 against him, and his first attempt to remonstrate was retorted 
 by the demand what he could mean by spreading sueli 
 an abominable report — cruel — unfounded — ungrateful — 
 spiteful — 
 
 Averil indeed divined that it was Mrs. Pugh's invention ; 
 but Henry was not inclined to give up ]\Irs. Pugh, and con- 
 tinued in the belief that Leonard's fiery imagination had 
 fabricated the sentence, and then most improperly charged it 
 on the lady, and on himsel£ Had it been as Leonard stated, 
 said Henr}', his conduct was shameful and required an apology ; 
 whereupon Leonard burst out in passion at being disbelieved, 
 and Averil was no less indignant. The storm raged till the 
 business of the day interrupted it ; and in Henry's absence, 
 Averil and her brother worked up their wi^ath again, at 
 the atrocity of the assertion regarding the child of their 
 entertainers, the grand-daughter of their truest, kindest 
 friend. 
 
 Averil would have rushed to ^lary with the whole stor}^, 
 but for Leonard's solemn asseveration that if ever it came 
 to the ears of any one of the Mays, he should send back 
 his rifle to iSIr. Emescliffe, and work his way out to one 
 of the colonies rather than again look any of the family in 
 the face. 
 
 Henry divided his opponents next time, asking Leonard, 
 in his sister's absence, whether he had come to his senses 
 and would apologize 1 Leonard hoped Henry had come to 
 his ! On the whole, the dispute had lost some asperity by 
 the absence of Averil, and though Leonard held his ground, 
 and maintained that he had every right to deny the statement, 
 and that it was Henry's duty to make Mrs. Pugh contradict 
 
182 ' THE TRIAL. 
 
 it everywhere, yet the two approached nearer together, and 
 there was less misunderstanding, fewer personalities. 
 
 But Averil could not forget or forgive. She persisted in 
 manifesting her displeasure, and recurred to the subject till 
 her pertinacity wore out Leonard himself. 
 
 " Xonsense, Ave," he said at last, " it was a foolish woman's 
 gossip that Henry ought to have quashed ; but that is no 
 reason you should treat them like toads." 
 
 " AVould you have me sanction vile slander ? " 
 
 "As if you were sanctioning slander by being decently 
 civil ! Is not it an intolerable thing that we three should 
 never sit down to a meal in peace together ? " 
 
 " Leonard, don't you think I feel the misery ? " 
 
 " Put an end to it then, and don't pit those poor children 
 one against the other. Just fancy Minna's saying to me, * I 
 love you and sister, but Ella loves Mrs. Pugh and Henry.' " 
 
 " Yes, they have set Ella against me. She always appeals 
 to Henry, and I can do nothing with her." 
 
 Leonard looked out of the window and whistled, then said 
 as if he had made a discovery, " I'll tell you what, Ave, some- 
 thing must be done to set things to rights between us, and I 
 believe the best thing will be to call on Mrs. Pugh." 
 
 " !N'ot to apologize 1 Leonard ! " 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! Only to show we don't bear malice. 
 Henry had been at you to call ever so long before this, had 
 he not r' 
 
 " I can't see any reason for intimacy." 
 
 " I declare, Ave, you are too bad ! I only want you just 
 to keep the peace with your own brother. You have led him 
 the life of a dog these three days, and now when I want you 
 to be a little obliging, you talk of intimacy ! " 
 
THE TRIAL. 183 
 
 " Only because I know how it will be. If I give that 
 woman an inch, she will take an ell." 
 
 " Let her then. It would be much better than always 
 living at daggers-drawn with one's brother." Then, after 
 waiting for her to say something, he added, " If you won't go 
 with me, I shall go alone." 
 
 Averil rose, subdued but not convinced, reverencing her 
 brother, but afraid of his concessions. 
 
 However, the call turned out weU. Mrs. Pugh had a 
 talent for making herself agreeable, and probably had liked 
 the boy for his outburst. She would not let Mab be ex- 
 cluded, loaded her with admiration, and was extremely inter- 
 ested in the volunteer practice, so that both the young people 
 were subjugated for the time by her pleasant manners, and 
 went away ashamed of their own rancour against one so 
 friendly and good natured, and considerably relieved of their 
 burden of animosity. 
 
 Their greeting to their brother was so cordial that he per- 
 ceived their good will, and was sorry that the dread of an 
 evening of warfare had induced him to accept an invitation 
 to dine at the Swan mth Sam Axworthy and a party of his 
 friends. 
 
18-i THE TRIAL. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** This night is my departing night, 
 For here nae longer must I stay ; 
 There's neither friend nor foe of mine 
 
 But wishes me away. 
 "What I have done through lack of wit, 
 
 I never never can recall : 
 I hope ye're all my friends as yet. 
 Good-night, and joy be with you all," 
 
 Armstrong'' s Good-night. 
 
 The storm had blown over, but hea^T" flakes of cloud still 
 cumbered the air, and gusts of wind portended that it might 
 gather again. 
 
 Henry AVard took this opportunity of giving his first 
 dinner-part}'. He said it was a necessary return for the 
 civilities they had received ; and to Averil's representation 
 that it transgressed the system of rigid economy that so 
 much tormented her, he replied by referring her to Mrs. 
 Pugh for lessons in the combination of style and inex- 
 pensiveness. 
 
 Averil had almost refused, but the lady herself proffered 
 her instructions, and reluctance was of no avail ; nothing 
 but demonstrations from which her conscience shrank, could 
 
THE TEIAL. 185 
 
 have served to defend her from the officious interference 
 so eagerly and thankfully encouraged by the master of 
 the house. Vainly did she protest against pretension, and 
 quote the example of the Grange ; she found herself com- 
 pelled to sacrifice the children's lessons to learn of Mrs. 
 Pugh to make the paper flowers that, with bonbons and 
 sweetmeats, were to save the expense of good food on the 
 dinner table, and which she feared would be despised by 
 !Miss ^lay, nay, perhaps laughed over ^T.th "Mr. Tom ! " 
 
 She hated the whole concern, even the invitation to Dr. 
 and Miss May, knowing that it was sent in formal vanity, 
 accepted in pure good nature, would bring them into society 
 they did not like, and expose her brother's bad taste. Only 
 one thing could have added to her dislike, namely — that which 
 all Stoneborough perceived excepting herself and Leonard 
 — that this dinner was intended as a step in Henry's court- 
 ship, and possibly as an encouragement of Harvey Anderson's 
 liking for herself. Averil held her head so high, and was so 
 little popular, that no one of less assurance than ]\Irs. 
 Ledwich herself would have dared approach her with per- 
 sonal gossip j and even Mrs. Ledwich was silent here ; so 
 that Averil, too vounsj and innocent to connect second 
 marriages with recent widowhood, drew no conclusions from 
 Henry's restless eagerness that his household should present 
 the most imposing appearance. 
 
 "While the bill of fare was worrying Averil, Leonard was 
 told by Aubrey, that his father had brought home a fossil 
 Tower of Babel, dug up with some earth out of a new 'well, 
 three miles off, with tidings of other unheard-of treasures j 
 and a walk was projected in quest of them, in which Leonard 
 was invited to join. He gladly came to the early dinner, 
 
186 THE TRIAL. 
 
 where he met reduced numbers — the Ernescliffes being at 
 Maplewood, Tom at Cambridge, and Harry in the Channel 
 fleet; and as usual, he felt the difference between the 
 perfect understanding and friendship in the one home, and 
 the dread of dangerous subjects in the other. The ex- 
 pedition had all the charms of the Coombe times ; and the 
 geological discoveries were so numerous and precious, that 
 the load became sufficient to break do^vn the finders, and 
 Ethel engaged a market woman to bring the baskets in her 
 cart the next morning. 
 
 That morning a note from Eichard begged Ethel to come 
 early to Cocksmoor to see Granny Hall, who was djing. 
 Thus left to their own devices, Aubrey and Gertrude con- 
 scientiously went through some of their studies ; then pro- 
 ceeded to unpack their treasury of fossils, and endeavour to 
 sort out Leonard's share, as to which doubts arose. Daisy 
 proposed to carry the specimens at once to Bankside, where 
 she wanted to see Leonard's prime echinus ; and Aubrey 
 readily agreed, neither of the young heads having learnt the 
 undesirableness of a morning visit in a house preparing for a 
 dinner-party too big for it. 
 
 However, Leonard made them extremely welcome. It 
 was too foggy a day for rifle practice, and all the best plate 
 and china were in the school-room, his only place of refuge ; 
 Ave was fluttering about in hopes of getting everything done 
 before Mrs. Pugh could take it out of her hands, and the 
 energies of the household were spent on laying out the 
 dining table. It was clearly impossible to take Gertrude 
 anywhere but into the dra^ning-room, which was in demi- 
 toilette state, the lustres released from their veils, the gayer 
 cushions taken out of their hiding-places, and the brown 
 
THE TEIAL. 187 
 
 holland covers half off. This was the only tranquil spot, 
 and so poor little Mab thought, forbidden ground though it 
 ■was. Even in her own home, the school-room, a strange 
 man had twice trod upon her toes ; so no wonder, when she 
 saw her own master and his friends in the drawing-room, 
 that she ventured in, and leaping on a velvet cushion she 
 had never seen before, and had never been ordered ofi^ she 
 there curled herself up and went to sleep, trnseen by 
 Leonard, who was in eager controversy upon the specimens, 
 which Gertrude, as she unpacked, set down on floor, chair, 
 or ottoman, unaware of the offence she was committing. So, 
 unmolested, the young geologists talked, named, and sorted 
 the specimens, till the clock striking the half hour, warned 
 the Mays that they must return ; and Leonard let them out 
 at the window, and crossed the lawn to the side gate with 
 them to save the distance. 
 
 He had just returned, and was kneeling on the floor hastily 
 collecting the fossils, when the door opened, and Henry 
 'Ward, coming home to inspect the preparations, beheld the- 
 drawing-room bestrewn with the rough stones that he had 
 proscribed, and Mab, not only in the room, but reposing in 
 the centre of the most magnificent cushion in the house ! 
 
 His first movement of indignation was to seize the dog 
 with no gentle hand. She whined loudly ; and Leonard, 
 whom he had not seen, shouted angrily " Let her alone ; " 
 then, at another cry from her, finding his advance to her 
 rescue impeded by a barricade of the crowded and dis- 
 arranged furniture, he grew mad with passion, and launched 
 the stone in his hand, a long sharp-pointed belemnite. It 
 did not strike Henry, but a sound proclaimed the mischief, 
 as it fell back from the surface of the mirror, making a huge 
 
188 THE TEIAL. 
 
 star of cracks, unmarked by Leonard, who, pushing sofa and 
 ottoman to the right and left, thundered up to his brother, 
 and with uplifted hand demanded what he meant by his 
 cruelty. 
 
 "Is — is this defiance?" stammered Henry, pointing to 
 the disordered room. ** Look here, Averil," as she appeared 
 at the sounds, " do you defend this boy now he has very 
 nearly killed me 1 " 
 
 " Killed you ! " and Leonard laughed angrily ; but when 
 Henry held up the elf-bolt, and he saw its sharp point, he 
 was shocked, and he saw horror in Averil's face. 
 
 " I see," he said gravely. " It was a mercy I did not ! " 
 and he paused. " I did not know what I was about when 
 you were mis-using my dog, Henry. Shake hands; I am 
 sorry for it." 
 
 But Henry had been very much frightened as well as 
 angered, and thought, perhaps, it was a moment to pursue 
 his advantage. 
 
 " You treat things lightly," he said, not accepting the hand. 
 " See what you have done." 
 
 " I am glad it was not your head," said Leonard. " What 
 does it cost ? I'll pay." 
 
 " More than your keep for a year," moaned Henry, as 
 he sighed over the long limbs of the starfish-like fracture. 
 
 " Well, I will give up anything you like, if you will only 
 not be sulky about it, Henry. It was unlucky, and I'm 
 sorry for it ; I can't say more ! " 
 
 " But I can," said Henry with angry dignity, re-inforced by 
 the sight of the seamed reflection of his visage in the 
 shivered glass. " I tell you, Leonard, there's no having you 
 in the house ; you defy my authority, you insult my friends. 
 
THE TRIAL. 189 
 
 you waste and destroy more than you are worth, and you are 
 absohitely dangerous. I would as soon have a wild beast about 
 the place. If you don't get the Eandall next week, and get off 
 to the University, to old Axworthy's office you go at once." 
 
 "Very well, I will/' said Leonard, turning to collect the 
 fossils, as if he had done with the subject. 
 
 " Henry, Henry, what are you saying ] " cried the sister. 
 
 " ^ot a word, Ave," said Leonard. " I had rather break 
 stones on the road than live where my keep is grudged, and 
 there's not spirit enough to get over a moment's fright." 
 
 " It is not any one individual thing," began Henry, in a 
 tone of annoyance, " but your whole course — " 
 
 There he paused, perceiving that Leonard paid no attention 
 to his words, continuing quietly to replace the furniture and 
 collect the fossils, as if no one else were in the room, after 
 which he carried the basket up-stairs. 
 
 Averil hurried after him. " Leonard ! oh why don't you 
 explain? "Why don't you tell him how the stones came 
 there ? " 
 
 Leonard shook his head sternly. 
 
 " Don't you mean to do anything 1 " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But you wanted another year before trj-ing for the 
 scholarship." 
 
 " Yes ; I have no chance there." 
 
 " He will not do it ! He cannot mean it ! " 
 
 " I do then. I will get my own living, and not be a 
 burthen, where my brother cannot forgive a broken glass 
 or a moment's fright," said Leonard ; and she felt that his 
 calm resentment was worse than his violence. 
 
 " He will be cooler, and then — " 
 
190 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " I will have no more said to him. It is plain that we 
 cannot live together, and there's an end of it. Don't cry, or 
 you won't be fit to be seen." 
 
 " I won't come down to dinner." 
 
 " Yes, you will. Let us have no more about it. Some- 
 one wants you." 
 
 " Please, Ma'am, the fish is come." 
 
 *' Sister, Sister, come and see how I have done up the 
 macaroons in green leaves." 
 
 " Sister, Sister, do come and reach me down some caly- 
 canthus out of the greenhouse ! " 
 
 " I will," said Leonard, descending ; and for the rest of 
 the day he was an efficient assistant in the decorations, and 
 the past adventure was only apparent in the shattered glass, 
 and the stern ceremonious courtesy of the younger brother 
 towards the elder. 
 
 Averil hurried about, devoid of all her former interest in 
 so doing things for herself as to save interference ; and when 
 Mrs. Ledwich and Mrs. Pugh walked in, overflowing with 
 suggestions, she let them have their way, and toiled under 
 them with the sensation of being like " dumb driven cattle." 
 If Leonard were to be an exile, what mattered it to her who 
 ruled, or what appearance things made 1 
 
 Only when she went to her own room to dress, had she a 
 moment to realize the catastrophe, its consequences, and the 
 means of avertmg them. So appalled was she, that she sat 
 with her hair on her shoulders as if spell-bound, till the first 
 ring at the door aroused her to speed and consternation, 
 perhaps a little lessened by one of her sisters rushing in to 
 say that it was ]SIrs. Ledwich and ]Mrs. Pugh, and that 
 Henry was still in the cellar, decanting the wine. 
 
THE JFdXI.. 191 
 
 Long before the hosts were ready, Dr. !May and Ethel had 
 likewise arrived, and became cognizant of the fracture of 
 the mirror, for, though the nucleus was concealed by a large 
 photograph stuck into the frame, one long crack extended 
 even to the opposite corner. The two ladies were not slow 
 to relate all that they knew ; and while the aunt dismayed 
 Ethel by her story, the niece, with much anxiety, asked 
 Dr. May how it Avas that these dear nice superior young 
 people should have such unfortunate tempers — was it from 
 any error in management ? So earnest was her manner, so 
 inquiring her look, that Dr. May suspected that she was 
 feeling for his opinion on personal grounds, and tried to 
 avert the danger by talking of the excellence of the parents, 
 but he was recalled from his eulogium on poor Mrs. "Ward. 
 
 " Oh yes ! one felt for them so very much, an«l they are 
 so religious, so well principled, and all that one could wish ; 
 but family dissension is so dreadful. I am very little used 
 to young men or boys, and I never knew anytliing like 
 tliis." 
 
 " The lads are too nearly of an age," said the Doctor. 
 
 *' And would such things be likely to happen among any 
 brothers ? " 
 
 " I should trust not ! " said the Doctor emphatically. 
 
 " I should so like to know in confidence which you think 
 likely to be most to blame." 
 
 Xever was the Doctor more glad that Averil made her 
 appearance ! He carefully avoided getting near Mrs. Pugh 
 for the rest of the evening, but he could not help obserA-ing 
 that she was less gracious than usual to the master of the 
 house ; while she summoned Leonard to her side to ask 
 
192 THE TRIAL. 
 
 about the volunteer proceedings, and formed lier immediate 
 court of Harvey Anderson and Mr. Scudamore. 
 
 The dinner went off fairly, though heavily. Averil, in 
 her one great trouble, lost the sense of the minor offences 
 that would have distressed her pride and her taste had she 
 been able to attend to them, and forgot the dulness of the 
 scene in her anxiety to seek sympathy and counsel in the 
 only quarter where she cared for it. She went mechanically 
 through her duties as lady of the house, talking common- 
 place subjects dreamily to Dr. May, and scarcely even giving 
 herself the trouble to be brief with_^Mr. Anderson, who was 
 on her other side at dinner. 
 
 In the drawing-room, she left the other ladies to their own 
 devices in her eagerness to secure a few minutes with Ethel 
 May, and disabuse her of whatever Mrs. Ledwich or Mrs. 
 Pugh might have said. Ethel had been more hopeful before 
 she heard the true version ; she had hitherto allowed much 
 for Mrs. Ledwich's embellishments ; and she was shocked 
 and took shame to her own guiltless head for Gertrude's 
 thoughtlessness. 
 
 " Oh no ! " said Averil, " there was nothing that any one 
 need have minded, if Henry had waited for explanation ! 
 And now, will you get Dr. May to speak to him'? If he 
 only knew how people would think of his treating Leonard 
 so, I am sure he would not do it." 
 
 " He cannot ! " said Ethel. " Don't you know what he 
 thinks of it himself ? He said to papa last year that your 
 father would as soon have sent Leonard to the hulks as to 
 the Vintry Mill" 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad some one heard him. He would care 
 
THE TRIAL. 193 
 
 about having that cast up against him, if he cared for 
 nothing else." 
 
 " It must have been a mere threat. Leonard surely has 
 only to ask his pardon." 
 
 " Xo, indeed, not again. Miss May ! " said Averil. Leo- 
 nard asked once, and was refused, and cannot ask again. 
 Xo, the only difficulty is whether he ought not to keep to 
 his word, and go to the mill if he does not get the Eandall." 
 
 " Did he say he would ? " 
 
 " Of course he did, when Henry threatened him with it, 
 and talked of the burden of his maintenance ! He said, 
 * Very well, I will,' and he means it ! " 
 
 " He will not mean it when the spirit of repentance has 
 had time to waken." 
 
 " He will take nothing that is grudged him," said Averil. 
 " Oh ! is it not hard that I cannot get at my own money, 
 and send him at once to Cambridge, and never ask Henry 
 for another farthing ? " 
 
 " Kay, Averil ; I think you can do a better part by trying 
 to make them forgive one another." 
 
 Averil had no notion of Leonard's again abasing himself, 
 and though she might try to bring Henry to reason by 
 reproaches, she would not persuade. She wished her guest 
 had been the sympathizing jMary rather than ]\Iiss May, who 
 was sure to take the part of the elder and the authority. 
 Eepentance ! Forgiveness ! If Miss May should work on 
 Leonard to sue for pardon and toleration, and Mrs. Pugh 
 should intercede with Henry to take him into favour, slie 
 had rather he were at the Vintry Mill at once in his dignity, 
 and Henry be left to his disgrace. 
 
 Ethel thought of Dr. Spencer's w^ords on the beach at 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Coombe, " Never threaten Providence ! " She longed to 
 repeat them to Leonard, as she watched his stern determined 
 face, and the elaborately quiet motions that spoke of a fixed 
 resentful purpose ; but to her disappointment and misgiving 
 he gave her no opportunity, and for the first time since their 
 sea-side intercourse, held aloof from her, 
 
 Xor did she see him again during the week that intervened 
 before the decision of the scholarship, though three days of 
 it were holidays. Aubrey, whom she desired to bring him 
 in after the rifle drill, reported that he pronounced himself 
 sorry to refuse, but too busy to come in, and he seemed to 
 be cramming with fiery vehemence for the mere chance of 
 success. 
 
 The chance w^as small. The only hope lay in the pos- 
 sibility of some hindrance preventing the return of either 
 Forder or Folliot ; and in the meantime the Mays anxiously 
 thought over Leonard's prospects. His remaining at home 
 was evidently too great a trial for both brothers, and without 
 a scholarship he could not go to the University. The evils 
 of the alternative ofi'ered by his brother were duly weighed 
 by the Doctor and Ethel with an attempt to be im- 
 partial. 
 
 Mr. Axworthy, though the mill was the centre of his 
 business, was in fact a corn merchant of considerable wealth, 
 and with opportunities of extending his connexion much 
 further. Had his personal character been otherwise. Dr. May 
 thought a young man could not have a better opening than 
 a seat in his office, and the fature power of taking shares in 
 his trade ; there need be no loss of position, and there was 
 great likeUhood both of prosperity and the means of ex- 
 tensive usefulness. 
 
THE TRIAL. 195 
 
 Ethel sighed at the thought of the higher aspirations that 
 she had fostered till her own mind was set on them. 
 
 " ^ay," said the Doctor, " depend upon it, the desk is 
 admirable training for good soldiers of the Church. See the 
 fearful evil that befals great schemes entrusted to people 
 who cannot deal with money matters ; and see, on the other 
 hand, what our merchants and men of business have done 
 for the Church ; and do not scorn * the receipt of custom.' " 
 
 " But the man, papa ! " 
 
 " Yes, there lies the hitch ! If Leonard fails, I can lay 
 things before Henry, such as perhaps he may be too young 
 to know, and which must change his purpose." 
 
 Mr. Axworthy^s career during his youth and early man- 
 hood was guessed at rather than known, but even since his 
 return and occupation of the Yintry Mill, his vicious habits 
 had scandalized the neighbourhood ; and though the more 
 flagrant of these had been discontinued as he advanced in 
 age, there was no reason to hope that he had so much " left 
 off his sins, as that his sins had left him off." His great 
 nephew, who lived Avith him and assisted in his business, 
 was a dashing sporting young man of no good character, 
 known to be often intoxicated, and concerned in much low 
 dissipation, and as dangerous an associate as could be con- 
 ceived for a high-spirited lad like Leonard. Dr. May could 
 not believe that any provocation of temper, any motive of 
 economy, any desire to be rid of encumbrances to his court- 
 ship, could induce a man with so much good in him, as there 
 certainly was in Henry Ward, to expose his orphan brother 
 to such temptations ; and he only reserved his remonstrance 
 in the trust that it would not be needed, and the desire to 
 offer some better alternative of present relief 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE TKIAL. 
 
 One of the examiners was Norman's old school and college 
 friend, Charles Cheviot, now a clergyman and an under-master 
 at one of the great schools recently opened for the middle 
 classes, where he was meeting with great success, and was 
 considered a capital judge of boys' characters. He was the 
 guest of the INIays during the examination j and though his 
 shy formal manner, and con\^ilsive efforts at young lady talk 
 greatly affronted Gertrude, the brothers liked him. 
 
 He was in consternation at the decline of Stoneborough 
 school since Mr. Wilmot had ceased to be an under-master ; 
 the whole tone of the school had degenerated, and it was 
 no wonder that the Government inquiries were ominously 
 directed in that quarter. Scholarship was at a low ebb, 
 Dr. Hoxton seemed to have lost what power of teaching he 
 had ever possessed, and as Dr. May obsei'ved, the poor old 
 school was going to the dogs. But even in the present state 
 of things Leonard had no chance of excelling his competitors. 
 His study, like theirs, had been mere task-work, and though 
 he showed more native power than the rest, yet perhaps this 
 had made the mere learning by rote even more difficult to an 
 active mind full of inquiry. He was a whole year younger 
 than any other who touched the foremost ranks, two year 
 younger than several ; and though he now and then showed 
 a feverish spark of genius, reminding Mr. Cheviot of Norman 
 in his famous examination, it was not sustained — there were 
 will and force, but not scholarship — and besides, there was 
 a wide blurred spot in his memory, as though all the brain- 
 work of the quarter before his illness had been confused, 
 and had not yet become clear. There was every likelihood 
 that a few years would make him superior to the chosen 
 Randall scholar, but at present his utmost efforts did not 
 
THE TRIAL. 197 
 
 even place Min among the seven whose names appeared 
 honourably in the newspaper. It was a failure ; but jVIt. 
 Cheviot had become much interested in the boy for his own 
 sake, as well as from what he heard from the Mays, and he 
 strongly advised that Leonard should at Easter obtain em- 
 ployment for a couple of years at the school in which he 
 himself was concerned. He would thus be maintaininsr 
 himself, and pui'suing his own studies under good direction, 
 so as to have every probability of success in getting an open 
 scholarship at one of the Universities. 
 
 Nothing could be better, and there was a perfect jubilee 
 among the Mays at the proposal. Aubrey was despatched 
 as soon as breakfast was over to bring Leonard to talk it 
 over, and Dr. jMay undertook to propound it to Henry on 
 meeting him at the hospital ; but Aubrey came back looking 
 very blank, Leonard had started of his own accord that 
 morning to announce to his uncle his acceptance of a clerk's 
 desk at the Vintry :Mill ! 
 
 Averil followed upon Aubrey's footsteps, and arrived while 
 the schoolroom was ringing with notes of vexation and con- 
 sternation. She was all upon the defensive. She said that 
 not a word had passed on the subject since the dinner-party, 
 and there had not been a shadow of a dispute between the 
 brothers ; in fact, she evidently was delighted with Leonard's 
 dignified position and strength of determination, and thought 
 this expedition to the Yintry ]\Iill a signal victory. 
 
 AATien she heard what the Mays had to propose, she was 
 enchanted ; she had no doubt of Henry's willing consent, and 
 felt that Leonard's triumph and independence were secured 
 without the sacrifice of prospects, which she had begun to 
 regard as a considerable price for liis dignity. 
 
198 THE TRIAL. 
 
 But Dr. May was not so successful with. Henry Ward. 
 He did not want to disoblige his uncle, who had taken a fancy 
 to Leonard, and might do much for the family ; he thought 
 his father would have changed his views of the uncle and 
 nephew had he known them better, he would not accept the 
 opinion of a stranger against people of his own family, and he 
 had always understood the position of an usher to be most 
 wretched ; nor would he perceive the vast difference between 
 the staff of the middle school and of the private commercial 
 academy. He evidently was pleased to stand upon his 
 rights, to disappoint Dr. May, and perhaps to gratify his 
 jealousy by denying his brother a superior education. 
 
 Yet in spite of this ebullition, which had greatly exasperated 
 Dr. May, there was every probability that Henry's consent 
 might be wrung out or dispensed with, and plans of attack 
 were being arranged at the tea-table, when a new obstacle 
 arose, in tbe shape of a note from Leonard himself. 
 
 " My dear Aubrey, 
 
 " I am very much obliged to Dr. May and Mr. 
 Cheviot for their kind intentions ; but I have quite settled 
 with jNlr. Axworthy, and I enter on my new duties next 
 week. I am sorry to leave our corps, but it is too far off, and 
 I must enter the Whitford one. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 '•'L. A. Ward." 
 
 *' The boy is mad with i)ride and temper," said the Doctor. 
 " And his sister has made him so," added Ethel. 
 "Shall I run down to Bankside and tell him it is all 
 bosh 1 " said Aubrey, jumping up. 
 
THE TPJAL. 199 
 
 " I don't think that is quite possible under Henry's very 
 nose," said Ethel. " Perhaps they •svill all be tamer by to- 
 morrow, now they have blown their trumpets ; but I am very 
 much vexed." 
 
 " And really," added ]Mr. Cheviot, " if he is so wrong- 
 headed, I begin to doubt if I could recommend him." 
 
 "You do not know how he has been galled and irritated," 
 said the general voice. 
 
 " I wonder what Mrs. Pugh thinks of it," presently observed 
 the Doctor. 
 
 "Ah!" said Ethel, "Mrs. Pugh is reading 'John of 
 Anjou.' " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the Doctor ; " I suspected the vnnd. was 
 getting into that quarter. Master Henry does not know his own 
 interest ; she was sure to take part with a handsome lad." 
 
 " VThj have you never got ^Irs. Pugh to speak for him ? " 
 said Mary. " I am sure she would." 
 
 " Mary ! simple Mary, you to be Ave's friend, and not 
 know that her interposition is the only thing wanting to 
 complete the frenzy of the other two 1 " 
 
 Ethel said little more that evening, she was too much 
 grieved and too anxious. She was extremely disappointed in 
 Leonard, and almost hopeless as to his future. She saw but 
 one chance of preventing his seeking this place of temptation 
 and that was in the exertion of her personal influence. His 
 avoidance of her showed that he dreaded it, but one attempt 
 must be made. All night was spent in broken dreams of just 
 failing to meet him, or of being unable to utter what was on 
 her tongue ; and in her waking moments she almost reproached 
 herself for the discovery how near her heart he was, and how 
 much pleasure his devotion had given her. 
 
200 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Nothing but resolution on her own part could bring about 
 a meeting, and she was resolute. She stormed the castle in 
 person, and told Averil she micst speak to Leonard. Ave was 
 on her side now, and answered with tears in her eyes that she 
 should be most grateful to have Leonard persuaded out of this 
 dreadful plan, and put in the way of excelling as he ought to 
 do ; she never thought it would come to this. 
 
 "Xo," thought Ethel ; "people blow sparks without think- 
 ing they may burn a house down.^' 
 
 Ave conducted her to the summer-house, where Leonai-d 
 was packing up his fossils. He met them with a face reso- 
 lutely bent on brightness. " I am to take all my household 
 gods," he said, as he shook hands with Ethel. 
 
 " I see," said Ethel gravely ; and as Averil was already 
 falling out of hearing, she added, " I thought you were 
 entirely breaking with your old life." 
 
 "Xo, indeed," said Leonard, turning to walk with her in 
 the paths ; " I am leaving the place where it is most im- 
 possible to live in." 
 
 " This has been a place of great, over-great trial, I know," 
 said Ethel, " but I do not ask you to stay in it." 
 
 " My word is my word," said Leonard, snapping little 
 bouEjhs off the laurels as he walked. 
 
 " A hasty word ought not to be kept." 
 
 His face looked rigid, and he answered not. 
 
 " Leonard," she said, " I have been very unhappy about 
 you, for I see you doing wilfully wi'ong, and entering a place 
 of temptation in a dangerous spirit." 
 
 " I have given my word," repeated Leonard. 
 
 " Leonard, it is pride that is speaking, not the love of 
 truth and constancy." 
 
THE TKIAL. 201 
 
 " I never defend myself," said Leonard. 
 
 Ethel felt deeply the obduracy and pride of these answers ; 
 her eyes filled with tears, and her hopes failed. 
 
 Perhaps Leonard saw the pain he was giving, for he softened, 
 and said, " ^liss May, I have thought it over, and I cannot 
 go back. I know I was carried away by passion at the first 
 moment, and I was willing to make amends. I was rejected, 
 as you know. Was it fit that we should go on living together 1 " 
 
 " I do not ask you to live together." 
 
 " When he reproached me with the cost of my maintenance, 
 and threatened me with the mill if I lost the scholarship, 
 which he knew I could not get, I said I would abide by those 
 words. I do abide by them." 
 
 " There is no reason that you should. AMiy should you 
 give up all your best and highest hopes, because you cannot 
 forgive your brother 1 " 
 
 " ]Miss May, if I lived with you and the Doctor, I could 
 have such aims. Henry has taken care to make them sacrilege 
 for me. I shall never be fit now, and there's an end of it." 
 
 " You might— " 
 
 " Xo, no, no ! A school, indeed ! I should be dismissed 
 for licking the boys before a week was out ! Besides, I want 
 the readiest way to get on in the world ; I must take care of 
 my sisters ; I don't trust one moment to Henry's afiection for 
 any of them. This is no home for me, and it soon may be no 
 home for them ! ' and the boy^s eyes were full of tears, though 
 his voice struggled for firmness and indifference. 
 
 **I am very sorry for you, Leonard," said Ethel, much 
 more affectionately, as she felt herself nearer her friend of 
 Coombe. " I am glad you have some better motives, but I do 
 not see how you will be more able to help them in this way." 
 
202 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " I shall be near tliem," said Leonard ; " I can watch, over 
 them. And if — if — it is true what they say about Henry 
 and Mrs. Pugh — then they could have a cottage near the 
 mill, and I could live with them. Don't you see, Miss 
 May?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I question whether, on further acquaintance, 
 you will wish for your sisters to be with their relations 
 there. The other course would put you in the way of a 
 better atmosphere for them." 
 
 " But not for six years," said Leonard. " Xo, Miss May ; 
 to show you it is not what you think in me, I will tell you 
 that I had resolved the last thing to ask Henry's pardon 
 for my share in this unhappy haK year ; but this is the only 
 resource for me or my sisters, and my mind is made up." 
 
 *' Leonard, are you not deceiving yourself 1 Are the 
 grapes ever so sour, or the nightshade below so sweet, as 
 when the fox has leapt too short, and is too proud to climb V 
 
 " Nightshade ! Why, pray 1 " 
 
 " My father would tell you ; I know he thinks your 
 cousin no safe companion." 
 
 " I know that already, but I can keep out of his way." 
 
 *'Then this is the end of it," said Ethel, feeling only 
 half justified in going so far, *' the end of all we thought 
 and talked of at Coombe ! " 
 
 There was a struggle in the boy's face, and she did not 
 know whether she had touched or angered him. *' I can't 
 help it," he said, as if he would have recalled liis former 
 hardness ; but then softenmg, " No, ]\Iiss ^lay ; why should 
 it be ? A man can do his duty in any state of life." 
 
 " In any state of life where God has placed him ; but 
 how when it is his own self-will 1 " 
 
THE TEIAL. 203 
 
 " There are times when one must judge for one's self." 
 
 " Very well, then, I have done, Leonard. If you can 
 conscientiously feel that you are acting for the best, and 
 not to gratify your pride, then I can only say I hope you 
 will be helped through the course you have chosen. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " But — Miss May — though I cannot take your advice — " 
 he hesitated, " this is not giving me up 1 " 
 
 " !N'ever, while you let me esteem 3"0U." 
 
 " Thank you/' he said, brightening ; " that is something 
 to keep my head above water, even if this place were all 
 you think it." 
 
 "My father thinks," said Ethel 
 
 " I am engaged now ; I cannot go back," said Leonard. 
 " Thank you. Miss May." 
 
 "Thank you for listening patiently," said Ethel. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 " And — and," he added earnestly, following her back to 
 the house, " you do not think the Coombe days cancelled ? " 
 
 " If you mean my hopes of you," said Ethel, with a 
 swelling heart, " as long as you do your duty — for — for 
 the highest reason, they will only take another course, and 
 I will try to think it the right one." 
 
 Ethel had mentally made this interview the test of her 
 regard for Leonard. She had failed, and so had her test ; 
 her influence had not succeeded, but it had not snapped ; 
 the boy, in all his wilfulness, had been too much for her, 
 and she could no longer condemn and throw him ofl" ! 
 
 Oh ! why will not the rights and wrongs of this world 
 be more clearly divided ? 
 
204 THE TEIAL. 
 
 CHxlPTEE XI. 
 
 ** Tlie stream was deeper than I thought 
 When first I ventured here, 
 I stood upon its sloping edge 
 Without a rising fear.' ' 
 
 H. Bonar. 
 
 It was a comfort to find that the brothers parted on good 
 terms. The elder was beholden to the younger for the 
 acquiescence that removed the odium of tyranny from the 
 expulsion ; and when the one great disturbance had silenced 
 the ephemeral dissensions that had kept both minds in a 
 constant state of irritation, Henry wanted, by kindness and 
 consideration, to prove to himself and the world that 
 Leonard's real interests were his sole object ; and Leonard 
 rejoiced in being at peace, so long as his pride and reso- 
 lution were not sacrificed. He went off as though his 
 employment had been the unanimous choice of the family, 
 carrying with him his dog, his rifle, his fishing-rod, his 
 fossils, and all his other possessions, but with the under- 
 standing that his Sundays were to be passed at home, by 
 way of safeguard to his religion and morals, bespeaking 
 the care and consideration of his senior, as Henry assured 
 
THE TlilAL. 205 
 
 himself and IShs. Pugh, and tried to persuade his sister 
 and Dr. May. 
 
 But Dr. May ^yas more implacable than all the rest. 
 He called Henry's action the deed of Joseph's brethren, and 
 viewed the matter as the responsible head of a family ; he 
 had a more vivid contemporaneous knowledge of the Axworthy 
 antecedents, and he had been a witness to Henry's original 
 indignant repudiation of such a destiny for his brother. 
 He was in the mood of a man whose charity had endured 
 long, and refused to condemn, but whose condemnation, 
 when forced from him, was therefore doubly strong. The 
 displeasure of a loving charitable man is indeed a grave 
 misfortune. 
 
 iN'ever had he known a more selfish and unprincipled 
 measure, deliberately flying in the face of his parents' known 
 wishes before they had been a year in their graves, exposing 
 his brother to ruinous temptation with his eyes open. The 
 lad was destroyed body and soul, as much as if he had been 
 set down in Satan's own clutches ; and if they did not 
 mind what they were about, he would drag Aubrey after 
 him ! As sure as his name was Dick May, he would 
 sooner have cut his hand off than have sent the boys to 
 Coombe together, could he have guessed that this was to 
 be the result ! 
 
 Such discourses did not tend to make Ethel comfortable. 
 If she had been silly enough to indulge in a dream of her 
 influence availing to strengthen Leonard against temptation, 
 she must still have refrained from exerting it through her 
 wonted medium, since it was her father's express desire 
 that Aubrey, for his own sake, should be detached from 
 his friend as much as possible. 
 
206 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Aubrey was the greatest present difficulty. Long before 
 their illness the boys had been the resource of each other's 
 leisure, and Coombe had made their intimacy a friendship 
 of the warmest nature. Aubrey was at an age peculiarly 
 dependent on equal companionship, and in the absence of 
 liis brothers, the loss of his daily intercourse with Leonard 
 took away all the zest of life. Even the volunteer practice 
 lost its charm without the rival with whom he chiefly 
 contended, yet whose success against others was better to 
 him than his own ; his other occupations all wanted partner- 
 ship, and for the first time in his life he showed weariness 
 and contempt of his sisters' society and pursuits. He rushed 
 off on Sunday evenings for a walk with Leonard; and 
 though Dr. May did not interfere, the daughters saw that 
 the abstinence was an effort of prudence, and were pro- 
 portionately disturbed when one day at dinner, in his Other's 
 absence, Aubrey, who had been overlooking his fishing-flies 
 with some reviving interest, refused all his sisters' proposals 
 for the afternoon, and when they represented that it was 
 not a good fishing-day, owned that it was not, but that he 
 was going over to consult Leonard Ward about some grey 
 hackles. 
 
 " But you mustn't, Aubrey," cried Gertrude, aghast. 
 
 Aubrey made her a low mocking bow. 
 
 *'I am sure papa would be very much vexed," added 
 she, conclusively. 
 
 " I believe it was luckless Hal that the mill-wheel tore 
 in your nursery rhymes, eh, Daisy," said Aubrey. 
 
 " Xursery rhymes, indeed ! " returned the offended young 
 lady ; " you know it is a very wicked place, and papa 
 would be very angry at your going there." She looked at 
 
THE TRIAL. 207 
 
 Ethel, extremely shocked at her not having interfered, and 
 disregarding all signs to keep silence. 
 
 "Axworthy — worthy of the axe," said Aubrey, well 
 pleased to retort a little teasing by the way ; " young 
 Axworthy baiting the trap, and old Axworthy sitting up 
 in his den to grind the unwary limb from limb ! " 
 
 " Ethel, why don't you tell him not ? " exclaimed Gertrude. 
 
 " Because he knows papa's wishes as well as I do," said 
 Ethel ; " and it is to them that he must attend, not to you 
 or me." 
 
 Aubrey muttered something about his father having said 
 nothing to him ; and Ethel succeeded in preventing Daisy 
 from resenting this answer. She herself hoped to catch 
 him in private, but he easily contrived to baffle this attempt, 
 and was soon marching out of Stoneborough in a state 
 of rampant independence, manhood, and resolute friendship, 
 which nevertheless chose the way where he was least likely 
 to encounter a little broAvn brougham. 
 
 Otherwise he might have reckoned three and a half 
 miles of ploughed field, soppy lane, and water meadow, as 
 more than ec[uivalent to five miles of good turnpike road. 
 
 Be that as it might, he was extremely glad when, after 
 forcing his way through a sticky clayey path through a 
 hazel copse, his eye fell on a wide reach of meadow land, 
 the railroad making a hard line across it at one end, and 
 in the midst, about half a mile ofi", the river meandering 
 like a blue ribbon lying loosely across the green flat, 
 the handsome buildings of the Yintry 'Mill lying in its 
 embrace. 
 
 Aubrey knew the outward aspect of the place, for the 
 foreman at the mill was a frequent patient of his father s, 
 
208 THE TRIAL. 
 
 and lie had often waited in the old gig at the cottage door 
 at no great distance ; but he looked with more critical eyes 
 at the home of his friend. 
 
 It was a place with much capacity, built, like the Grange, 
 by the monks of the convent, which had been the germ of 
 the cathedral, and showing the grand old monastic style in 
 the solidity of its stone bams and storehouses, all arranged 
 around a court, whereof tlie dwelling-house occupied one 
 side, the lawn behind it with fine old trees, and sloping 
 down to the water, which was full of bright ripples after its 
 agitation around the great mill-wheel. The house was of 
 more recent date, having been built by a wealthy yeoman 
 of Queen Anne's time, and had long ranges of square- 
 headed sash windows, surmounted by a pediment, carved 
 with emblems of Ceres and Bacchus, and a very tall front 
 door, also with a pediment, and with stone steps leading 
 up to it. Of the same era appeared to be the great gateway, 
 and the turret above it, containing a clock, the hands of 
 which pointed to 3.40. 
 
 Aubrey had rather it had been four, at which time the 
 office closed. He looked round the court, which seemed 
 very clean and rather empty — stables, barns, buildings, 
 and dwelling-house not showing much sign of life, excepting 
 the ceaseless hum and clack of the mill, and the dash of 
 the water which propelled it. The windows nearest to him 
 were so large and low, that he could look in and see that 
 the two or three first belonged to living rooms, and the 
 next two showed him business fittings, and a back that he 
 took to be Leonard's ; but he paused in doubt how to 
 present himself, and whether this were a welcome moment ; 
 and he was very glad_ to see in a doorway of the upper 
 
THE TRIAL. 209 
 
 ston' of the mill buildiiiixs, the honest floury face of his 
 father's old patient — the foreman. 
 
 Greeting him in the open cordial way common to all Dr. 
 Clay's children, Aubrey was at once recognised, and the old 
 man came down a step-ladder in the interior to welcome him, 
 and answer his question where he should find ISIr. Ward. 
 
 " He is in the office, sir, there, to the left lland as you go 
 in at the front door, but — " and he looked up at the clock, 
 " maybe, you would not mind waiting a bit till it strikes four. 
 I don't know whether master might be best pleased at young 
 gentlemen coming to see him in office hours." 
 
 " Thank you," said Aubrey. " I did not mean to be too 
 soon. Hardy, but I did not know how long the walk 
 would be." 
 
 Perhaps it would have been more true had he said that he 
 had wanted to elude his sisters, but he was glad to accept a 
 seat on a bundle of sacks tremulous with the motion of the 
 mill, and to enter into a conversation with the old foreman, 
 (me of those good old peasants whose integrity and skill 
 render them privileged persons, worth their weight in gold 
 long after their bodily strengfth has given way. 
 
 " AVeil, Hardy, do you mean to make a thorough good 
 miller of Mr. Ward 1 " 
 
 " Bless you, Master ^lay, he'll never stay here long 
 enough." 
 
 "^Miynot?" 
 
 " Xo, nor his friends didn't ought to let him stay ! *' added 
 Hardy. 
 
 " Why 1 " said Aubrey. " Do you think so badly of yr.ur 
 own trade, Hardy ? " 
 
 But he could not get an answer from the oracle on this 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 THE TRIAL. 
 
 head. Hardy continued, " He's a nice young gentleman, but 
 he'll never put up with it." 
 
 " Put up with what ? " asked Aubrey, anxiously ; but at 
 that instant a carter appeared at the door with a question 
 for Master Hardy, and Aubrey was left to his own devices, 
 and the hum and clatter of the mill, till the clock had struck 
 four ; and beginning to think that Hardy had forgotten him, 
 he was about to set out and reconnoitre, when to his great 
 joy Leonard himself came hurrying up, and heartily shook 
 him by the hand. 
 
 " Hardy told me you were here," he said. " Well done, 
 old fellow, I didn't think they would have let you come and 
 see me." 
 
 " The girls did make a great row about it," said Aubrey, 
 triumphantly, "but I was not going to stand any nonsense." 
 
 Leonard looked a little doubtful ; tlien said, " Well, will 
 you see the place, or come and sit in my room ? There is 
 the parlour, but we shall not be so quiet there." 
 
 Aubrey decided for Leonard's room, and was taken 
 through the front door into a vestibule paved with white 
 stone, with black lozenges at the intersections. " There," 
 said Leonard, " the office is here, you see, and my uncle's 
 rooms beyond, all on the ground floor, he is too infirm to go 
 np-stairs. This way is the dining-room, and Sam has got a 
 sitting-room beyond, then there are the servants' rooms. It 
 is a great place, and horridly empty." 
 
 Aubrey thought so, as his footsteps echoed up the hand- 
 some but ill-kept stone staircase, with its fanciful balusters 
 half choked with dust, and followed Leonard along a corridor, 
 with deep windows overlooking the garden and river, and 
 great panelled doors opposite, neither looking as if they were 
 
THE TRIAL. 211 
 
 often either cleaned or opened, and the jDassage smelling 
 very fusty. 
 
 '* Pah I " said Aubrey ; '' it puts me iu mind of the wings 
 of houses in books that get shut up because somebody has 
 been murdered ! Are you sure it is not haunted, Leonard ? " 
 
 " Only by the rats," he answered, laughing ; " they make 
 such an intolerable row, that poor little Mab is frightened 
 out of her wits, and I don't know whether they would not 
 eat her up if she did not creep up close to me. I'm tired of 
 going at them with the poker, and would poison every man 
 Jack of them if it were not for the fear of her getting the 
 dose by mistake." 
 
 "Is that what Hardy says you will never put up with ? " 
 asked Aubrey ; but instead of answering, Leonard turned to 
 one of the great windows, saving, 
 
 " Tliere now, would not this be a charming place if it were 
 properly kept 1 " and Aubrey looked out at the great cedar, 
 spreading out its straight limbs and flakes of dark foliage 
 over the sloping lawn, one branch so near the window as to 
 invite adventurous exits, and a little boat lying moored in the 
 dancing water below. 
 
 "Perfect!" said Aubrey. "What fish there must lie in 
 the mill tail ! " 
 
 " Ay, I mean to have a try at them some of these days, I 
 should like you to come and help, but perhaps — Ha, little 
 Mab, do you wonder what I'm after so long ? Here's a friend 
 for you : " as the little dog danced delighted round him, and 
 paid Aubrey her affectionate respects. Her delicate drawing- 
 room beauty did not match with the spacious but neglected- 
 looking room whence she issued. It had three great uncm- 
 tained windows looking into the court, with deep wdndow 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE TKIAL. 
 
 seats, olive- coloured painted walls, tlie worse for damp and 
 wear, a small amount of old-fasliioned solid furniture, and a 
 Leonard's individual goods, chiefly disposed of in a cupboard 
 in the wall, but Averil's beautiful water-coloured drawings 
 hung over the chimney. To Aubrey's petted home-bred 
 notions it was very bare and dreary, and he could not help 
 exclaiming, " Well, they don't lodge you sumptuously ! " 
 
 " I don't fancy many clerks in her Majesty's dominions have 
 so big and airy an apartment to boast of," said Leonard, 
 "Let's see these flies of yours." 
 
 Their mysteries occupied the boys for some space ; but 
 Aubrey returned to the charge. "What is it that Hardy 
 says you'll never put up with, Leonard 1 " 
 
 " What did the old fellow say'?" asked Leonard, laughing ; 
 and as Aubrey repeated the conversation, ending with the 
 oracular prediction, be laughed again, but said proudly, " He'll 
 see himself wrong then. Lll put up with whatever I've un- 
 dertaken." 
 
 " But what does he mean 1 " 
 
 " Serving one's apprenticeship, I suppose," said Leonard ; 
 " they all think me a fine gentleman, and above the work, I 
 know, though I've never stuck at anything yet. If I take to 
 the business, I suppose it is capable of being raised up to me 
 — it need not pull me down to it, eh 1 " 
 
 " There need be no down in the case/' said Aubrey. " My 
 father always says there is no doivn except in meanness and 
 wrong. But," as if that mention brought a recollection to 
 his mind, " what o'clock is it ? I must not stay much longer." 
 " I'll walk a bit of the way home with you," said Leonard, 
 but I must be back by five for dinner. I go to rifle practice 
 two days in the wcelc, and I don't like to miss the others, for 
 
THE TRIAL. 213 
 
 Sam's often out, and the poor old man does not like being left 
 alone at meals." 
 
 The two boys were at the room door, when Aubrey heard 
 a step, felt the fustiness enlivened by the odour of a cigar, and 
 saw a figure at the top of the stairs. 
 
 " I say, Ward," observed Mr. Sam, in a rude domineering 
 voice, " Spelman's account must be all looked over to-night ; 
 he says that there is a blunder. D'ye hear ] "' 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " A\Tio have you got there ? " 
 
 " It is Aubrey May." 
 
 " Oh ! good morning to you," making a kind of salutation ; 
 " have you been looking at the water ? We've got some fine 
 fish there, if you like to throw a line any day. — Well, that 
 account must be done to-night, and if you can't find the error, 
 you'll only have to do it over again." 
 
 Leonard's colour had risen a good deal, but he said nothing, 
 and his cousin ran down stairs and drove ofi" in his dog- carl 
 
 " Is it much of a business ? " said Aubrey, feeling extremely 
 indignant. 
 
 " Look here," said Leonard, leading the way down stairs 
 and into the office, where he pointed to two huge account 
 books. " Every page in that one must I turn over this 
 blessed night ; and if he had only told me three hours ago, 
 I could have done the chief of it, instead of kicking my heels 
 all the afternoon." 
 
 " Has he any right to order you about, out of office hours, 
 and without a civil word either ? Why do you stand it ? " 
 
 " Because I can stand anything better than being returned 
 on Henry's hands," said Leonard, "and he has spite enough 
 
214 THE TRIAL. 
 
 for that. The thing must be done, and if he won't do it, I 
 must, that's all. Come along." 
 
 As they went out the unwieldly figure of the elder Mr. 
 Axworthy was seen, leaning out of his open window smoking 
 a clay pipe. He spoke in a much more friendly tone, as he 
 said, " Going out, eh '? Mind the dinner-time." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Leonard, coming nearer, " I'm not going 
 far." 
 
 "Who have you got there ? " was again asked. 
 
 " One of the young IMays, sir. I was going to walk part of 
 the way hack." 
 
 Aubrey thought the grunt not very civil ; and as the boys 
 and Mab passed under the gateway, Leonard continued, 
 " There's not much love lost between him and your father ; 
 he hates the very name." 
 
 " I should expect he would," said Aubrey, as if his hatred 
 were an honour. 
 
 " I fancy there's some old grievance," said Leonard, " where 
 he was wrong of course. jN^ot that that need hinder your 
 coming over, Aubrey ; I've a right to my own friends, but — " 
 
 " And so have I to mine," said Aubrey eagerly. 
 
 " But you see," added Leonard, " I wouldn't have you do 
 it — if — if it vexes your sister. I can see you every Sunday, 
 you know, and we can have some fun together on Saturdays 
 when the evenings get longer." 
 
 Aubrey's face fell ; he had a strong inclination for Leonard's 
 company, and likewise for the trout in the mill tail, and he 
 did not like his independence to be unappreciated. 
 
 " You see," said Leonard, laying his hand kindly on his 
 shoulder, "it is very jolly of you, but I know they would 
 
THE TRIAL. 215 
 
 hate it in the High Street if you were often here, and it is 
 not worth that. Besides, Aubrey, to tell the plam truth, 
 Sam's not fit company for any decent fellow." 
 
 " I can't think how he came to ask me to fish." 
 
 " Just to show he is master, because he kneAv the poor old 
 man would not like it ! It is one reason he is so savage with 
 me, because his uncle took me without his consent." 
 
 " But, Leonard, it must be worse than the living at home 
 ever was." 
 
 Leonard laughed. " Its different being ja^^-ed in the way 
 of business and at one's own home. I'd go through a good 
 deal more than I do here in the week to have home what it is 
 now on Sunday. AVhy, Henry really seems glad to see me, 
 and we have not had the shadow of a row since I came over 
 here. Don't you tell Ave all this, mind, and you may just 
 as well not talk about it at home, you know, or they will 
 think I'm going to cry ofi"." 
 
 Aubrey was going to ask what he looked to ; but Leonard 
 saw, or thought he saw, a weasel in the hedge, and the con- 
 sequent charge and pursuit finished the dialogue, the boys 
 parted, and Aubrey walked home, his satisfaction in his 
 expedition oozing away at every step, though his resolve to 
 assert his hberty grew in proportion. 
 
 Of course it had not been possible to conceal from Dr. May 
 where Aubrey was gone, and his annoyance had burst out 
 vehemently, the whole round of objurgations against the 
 Wards, the Vintry Mill, and his o^vn folly in fostering the 
 friendship, were gone through, and Ethel had come in for 
 more than she could easily bear, for not having prevented 
 the escapade. Gertrude had hardly ever seen her father so 
 angry, and sat quaking for her brother ; and Ethel meekly 
 
216 THE TRIAL. 
 
 avoided auswering again, Avitli the happy trustfulness of 
 experienced love. 
 
 At lust, as the tea was nearly over, Auhrey walkeil in, 
 (juite ready for self-defence. Xobody spoke for a little while, 
 except to supply him with food ; but presently Dr. May said, 
 not at all in the tone in which he had talked of his son's 
 journey, "You might as well have told me of your intentions, 
 Aubrey." 
 
 " I didn't think they mattered to anybody," said Aubrey ; 
 " we generally go our own way in the afternoon." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Dr. INIay. " Interference with the liberty of 
 the subject ? " 
 
 Aubrey coloured, and felt he had not quite spoken truth. 
 " I could not give him up, father," he said, less defiantly. 
 
 " No, certainly not ; but I had rather you only saw him at 
 home. It will be more for our peace of mind/' 
 
 " Well father," said Aubrey, " I am not going there any 
 more. He told me not himself : " and then with laughing 
 eyes he added, " He said you would not like it, Ethel." 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said Ethel, greatly touched. 
 
 "Very right of him," said Dr. May, well pleased. " He is 
 a fine lad, and full of proper feeling. AVhat sort of a berth 
 has the old rogue given him, Aubrey % " 
 
 Much relieved that matters had taken this course, Aubrey 
 tried to tell only as much as his friend would approve, but 
 the medium was not easily found, and pretty nearly the 
 whole came out. Dr. May was really delighted to hear how 
 8am treated him. 
 
 " If that fellow takes the oppressive line, there may be 
 si)me hope," he said. " His friendship is the worse danger 
 than his enmity.'' 
 
THE TRIAL. 217 
 
 When the sisters had bidden good night, the doctor detained 
 Aubrey to say very kindly, " My boy I do not like to hear of 
 your running counter to your sister." 
 
 " I'm not going there again," said Aubrey, willing to 
 escape. 
 
 " Wait a minute, Aubrey," said Dr. May ; "I want to tell 
 you that I feel for you in this matter more than my way of 
 talking may have made it seem to you. I have a great regard 
 for your friend Leonard, and think he has been scandalously 
 used, and I don't want to lessen your attachment to liim. 
 Far be it from me to think lightly of a friendship, especially 
 of one formed at your age. Your very name, my boy, shows 
 that I am not likely to do that ! " 
 
 Aubrey smiled frankly, his offended self-assertion entirely 
 melted. 
 
 " I know it is very hard on you, but you can understand 
 that the very reasons that made me so averse to Leonard's 
 taking this situation, would make me anxious to keep you 
 away from his relations there, not necessarily from hiuL As 
 long as he is what he is now, I would not lift a finger to keep 
 you from him. Have I ever done so, Aubrey ] " 
 
 ":N'o, papa." 
 
 " Xor vnU. I, as long as he is what I see him now. After 
 this, Aubrey, is it too much to ask of you to keep out of the 
 way of the persons with whom he is thrown ? " 
 
 " I will do so, papa. He wishes it himself.'^ Then Avith 
 an effort, he added, " I am sorry I went to-day ; I ought not, 
 but — " and he l<)oked a little foolish. 
 
 " You did not like taking orders from the girls ? Xo 
 wonder, Aubrey ; I have been very thankful to you for 
 bearing it as you have done. It is the worst of home educa- 
 
218 THE TRIAL. 
 
 tion that these spirits of manliness generally have no vent 
 but mischief. But you are old enough now to be thankful 
 for such a friend and adviser as Ethel, and I don't imagine 
 that she orders you." 
 
 " Xo," said Aubrey, smiling and mumbling ; " but Daisy — " 
 
 '' Oh, I can quite understand the aggravation of Daisy 
 happening to be right ; but you must really be man enough 
 to mind your own conscience, even if Daisy it imprudent 
 enough to enforce it." 
 
 " It was not only that," said Aubrey, " but I could not 
 have Ward thinking I turned up my nose at his having got 
 into business." 
 
 " Xo, Aubrey, he need never fancy it is the business that 
 I object to, but the men. Make that clear to him, and ask 
 him to this house as much as 3'ou please. The more 
 * thorough ' he is in his business, the more I shall respect 
 him." 
 
 Aubrey smiled, and thanked his father with a cleared 
 brow, wondering at himself for having gone without con- 
 sulting him. 
 
 " Good night, my boy. May this friendship of yours be a 
 life-long stay and blessing to you both, even though it may 
 cost you some pain and self-command, as all good things 
 must, Aubrey." 
 
 That evening Ethel had been writing to Cambridge. Tom 
 had passed his examination with great credit, and taken an 
 excellent degree, after which he projected a tour in Germany, 
 for which he had for some time been economizing, as a well- 
 earned holiday before commencing his course of hospitals and 
 lectures. Tom was no great correspondent, and had drilled 
 his sisters into putting nothing but the essential into their 
 
THE TRIAL. 219 
 
 letters, instead, as lie said, of concealing it in flummery. This 
 is a specimen of tlie way Tom liked to be written to. 
 
 " Stoneborough, Feb. 20th. 
 " My dear Tom, 
 
 " Dr. Spencer says nothing answers so well as 
 
 a knapsack. Get one at . The price is £ s. d. Order 
 
 extra fittings as required, including a knife and fork. Letters 
 from X. Z. of the 1st of !N'ovember ; all well. I wish Aubrey 
 was going with you ; he misses Leonard Ward so sorely, as 
 to be tempted to follow him to the Vintry Mill. I suspect 
 your words are coming true, and the days of petticoat govern- 
 ment ending. However, even if he would not be in your way, 
 he could not afford to lose six months' study before going into 
 residence. 
 
 " Your affectionate sister, 
 
 "Etheldked May." 
 
 Tom wrote that he should spend a night in London and 
 come home. When he came, the family exclaimed that his 
 microscope, whose handsome case he carried in his hand, was 
 much grown. " And improved too, I hope," said Tom, pro- 
 ceeding to show off various new acquisitions and exchanges in 
 the way of eye-pieces, lenses, and other appliances of the most 
 expensive order, till his father exclaimed, 
 
 " Eeally, Tom, I wish I had the secret of your purse." 
 
 " The fact is," said Tom, " that I thought more would be 
 gained by staying at home, so I turned my travels into a 
 binocular tube," &c, 
 
 Aubrey and Gertrude shouted that Tom certainly did love 
 
220 THE rrjAL, 
 
 the microscope better than any earthly thing ; and he coolly 
 accepted the inference. 
 
 Somewhat later, he announced that he had decided that 
 he shouhl be better able to profit by the London lectures 
 and hospitals, if he first studied for half a year at the one 
 at Stoneborough, under the direction of his father and 
 Dr. Spencer. 
 
 Di'. ]\ray was extremely gratified, and really esteemed this 
 one of the grea4}est compliments his science had ever received ; 
 Dr. Spencer could not help observing, ''I did not think it 
 was in him to do such a wise tiling. I never can fathom 
 the rogue. I hope he was not bitten during his benevolent 
 exertions last winter." 
 
 ^Meantime, Tom had observed that he had time to see that 
 Aubrey was decently prepared for Cambridge, and further 
 promoted the boy to be his out-of-door companion, removing 
 all the tedium and perplexity of the last few weeks, though 
 apparently merely indulging his own inclinations. Ethel 
 recognised the fruit of her letter, and could well forgive the 
 extra care in housekeeping required for Tom's critical tastes, 
 nay, the cool expulsion of herself and Gertrude from her 
 twenty years' home, the school-room, and her final severance 
 from Aubrey's studies, though at the cost of a pang that 
 reminded her of her gu'lhood's sorrow at letting Norman 
 shoot ahead of her. She gave no hint ; she knew that 
 implicit reserve was the condition of his strange silent con- 
 fidence in her, and that it would be utterly forfeited unless 
 she allowed his fraternal sacrifice to pass for mere long-headed 
 prudence. 
 
 Aubrey's Saturday and Sunday meetings with his friend 
 were not yielded, even to Tom, who endeavoui-ed to interfere 
 
THE TRIAL. 
 
 00 
 
 with tliem, anil would fain liave cut tlie connexion with tlio 
 entire family, treating Miss "Ward with the most distant and 
 supercilious bows on the unpleasantly numerous occasions of 
 meeting her in the street, and contriving to be markedly 
 scornful in his punctilious civility to Henry Ward when they 
 met at the hosi^ital. His very look appeared a sarcasm, to 
 the fancy of the Wards ; and he had a fashion of kindly 
 inquiring after Leonard, that seemed to both a deliberate 
 reproach and insult. 
 
 Disputes had become less frequent at Bankside since 
 Leonard's departure, and few occasions of actual dissension 
 arose ; but tlie spirit of party was not extinguished, and the 
 brother and sister had adopted lines that perhaps clashed 
 less because they diverged more. 
 
 Averil had, in reply to the constant exhortations to econo- 
 mize, resolved to decline all invitations, and this kept her 
 constantly at home, or with her harmonium ; whereas Henry 
 made such constant engagements, that their, dining together 
 was the exception, not the rule. After conscientiously teach- 
 ing her sisters in the morning, she devoted the rest of her 
 day to their walk, and to usefulness in the parish. She liked 
 her tasks, and would have been very happy in them, but for 
 the constant anxiet\' that hung over her lest her home should 
 soon cease to be her home. 
 
 Henry's devotion to Mrs. Piigli could no longer be mis- 
 taken. The conviction of his intentions grew upon his 
 sister, first from a mere absurd notion, banished from her 
 mind with derision, then from a misgiving angrily silenced, 
 to a fixed expectation, confirmed by the evident opinion of 
 all around her, and calling for decision and self-command on 
 her own part. 
 
222 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Perhaps her feelings were unnecessarily strong, and in 
 some degree unjust to IMrs. Pugh ; but she had the mis- 
 fortune to be naturally proud and sensitive, as well as by 
 breeding too refined in tone for most of those who sur- 
 rounded her. She had taken a personal dislil^e to Mrs. Pugh 
 from the first ; she regarded pretension as insincerity, and 
 officiousness as deliberate insult, and she took the recoil of 
 her taste for the judgment of principle. To see such a 
 woman ruling in her mother's, her own, home would be bad 
 enough ; but to be ruled by her, and resign to her the 
 management of the children, would be intolerable beyond 
 measure. Too unhappy to speak of her anticipations even to 
 Leonard or to Mary jMay, she merely endeavoured to throw 
 them off from day to day ; till one evening, when the days 
 had grown so long that she could linger in the twilight in 
 the garden before her singing practice, she was joined by 
 Henry, with the long apprehended " I want to speak to you, 
 Ave." 
 
 Was it coming ? Her heart beat so fast, that she could 
 hardly hear his kind commencement about her excellent 
 endeavours, and the house's unhappy want of a mistress, the 
 children's advantage, and so on. She knew it could only 
 tend to one point, and longed to have it reached and passed. 
 Of course she would be prepared to hear who was the object 
 of his choice, and she could not but murmur " Yes " and 
 '' Well." 
 
 " And, Ave, you will, I hope, be gratified to hear that I 
 am not entirely rejected. The fact is, that I spoke too soon." 
 Averil could have jumped for joy, and was glad it was too 
 dusk for her face to be seen. " I do not believe that her late 
 husband could have had any strong hold on her afi'ections ; 
 
THE TRIAL. 223 
 
 but she has not recovered the shock of his loss, and entreated, 
 as a favour granted to her sentiments of respect for his 
 memory, not to hear the subject mentioned for at least 
 another year. I am permitted to visit at the house as usual, 
 and no difference is to be made in the terms on which we 
 stand. Now, Ave, will you — may I ask of you, to do what 
 you can to remove any impression that she might not be 
 welcome in the family 1 " 
 
 " I never meant — " faltered Averil, checked by sincerity. 
 
 " You have always been — so — so cold and backward in 
 cultivating her acquaintance, that I cannot wonder if she 
 should think it disagreeable to you ; but, Ave, when you 
 consider my happiness, and the immense advantage to all of 
 yon, I am sure you will do what is in your power in my 
 behalf" He spoke more affectionately and earnestly than he 
 had done for months ; and Averil was touched, and felt that 
 to hang back would be unkind. 
 
 " I will try," she said. " I do hope it may turn out for 
 your happiness, Henry." 
 
 " For all our happiness," said Henry, walking down to the 
 gate and along the road with her, proving all the way that he 
 was acting solely for the good of the others, and that Averil 
 and the children would find their home infinitely happier. 
 
 A whole year — a year's reprieve — was the one thought in 
 Averil's head, that made her listen so graciously, and answer 
 so amiably, that Henry parted with her full of kind, warm 
 feeling. 
 
 As the sage said, who was to be beheaded if he could not 
 in a year teach the king's ass to speak — what might not 
 happen in a year ; the king might die, the ass might die, or 
 he might die — any way there was so much gained : and 
 
224 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Averil, for the time, felt as light-hearted as if IMrs. Pugh had 
 vanished into empt}' air. To be sure, her own life had, of 
 late, been far from happy ; but this extemsion of it was hailed 
 with suppressed ecstasy — almost as an answer to her prayers. 
 All, Ave, little did you know what you wished in hoping for 
 anything to prevent the marriage ! 
 
 She did obey her brother so far as to call upon Mrs. Pugh, 
 whom she found in ordinar}^ mourning, and capless — a sign 
 that dismayed her ; but, on the other hand, the lady, though 
 ver}^ good-natured and patronizing, entertained her with the 
 j)raises of King John, and showed her a copy of Magna 
 Charta in process of illumination. Also, during her call, 
 Tom May walked in with a little book on drops of water ; 
 and Averil found the lady had become inspired w^ith a micro- 
 scopic furore, and was thinking of setting up a lens, and 
 preparing objects for herseK, under good tuition. 
 
 Though Averil was very desii'ous that Mrs. Pugh should 
 refuse her brother, yet this was the last service she wished 
 the May family to render her. She w^as sure Tom May must 
 dislike and despise the widow as much as she did ; and since 
 the whole town T^'as unluckily aware of Henry's intentions, 
 any interference with them was base and malicious, if in the 
 way of mere amusement and flirtation. She was resolved to 
 see what the game was, but only did see that her presence 
 greatly disconcerted " Mr. Thomas May." 
 
 Henry was wretched and irritable in the velvet paw^s of 
 the widow, who encouraged him enough to give him hope, 
 and then held him aloof, or w^as equally amiable to some one 
 else. Perhaps the real interpretation was, that she loved 
 attention. She was in all sincerity resolved to observe a 
 proper period of widowhood, and not determined whether, 
 
THE TEIAL. 225 
 
 when, or hovr, it should terminate : courtship amused her, 
 and though attracted by Henry and his good house, the 
 evidences of temper and harshness had made her unwilling 
 to commit herself; besides that, she was afraid of Averil, 
 and she was more flattered by the civilities of a lioncel like 
 Harvey Anderson ; or if she could be sure of what Mr. 
 Thomas May's intentions were, she would have preferred an 
 embryo physician to a full-grown surgeon — at any rate, it 
 was right by her poor dear ]\Ir. Pugh to wait. 
 
 She need not have feared having Averil as an inmate. 
 Averil talked it over with Leonard, and determined that no 
 power on earth should make her live with Mrs. Pugh, If 
 that were necessary to forward his suit, she would make it 
 plain that she was ready to depart. 
 
 " Oh, Leonard, if my uncle were but a nice sort of person, 
 how pleasant it would be for me and the children to live 
 there, and keep his house ; and I could make him so com- 
 fortable, and nurse him ! " 
 
 " ^N'ever, Ave ! " cried Leonard ; " don't let the thing be 
 talked o£" 
 
 " Oh no, I know it would not do with Samuel there ; but 
 should we be too young for your old scheme of having a 
 cottaf'e toc^ether near 1 " 
 
 o o 
 
 " I did not know what the Axworthys were hke," returned 
 Leonard. 
 
 " But need we see them much 1 " 
 
 " ril tell you what, Ave, I've heard them both — yes, the 
 old man the worst of the two — say things about women that 
 made my blood boil" Leonard was quite red as he spoke. 
 " My father never let my mother see any of the concern, and 
 now I know why, I'll never let you do so." 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 THE TEIAI.. 
 
 " Then there is only one other thing to be done," said 
 Averil ; " and that is for me to go back to school as a parlour 
 boarder, and taJce the children with me. It would be very- 
 good for them, and dear Mrs. AVood would be very glad to 
 have me." 
 
 " Yes," said Leonard, " that is the only right thing, Ave ; 
 and the Mays will say so, too. Have you talked it over with 
 them ? " 
 
 " ]N'o ; I hate talking of this thing." 
 
 " Well, you had better get their advice. It is the best 
 thing going ! " said Leonard, with a sigh that sounded as if he 
 wished he had taken it. 
 
 But it was not to Averil that he said so. To her he spoke 
 brightly of serving the time for which he was bound to his 
 uncle ; then of making a fresh engagement, that would open 
 a home to her ; or, better still, suppose Sam did not w^ish to 
 go on with the business, he might take it, and make the mill 
 the lovely place it might be. It was to Aubrey May that the 
 boy's real feelings came out, as, on the Sunday evening, they 
 slowly wandered along the bank of the river. Aubrey had 
 seen a specimen of his life at the mill, and been kept up to 
 the knowledge of its events ; and he well knew that Leonard 
 was heartily sick of it. That the occupation was uncongenial 
 and tedious in the extreme to a boy of good ability and 
 superior education — nay, that the drudgery was made un- 
 necessarily oppressive, was not the point he complained of, 
 though it was more trying than he had expected. That was 
 the bed that he had made, and that he must lie upon. It 
 was the suspicion of frauds and tricks of the trade, and, still 
 worse, the company that he lived in. Sam Axworthy hated 
 and tyrannized over him too much to make dissipation 
 
THE TKTAL. 227 
 
 alluring ; and he was only disgusted by the foul language, 
 coarse manners, and the remains of intemperance worked off 
 in violent temper. 
 
 The old man, though helpless and past active vice, was 
 even more coarse in mind and conversation than his nephew ; 
 and yet his feebleness, and Sam's almost savage treatment 
 of him, enlisted Leonard's pity on his side. In general, the 
 old man was kind to Leonard, but would abuse him roundly 
 when the evidences of his better principles and training, or 
 his allegiance to Dr. May, came forward ; and Leonard, 
 though greatly compassionating him, could not always bear 
 his reproaches with patience, and was held back from more 
 attention to him than common humanity required, by an 
 unlucky suggestion that he was currying favour in the hope 
 of supplanting Sam. 
 
 " Old Hardy is the only honest man in the place, I do be- 
 lieve," said Leonard. " I'll tell you what, Aubrey, I have 
 made up my mind, there is one thing I will not do. If ever 
 they want to make me a party to any of their cheatings, I'll 
 be off. That window and the cedar tree stand very handy. 
 I've been out there to bathe in the early summer mornings, 
 plenty of times already, so never you be surprised if some 
 fine day you hear — non est inventus.^' 
 
 "And where would you go ?" 
 
 " Get up to London, and see if my quarter's salary would 
 take me out in the steerai^e to some dif(^inf(s or other. What 
 would your brother say to me if I turned up at the Grange 
 —Xew Zealand?" 
 
 " Say ! Mention Ethel, and see what he would not say." 
 
 And the two boys proceeded to arrange the details of 
 the evasion in such ^ivid colouring, that they had nearly 
 
 q2 
 
228 THE TRIAL. 
 
 forgotten all present troubles, above all when Leonard pro 
 ceeded to declare that Xew Zealand was too tame and too 
 settled for him, he should certainly find something to do in 
 the Feejee Isles, where the high spirit of tlie natives, their 
 painted visages, and marvellous head-dresses, as depicted in 
 (Jaj)tain Erskine's voyage, had greatly fired his fancy, and they 
 even settled how the gold fields should rebuild the jMarket 
 Cross. 
 
 " And when I'm gone, Aubrey, mind you see to Mab," he 
 said, laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! I thought Mab was to act AYhittington's Cat." 
 " I'm afraid they would eat her up ; besides, there's the 
 voyage. No, you must keep her till I come home, even if 
 she is to end like Argus. Would you die of joy at seeing 
 me, eh, little black neb ?" 
 
THE TKIAL. 229 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 " Let us meet, 
 And question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it farther." Macbeth. 
 
 " If you please, sir. Master Hardy from the Yintry Mill 
 wants to see yoii," said a voice at Dr. May's door early in the 
 morning ; and the doctor completed his dressing in haste, 
 muttering to himself exclamations of concern that the old 
 man's malady should have returned. 
 
 On entering the stud}^, Hardy's appearance, whiter than 
 even the proverbial hue of his trade, his agitation of feature, 
 confused eye, and trembling lip, inspired fears that the case 
 was more alarming than had. been apprehended ; but to cheer 
 him, the doctor began, " Frightened about yourself, ]\ faster 
 Hardy, eh ? You've come out without breakfast, and that's 
 enough to put any man out of heart." 
 
 "^N"©, sir," said the old man, " it is nothing about myself; 
 I wish it were no worse ; but I've not got the heart to go to 
 tell the poor young gentleman, and I thought — " 
 
 " What — what has happened to the boy?" exclaimed Dr. 
 j\Iay, sharply, standing as if ready to receive the rifle shot 
 which he already believed had destroyed Leonard. 
 
230 THE TEIAL. 
 
 " That's Tvhat v:e can't say, sir," returned Hardy ; " but he 
 is gone, no one knows where. And, sir, my poor master Avas 
 found at five o'clock this morning, in his chair in his sitting- 
 room, stone dead from a blow^ on the head." 
 
 " !Mind what you are saying ! " shouted the doctor passion- 
 ately. " You old scoundrel, you don't mean to tell me that 
 you are accusing the lad ! " 
 
 " I accuse nobody, sir," said the old man, standing his 
 ground, and speaking steadily, but respectfully, " I wouldn't 
 say nothing to bring any one into trouble if I could help it ; 
 and I came to ask you what was to be done." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I beg your pardon. Hardy, but it sounded 
 enough to overset one. Y'our poor master murdered, you 
 say!" 
 
 Hardy nodded assent. 
 
 " And young AVard missing 1 Why, the burglars must 
 have hurt the poor fellow in defending his uncle. Have you 
 searched the place 1 " 
 
 " I never thought of that, sir," said Hardy, his counte- 
 nance much relieved ; " it would be more like such a young 
 gentleman as Mr. Ward." 
 
 " Then w^e'll get over to the mill as fast as we can, and see 
 what can be done," said Dr. May, snatching up his hat and 
 gloves. " You come and walk with me to Bankside, and tell 
 me by the way about this terrible business. Good heavens ! 
 they'll have thrown the boy into the river !" 
 
 And calling out that his carriage should follow to Bank- 
 side, the doctor dashed up-stairs, and knocked at Ethel's 
 door, "My dear," he said, "there has been a robbery or 
 something at the Yintry jNIill. I must go and see Henry Ward 
 about it. Poor old Axworthy is murdered, and I'm terribly 
 
THE TEIAL. 231 
 
 afraid Leonard has met with some foul play. You or Mary- 
 had better go and see about Ave presently, but don't believe 
 a word of anything tiU you see me again." 
 
 And shutting the door, while Ethel felt as if the room were 
 reeling round with her, Dr. ISIay was in a few seconds more 
 hastening along by Hardy's side, extracting from him the 
 little he had to tell. The old man had been unlocking the 
 door of the mill at five o'clock, when he was summoned by 
 loud shrieks from the window of Mr. Axworthy's sitting- 
 room, and found that the little maid had been appalled by 
 the sight of her master sunk forward from his gouty chair 
 upon the table, his hair covered with blood. Hardy had 
 been the first to touch him, and to perceive that he had long 
 been dead. The housekeeper, the only other servant who 
 slept in the house, had rushed in half-dressed ; but neither 
 nephew appeared. Young Axworthy had gone the previous 
 day to the county races, leaving the time of his return doubt- 
 ful ; and Leonard Ward did not answer when called. It 
 was then found that his room was empty, his bed untouched, 
 and the passage window outside his door left open. The 
 terrified servants held confused consultation, and while the 
 groom had hurried off to give the alarm at Whitford, and 
 ride on in search of Sam Axworthy, Hardy had taken 
 another horse and started to inform Henry AVard, but his 
 heart failing him, he had come to beg the doctor to break 
 the intelligence to the family. 
 
 Dr. ^lay had few doubts that the robbers must have 
 entered by the passage window, and meeting resistance from 
 Leonard, must have dragged him out, and perhaps tlirown 
 him from it, then having gone on to their murderous work in 
 the old man's sitting-room. In that great rambling house, 
 
232 THE TRIAL. 
 
 where the maids slept afar off, and the rats held nightly 
 gambols, strange noises were not likely to be observed ; and 
 the thought of Leonard lying stunned and insensible on the 
 grass, made the doctor's pace almost a run, as if he were 
 hastening to the rescue. 
 
 When Mr. Ward sent down word that he was not up, Dr. 
 May replied that he must see him in bed, and followed upon 
 the very heels of the messenger, encountering no amiable 
 face, for Henry had armed himself for defence against any 
 possible reproaches for his treatment of any patient. Even 
 when Dr. May began, " Henry, my poor fellow, I have frightful 
 news for you," his mouth was opening to reply, " I knew we 
 should lose that case," let the patient be who he might, when 
 the few simple words put to flight all petulant jealousy, and 
 restored Henry Ward to what he had been when in his 
 hour of sickness and affliction he had leant in full confidence 
 on Dr. May's unfailmg kindness. 
 
 He was dressed by the time the brougham was at the door, 
 and w^ould have hurried off without telling his sister of the 
 alarm ; but Dr. May, knowing that the town must soon be 
 ringing with the news, was sending him to Averil's room, 
 when both rejoiced to see Mary enter the house. Charging 
 her to keep Averil quiet, and believe nothing but what came 
 from themselves, they thrust on her the terrible commission 
 and hastened away, dwelling on the hope that every moment 
 might be important. 
 
 Old Hardy had already mounted his cart horse, and for 
 him farm roads so shortened the distance, that he received 
 them at the entrance of the courtyard, which was crowded 
 with excited gazers and important policemen. 
 
 "Found him?" was the instantaneous question of both ; 
 
THE TPJAL. 233 
 
 but Hardy shook his head so sadly, that the Doctor hastily 
 exclaimed, "What then?" 
 
 " Sir," said Hardy very low, and with a deprecating look, 
 " he did go up by the mail train to London last night — got in 
 at Blewer Station at 12,15. They have telegraphed up, 
 sir, 
 
 " I'll lay my life it is all a mistake," said T)r, ^May, grasp- 
 ing Henry's arm as if to give him support, and looking him 
 in the face as though resolved that neither should be cast 
 down, 
 
 " That's not all, sir," added Hardy, still addressing himself 
 to the elder gentleman. "There's his rifle, sir," 
 
 " Why^ he was not shot !" sharply cried Dr, May. " You 
 told me so yourself.^' 
 
 " Xo, sir ; but — You'll see for yourseK presently ! 
 There's the blood and grey hairs on the stock, sir." 
 
 *' !N"ever fear, Henry ; we shall see," said Dr. May, pressing 
 on, and adding as soon as they were out of hearing, " Xothing 
 those folks, even the best of them, like so well as la^-infij on 
 horrors thick enough." 
 
 A policeman stood at the house door to keep off idlers ; 
 but Dr. May's character and profession, as well as his muni- 
 cipal rank, caused way to be instantly made for them. They 
 found a superintendent within, and he at once began, " ^Nlost 
 unfortunate business, ]\Ir. Mayor — very mysterious ; " then, 
 as a sign from the doctor made him aware of Henry Ward's 
 near concern, he added, " Shall I inform young Mr. Axworthy 
 that you are here % " 
 
 " Is he come 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sir. He had only slept at the Three Goblets, not 
 half a mile across the fields, you know, Mr. Mayor — came 
 
284 THE TrjAL. 
 
 home too late to disturb the house here, slept there, and was 
 on the spot at the first intelligence — before I was myself" 
 added the superintendent a little jealously. 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 " In his room, sir. He was extremely overcome, and 
 retired to his room as soon as the necessary steps had been 
 taken. "Would you wish to see the room, sir? We are 
 keeping it locked till the inquest takes place ; but — " 
 
 Henry asked, "When?" his first word since his arrival, 
 and almost inarticulate. 
 
 He was answered that it would probably be at two that 
 afternoon ; the Whitford coroner had intimated that he was 
 ready, and the down train would be in by one. A telegram 
 had just arrived, reporting that the electric message had an- 
 ticipated the mail train, and that young Mr. Ward would be 
 brought down in time. 
 
 " JJ^ever mind, never heed, Henry," persisted Dr. May, 
 pressing the young man's arm as they proceeded to the door 
 of the sitting-room ; " he must be intensely shocked, but he 
 will ex]3lain the whole. Xay, I've no doubt we shall clear 
 him. His rifle, indeed ! I could swear to his rifle any^vhere." 
 
 The superintendent had by this time opened the door of 
 the sitting-room, communicating on one side with the office, 
 on the other with the old man's bed-room. 
 
 Except that the body had been carried to the bed in the 
 inner chamber, all remained as it had been found. There 
 were no signs of robbery — not even of a struggle. The 
 cushions of the easy chair still bore the impress of the sitter s 
 weight ; the footstool was hardly pushed aside ; the massive 
 library table was undisturbed ; the silver spoons and sugar- 
 tongs beside the tumbler and plate on the supper tray ; the 
 
THE TRIAL. 235 
 
 yellow light of the lamp still burnt ; not a paper was ruffled, 
 not a drawer pulled out. Only a rifle stood leaning against 
 the window shutter, and towards it both friend and brother 
 went at once, hoping and trusting that it would be a stranger 
 to their eyes. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! only too familiar were the rich brown mot- 
 tlings of the stock, the steel mountings, the eagle crest, and 
 twisted H. E. cypher ! and in sickness of heart the doctor 
 could not hide from himself the dark clot of gore and the 
 few white hairs adliering to the wood, and answering to the 
 stain that dyed the leather of the desk. 
 
 Henry could not repress an agonized groan, and averted 
 his face ; but his companion undaunted met the superinten- 
 dent's eye and query, " You know it, sir 1 " 
 
 " I do. It was my son-in-law's present to him. I wonder 
 where he kept it, for the ruffians to get hold of it." 
 
 The superintendent remained civil and impassive, and no 
 one spoke to break the deathly hush of the silent room, filled 
 with the appliances of ordinary business life, but tainted with 
 the awful unexplained mark that there had been the foot of 
 the shedder of blood in silence and. at unawares. 
 
 The man in authority at length continued, his piteous ex- 
 hibition. Dr. Eankin of AVhitford had arrived on the first 
 alarm ; but would not the gentlemen see the body 1 And he 
 led them on. Dr. IMay's eyes on the alert to seize on anything 
 exculpatory, but detecting nothing ; seeing only the unwieldy 
 helpless form and aged feeble countenance of the deceased, 
 and receiving fresh impressions of the brutality and cowardice 
 of the hand that could have struck the blow. He looked, 
 examined, defined the injury, and explained that it must 
 have caused instant death, thus hoping to divert attention 
 
236 THE TRIAL. 
 
 from his pale horror-stricken companion, whose too apparent 
 despondency ahnost provoked him. 
 
 At the doctor's request they were taken up the staircase 
 into the corridor, and shown the "vvdndow, which had been 
 found nearly closed but not fastened, as though it had been 
 partially shut down from the outside. The cedar bough 
 almost brushed the glass, and the slope of turf came so high 
 up the wall, that an active youth could easily swing himself 
 down to it ; and the superintendent significantly remarked 
 that the punt was on the farther side of the stream, whereas 
 the evening before it had been on the nearer. Dr. May leant 
 out over the window sill, still in the lingering hope of seeing 
 — he knew not what ; but he only became oppressed by the 
 bright still summer beauty of the trees and grass and sparkling 
 water, insensible of the horror that brooded over all. He 
 drew back his head j and as the door hard by was opened, 
 Leonard's little dog sprang from her basket kennel, wagging 
 her tail in hopes of her master, but in her disappointment 
 greeting one whom dogs alwaj^s hailed as a friend. 
 
 " Poor little doggie ! good little ^Nfab ! If only you could 
 tell us ! " and the creature fondly responded to his gentle 
 hand, though keej^ing aloof from Henry, in mindfulness of 
 past passages between them, while Henry could evidently not 
 bear to look at her. 
 
 They gazed round the room, but it conveyed no elucidation 
 of the mystery. There were Leonard's books in their range 
 on the drawers, his fossils in his cupboard, his mother's pho- 
 tograph on his mantel-piece, his sister's drawings on the wall. 
 His grey uniform lay on the bed as if recently taken off, his 
 ordmary office coat was folded on a chair, and he seemed to 
 have dressed and gone in his best clothes. "While anxiously 
 
THE TRIAL. 237 
 
 seeking some note of explanation, they heard a step, and Sam 
 Axworthy entered, speaking fast and low in apology for not 
 having sooner appeared, but he had been thoroughly upset ; 
 as indeed he looked, his whole appearance betrapng the dis- 
 order of the evening's dissipation, followed by the morning's 
 shock. 
 
 Most unfortunate, he said, that he had not returned earlier. 
 His friend Black — Tom Black, of Edsall Green — had driven 
 him home in his dog-cart, set him down at the turn to cross 
 the fields — moon as light as day — no notion of the lateness 
 tdl he got in sight of the great clock, and saw it was half past 
 twelve ; so knowing the early habits of the x>lace, he had 
 thought it best to turn back, and get a bed. at the Three Gob- 
 lets. If he had only come home, he might have prevented 
 mischief I There ensued a few common-place words on the 
 old man's infirm state, yet his independent habits, and reluc- 
 tance to let any servant assist him, or even sleep near liim. 
 Sam spoke as if in a dream, and was evidently so unwell, 
 that Dr. May thought it charitable to follow the dictates of 
 his own disgust at breaking bread in that house of horrors, 
 and refuse offers of breakfast He said he must go home, 
 but would return for the inquest, and asked whether Henry 
 would remain to meet his brother. 
 
 " Xo, no, thank you," said Henry huskily, as ^vith the 
 driest of throats, and a perceptible shudder, he turned to go 
 away ; the doctor pausing to caress little Mab, and say, " I 
 had better take home this poor little thing. She may come 
 to harm here, and may be a comfort to the sister." 
 
 Xo objection came from Sam, but !Mab herself ran back to 
 her house, and even snarled at the attempt to detach her from 
 it. "You are a faithful little beast," he said, "and your 
 
238 THE TRIAL. 
 
 master will soon be here to set all straight, so I wtH leave 
 you for the present ; " and therewith he signed farewell, and 
 breathed more freely as he gained the outer air. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Henry," he said, as they drove out of 
 the courtyard, " we'll bring out Bramshaw to watch the case. 
 He will see through this horrible mystery, and throw the 
 suspicion in the right quarter, whatever that may be, depend 
 upon it." 
 
 Henry had thrown liimself back in the carriage with 
 averted face, and only answered by a groan. 
 
 " Come, don't be so downcast," said Dr. May ; " it is a 
 frightful affaii', no doubt, and Leonard has chosen a most 
 unlucky moment for this escapade; but he will have a 
 thorough warning against frolics." 
 
 " Frolics indeed ! " said Henr}^, bitterly. 
 
 " Well, I'll be bound that's all he has attempted, and it 
 has got him into a horrid scrape ; and ten to one but the 
 police have got the real ruffians in their hands by this time." 
 
 " I have no hope," said Henry. 
 
 " More shame for you not to feel a certain confidence that 
 He who sees all will show the right." 
 
 *' K ! " said Henry, breaking off with a sound and look of 
 such intense misery as almost to stagger the doctor himself, 
 by reminding him of Leonard's violent temper, and the cause 
 Henry had to remember his promptness of hand ; but that 
 Ethel's pupil, Aubrey's friend, the boy of ingenuous face, 
 could under any provocation strike helpless old age, or having 
 struck, could abscond without calling aid, actuated by terror, 
 not by pity or repentance, was more than Dr. May could 
 believe ; and after brief musing, he broke out in indignant 
 refutation. 
 
THE TEIAL. 239 
 
 " I should have thought so. I wish I still could believe 
 so," sighed Henry ; " but — " and there they lapsed into 
 silence, till, as they came near the to"wn, Dr. ^lay offered to 
 set him doAvn at Bankside. 
 
 "Xo! no, thank you," he cried in entreaty. "I cannot 
 see her — Ave." 
 
 " Then come home with me. You shall see no one, and 
 you will look up when you are not faint and fasting. You 
 young men don't stand up against these things like us old 
 stagers." 
 
 As the carriage stopped, several anxious faces were seen 
 on the watch, but the doctor signed them back till he had 
 deposited Henry in his study, and then came among them. 
 
 Gertrude was the first to speak- " papa, papa, what is 
 it ? " Mrs. Pugh has been here to ask, and Ethel won't let 
 me hear, though Tom and Aubrey know." 
 
 " I took refuge in your order to believe nothing till you 
 came," said Ethel, with hands tightly clasped together. 
 
 " It is true, then ? " asked Tom. 
 
 " True that it looks as bad as bad can be," said the doctor, 
 sighing heavily, and proceeding to state the aspect of the case. 
 
 " It is a trick — a plot," cried Aubrey passionately ; " I 
 know it is ! He always said he would run away if they tried 
 to teach him dishonesty ; and now they have done this and 
 driven him away, and laid the blame on him. Ethel, why 
 don't you say you are sure of it 1 " 
 
 " Leonard would be changed indeed if this were so," said 
 Ethel, trembling as she stood, and hardly able to speak 
 articulately. 
 
 Aubrey broke out with a furious " If," very different from 
 Henry "Ward's. 
 
240 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " It would not be the Leonard we knew at Coombe," said 
 Ethel. " He might be blind with rage, but he would never 
 be cowardly. Xo. Unless he own it, nothing shall ever 
 make me believe it." 
 
 " Oavu it ! For shame, Ethel," cried Aubrey. 
 
 And even the doctor exclaimed, " You are as bad as poor 
 Henry himself, who has not got soul enough to be capable of 
 trusting his brother." 
 
 " I do trust," said Ethel, looking up. " I shall trust his 
 own word ; " and she sat down without speaking, and knitted 
 fast, but her needles clattered. 
 
 " And how about that poor girl at Bankside 1 " said the 
 doctor. 
 
 "I went down there," said Tom, "just to caution the 
 serv^ants against bringing in stories. She found out I was 
 there, and I had to go in and make the best of it." 
 
 " And what sort of a best ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Why, she knew he used to get out in the morning to 
 bathe, and was persuaded he had been drowned ; so I told 
 her I knew he was alive and well, and she would hear all 
 about it when you came back. I brought the youngest child 
 away with me, and Gertrude has got her up-stairs ; the other 
 would not come. Poor thing ! Mary says she is very good 
 and patient ; and I must say she was wonderfully reasonable 
 when I talked to her." 
 
 " Thank you, Tom," said his father with warmth ; " it was 
 very kind of you. I wonder if Ave knew anything of this 
 runaway business ; it might be the saving of him ! " 
 
 " I did," said Aubrey eagerly ; " at least, I know he said 
 he Avould not stay if they wanted to put him up to their dis- 
 honest tricks ; and he tallced of that very window ! " 
 
THE TRIAL. 241 
 
 " Yes, you imprudent fellow ; and you were telling Mrs. 
 Pugli so, if I hadn't stopped you," said Tom. " You'll be 
 taken up for an accomplice next, if you don't hold your 
 tongue." 
 
 " What did he say 1 " asked the doctor, impatiently ; and 
 then declared that he must instantly go to Bankside, as soon 
 as both he and Henry had taken some food ; " for," he 
 added, " we are both too much shaken to deal rationally 
 with her." 
 
 Ethel started up in shame and dismay at having neglected 
 to order anything. The doctor was served in the study 
 alone with Henry, and after the briefest meal, was on his way 
 to Bankside. 
 
 He found Averil with the crimson cheek and beseeching 
 eye that he knew so well, as she laid her trembling hand on 
 his, and mutely looked up like a dumb creature awaiting a 
 blow. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," he said, tenderly, " your brother needs 
 prayer such as when we watched him last year ; he is in peril 
 of grave suspicion." And as she stood waiting and watching 
 for further explanation, he continued, " My dear, he told you 
 everything. You do not know of any notion of his of going 
 away, or going out without leave ? " 
 
 " Why is Leonard to be always suspected of such things ? " 
 cried Averil. " He never did them ! " 
 
 " Do you know 1 " persisted Dr. May. 
 
 ** But you are mayor ! " cried Averil, indignantly, with- 
 drawing her hand. " You want me to accuse him ! " 
 
 " My dear, if I were ten times mayor, it would make no 
 difference. My jurisdiction does not even cross the river 
 here ; and if it did, this is a graver case than I deal with. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 THE TRIAL. 
 
 I am come, as his friend, to beg you to help me to account 
 for his unhappy absence in any harmless way. Were it 
 ever so foolish or wrong, it would be the best news that ever 
 I heard." 
 
 " But — but I can't," said Averil. " I never knew he was 
 going out ! I know he used to get out at the passage 
 window to bathe and fish before the house was astir — and — 
 you l-now he is safe, Dr. May 1 " 
 
 Dr. ]\Iay would almost sooner have known that he was at 
 the bottom of the deepest pool in the river, than where he 
 was. " He is safe, my poor child. He is well, and I trust 
 he will be able to prove his innocence ; but he must so 
 account for his absence as to clear himself. Averil, there is 
 a charge against him — of being concerned in your uncle's 
 death." 
 
 Averil's eyes dilated, and she breathed short and fast, 
 standing Kke a statue. Little Minna, whom the doctor had 
 scarcely perceived, standing in a dark corner, sprang forward, 
 exclaiming, " Ave, don't be afraid ! Nobody can hui't him 
 for what he did not do ! " 
 
 The words roused Averil, and starting forward, she cried, 
 " Dr. May, Dr. May, you will save him ! He is fatherless 
 and motherless, and his brother has always been harsh tO' 
 him ; but you will not forsake him ; you said you would be 
 a father to us ! Oh, save Leonard ! " 
 
 " My dear, as I would try to save my own son, I will do 
 my utmost for him ; but little or nothing depends on me or 
 on any man. By truth and justice he must stand or fall ; and 
 you must depend on the Father of the fatherless, who seeth the 
 truth ! as this dear child tells you," with his hand on Minna's 
 head, "he cannot be really injured while he is innocent." 
 
THE TRIAL. 243 
 
 Awed into calm, Averil let him seat her beside him, and 
 put her in possession of the main facts of the case, Minna 
 standing by him, her hand in his, evidently understanding 
 and feeling all that passed. 
 
 Neither could throw light on anything. Leonard had been 
 less communicative to them than to Aubrey, and had kept 
 his resolution of uncomplainingly drinking the brewst he had 
 brewed for himself. All Averil could tell was, that her uncle 
 had once spoken to Henry in commendation of his steadiness 
 and trustworthiness, though at the same time abusing him 
 for airs and puppyism. 
 
 " Henry would tell you. "Where is Henry 1 " she added. 
 
 " In my study. He could not bear to bring you these 
 tidings. You must be ready to comfort him, Ave." 
 
 " Don't let him come," she cried. "He never was kind to 
 Leonard. He drove him there. I shall always feel that it 
 was his doing." 
 
 " Averil," said Dr. May gravely, " do you forget how much 
 that increases his suffering? Xothing but mutual charity 
 can help you through this fiery trial. Do not let anger and 
 recrimination take from you the last shreds of comfort, and 
 poison your prayers. Promise me to be kind to Henry, for 
 indeed he needs it." 
 
 " 0, Dr. May," said Minna, looking up with her eyes full 
 of tears, " indeed I "vvill. I was cross to Henry because he 
 was cross to Leonard, but I won't be so any more." 
 
 Ave drooped her head, as if it were almost impossible to 
 her to speak. 
 
 Dr. May patted Minna's dark head caressingly, and said to 
 the elder sister, " I will not urge you more. Perhaps you 
 may have Leonard back, and then joy will open your hearts ; 
 
 r2 
 
244 THE TRIAL. 
 
 or if not, my poor Ave, the sight of Henry will do more than 
 my words." 
 
 Mary looked greatly grieved, but said nothing, only 
 following her father to take his last words and directions. 
 " Keep her as quiet as you can. Do not worry her, but get 
 out this root of bitterness if you can. Poor, poor things ! " 
 
 " That little Minna is a dear child ! " said Mary. " She 
 is grown so much older than Ella, or than she was last year. 
 She seems to understand and feel like a grown-up person. I 
 do think she may soften poor Ave more than I can ; but, 
 papa, there is excuse. Mr. "Ward must have made them 
 more miserable than we guessed." 
 
 " The more reason she must forgive him. 0, Mary, I fear 
 a grievous lesson is coming to them ! but I must do all I can. 
 Good-bye, my dear ; do the best you can for them ; " and he 
 set forth again with a bleeding heart. 
 
 At the attorney's office, he found the principal from home, 
 but the partner, Edward Anderson, on the qui vive for a 
 summons to attend on behalf of his fellow townsman, and 
 confident that however bad were the present aspect of affairs, 
 his professional eye would instantly find a clue. 
 
 Aubrey was in an agony of excitement, but unable to 
 endure the notion of approaching the scene of action ; and his 
 half-choked surly " Don't " w^as sufficient to deter his brother 
 Thomas, who had never shown himself so kind, considerate, 
 and free from sneer or assumption. In " hours of ease " he 
 might seem selfish and exacting, but a crisis evoked the latent 
 good in him, and drew him out of himself. 
 
 Nor would Henry return to Bankside. After many vacil- 
 lations, the moment for starting found him in a fit of despair 
 about the family disgrace, only able to beg that " the unhappy 
 
THE TEIAL. 245 
 
 boy " should be assured that no expense should be spared in 
 his defence ; or else, that if he were cleared and returned 
 home, his welcome should be most joyful. But there Henry 
 broke off, groaned, said they should never look up again, and 
 must leave the place. 
 
 Except for Averil's own sake. Dr. May would ahnost have 
 regretted his exhortations in favour of her eldest brother. 
 
 In due time the doctor arrived at the mill, where the inquest 
 was to take place, as the public-house was small, and incon- 
 veniently distant ; and there was ample accommodation in 
 the large rambling building. So crowded was the court-yard, 
 that the doctor did not easily make his way to the steps of 
 the hall door; but there, after one brief question to the 
 poHceman in charge, he waited, though several times invited im 
 
 Before long, all eyes turned one way, as a closed fly, with. 
 a policeman on the box, drove in at the gateway, stopped, and 
 between the two men on guard appeared a tall young figure. 
 
 The doctor's first glance showed him a flushed and weary 
 set of features, shocked and appalled ; but the eyes, looking 
 straight up in their anxiety, encountered his with an earnest 
 grateful appeal for sympathy, answered at once by a step 
 forsvard with outstretched hand. The grip of the fingers was 
 heated, agitated, convulsive, but not tremulous ; and there was 
 feeling, not fear, in the low husky voice that said, " Thank 
 you. Is Henry here ? " 
 
 "]S'o, he is too — too much overcome ; but he hopes to see 
 you at home to-night ; and here is Edward Anderson, whom 
 he has sent to watch the proceedings for you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Leonard, acknowledging Edward's greet 
 ing. " As far as I am concerned, I can explain all in a minute ; 
 but my poor uncle — I little thought — " 
 
246 THE TRIAL. 
 
 There was no opportunity for further speech in private, for 
 the coroner had already arrived, and the inquiry had been 
 only deferred until Leonard should have come. The jury had 
 been viewing the body, and the proceedings were to take 
 place in the large low dining-room, where the southern 
 windows j)oured in a flood of light on the faces of the persons 
 crowded together, and the reflections from the rippling water 
 danced on the ceiling. Dr. May had a chair given him near 
 the coroner, and keenly watched the two nephews — one seated 
 next to him, the other at some distance, nearly opposite. 
 Both young men looked haggard, shocked, and oppressed : 
 the eye of Axworthy was unceasingly fixed on an inkstand 
 upon the table, and never lifted, his expression never varied ; 
 and Leonard's glance flashed inquiringly from one speaker to 
 another, and his countenance altered with every phase of the 
 evidence. 
 
 The first witness was Anne Ellis, the young maid-servant, 
 who told of her coming down at ten minutes after five that 
 morning, the 6th of July, and on going in to clean the rooms, 
 finding her master sunk forward on the table. Supposing 
 him to have had a fit, she had run to the window and screamed 
 for help, when Master Hardy, the foreman, and Mrs. Giles, 
 the housekeeper, had come in. 
 
 James Hardy deposed to having heard the girl's cry while 
 he was unlocking the mill door. Coming in by the low sash 
 window, which stood open, he had gone up to his master, and 
 had seen the wound on the head, and found the body quite 
 cold. ISIrs. Giles coming in, they had carried it to the bed 
 in the next room ; and he had gone to call the young gentle- 
 men, but neither was in his room. He knew that it had been 
 left uncertain whether Mr. Samuel Avould return to sleep at 
 
THE TRIAL. 247 
 
 home between the two days of the county races, but he did 
 not expect Mr. Ward to be out ; and had then observed 
 that his bed had not been slept in, and that the passage 
 window outside his room was partly open. He had then 
 thought it best to go into Stoneborough to inform the 
 family. 
 
 Eebecca Giles, the housekeeper, an elderly woman, crying 
 violently, repeated the evidence as to the discovery of the 
 body. The last time she had seen her master alive, was when 
 she had carried in his supper at nine o'clock, when he had 
 desired her to send Mr. Ward to him ; and had seemed much 
 vexed to hear that the young man had not returned from rifle 
 practice, little thinking, poor old gentleman ! — but here the 
 housekeeper was recalled to her subject. The window was 
 then open, as it was a sultry night, but the blind down. Her 
 master was a good deal crippled by gout, and could not at 
 that time move actively nor write, but could dress himself, 
 and close a window. He disliked being assisted ; and the 
 servants were not in the habit of seeing him from the time 
 his supper was brought in till breakfast next morning. She 
 had seen ^Iv. '\A'ard come home at twenty minutes or half 
 after nine, in uniform, carrying his rifle ; she had given the 
 message, and he had gone into the sitting-room without putting 
 down the rifle. She believed it to be the one on the table, 
 but could not say so on oath ; he never let any one touch it ; 
 and she never looked at such horrid murderous things. And 
 some remarks highly adverse to the volunteer movement were 
 cut short. 
 
 "William Andrews, groom, had been called by Anne Ellis, 
 had seen the wound, and the blood on the desk, and had gone 
 to fetch a surgeon and the poUce from Wliitford. On his 
 
248 THE TRIAL. 
 
 return, saw the rifle leaning against the shutter ; believed it to 
 be Mr. Ward's rifle. 
 
 Charles Rankin, surgeon, had been called in to see Mr. 
 Axworthy, and arrived at seven o'clock a.m. Found him dead, 
 from a fracture of the skull over the left temple, he should 
 imagine, from a blow from a heavy blunt instrument, such as 
 the stock of a gun. Death must have been instantaneous, 
 and had probably taken place seven or eight hours before 
 he was called in. The marks upon the rifle before him 
 were probably blood ; but he could not say so upon oath, 
 till he had subjected them to microscopic examination. 
 The hair was human, and corresponded with that of the 
 deceased. 
 
 Samuel Axworthy had slept at the Three Goblets, in con- 
 sequence of finding himself too late for admission at home. 
 He had been wakened at half-past five, and found all as had 
 been stated by the previous witnesses ; and he corroborated 
 the housekeeper's account of his uncle's habits. The rifle he 
 believed to belong to his cousin, Leonard Ward. He could 
 not account for Leonard Ward's absence on that morning. IsTo 
 permission, as far as he was aware, had been given him to 
 leave home ; and he had never known his uncle give liim any 
 commission at that hour. 
 
 The difierent policemen gave their narrations of the state of 
 things — the open window, the position of the boat, &c. And 
 the ticket-clerk at the small Blewer Station stated that at about 
 
 .15 at night, Mr. Ward had walked in without baggage, 
 and asked for a second-class ticket to London. 
 
 Leonard here interposed an inquiry whether he had not 
 said a day ticket ; and the clerk recollected that he had done 
 so, and had spoken of returning by four o'clock ; but the 
 
THE TRIAL. 249 
 
 train, being reckoned as belonging to the previous day, no 
 return tickets were issued for it, and lie had therefore taken 
 an ordinary one, and started by the mail train. 
 
 The London policeman, who had come down with Leonard, 
 stated that, in consequence of a telegraphic message, he had 
 been at the Paddington Station at 6.30 that morning ; had 
 seen a young gentleman answering to the description sent to 
 him, asked if his name were Leonard AVard, and receiving a 
 reply in the affirmative, had informed him of the chai-ge, and 
 taken him into custody. The bag that he placed on the table 
 he had found on the young man's person. 
 
 Every one was startled at this unexpected corroboration of 
 the suspicion. It was a heavy looking bag, of reddish canvas, 
 marked with a black circle, containing the letters F. A. Gold ; 
 the neck tied with a string ; the contents were sovereigns, 
 and a note or two. 
 
 Dr. May looked piteously, despairingly, at Leonard; but 
 the brow was still open and unclouded, the eye glanced back 
 re-assurance and confidence. 
 
 The policeman added that he had cautioned the young man 
 to take care what he said, but that he had declared at once 
 that his uncle had sent him to lodge the sum in Drunimond's 
 Bank, and that he would show a receipt for it on his 
 return. 
 
 The coroner then proceeded to examine Leonard, but still 
 as a witness. Edward Anderson spoke to him in an under 
 tone, advising him to be cautious, and not commit himself; 
 but Leonard, rather impatiently thanking him, shook him off, 
 and spoke "vvith freedom and openness. 
 
 " I have nothing to keep back," he said. " Of course I 
 know nothing of this frightful murder, nor what villain could 
 
250 THE TEIAL. 
 
 have got hold of the rifle, which, I am sorry to say, is really 
 mine. Last evening I used it at drill and practice on Blewer 
 Heath, and came home when it grew dusk, getting in at about 
 half-past nine. I was then told by Mrs. Giles that my uncle 
 wished to speak to me, and was displeased at my staying out 
 so late. I went into his room as I was, and put my rifle 
 down in a corner by the window, when he desired me to sit 
 down and listen to him. He then told me that he wished 
 to send me to town by the mail train, to take some cash to 
 Drummond's Bank, and to return by to-day's four o'clock 
 train. He said he had reasons for wishing no one to be aware 
 of his opening an account there, and he undertook to explain 
 my absence. He took the sum from the private drawer of 
 his desk, and made me count it before him, 124^. 12s. in 
 sovereigns and bank notes. The odd money he gave me for 
 my expenses, the rest I put in the bag that I fetched out of 
 the office. He could not hold a pen, and could therefore 
 give me no letter to Messrs. Drummond, but he made me 
 write a receipt for the amount in his memorandum book. I 
 wished him good-night, and left him still sitting in his easy 
 chair, with the window open and the bhnd down. I found 
 that I had forgotten my rifle, but I did not go back for it, 
 because he disliked the disturbance of opening and shutting 
 doors. While I was changing my dress, I saw fi'om the 
 window that some one was still about in the court, and know- 
 ing that my uncle wished me to avoid notice, I thought it 
 best to let myself out by the passage window, as I had some- 
 times done in early mornings to bathe or fish, and go across 
 the fields to Blewer Station. I got down into the garden, 
 crossed in the punt, and went slowly by Barnard's hatch ; I 
 believe I stopped a good many times, as it was too soon, and 
 
THE TRIAL. 251 
 
 a beautiful moonlight niglit, "but I came to Blewer soon after 
 twelve, and took my ticket. At Padclington I met this terrible 
 news." 
 
 As the boy spoke, his bright eyes turned from one listener 
 to another, as though expecting to read satisfaction on their 
 faces ; but as doubt and disbelief clouded all, his looks 
 became almost constantly directed to Dr. May, and his voice 
 unconsciously passed from a sound of justification to one of 
 pleading. AYhen he ceased, he glanced round as if feeling 
 liis innocence established. 
 
 " You gave a receipt, ]\Ir. Ward," said the coroner. " TVill 
 you tell us where it is likely to be ?" 
 
 *' It must be either on or in my uncle's desk, or in his 
 pocket. Will some one look for if? I wrote it in his 
 memorandum book — a curious old black shagreen book, with 
 a silver clasp. I left it open on the desk to dry." 
 
 A policeman went to search for it ; and the coroner asked 
 what the entry had been. 
 
 "July 5th, 1860. Eeceived, 120/. L. A. Ward,"— was 
 the answer. " You will find it about the middle of the 
 book, or rather past it." 
 
 "At what time did this take place ?" 
 
 " It must have been towards ten. I cannot tell exactly, 
 but it was later than half-past nine when I came in, and he 
 was a good while bringing out the money." 
 
 The policeman returned, saying he could not find the 
 book ; and Leonard begging to show where he had left it, 
 the coroner and jury accompanied him to the room. At the 
 sight of the red stain on the desk, a shuddering came over 
 the boy, and a whiteness on his heated brow ; nor could he 
 at once recover himself so as to proceed -with the search, 
 
252 THE TRIAL. 
 
 wliicli was still in vain ; though with a voice lowered by the 
 sickness of horror, he pointed out the place where he had 
 laid it, and the pen he had used ; and desk, table, drawer, 
 and the dead man's dress were carefully examined. 
 
 " You must know it, Sam," said Leonard. " Don't you 
 remember his putting in the cheque — old Bilson's cheque 
 for his year's rent — twenty-five pounds 1 I brought it in, 
 and he put it away one day last week. You were sitting 
 there." 
 
 Sam stammered something of " Yes ; he did recollect 
 something of it." 
 
 Inquiries were made of the other persons concerned with 
 Mr. Axworth}^ Hardy thought his master used such a 
 book, but had never seen it near ; Mrs. Giles altogether 
 disbelieved its existence ; and Sam could not be positive 
 — his uncle never allowed any one to touch his private 
 memorandums. 
 
 As, with deepened anxiety, Dr. May returned to the 
 dining-room, he caught a glimpse of Henry Ward's de- 
 sponding face, but received a sign not to disclose his presence. 
 Edward Anderson wrote, and considered ; and the coroner, 
 looking at his notes again, recui'red to Leonard's statement 
 that he had seen some one in the yard. 
 
 " I thought it was one of the men waiting to take my 
 cousin Axworthy's horse. I did not know whether he had 
 ridden or gone by train ; and I supposed that some one 
 would be looking out for him." 
 
 Questions were asked whether any of the servants had 
 been in the yard, but it was denied by all ; and on a more 
 particular description of the person being demanded, Leonard 
 replied that the figure had been in the dark shade of the 
 
THE TEL\L. 253 
 
 stables, and that he only knew that it was a young man — 
 whether a stranger or not he did not know ; he supposed 
 now that it must have been the — the murderer, but at the 
 time he had thought it one of the stable men ; and as his 
 uncle had particularly ^vished that his journey should be a 
 secret, the sight had only made him hasten to put out his 
 light, and depart unseen. It was most unfortunate that he 
 had done so. 
 
 Others ironically whispered, " Most unfortunate." 
 
 The coroner asked ^Nlr. Anderson whether he had any- 
 thing to ask or observe ; and on his reply in the negative, 
 proceeded to sum up the evidence for the consideration of 
 the jury. 
 
 It seemed as if it were only here that Leonard perceived 
 the real gist of the evidence. His brow grew hotter, his 
 eyes indignant, his hands clenched, as if he with difficulty 
 restrained himself from breaking in on the coroner's speech ; 
 and when at length the question was put to the jury, he 
 stood, the colour fading from his cheek, his eyes set and 
 glassy, his lip fallen, the dew breaking out on his brow, 
 every limb as it were petrified by the shock of what was 
 thus first fully revealed to him. 
 
 So he stood, while the jury deliberated in low gruff 
 sorrowful murmurs ; and after a few minutes, turned round 
 to announce with much sadness that they could do no 
 otherwise than return a verdict of wilful murder against 
 Leonard Ward. 
 
 " Mr. Leonard Ward," said the coroner, a gentleman who 
 had well known his father, and who spoke with scarcely 
 concealed emotion, " it becomes my painful duty to commit 
 you to "\Miitford Gaol for trial at the next assizes." 
 
254 THE TEIAL. 
 
 Dr. May eagerly offered bail, rather as the readiest form 
 of kindness than in the hope of its acceptance, and it was of 
 course refused ; but he made his way to the prisoner, and 
 wrung his chill hand with all his might. The pressure 
 seemed to waken the poor lad from his frozen rigidit}'- ; the 
 warmth came flowing back into his fingers as his friend held 
 them ; he raised his head, shut and re-opened his eyes, and 
 pushed back his hair, as though trying to shake himself loose 
 from a too horrible dream. His face softened and quivered 
 as he met the doctor's kind eyes ; but bracing himself again, 
 he looked up, answered the coroner's question — that his 
 Christian name was Leonard Axworthy, his age within a few 
 weeks of eighteen ; and asked permission to fetch what he 
 should want from his room. 
 
 The policeman, in whose charge he was, consented both to 
 this, and to Dr. May being there alone with him for a short 
 time. 
 
 Then it was that the boy relaxed the strain on his features, 
 and said in a low and strangled voice, " Dr. May, if you 
 had only let me die with them last year ! " 
 
 " It was not I who saved you. He who sent that ordeal, 
 will bring you through — this," said Dr. May, with a great sob 
 in his throat that belied his words of cheer. 
 
 " I thank Him at least for having taken her," said Leonard, 
 resting his head on the mantel-shelf beneath his mother's 
 picture, while his little dog sat at his foot, looking up at him, 
 cowed and wistful. 
 
 Dr. May strove for words of comfort, but broke utterly 
 down ; and could only cover his face with bis hands, and 
 struggle with his emotion, unable to utter a word. 
 
 Yet perhaps none would have been so comforting as his 
 
THE TRIAL. 255 
 
 genuine sympathy, although it was in a voice of extreme 
 distress that Leonard exclaimed, " Dr. May, Dr. ^Nlay, pray 
 don't ! you ought not to grieve for me ! " 
 
 " I'm a fool," said Dr. May, after some space, fighting 
 hard with himself. " Nonsense ! we shall see you out of 
 this ! "We have only to keep up a good heart, and we shall 
 see it explained." 
 
 " I don't know ; I can't understand," said Leonard, passing 
 his hand over his weary forehead. " ^^hy could they not 
 beheve when I told them just how it was ?" 
 
 At that moment the policeman opened the door, saying, 
 " Here, Sir ; " and Henry hurried in, pale and breathless, not 
 looking in his brother's face, as he spoke fast and low. 
 
 " Xed Anderson says there's nothing at all to be made of 
 this defence of yours ; it is of no use to try it. The only 
 thing is to own that he found fault with you, and in one of 
 your rages — you know — " 
 
 "You too, Henry !" said Leonard, in dejected reproach. 
 
 "Why — why, it is impossible it could have been other- 
 wise — open window, absconding, and all. We all know you 
 never meant it ; but your story won't stand ; and the only 
 chance, Anderson says, is to go in for manslaughter. K you 
 could only tell anything that would give him a clue to pick 
 up evidence while the people are on the spot." 
 
 Leonard's face was convulsed for a moment while his 
 brother was speaking ; but he recovered calmness of voice, 
 as he mournfully answered, "I have no right to wonder at 
 your suspicion of me." 
 
 Henry for the first time really looked at him, and in- 
 stinctively faltered, " I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Lideed," said Leonard with the same subdued manner, 
 
256 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " I cannot believe that any provocation could make me strike 
 a person like that old man ; and here there was none at all. 
 Except that he was vexed at first a^- my being late, he had 
 never been so near kindness." 
 
 " Then is this extraordinary^ story the truth ?" 
 
 " Why should I not tell the truth 1 " was the answer, too 
 mournful for indignation. 
 
 Henry again cast down his eyes, Leonard moved about 
 making preparations, Dr. May leant against the wall — all too 
 much oppressed for speech ; till, as Leonard stooped, poor 
 little Mab, thrusting her black head into his hand, drew from 
 him the words, " My doggie, what is to become of you ?" 
 
 A sort of hoarse explosion of "Ave" from Henry was 
 simultaneous with the doctor's "I tried to get her home 
 with me in the morning, but she waited your orders." 
 
 "IMiss May would not liave her now. After all, prussic 
 acid would be the truest mercy," said Leonard, holding the 
 little creature up to his face, and laying his cheek against her 
 silken coat with almost passionate affection. 
 
 " iSTot while there are those who trust your word, Leonard ; 
 as Ethel said this morning." 
 
 He raised the face which he had hidden against the dog, 
 and looked earnestly at the doctor as if hardly venturing to 
 understand him ; then a ray of real gladness and comfort 
 darted into his eyes, which so enlivened Dr. May, that he 
 was able to say cheerfully, " We will take good care of her 
 till you come for her." 
 
 " Then, Henry," said Leonard, *' it is not unkindness, nor 
 that I remember things, but indeed I think it will be better 
 for you all, since Dr. May is so — so — " The word kind was 
 so inadequate, that it stuck in liis throat. "Take this to 
 
THE TPJAL. 257 
 
 Ave," putting his motlier's likeness in his hand, " and tell 
 her I wiU write." 
 
 " Poor Ave ! " 
 
 Leonard imploringly shook his head; the mention of his sister 
 shook him more than he could bear ; and he asked the time. 
 
 " Xearly six." 
 
 *' Only six ! 'V\"hat an endless day ! There, I am ready. 
 There is no use in delaying. I suppose I must show what 
 I am taking with me." 
 
 "Wait," said his brother. "Cannot you say anything to 
 put us on the track of the man in the yard ? " 
 
 " I did not see him plain/' 
 
 "You've no notion?" said Henry, with a movement of 
 annoyance. 
 
 " "No I only looked for a moment ; for I was much more 
 anxious to get off quietly, than to make any one out. If I 
 had only waited ten minutes, it might have been the saving 
 of his life ; but my commission was so like fun, and so im- 
 portant too, that I thought of nothing else. Can it be not 
 twenty-four hours ago ?" 
 
 " And why don't you explain why he sent you ? " 
 
 " I cannot say it so certainly as to be of the slightest use," 
 said Leonard. " He never expressed it either j and I have 
 no right to talk of my suspicions." 
 
 " Eh ! was it to put it out of Sam's way 1 " 
 
 " So I suppose. Sam used to get all he chose out of the 
 poor old man ; and I believe he thought this the only chance 
 of keeping anything for himself; but he never told me so. 
 Stay ! Bilson's cheque might be tracked. I took it myself, 
 and g^ive the receipt ; you will find it entered in the books 
 — paid on either the twenty -third or fourth," 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " Then there's something to do, at any rate," cried Henry, 
 invigorated. " Anderson shall hunt out the balance and 
 Sam's draughts on it. I'll spare no expense, Leonard, if it 
 is to my last farthing ; and you shall have the best counsel 
 that can be retained." 
 
 Leonard signed thanks with some heartiness, and was 
 going to the door, when Henry detained him. "Tell me, 
 Leonard, have you no suspicion ? " 
 
 " It must have been the person I saw in the court, and, 
 like a fool, did not watch. The window was open, and he 
 could have easily got in and come out. Can't they see that 
 if it had been me, I should have made off at once that way 1 " 
 
 " If you could only tell what the fellow was like ! " 
 
 *' I told you he was in the dark," said Leonard ; and with- 
 out giving time for more, he called in the man outside, 
 showed the clothes and books he had selected, put them 
 into his bag, and declared himseK ready, giving his hand to 
 the doctor, who drew him near and kissed his brow, as if he 
 had been Harry setting forth on a voyage. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear fellow ; God bless you ; I'll soon 
 come to see you." 
 
 " And I," said Henry, " will bring Bramshaw to see what 
 is to be done." 
 
 Leonard wrung his brother's hand, murmuring something 
 of love to his sisters ; then put Mab into Dr. May's arms, 
 with injunctions that the little creature understood and 
 obeyed, for though trembling and whining under her breath, 
 she was not resisting. 
 
 It might be to shorten her distress as well as his own that 
 Leonard passed quickly down-stairs, and entered the carriage 
 that was to take him to the county gaol. 
 
THE TEIAL. 259 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 " Tears are not always fruitfal ; their hot drops 
 
 Sometimes but scorch the cheek and dim the eye 
 Despairing murmurs over blackened hopes, 
 
 Not the meek spirit's calm and chastened cry. 
 Oh, better not to weep, than weep amiss I 
 
 For hard it is to learn to weep aright ; 
 To weep wise tears, the tears that heal and bless, 
 
 The tears which their own bitterness requite." 
 
 H. BOXAE. 
 
 To one of the most tender-hearted of human beings had the 
 office of conveying ill tidings been most often committed, 
 and again Dr. May found himself compelled to precede 
 Henry Ward into the sister's presence, and to break to her 
 the result of the inquest. 
 
 He was no believer in the efficacy of broken news, but he 
 could not refuse when Henry in his ^^Tetchedness entreated 
 not to be the first in the infliction of such agony ; so he left 
 the carriage outside, and walked up to the door ; and there 
 stood Averil, with Ethel a few steps behind her. His 
 presence was enough revelation. Had tilings gone well, he 
 would not have been the forerunner ; and Averil, meaning 
 perhaps to speak, gave a hoarse hysterical shriek, so frightful 
 as to drive away other anxieties, and summon Henry in from 
 his watch outside. 
 
 s2 
 
260 THE TRIAL. 
 
 All day the poor girl liad kept up an imnatural strain on 
 her powers, vehemently talking of other things, and, with 
 burning cheeks and shining eyes, moving incessantly from 
 one employment to another ; now her needle, now her pencil 
 — roaming round the garden gathering flowers, or playing 
 rattling polkas that half stunned Ethel in her intense listen- 
 ing for tidings. Ethel, who had relieved guard and sent 
 Mary home in the afternoon, had vainly striven to make Ave 
 rest or take food ; the attempt had brought on such choking, 
 that she could only desist, and wait for the crisis. The 
 attack was worse than any ordinary hysterics, almost amount- 
 ing to convulsions ; and all that could be done was to 
 prevent her from hurting herself, and try to believe Dr. Ma;y''s 
 assurance that there was no real cause for alarm, and that the 
 paroxysms would exhaust themselves. 
 
 In time they were spent, and Ave lay on her bed half 
 torpid, feebly moaning, but with an instiactive dread of 
 being disturbed. Henry anxiously watched over her, and 
 Dr. May thought it best to leave the brother and sister to 
 one another. Absolute quiet was best for her, and he had 
 skill and tenderness enough to deal with her, and was evi- 
 dently somewhat relieved by the necessity of waiting on her. 
 It was the best means, perhaps, of uniting them, that they 
 should be thus left together; and Dr. May would have 
 taken home little pale frightened !Minna, who had been very 
 helpful all the time. 
 
 " Oh, please not. Dr. May," she said, earnestly. " Indeed 
 I will not be troublesome, and I can give Henry his tea, and 
 carry Ave's cup. Please, Henry, don't send me :" and she 
 took hold of his hand, and laid it against her cheek. He 
 bent down over her, and fondled her ; and there were tears 
 
THE TRIAL. 261 
 
 that he could not hide as he tried both to thank Dr. May, 
 and tell her that she need not leave him. 
 
 " No," said Dr. May ; "it would be cruel to both of you. 
 — Good-bye, little Minna ; I never wanted to carry away a 
 little comforter." 
 
 " I believe you are right, papa," said Ethel, as she went 
 out with him to the carriage ; " but I long to stay, it is like 
 doing something for that boy." 
 
 " The best you did for liim, poor dear boy ! was the saying 
 you trusted his word. The moment I told him that, he took 
 comfort and energy." 
 
 Ethel's lips moved into a strange half smile, and she took 
 ^lab on her lap, and fondled her. " Yes," she said, " I 
 believe I stand for a good deal in his imagination. I was 
 afraid he would have been wrecked upon that horrid place ; 
 but after all, this may be the saving of him." 
 
 " Ah ! if that story of his would only be more vraisem- 
 blahleJ' 
 
 There was only time briefly to narrate it before coming 
 home, where the first person they met was Aubrey, ex- 
 ceeding pale, and in great distress. "Papa, I must tell 
 you," he said, dra\ving him into the study. " I have done 
 terrible harm, I am afraid." And he explained, that in the 
 morning, when Mrs. Pugh had come down full of inquiries 
 and conjectures, and had spoken of the possibility of Leo- 
 nard's having been drowned while bathing, he had un- 
 guardedly answered that it could be no such thing ; Leonard 
 had always meant to run away, and by that very window, if 
 the Axworthys grew too bad. 
 
 Prudent Tom had silenced him at the time, but had since 
 found that it had got abroad that the evasion had long been 
 
262 THE TKLVL. 
 
 meditated with Aubrey's privity, and had been asked by one 
 of the constabulary force if his brother would not be an im- 
 portant witness. Tom had replied that he knew nothing 
 about it ; but Aubrey was in great misery, furious with Mrs. 
 Pugh, and only wanting his father to set off at once to assure 
 them it was all nonsense. 
 
 "!N'o, Aubrey, they neither would, nor ought to, take my 
 word." 
 
 "Just hear, papa, and you would know the chaff it was." 
 
 "I cannot hear, Aubrey. If we were to discuss it, we 
 might give it an unconscious colouring. You must calm 
 your mind, and exactly recall what passed ; but do not talk 
 about it to me or to any one else. You must do nothing to 
 impair the power of perfect truth and accuracy, which is a 
 thing to be prayed for. If any one — even the lawyer who 
 may have to get up the case against him — asks you about it, 
 you must refuse to answer till the trial ; and then — why, the 
 issue is in the hands of Him that judgeth righteously." 
 
 " I shall never remember nor speak Avith his eyes on me, 
 seeing me betray him ! " 
 
 " You will be no worse off than I, my boy, for I see I am 
 in for identifying Hector's rifle ; the Mill people can't swear 
 to it, and my doing it mil save his brother something." 
 
 "!N'o, it is not like me. Oh ! I wish I had stayed at 
 Eton, even if I had died of it ! Tom says it all comes of 
 living with women that I can't keep my mouth shut; and 
 Leonard will be so hurt that I — " 
 
 "Nay, any tolerable counsel will make a capital defence 
 out of the mere fact of his rhodomontading. What, is that 
 no comfort to you ? " 
 
 " What ! to be the means of making a fool of him before 
 
THE TPJAL. 263 
 
 all the court — seeing him hear our talk by the river-side 
 sifted by those horrid lawyers 1 " 
 
 The doctor looked even graver, and his eye fixed as on a 
 thought far away, as the boy's grief brought to his mind the 
 Great Assize, when all that is spoken in the ear shall indeed 
 be proclaimed on the house-tops. 
 
 There was something almost childish in this despair of 
 Aubrey, for he had not become alarmed for the result of the 
 trial. His misery was chiefly shame at his supposed treason 
 to friendship, and failure in manly reserve ; and he could not 
 hold up his head all the evening, but silently devoted himself 
 to Mab, endeavouring to make her at home, and meeting 
 with tolerable success. 
 
 Tom was no less devoted to Ella "Ward. It was he who 
 had brought her home, and he considered her therefore as his 
 charge. It was curious to see the difference that a year had 
 made between her and ]\rinna. They had the last summer 
 been like one child, and had taken the stroke that had 
 orphaned them in the same childish manner ; but whether 
 the year from eight to nine had been of especial growth to 
 jMinna, or whether there had been a stimulus in her constant 
 association with Averil, the present sorrow fell on her as on 
 one able to enter into it, think and feel, and assume her sweet 
 mission of comfort ; whilst Ella, though neither hard nor in- 
 sensible, was still child enough to close her mind to what she 
 dreaded, and flee willingly from the pain and tedium of 
 affliction. She had willingly accepted " IMr. Tom's " invita- 
 tion, and as willingly responded to his attentions. Gertrude 
 did not like people in the " little girl " stage, and the elder 
 sisters had their hands and hearts full, and could only care 
 for her in essentials j but Tom undertook her amusement, 
 
264 THE TEIAL. 
 
 treated her to an exhibition of his microscope, and played at 
 French billiards with her the rest of the evening, till she was 
 carried off to bed in Mary's room, when he pronounced her a 
 very intelligent child. 
 
 "I think her a very unfeeling little thing," said Gertrude. 
 "Very unbecoming behaviour under the circumstances." 
 
 " What would you think becoming behaviour ? " asked 
 Tom. 
 
 " I won't encourage it," returned Daisy, with dignified 
 decision, that gave her father his lirst approach to a laugh on 
 that day ; but nobody was in spirits to desire Miss Daisy to 
 define from what her important sanction was withdrawn. 
 
 Mary gave up her Sunday-school class to see how Averil 
 was, and found Henry much perturbed. He had seen her 
 fast asleep at night, and in the morning Minna had carried 
 up her breakfast, and he was about to follow it, as soon as 
 his own was finished, when he found that she had slipped 
 out of the house, leaving a message that she was gone to 
 practise on the harmonium. 
 
 He was of the mind that none of the family could or 
 ought to be seen at church ; and though Mary could not 
 agree with him, she willingly consented to go to the chapel 
 and try what she could do with his sister. She met Mrs. 
 Ledwich on the way, coming to inquire and see whether she 
 or dear Matilda could do anything for the " sw^eet sufferer." 
 Even ]Mary could not help thinking that this was not the 
 epithet most befitting poor Ave ; and perhaps Mrs. Ledwich's 
 companionship made her the less regret that Ave had locked 
 herseK in, so that there was no making her hear, though the 
 solemn chants, played with great fervour, reached them as 
 they waited in the porch. They had their own seats in the 
 
THE TRIAL. 265 
 
 Minster, and therefore could not wait till the sexton should 
 come to open the church. 
 
 There was no time for another visit till after the second 
 service, and then Dr. May and Mary, going to Eankside, 
 found that instead of returning home, Ave had again locked 
 herself up between the services, and that Minna, who had 
 ventured on a mission of recall, had come home crying 
 heartily both at the dreary disappointment of knocking in 
 vain, and at the grand mournful sounds of funeral marches 
 that had fallen on her ear. Every one who had been at the 
 chapel that day w^as speaking of the wonderful music, the 
 force and the melody of the voluntary at the dismissal of the 
 congregation ; no one had believed that such power resided 
 in the harmonium. Mr. Scudamore had spoken to Miss 
 Ward most kindly both before and after evening service, but 
 his attempt to take her home had been unavailing ; she had 
 answered that she w^as going presently, and he was obliged to 
 leave her. 
 
 Evening was coming on, and she had not come ; so the 
 other keys were fetched from the sexton's, and Dr. May and 
 his daughter set off to storm her fortress. Like Minna, the 
 doctor was almost overpowered by the wonderful plaintive 
 sweetness of the notes that were floating through the atmo- 
 sphere, like a Availing voice of supplication. They had 
 almost unnerved him, as he waited while Mary unlocked 
 the door. 
 
 The sound of its opening hushed the music ; Averil turned 
 her head, and recognizing them, came to them, very pale, 
 and with sunken eyes. " You are coming home, dear Ave," 
 said ^lary ; and she made no resistance or objection, only 
 saying, " Yes. It has been so nice here ! " 
 
266 THE TRIAL. 
 
 " You must come now, though," said the doctor. " Your 
 brother is very much grieved at your leaving him." 
 
 *' I did not mean to be unkind to him," said Averil, in a 
 low subdued voice ; " he was very good to me last night. 
 Only — this is peace — this," pointing to her instrument, " is 
 such a soothing friend. And surely this is the place to 
 "wait in ! " 
 
 " The place to wait in indeed, my poor child, if you are 
 not increasing the distress of others by staying here. Besides, 
 you must not exhaust yourself, or how are you to go and 
 cheer Leonard ? " 
 
 " Oh ! there is no fear but that I shall go to-morrow," said 
 Averil ; " I mean to do it ! " the last words being spoken in 
 a resolute tone, unlike the weariness of her former replies. 
 
 And with this purpose before her, she consented to be 
 taken back by ^lary to rest on the sofa, and even to try to 
 eat and drink. Her brother and sister hung over her, and 
 waited on her ^vith a tender assiduous attention that showed 
 how they had missed her all day; and she received their 
 kindness gratefully, as far as her broken wearied state per- 
 mitted. 
 
 Several inquiries had come throughout the day from the 
 neighbours ; and while Mary was still with Ave, a message 
 was brought in to ask whether Miss AVard would like to see 
 Mrs. Pugh. 
 
 " Oh no, no, thank her, but indeed I cannot," said Averil, 
 shivering uncontrollably as she lay. 
 
 Mary felt herself blushing, in the wonder what would be 
 kindest to do, and her dread of seeing Henry's face. She 
 was sure that he too shrank, and she ventured to ask, " Shall 
 I go and speak to her ?" 
 
THE TPJAL. 267 
 
 " Oh, do, do," said Averil, shuddering with eagerness. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Mary,'' said Henry slowly. " She is 
 most kind — but — under the circumstances — " 
 
 Mary went, finding that he only hesitated. She had little 
 opportunity for saying anything; ]\Ir5. Pugh was full of 
 interest and eagerness, and poured out her sjinpathy and 
 perfect understanding of dear Averil's feelings ; and in the 
 midst Henry came out of the room^ with a stronger version 
 of their gratitude, but in tenible confusion. Mary would 
 fain have retreated, but could not, and was witness to the 
 lad}-' 3 urgent entreaties to take Minna home, and Henry^s 
 thankfulness; but he feared — and retreated to ask the 
 opinion of his sisters, while Mrs. Pugh told Mary that it 
 was so very bad for the poor child to remain, and begged to 
 have Ella if she were a moment's inconvenience to the May 
 family. 
 
 Henry came back with repeated thanks, but Minna could 
 not bear to leave home ; and in fact, he owned, with a half 
 smile that gave sweetness to his face, she was too great a 
 comfort to be parted with. So Mrs. Pugh departed, with 
 doubled and trebled offers of service, and entreaties to be 
 sent for at any hour of the day or night when she could be 
 of use to Averil. 
 
 Mary could not but be pleased with her, officious as she 
 was. It looked as if she had more genuine feeling for Henry 
 than had been suspected, and the kindness was certain, 
 though some of it might be the busy activity of a not very- 
 delicate nature, eager for the importance conferred by in- 
 timacy with the subjects of a great calamity. Probably she 
 would have been gi*atified by the eclai of being the beloved 
 of the brother of the youth whose name was in every mouth, 
 
268 THE TRIAL. 
 
 and her real goodness and benevolent heart would have com- 
 mitted her affections and interest beyond recall to the Ward 
 family, had Averil leant upon her, or had Henry exerted 
 himself to take advantage of her advances. 
 
 But Henry's attachment had probably not been love, for it 
 seemed utterly crushed out of him by his shame and despair. 
 Everything connected with his past life was hateful to him ; 
 he declared that he could never show his face at Stone- 
 borough again, let the result be what it might — that he could 
 never visit another patient, and that he should change his 
 name and leave the country, beginning on that very Sunday 
 afternoon to write a letter to his principal rival to negotiate 
 the sale of his practice. 
 
 In fact, his first impression had returned on him, and 
 though he never disclaimed belief in Leonard's statement, 
 the entire failure of all confirmation convinced him that the 
 blow had been struck by his brother in sudden anger, and 
 that, defend him as he might and would, the stain was on 
 his house, and the guilt would be brought home. 
 
 Resolved, however, to do his utmost, he went with Mr. 
 Bramshaw for a consultation with Leonard on the Monday. 
 Averil could not go. She rose and dressed, and remained 
 resolute till nearly the last minute, when her feverish faint 
 giddiness overpowered her, and she was forced to submit to 
 lie on the sofa, under Minna's care ; and there she lay, rest- 
 less and wretched, till wise little Minna sent a message up to 
 the High-street, which brought down Mary and Dr. Spencer. 
 They found her in a state of ner\'ous fever, that sentenced 
 her to her bed, where Mary deposited her and watched over 
 her, till her brother's return, more desponding than ever. 
 
 Dr. May, with all Henry's patients on his hands as well as 
 
THE TRIAL. 269 
 
 his ovm, had "been forced to devote this entire day to his pro- 
 fession ; but on the next, leaving Henry to vratch over Averil, 
 who continued very feeble and feverish, he went to Whitford, 
 almost infected by Henry's forebodings and ^Ir. Bramshaw's 
 misgivings. " It is a bad case," the attorney had said to him, 
 confidentially. " But that there is always a great reluctance 
 to convict upon circumstantial evidence, I should have very 
 little hope, that story of his is so utterly impracticable ; and 
 yet he looks so innocent and earnest all the time, and sticks 
 to it so consistently, that I don't know what to make of it. 
 I can't do anything with him, nor can his brother either ; 
 but perhaps you might make him understand that we could 
 bring him clear off for manslaughter — youth, and charactei 
 and all I should not doubt of a verdict for a moment ! It 
 is awkward about the money, but the alarm would be con- 
 sidered in the sentence." 
 
 " You don't attend to hds account of the person he saw in 
 the court-yard ? " 
 
 " The less said about that the better," returned Mr. Bram- 
 shaw. " It would only go for an awkward attempt to shift 
 off the suspicion, unless he would give any description j and 
 that he can't, or won't do. Or even if he did, the case would 
 be all the stronger against his story — setting off, and leaving 
 a stranger to maraud about the place. Xo, Dr. May ; the 
 only thing for it is to persuade the lad to own to having 
 struck the old man in a passion : every one knows old 
 Axworthy could be? intolerably abusive, and the boy always 
 was passionate. Don't you remember his flying out at Mr. 
 Pdvers's, the night of the party, and that affair which was 
 the means of his going to the mill at all ? I don't mind 
 saying so to you in confidence, because I know you won't 
 
270 THE TRIAL. 
 
 repeat it, and I see his brother thinks so too ; hut nothing is 
 likely to turn out so well for him as that line of defence ; as 
 things stand now, the present one is good for nothing." 
 
 Dr. May was almost as much grieved at the notion of the 
 youth's persistence in denying such a crime, as at the danger 
 in wliich it involved him, and felt that if he were to be 
 brought to confession, it should be from repentance, not 
 expediency. 
 
 In this mood he drove to Whitford Gaol, made application 
 at the gates, and was conducted up the stairs to the cell. 
 
 The three days of nearly entire solitude and of awful ex- 
 pectation had told like double the number of years ; and 
 there was a stamp of grave earnest coUectedness on the 
 young brow, and a calm resolution of aspect and movement, 
 free from all excitement or embarrassment, as Leonard Ward 
 stood up with a warm grateful greeting, so full of ingenuous 
 reliance, that every doubt vanished at the same moment. 
 
 His first question was for Averil ; and Dr. May made the 
 best of her state. " She slept a little more last night, and 
 her pulse are lower this morning ; but we keep her in bed, 
 half to hinder her from trying to come here before she is fit. 
 I believe this ailment is the best thing for her and Henry 
 both," added the doctor, seeing how much pain his words 
 were giving. " Henry is a very good nurse ; it occupies him, 
 and it is good for her to feel his kindness ! Then Minna has 
 come out in the prettiest way : she never fails in some sweet 
 little tender word or caress just when it is wanted." 
 
 Leonard tried to smile, but only succeeded in keeping back 
 a sob ; and the doctor discharged his memory of the messages 
 of love of which he had been the depository. Leonard re- 
 covered his composure during these, and was able to return 
 
THE TELVL. 271 
 
 a smile on hearing of Ella's conquest of Tom, of tlieir Bible 
 prints on Sunday, and their unwearied French billiards in 
 the week. Then he asked after little Mab. 
 
 " She is all a dog should be," said Dr. ^lay. " Aubrey is 
 her chief friend, except when she is lying at her ease on 
 Ethel's dress." 
 
 The old test of dog-love perhaps occurred to Leonard, for 
 his lips trembled, and his eyes were de^vy, even while they 
 beamed with gladness. 
 
 " She is a great comfort to Aubrey," the doctor added. 
 " I must beg you to send that poor fellow your forgiveness, 
 for he is exceedingly unhapj^y about something he repeated 
 in the first unguarded moment." 
 
 " Mr. Bramshaw told me," said Leonard, with brow con- 
 tracted. 
 
 " I cannot believe," said Dr. May, " that it can do you any 
 real harm. I do not think the prosecution ought to take 
 notice of it ; but if they do, it will be easy to sift it, and 
 make it tell rather in your favour." 
 
 " Maybe so," said Leonard, still coldly. 
 
 " Then you will cheer him with some kind message 1 " 
 
 " To be sure. It is the time for me to be forgiving every 
 one," he answered, with a long tightly-drawn breath. 
 
 Much distressed, the doctor paused, in uncertainty 
 whether Leonard were actuated by dread of the disclosure 
 or resentment at the breach of confidence ; but ere he spoke, 
 the struggle had been fought out, and a sweet sad face was 
 turned round to him, with the words, " Poor old Aubrey ! 
 Tell him not to mind. There will be worse to be told out 
 than our romancings together, and he will feel it more than 
 I shall I Don't let him vex himself." 
 
272 THE TRIAL. 
 
 '^ Thank you," said the father, warmly. " I call that 
 pardon." 
 
 ** Kot that there is anything to forgive," said Leonard, 
 " only it is odd that one cares for it more .than — No, no, 
 don't tell him that, but that I know it does not signify. It 
 must not come between us, if this is to be the end ; and it 
 wiU make no difference. Xothing can do that but the finding 
 my receipt. I see that book night and day before my eyes, 
 •with the very blot that I made in the top of my L." 
 
 " You know they are searching the garden and fields, and 
 advertising a reward, in case of its having been thrown away 
 when rifled, or found to contain no valuables." 
 
 " Yes ! " and he rested on the word as though much lay 
 behind. 
 
 " Do you think it contained anything worth keeping ? " 
 
 *' Only by one person." 
 
 '' Ha ! " said the doctor, with a start. 
 
 Instead of answering, Leonard leant down on the narrow 
 bed on which he was seated, and shut in his face between 
 his hands. 
 
 The doctor waited, guessed, and grew impatient. "You 
 don't mean that feUow, Sam 1 Do you think he has it ? I 
 should like to throttle him, as sure as my name's Dick 
 May ! " (this in soliloquy between his teeth.) " Speak up, 
 Leonard, if you have any suspicion." 
 
 The lad lifted himself with grave resolution that gave him 
 dignity. '*Dr. May," he said, "I know that what I say is 
 safe with you, and it seems disrespectful to ask your word 
 and honour beforehand, but I think it will be better for us 
 both if you will give them not to make use of what I tell 
 you. It weighs on me so, that I shall be saying it to the 
 
THE TRIAL. 273 
 
 "^vrong person, unless I have it out with you. You promise 
 me 1 " 
 
 " To make no use of it without your consent," repeated 
 the doctor, with' rising hope; "but this is no case for 
 scruples — too much is at stake." 
 
 " You need not tell me that," Leonard repHed, w4th a 
 shudder ; " but I have no proof. I have thought again 
 and again and again, but can find no possible witness. He 
 was always cautious, and diink made him savage, but not 
 noisy." 
 
 " Then you believe — " The silence told the rest. 
 
 " If I did not see how easy people find it to believe the 
 same of me on the mere evidence of circumstances, I should 
 have no doubt," said Leonard, deliberately. 
 
 " Then it was he that you saw in the yard 1 " 
 
 " Eemember, all I saw was that a man was there. I con- 
 cluded it was Andrews, waiting to take the horse ; and as he 
 is a great hanger-on of Sam, I wished to avoid liim, and not 
 keep my candle alight to attract his attention. That was the 
 whole reason of my getting out of window, and starting so 
 soon ; as unlucky a thing as I could have done." 
 
 " You are sure it w^as not Andrews 1 " 
 
 " jS^ow I am. You see Sam had sent home his horse from 
 the station, though I did not know it ; and, if you remember, 
 Andrews was shown to have been at his father's long before. 
 If he had been the man, he could speak to the time my light 
 was put out." 
 
 " The putting out of your light must have been the signal 
 for the deed to be done." 
 
 " ]\Iy poor uncle ! Well might he stare round as if he 
 thought the walls would betray him, and start at every chink- 
 
 VOL. L T 
 
274 THE TRIAL. 
 
 ing of that unhappy gold in his helpless hands ! If we had 
 only known who was near — perhaps behind the bUnds — " 
 and Leonard gasped. 
 
 " Eut this secresy, Leonard, I cannot understand it. Do 
 you mean that the poor old man durst not do what he would 
 with his own 1 " 
 
 "■ Just so. "Whenever Sam knew that he had a sum of 
 money, he laid hands on it. ISTothing was safe from him that 
 ^h. Axworthy had in the Whitford Bank." 
 
 " That can be proved from the accounts 1 " 
 
 " You recollect the little parlour between the office and 
 my uncle's sitting-room ? There I used to sit in the evening, 
 and to feel, rather than hear, the way Sam used to bully the 
 poor old man. Once — a fortnight ago, just after that talk 
 with Aubrey — I knew he had been drinking, and watched, 
 and came in upon them when there was no bearing it any 
 longer. I was sworn at for my pains, and almost kicked out 
 again ; but after that Mr. Axworthy made me sit in the 
 room, as if I were a protection ; and I made up my mind to 
 bear it as long as he lived." 
 
 " Surely the servants would bear witness to this state of 
 things 1 " 
 
 " I think not. Their rooms are too far off for overhearing, 
 and my uncle saw as little of them as possible. Mrs. Giles 
 was Sam's nurse, and cares for him more than any other 
 creature ; she would not say a word against him even if she 
 knew anything ; and my uncle would never have complained. 
 He was fond of Sam to the last, proud of his steeple chases 
 and his cleverness, and desperately afraid of him ; in a sort 
 of bondage, entirely past daring to speak." 
 
 '' I know," said Dr. May, remembering how his own Tom 
 
THE TKIAL. 275 
 
 had been fettered and tongue-tied bj^ that same tyrant in 
 boyhood. " But he spoke to you ? " 
 
 " Xo," said Leonard. " After that scene much was im- 
 plied between us, but nothing mentioned. I cannot even tell 
 whether he trusted me, or only made me serve as a protector. 
 I believe that row was about this money, which he had got 
 together in secret, and that Sam suspected, and wanted to 
 extort ; but it was exactly as I said at the inquest, he gave 
 no reason for sending me up to town with it. He knew that 
 I knew why, and so said no more than that it was to be 
 private. It was pitiful to see that man, so fierce and bold as 
 they say he once was, trembling as if doing something by 
 stealth, and the great hard knotty hands so crumpled and 
 shaky, that he had to leave all to me. And that they should 
 fancy / could go and hurt him ! " said Leonard, stretching 
 his broad chest and shoulders in conscious strength. 
 
 " Yes, considering who it was, I do not wonder that you 
 feel the passion-theory as insulting as the accusation." 
 
 " I ought not," said Leonard, reddening. " Every one 
 knows what my temper can do. I do not think that a poor 
 old feeble man like that could have provoked me to be so 
 cowardly, but I see it is no wonder they think so. Only 
 they might suppose I would not have been a robber, and go 
 on lying now, when they take good care to tell me that it is 
 ruinous ! " 
 
 " It is an intolerable shame that they can look you in the 
 face and imagine it for a moment," said the doctor, with aU 
 his native wai-mth. 
 
 " After all," said Leonard, recalled by his sympathy, " it 
 is my own fault from beginning to end that I am in this 
 case. I see now that it was only God's mercy that prevented 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE TRIAL. 
 
 my brother's blood being on me, and it was my unrepenting 
 obstinacy that brought me to the mill ; so there will be no 
 real injustice in my dying, and I expect nothing else." 
 
 " Hush, Leonard ; depend upon it, while there is Justice 
 in Heaven, the true criminal cannot go free," cried the doctor, 
 much agitated. 
 
 Leonard shook his head. 
 
 " Boyish hastiness is not murder," added the doctor. 
 
 " So I thought. But it might have been, and I never 
 repented. I brought all this on myself ; and while I cannot 
 feel guiltless in God's sight, I cannot expect it to turn out 
 welL" 
 
 " Turn out well," repeated the doctor. " We want Ethel 
 to tell us that this very repentance and owning of the sin, is 
 turning out well — better than going on in it." 
 
 " I can see that," said Leonard. " I do hope that if — if I 
 can take this patiently, it may show I am sorry for the real 
 thing — and I may be forgiven. Oh ! I am glad prisoners are 
 not cut off from church." 
 
 Dr. May pressed his hand in much emotion ; and there 
 was a silence before another question — whether there were 
 nothing that could be of service. 
 
 " One chance there is, that Sam might relent enough to 
 put that receipt where it could be found without implicating 
 him. He must know what it would do for me." 
 
 " You are convinced that he has it 1 " 
 
 " There must be papers in the book valuable to him ; per- 
 haps some that he had rather were not seen. Most likely 
 he secured it in the morning. You remember he was there 
 before the police." 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! ay ! the scoundrel ! But, Leonard, what pos- 
 
THE TRIAL. 277 
 
 sessed you not to speak out at the inquest, when we might 
 liave searched every soul on the premises ? " 
 
 " I did not see it then. I was stunned by the horror of 
 the thing — the room where I had been so lately, and that 
 blood on my own rifle too. It was all I could do at one time 
 not to faint, and I had no notion they would not take my 
 explanation ; then, when I found it rejected, and everything 
 closing in on me, I was in a complete maze. It was not till 
 yesterday, when I was alone again, after having gone over 
 my defence with Mr. Bramshaw, and shown what I could 
 prove, that I saw exactly how it must have been, as clear as 
 a somnambulist. I sometimes could fancy I had seen Sam 
 listening at the window, and have to struggle not to think 
 I knew him under the stable wall." 
 
 " And you are not such a — such a — so absurd as to sacrifice 
 yourself to any scruple, and let the earth be cumbered with 
 a rascal who, if he be withholding the receipt, is committing 
 a second murder ! It is not generosity, it is suicide." 
 
 "It is not generosity," said the boy, "for if there were 
 any hope, that would not stop me ; but no one heard nor saw 
 but myself, and I neither recognised him — no, I did not — nor 
 heard anything definite from my uncle. Even if I had, no 
 one — no one but you, believes a word I speak ; na}", even my 
 own case shows what probabilities are worth, and that I may 
 be doing him the same wrong that I am suffering. I should 
 only bring on myself the shame and disgrace of accusing 
 another." 
 
 The steady low voice and unboyish language showed him 
 to be speaking from reflection, not impulse. The only tre- 
 mulous moment was when he spoke of the one friend who 
 trusted him, and whom his words were filling with a 
 
278 THE TRIAL. 
 
 tumult of hope and alarm, admiration, indignation, and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " Well, well," the doctor said, almost stammering, " I am 
 glad you have been open with me. It may he a clue. Can 
 there be any excuse for overhauling his papers ? Or can't 
 we pick a hole in that alibi of his ? Xow I recollect, he 
 had it very pat, and unnecessarily prominent. I'll find some 
 way of going to work without compromising you. Yes, you 
 may trust me ! I'll watcli, but say not a word without your 
 leave." 
 
 " Thank you," said Leonard. " I am glad it is you — you 
 who would never think a vague hope of saving me better 
 than disgrace and dishonour." 
 
 *' We will save you," said the doctor, becoming eager to 
 escape to that favourite counsellor, the lining of his brougham, 
 which had inspired him with the right theory of many a 
 perplexing symptom, and he trusted would show him how 
 to defend without betraying Leonard. " I must go and see 
 about it. Is there anything I can do for you — books, or 
 anything ? " 
 
 "l!^o, thank you — except — I suppose there would be no 
 objection to my having a few finer steel pens." And to ex- 
 plain his wants, he took up his Prayer-book, which his sister 
 had decorated with several small devotional prints. Copying 
 these minutely line by line in pen and ink, was the solace 
 of his prison hours ; and though the work was hardly after 
 drawing-masters' rules, the hand was not untaught, and 
 there was talent and soul enough in the work to strike the 
 doctor. 
 
 " It suits me best," said Leonard. " I should go distracted 
 with nothing to do ; and I can't read much — at least, not 
 
THE TRIAL. 279 
 
 common books. And my sisters may like to have them. 
 AVill you let me do one for you 1 " 
 
 The speaking expression of those hazel eyes almost over- 
 came the doctor, and his answer was by bending head and 
 grasping hand. Leonard turned to the Collects, and mutely 
 opened at the print of the Son of Consolation, which he had 
 already outlined, looked up at his friend, and turned aw^ay, 
 only saying, " Two or three of the sort "with elastic nibs ; 
 they have them at the post-office." 
 
 " Yes, I'll take care," said Dr. May, afraid to trust his self- 
 command any longer. " Good-bye, Leonard. Tom says I 
 adopt every one who gets through a bad enough fever ; so 
 what will you be to me after this second attack ? " 
 
 The result of the doctor's consultation with his brougham 
 was his stopping it at Mr. Bramshaw's door, to ascertain 
 whether the search for the receipt had extended to young Ax- 
 worthy's papers ; but he found that they had been thoroughly 
 examined, every facility having been given by their owner, 
 who was his uncle's executor, and residuary legatee, by a will 
 dated five years back, leaving a thousand pounds to the late 
 ]\Irs. Ward, and a few other legacies, but the mass of the 
 property to the nephew. 
 
 Sam's " facilities " not satisfying the doctor, it was further 
 explained that every endeavour was being made to discover 
 what other documents were likely to have been kept in the 
 missing memorandum-book, so as to lead to the detection of 
 any person who might present any such at a bank ; and it 
 was made evident that everything was being done, short of 
 the impracticabihty of searching an unaccused man, but he 
 could not but perceive that ^Ir. Bramshaw's " ifs " indicated 
 great doubt of the existence of receipt and of pocket-book. 
 
280 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Throwing out a hint that the time of Sam's return should be 
 investigated, he learnt that this had been Edward Anderson's 
 first measure, and that it was clear, from the independent 
 testimony of the ostler at Whitford, the friend who had 
 driven Sam, and the landlord of the Three Goblets, that 
 there was not more than time for the return exactly as 
 described at the inquest ; and though the horse was swift 
 and poAverful, and might probably have been driven at 
 drunken speed, this was too entirely conjectural for anything 
 to be founded on it. K'or had the cheque by Bilson on the 
 AYhitford Bank come in. 
 
 " Something must assuredly happen to exonerate the guilt- 
 less, it would be profane to doubt," said Dr. May, continually 
 to himself and to the Wards ; but Leonard's secret was a 
 painful burthen that he could scarcely have borne without 
 sharing it with that daughter who was his other self, and 
 well proved to be a safe repository. 
 
 " That's my Leonard," said Ethel. " I know him much 
 better now than any time since the elf-bolt affair ! They 
 have not managed to ruin him among them." 
 
 " 'Ulial do you call this ? " said Dr. IMay, understanding 
 her, indeed, but willing to hear her thought expressed. 
 
 " Thankworthy," she answered, with a twitching of the 
 comers of her mouth. 
 
 " You will suffer for this exaltation" he said, sadly ; " you 
 know you have a tender heart, for all your flights." ^ 
 
 " And you know you have a soul as well as a heart," said 
 Ethel, as well as the swelling in her throat would allow. 
 
 " To be sure, this world would be a poor place to live in, 
 if admiration did not make pity bearable," said the doctor ; 
 " but — but don't ask me, Ethel : you have not had that fine 
 
THE TIIIAL. 281 
 
 fellow in his manly patience before your eyes. Talk of your 
 knowing him ! You knew a boy ! I tell you, this has made 
 him a man, and one of a thousand — so high-minded and so 
 simple, so clear-headed and well-balanced, so entirely resigned 
 and free from bitterness ! What could he not be ? It would 
 be grievous to see him cut off by a direct dispensation — sick- 
 ness, accident, battle ; but for him to come to such an end, 
 for the sake of a double murderer — Ethel — it would almost 
 stagger one's faith ! " 
 
 " Almost ! " repeated Ethel, with the smile of a conqueror. 
 
 " I know, I know," said the doctor. " If it be so, it will 
 be right; one will try to believe it good for him. Nay, 
 there's proof enough in what it has done for him already. If 
 you could only see him ! " 
 
 " I mean to see him, if it should go against him," said 
 Ethel, " if you will let me. I would go to him as I would if 
 he were in a decline, and with more reverence." 
 
 " Don't talk of it," cried her father. " For truth's sake, 
 for justice's sake, for the country's sake, I can not, ivill not, 
 believe it will go wrong. There is a Providence, after all, 
 Ethel!" 
 
 And the doctor went away, afraid alike of hope and 
 despondency; and Ethel thought of the bright young face, of 
 De Wilton, of Job, and of the martyrs ; and when she was 
 not encouraging Aubrey, or soothing Averil, her heart would 
 sink, and the tears that would not come would have been 
 very comfortable. 
 
 It was well for all that the assizes were so near that the 
 suspense was not long protracted ; for it told upon all con- 
 cerned. Leonard, when the doctor saw him again, was of 
 the same way of thinking, but his manner was more agitated ; 
 
282 THE TRIAL. 
 
 he could not sleep, or if he slept, the anticipations chased 
 away in the day-time revenged themselves in his dreams ; 
 and he was very unhappy, also, about his sister, whose illness 
 continued day after day. She was not acutely ill, but in a 
 constant state of low fever ; every faculty in the most painful 
 state of tension, convinced that she was quite able to get up 
 and go to Leonard, and that her detention was mere cruelty ; 
 and then, on trying to rise, refused by fainting. Her search- 
 ing questions and ardent eyes made it impossible to keep any 
 feature in the ease from her knowledge. Sleep was impossible 
 to her ; and once when Henry tried the effect of an anodyne, 
 it produced a semi-delirium, which made him heartily repent 
 of his independent measure. At all times she was talking — 
 nothing but the being left with a very stolid maid-servant 
 ever closed her lips ; and she so greatly resented being thus 
 treated, that the measure was seldom possible. Henry seldom 
 left her. He was convinced that Leonard's sentence would 
 be hers likewise, and he watched over her with the utmost 
 tenderness and patience with her fretfulness and wayward- 
 ness, never quitting her except on their brother's behalf, 
 when Ethel or Mary would take his place. Little Minna 
 was always to be found on her small chair by the bed-side, or 
 moving about like a mouse, sometimes whispering her one 
 note, "They can't hurt him, if he has not done it," and still 
 quietly working at the pair of slippers that had been begun 
 for his birthday present. Mary used to bring Ella, and take 
 them out walking in the least-frequented path ; but though 
 the little sisters kissed eagerly, and went fondly hand in 
 hand, they never were sorry to part : Ella's spirits oppressed 
 Minna, and Minna's depression vexed the more volatile sister ; 
 moreover, Minna always dreaded Mary's desire to carry her 
 
THE TRIAL. 283 
 
 away — as, poor child, she looked paler, and her eyes heavier 
 and darker, every day. 
 
 Xo one else, except, of course. Dr. May, was admitted. 
 Henry would not let his sister see Mr. Scudamore or ^Ir. 
 Wilmot, lest she should be excited ; and Averil's " Xo one " 
 was vehement as a defence against Mrs. Pugli or ]\[rs. Led- 
 wich, whom she suspected of wanting to see her, though she 
 never heard of more than their daily inquiries. 
 
 Mrs. Pugh was, in spite of her exclusion, the great autho- 
 rity with the neighbourhood for all the tidings of " the poor 
 Wards," of whom she talked ^\i.th the warmest commisera- 
 tion, relating every touching detail of their previous and 
 present history, and continually enduring the great shock of 
 meeting people in shops or in the streets, whom she knew to 
 be reporters or photographers. In fact, the catastrophe had 
 taken a strong hold on the public mind ; and " Murder of 
 an Uncle by his Xephew," " The Blewer Tragedy," figured 
 everywhere in the largest type ; newsboys on the railway 
 shouted, "To-day's paper — account of inquest;" and the 
 illustrated press sent down artists, whose three-legged cameras 
 stared in all directions, from the Yintry Mill to Bankside, 
 and who aimed at the school, the Minster, the volunteers, 
 and Dr. Hoxton himself. Tom advised Ethel to guard ^lab 
 carefully from appearing stuffed in the chamber of horrors at 
 Madame Tussaud's ; and the furniture at the mill would 
 have commanded any price. Xay, ]S[rs. Pugh was almost 
 certain she had seen one of the " horrid men " bargaininf? 
 with the local photographer for her own portrait, in her 
 weeds, and was resolved the interesting injury should never 
 be forgiven ! 
 
 She really had the " trying scenes " of two interviews with 
 
284 THE TRIAL. 
 
 both Mr. Eramsliaw and the attorney from Whitford who was 
 getting up the prosecution, each having been told that she 
 was in possession of important intelligence. Mr. Bramshaw 
 was not sanguine as to what he might obtain from her, but 
 flattered her with the attempt, and ended by assuring her, 
 like his opponent, that there was no need to expose her to 
 the unpleasantness of appearing in court. 
 
 Aubrey was not to have the same relief, but was, like his 
 father, subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution. He had 
 followed his father's advice, and took care not to disclose his 
 evidence to the enemy, as he regarded the Whitford lawyer. 
 He was very miserable, and it was as much for his sake 
 as that of the immediate family, that Ethel rejoiced that the 
 suspense was to be short. 
 
 Counsel of high reputation had been retained ; but as the 
 day came nearer, without bringing any of the disclosures on 
 which the doctor had so securely reckoned, more and more 
 stress was laid on the dislike to convict on circumstantial 
 evidence, and on the saying that the English law bad rather 
 acquit ten criminals than condemn one innocent man. 
 
THE TRIAL. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 *' Ah ! 1 mind me now of thronging faces, 
 Mocking eyed, and eager, as for sport ; 
 Hundreds looking up, and in high places 
 Men arrayed for judgment and a court. 
 
 *' And I heard, or seemed to hear, one seeking 
 Answer back from one he doomed to die, 
 Pitifully, sadly, sternly speaking 
 
 Unto one — and oh ! that one, 'twas I." 
 
 Rev. G. E. Monsell. 
 
 The " Blewer Murder" was the case of the Assize week; 
 and the court was so crowded that, but for the favour of the 
 sheriff, Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, with Tom and Gertrude, could 
 hardly have obtained seats. Ilo others of the family could 
 endure to behold the scene, except from necessity ; and 
 indeed Ethel and Mary had taken charge of the sisters at 
 home, for Henry could not remain at a distance from his 
 brother, though unable to bear the sight of the proceedings ; 
 he remained in a house at hand. 
 
 Nearly the whole population of Stoneborough, Whitford, 
 and Blewer, was striving to press into court ; but before the 
 day's work began, Edward Anderson had piloted Mrs. Pugh 
 to a commodious place, under the escort of his brother 
 
28G THE TRIAL. 
 
 Harvey, who was collecting materials for an article on 
 criminal jurisprudence. 
 
 Some of those who, like the widow and little Gertrude, had 
 been wild to be present, felt their hearts fail them when the 
 last previous case had been disposed of ; and there was a 
 brief pause of grave and solemn suspense and silent breathless 
 expectation within the court, unbroken, except by increased 
 sounds of crowding in all the avenues without. 
 
 Every one, except the mere loungers, who craved nothing 
 but excitement, looked awed and anxious ; and the impression 
 was deepened by the perception that the same feeling, though 
 restrained, affected the judge himself, and was visible in the 
 anxious attention with which he looked at the papers before 
 him, and the stern sadness that had come over the features 
 naturally full of kindness and benevolence. 
 
 The prisoner appeared in the dock. He had become paler, 
 and perhaps thinner, for his square determined jaw, and the 
 resolute mould of his lips, were more than usually remark- 
 able, and were noted in the physiognomical brain of Harvey 
 Anderson ; as well as the keen light of his full dark hazel 
 eye, the breadth of his brow, with his shining light brown 
 hair brushed back from it ; the strong build of his frame, 
 and the determined force, apparent even in the perfect quies- 
 cence of his attitude. 
 
 Leonard Axworthy Ward was arraigned for the wilful 
 murder of Francis Axworthy, and asked whether he pleaded 
 Guilty or ^N'ot guilty. 
 
 His voice was earnest, distinct, and firm ; and his eyes 
 were raised upwards, as though he were making the plea 
 of "!N"ot guilty," not to man alone, but to the Judge of all 
 the earth. 
 
THE TKIAL. 287 
 
 The officer of the court informed him of his right to chal- 
 lenge any of the jury, as they were called over by name ; and 
 as each came to be sworn, he looked full and steadily at each 
 face, more than one of which was known to him by sight, as 
 if he were committing his cause into their hands. He declined 
 to challenge ; and then crossing his arms on his breast, cast 
 dovm his eyes, and thus retained them through the greater 
 part of the triaL 
 
 The jurymen were then sworn in, and charged with the 
 issue ; and the counsel for the prosecution opened the case, 
 speaking more as if in pity than in indignation, as he sketched 
 the history, which it was his painful duty to establish. He 
 described how Mr. Axworthy, having spent the more active 
 years of his life in foreign trade, had finally returned to pass 
 his old age among his relatives ; and had taken to assist him 
 in his business a great-nephew, and latterly another youth in 
 the same degree of relation, the son of his late niece — the 
 prisoner, who on leaving school had been taken into his 
 uncle's office, lodged in the house, and became one of the 
 family. It would, however, be shown by witnesses that the 
 situation had been extremely irksome to the young man ; and 
 that he had not been in it many months, before he had 
 expressed his intention of absconding, provided he could 
 obtain the means of making his way in one of the colonies. 
 Then followed a summary of the deductions resulting from 
 the evidence about to be adduced, and which earned upon its 
 face the inference that the absence of the cousin, the remote- 
 ness of the room, the sight of a large sum of money, and the 
 helplessness of the old man, had proved temptations too 
 strong for a fiery and impatient youth, long fretted by the 
 restraints of his situation, and had conducted him to violence, 
 
288 THE TRIAL. 
 
 robbery, and flight. It was a case that could not be regarded 
 "without great regret and compassion ; but the gentlemen of 
 the jury must bear in mind in theu* investigation, that pity 
 must not be permitted to distort the facts, which he feared 
 were only too obvious. 
 
 The speech was infinitely more telling from its fair and 
 commiserating tone towards the prisoner ; and the impression 
 that it carried, not that he was to be persecuted by having 
 the crime fastened on him, but that truth must be sought out 
 at all hazards. 
 
 " Even he is sorry for Leonard ! I don't hate him as I 
 thought I should," whispered Gertrude May, to her elder 
 sister. 
 
 The first witness was, as before, the young maid- servant, 
 Anne Ellis, who described her first discovery of the body ; 
 and on farther interrogation, the situation of the room, 
 distant from those of the servants, and out of hearing — 
 also her master's ordinary condition of feebleness. She 
 had observed nothing in the room, or on the table, but 
 knew the window was open, since she had run to it, and 
 screamed for help, upon which Master Hardy had come to 
 her aid. 
 
 Leonard's counsel then elicited from her how low the 
 window was, and how easily it could be entered from without. 
 
 James Hardy corroborated all this, giving a more minute 
 account of the state of the room ; and telling of his going 
 to call the young gentlemen, and finding the open passage 
 window and empty bed-room. The passage window would 
 naturally be closed at night ; and there was no reason to 
 suppose that Mr. Ward would be absent. The bag shown to 
 him was one that had originally been made for the keeping 
 
THE TRIAL. 289 
 
 of cash, but latterly had been used for samples of grain, and 
 he had last seen it in the ofifice. 
 
 The counsel for the prisoner inquired what had been on 
 the table at Hardy's first entrance ; but to this the "witnes 
 could not swear, except that the lamp was burning, and that 
 there were no signs of disorder, nor was the dress of the 
 deceased disarranged. He had seen his master put receipts, 
 and make memorandums, in a large, black, silver-clasped 
 pocket-book, but had never handled it, and could not swear 
 to it ; he had seen nothing like it since his master's death. 
 He was further asked how long the prisoner had been at the 
 Iklill, his duties there, and the amount of trust reposed in 
 him ; to which last the answer was, that about a month since, 
 Mr. Axworthy had exclaimed that if ever he wanted a thing 
 to be done, he must set Ward about it. Saving this speech, 
 made in irritation at some omission on Sam's part, nothing 
 was adduced to show that Leonard was likely to have been 
 employed -without his cousin's knowledge ; though Hardy 
 volunteered the addition that Mr. "Ward was always respect- 
 ful and attentive, and that his uncle had lately thought much 
 more of him than at first. 
 
 Eebekah Giles gave her account of the scene in the sitting- 
 room. She had been in the sendee of the deceased for the 
 last four years, and before in that of his sister-in-law, Mr. 
 Samuel's mother. She had herself closed the passage window 
 at seven o'clock in the evening, as usuaL She had several 
 times previously found it partly open in the morning, after 
 having thus shut it over-night, but never before, !Mr. Ward's 
 bed unslept in. Her last interview ^vith Mr. Axwortliy was 
 then narrated, with his words — an imprecation against rifle 
 practice, as an excuse for idle young rascals to be always out 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 THE TKLVL. 
 
 of the way. Then followed her commimicatioii to the 
 prisoner at half -past nine, when she saw him go into the par- 
 lour, in his volunteer uniform, rifle in hand, heard him turn 
 the lock of the sitting-room door, and then herself retired to 
 bed. 
 
 Cross examination did not do much with her, only showing 
 that, when she brought in the supper, one window had been 
 open, and the blinds, common calico ones, drawn down, thus 
 rendering it possible for a person to lurk unseen in the court, 
 and enter by the window. Her master had assigned no 
 reason for sending for Mr. "Ward. She did not know whether 
 Mr. Axworthy had any memorandum book ; she had seen 
 none on the table, nor found any when she undressed the 
 body, though his purse, watch, and seals were on his 
 person. 
 
 Mr. Eankin's medical evidence came next, both as to the 
 cause of death, the probable instrument, and the nature of 
 the stains on the desk and rifle. 
 
 "WTien cross examined, he declared that he had looked at 
 the volunteer uniform without finding any mark of blood, but 
 from the nature of the injury it was not likely that there 
 would be any. He had attended Mr. Axworthy for several 
 years, and had been ^dsiting him professionally during a fit of 
 the gout in the last fortnight of June, when he had observed 
 that the prisoner was very attentive to his uncle. Mr. 
 Axworthy was always unwilling to be waited on, but was 
 unusually tolerant of this nephew's exertions on his behalf, 
 and had seemed of late to place much reliance on liim. 
 
 Doctor Eichard May was the next witness called. The 
 sound of that name caused the first visible change in the 
 prisoner's demeanour, if that could be called change, wliich 
 
THE TRIAL. 291 
 
 ■was only a slight relaxation of the firm closing of tlie lips, 
 and one sparkle of the dark eyes, ere they were again bent 
 down as before, though not without a quiver of the lids. 
 
 Dr. May had brought tone, look, and manner to the grave 
 impartiality, which even the most sensitive man is drilled 
 into assuming in public ; but he dui-st not cast one glance in 
 the direction of the prisoner. 
 
 In answer to the counsel for the prosecution, he stated that 
 he was at the Vintry Mill at seven o'clock on the morning of 
 the 6th of July, not professionally, but as taking interest in 
 the Ward family. He had seen the body of the deceased, 
 and considered death to have been occasioned by fracture of 
 the skull, from a blow with a blunt hea^y instrument. The 
 superintendent had shown him a rifle, which he considered, 
 from the marks on it, as well as from the appearance of the 
 body, to have produced the injury. Tlie rifle was the one 
 shown to him ; it was the property of Leonard Ward. He 
 recognised it by the crest and cypher H. E. It had belonged 
 to his son-in-law, Hector Emescliffe, by whom it had been 
 given to Leonard Ward. 
 
 Poor Doctor ! That was a cruel piece of evidence ; and 
 his son and daughters opposite wondered how he could utter 
 it in that steady matter-of-fact way ; but they knew him to 
 be sustained by hopes of the cross-examination ; and he soon 
 had the opportunity of declaring that he had known Leonard 
 Ward from infancy, ■v\-ithout being aware of any imputation 
 against him ; but had always seen him highly principled and 
 trustworthy, truthful and honourable, kind-hearted and 
 humane — the last person to injure the infirm or aged. 
 
 Perhaps the good doctor, less afraid of the sound of his 
 own voice, and not so much in awe as some of the other 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE TKIAL. 
 
 witnesses, here in his eagerness overstepped the bounds of 
 prudence. His words indeed brought a tremulous flicker of 
 grateful emotion over the prisoner's face ; but by carrying the 
 inquiry into the region of character and opinion, he opened 
 the door to a dangerous re-examination by the Crown lawyer, 
 who required the exact meaning of his unqualified commenda- 
 tion, especially in the matter of humanity, demanding whether 
 he had never known of any act of violence on the prisoner's 
 part. The colour flushed suddenly into Leonard's face, though 
 he moved neither eye nor lip ; but his counsel appealed to 
 the judge, and the pursuit of this branch of the subject was 
 quashed as irrelevant ; but the doctor went down in very 
 low spirits, feeling that his evidence had been damaging, and 
 his hopes of any ray of light becoming fainter. 
 
 After this, the village policeman repeated the former state- 
 ments, as to the state of the various rooms, the desk, locked 
 and untouched, the rifle, boat, &c. further explaining that 
 the distance from the Mill to Blewer Station, by the road 
 was an hour and half's walk, by the fields, not more than 
 half an hour's. 
 
 The station-master proved the prisoner's arrival at midnight, 
 his demand of a day-ticket, his being without luggage, and in 
 a black suit ; and the London policeman proved the finding 
 of the money on his person, and repeated his own explana- 
 tion of it. 
 
 The money was all in sovereigns, except one five and one 
 ten-pound note ; and Edward Hazlitt, the clerk of the Whit- 
 ford Bank, was called to prove the having given the latter in 
 change to Mr. Axworthy for a fifty-pound cheque, on the 
 10th of May last. 
 
 This same clerk had been at the volunteer drill on the 
 
THE TEIAL. 293 
 
 evening of the 5th of July, had there seen the prisoner, had 
 parted with him at dusk, towards nine o'clock, making an 
 engagement with him to meet on Blewer Heath for some 
 private practice at seven o'clock on Monday evening. Thought 
 Mr. Axworthy did sometimes employ young Ward on his 
 commissions; Mr. Axworthy had once sent him into '\ATiit- 
 ford to pay in a large sum, and another time with an order to 
 be cashed. The dates of these transactions were shown in 
 the books ; and Hazlitt added, on further interrogation, that 
 Samuel Axworthy could not have been aware of the sum 
 being sent to the bank, since he had shortly after come and 
 desired to see the account, which had been laid before him 
 as confidential manager, when he had shown surprise and 
 annoyance at the recent deposit, asking through whom it had 
 been made. Xot ten days subsequently, an order for nearly 
 the entire amount had been cashed, signed by the deceased, 
 but filled up in Samuel's handwriting. 
 
 This had taken place in April; and another witness, a 
 baker, proved the having paid the five-pound note to old 
 Mr. Axworthy himself on the 2d of May. 
 
 Samuel Axworthy himself was next called. His florid 
 face wore something of the puffed, stupefied look it had had 
 at the inquest, but his words were ready, and always to the 
 point. He identified the bag in which the money had been 
 found, giving an account of it similar to Hardy's and adding 
 that he had last seen it lying by his cousin's desk. His 
 uncle had no account with any London bank, all transactions 
 had of late passed through his own hands, and he had never 
 known the prisoner employed in any business of importance 
 — he could not have been kept in ignorance of it if it had 
 previously been the case. The deceased had a black shagreen 
 
294 THE TRIAL. 
 
 pocket-book, with a silver clasp, which he occasionally used, 
 but the witness had never known him. give it out of his 
 own hand, nor take a receipt in it. Had not seen it 
 on the morning of the 6tli, nor subsequently. Could not 
 account for the sum found on the person of the jDrisoner, 
 whose salary was 50Z. per anniuu, and who had no private 
 resources, except the interest of 2,000Z., which, he being a 
 minor, was not in his own hands. Deceased was fond of 
 amassing sovereigns, and would often keep them for a long 
 time in the drawer of his desk, as much as from 50^. to 100^. 
 There was none there when the desk was opened on the 6th 
 of July, though there had certainly been gold there two days 
 previously. It was kept locked. It had a small Bramah 
 key, which his uncle wore on his watch-chain, in his waist- 
 coat pocket. The drawer was locked when he saw it on the 
 morning of the 6th. 
 
 The doctor, who had joined his children, gave a deep 
 respiration, and relaxed the clenching of his hand, as this 
 witness went down. 
 
 Then it came to the turn of Aubrey Spencer May. The 
 long waiting, after his nerves had been wound up, had been 
 a severe ordeal, and his delicacy of constitution and home 
 breeding had rendered him peculiarly susceptible. With his 
 resemblance to his father in form and expression, it was 
 like seeing the doctor denuded of that shell of endurance 
 with which he had contrived to conceal his feelings. The 
 boy was indeed braced to resolution, but the resolution was 
 equally visible with the agitation in the awe-stricken brow, 
 varying colour, tightened breath, and involuntary shiver, as 
 he took the oath. Again Leonard looked up with one of 
 his clear bright glances, and perhaps a shade of anxiety ; 
 
THE TRIAL. 295 
 
 but Aubrey, for his own comfort, was too short-sighted for 
 meeting of eves from that distance. 
 
 Seeing his agitation, and reckoning on his evidence, the 
 counsel gave him time, by minutely asking if his double 
 Christian name were correctly given, his age, and if he were 
 not the son of Dr. May. 
 
 " You were the prisoner's school-fellow, I believe ? " 
 
 " Xo," faltered Aubrey. 
 
 " But you live near him 1 " 
 
 " We are friends," said Aubrey •svith sudden firmness and 
 precision ; and from the utterance of that emphatic are, his 
 spirit returned. 
 
 " Did you often see him 1 " 
 
 " On most Sundays, after church." 
 
 " Did you ever hear him say he had any thoughts of the 
 means of leaving the ^lill privately ? " 
 
 " Something like it," said Aubrey, turning very red. 
 
 " Can you tell me the words ? " 
 
 " He said if things went on, that I was not to be surprised 
 if I heard ' non est inventus.' " said Aubrey, speaking as if 
 rapidity would conceal the meaning of the words, but taken 
 aback by being made to repeat and translate them to the 
 jury. 
 
 " And cUd he mention any way of escaping ? " 
 
 " He said the window and cedar-tree were made for it, and 
 that he often went out that way to bathe," said Aubrey. 
 
 " When did this conversation take place 1 " 
 
 " On Sunday, the 22d of June," said Aubrey, in despair, 
 as the Crown lawyer thanked him, and sat down. 
 
 He felt himself betrayed into having made their talk wear 
 the air of deliberate purpose, and having said not one word 
 
296 THE TRIAL. 
 
 of what Mr. Bramsliaw had hailed as hopeful. However, the 
 defending barrister rose up to ask him what he meant by 
 having answered " Something like it." 
 
 " Because," said Aubrey, promptly, "though we did make 
 the scheme, we were neither of us in earnest." 
 
 " How do you know the prisoner was not in earnest 1 " 
 
 " We often made plans of what we should like to do." 
 
 " And had you any reason for thinking this one of such 
 plans 1 " 
 
 " Yes," said Aubrey ; " for he talked of getting gold enough 
 to build up the market-cross, or else of going to see the 
 Feejee Islands." 
 
 " Then you understood the prisoner not to express a 
 deliberate purpose, so much as a vague design." 
 
 " Just so," said Aubrey. " A design that depended on 
 how things went on at the Mill." And being desired to 
 explain his words, he added, that Leonard had said he could 
 not bear the sight of Sam Axworthy's tyranny over the old 
 man, and was resolved not to stay, if he were made a party 
 to any of the dishonest tricks of the trade. 
 
 " In that case, did he say where he would have gone 1 " 
 
 " First to 'New Zealand, to my brother, the Eeverend 
 ^N'orman May." 
 
 Leonard's counsel was satisfied with the colour the conver- 
 sation had now assumed ; but the perils of re-examination 
 were not over yet, for the adverse lawyer requested to know 
 whence the funds were to have come for this adventurous 
 voyage. 
 
 " We laughed a little about that ; and he said he should 
 have to try how far his quarter's salary would go towards 
 a passage in the steerage." 
 
THE TEIAL. 297 
 
 " K your friend expressed so strong a distaste to his em- 
 ployers and their business, what induced him to enter it 1 " 
 
 Leonard's counsel again objected to this inquiry, and it 
 was not permitted. Aubrey was dismissed, and, flushed and 
 giddy, was met by his brother Tom, who almost took him in 
 his arms as he emerged from the passage. 
 
 " Tom ! what have I done ? " 
 
 " Famously, provided there's no miller in the jury. Come," 
 as he felt the weight on his arm, " Flora says I am to take 
 you down and make you take something." 
 
 " 1^0, no, no, I can't ! I must go back." 
 
 " I tell you there's nothing going on. Every one is breath- 
 ing and baiting." And he got him safe to a pastrycook's, and 
 administered brandy cherries, which Aubrey bolted whole 
 like pills, only entreating to return, and wanting to know 
 how he thought the case going. 
 
 " Excellently. HazHtt's evidence and yours ought to carry 
 him through. And Anderson says they have made so much 
 out of the Avitnesses for the prosecution, that they need call 
 none for the defence ; and so the enemy will be baulked of 
 their reply, and we shall have the last word. I vow I have 
 missed my vocation. I know I was born for a barrister ? " 
 
 " Xow may we come back % " said the boy, overwhelmed 
 by his brother's cheeriness ; and they squeezed into court 
 again, Tom inserting Aubrey into his own former seat, and 
 standing behind him on half a foot at the angle of the pas- 
 sage. They were in time for the opening of the defence, 
 and to hear Leonard described as a youth of spirit and pro- 
 mise, of a disposition that had won him general affection 
 and esteem, and recommended to universal sympathy by the 
 bereavement v/hich was recent in the memory of his fellow- 
 
298 THE TEIAL. 
 
 townsmen; and there was a glance at the mourning which 
 the boy still wore. 
 
 " They had heard indeed that he was quick-tempered and 
 impulsive ; hut the gentlemen of the jury were some of them 
 fathers, and he put it to them whether a ready and generous 
 spirit of incUgnation in a lad were compatible with cowardly 
 designs against helpless old age ; whether one whose recre- 
 ations were natural science and manly exercise showed tokens 
 of vicious tendencies ; above all, whether a youth, whose 
 friendship they had seen so touchingly claimed by a son of 
 one of the most highly respected gentlemen in the county, 
 were evincing the propensities that lead to the perpetration 
 of deeds of darkness." 
 
 Tom patted Aubrey on the shoulder ; and Aubrey, though 
 muttering " humbug," was by some degrees less wretched. 
 
 " Men did not change their nature on a sudden," the 
 counsel continued ; " and where was the probability that a 
 youth of character entirely unblemished, and of a disposition 
 particularly humane and generous, should at once rush into 
 a crime of the deep and deadly description, to which a long 
 course of dissipation, leading to perplexity, distress, and 
 despair, would be the only inducement 1 " 
 
 He then went on to speak of Leonard's position at the 
 Mill, as junior clerk. He had been there for six months, 
 without a flaw being detected, either in his integrity, his 
 diligence, or his regularity ; indeed, it was evident that he 
 had been gradually acquiring a greater degree of esteem and 
 confidence than he had at first enjoyed, and had been latterly 
 more employed by his uncle. That a young man of superior 
 education should find the daily drudgery tedious and dis- 
 tasteful, and that one of sensitive honour should be startled 
 
THE TRIAL. 299 
 
 at the ordinary, he might almost say proverbial, customs of 
 the miller's trade — was surprising to no one ; and that he 
 should unbosom himself to a friend of his own age, and 
 indulge together with him in romantic visions of adventure, 
 was, to all who remembered their own boyhood, an illustra- 
 tion of the freshness and ingenuousness of the character that 
 thus unfolded itself. Where there were day-dreams, there 
 was no room for plots of crime. 
 
 Then ensued a species of apology for the necessity of enter- 
 ing into particulars that did not redound to the credit of a 
 gentleman, who had appeared before the court under such 
 distressing circumstances as Mr. Samuel Axworthy; but it 
 was needful that the condition of the family should be well 
 understood, in order to comprehend the unhappy train of 
 events which had conducted the prisoner into his present 
 situation. He then went through what had been traceable 
 through the evidence — that Samuel Axworthy was a man of 
 expensive habits, and accustomed to drain liis uncle's re- 
 sources to supply his own needs ; showing how the sum, 
 which had been entrusted to the prisoner, to be paid into 
 the local bank, had been drawn out by the elder nephew as 
 soon as he became aware of the deposit ; and how, shortly 
 after, the prisoner had expressed to Aubrey May his indigna- 
 tion at the tyranny exercised on his uncle. 
 
 " By-and-by, another sum is amassed," continued Leonard's 
 advocate. " How dispose of it ? The local bank is evidently 
 no security from the rapacity of the elder nephew. Once 
 aware of its existence, he knows how to use means for com- 
 pelling its surrender ; and the feeble old man can no longer 
 call his hard-earned gains his o^vn except on sufferance. The 
 only means of guarding it is to lodge it secretly in a distant 
 
300 THE TRIAL. 
 
 batik, without the suspicion of his nephew Samuel ; but the 
 invalid is too infirm to leave his apartment; his fingers, 
 crippled by gout, refuse even to guide the pen. He can only 
 watch for an opportunity, and this is at length afforded by 
 the absence of the elder nephew for two days at the county 
 races. This will afford time for a trustworthy and intelli- 
 gent messenger to convey the sum to town, deposit it in 
 Messrs. Drummond's bank, and return unobserved. When, 
 therefore, supper is brought in, Mr. Axworthy sends for the 
 lad on whom he has learnt to depend, and shows much dis- 
 appointment at his absence. Where is he ? Is he engaged 
 with low companions in the haunts of vice, that are the 
 declivity towards crime ] Is he gaming, or betting, or 
 drinking ? Xo. He has obeyed the summons of his coun- 
 try ; he is a zealous volunteer, and is eagerly using a weapon, 
 presented to him by a highly respected gentleman of large 
 fortune in a neighbouring county ; nay, so far is he from 
 any sinister purpose, that he is making an appointment with 
 a fellow-rifleman for the ensuing Monday. On his return at 
 dark, he receives a pressing summons to his uncle's room, 
 and hastens to obey it without pausing to lay aside his rifle. 
 The commission is explained, and well understanding the 
 painfulness of the cause, he discreetly asks no questions, 
 but prepares to execute it. The sum of 124^. 12.s. is taken 
 from the drawer of the desk, the odd money assigned to 
 travelling expenses, the 120?. placed in a bag brought in 
 from the office for the purpose, bearing the initials of the 
 owner, and a receipt in a private pocket-book w^as signed 
 by him for the amount, and left open on the table for the 
 ink to dry. 
 
 " Who that has ever been young, can doubt the zest and 
 
THE TRIAL. 301 
 
 elevation of receiving for the first time a confidential mission 1 
 AVho can doubt that even the favourite weapon would be for- 
 gotten where it stood, and that it would only be accordant to 
 accredited niles that the window should be preferable to the 
 door 1 Had it not already figured in the visions of adven- 
 ture in the Sunday evening's walk ? was it not a favourite 
 mode of exit in the mornings, when bathing and fishing were 
 more attractive than the pillow 1 Moreover, the moonlight 
 disclosed what appeared like a figure in the court-yard, and 
 there was reason at the time to suppose it a person likely to 
 observe and report upon the expedition. The opening of the 
 front door might likewise attract notice ; and if the cousin 
 should, as was possible, return that night, the direct road was 
 the way to meet him. The hour was too early for the train 
 which was to be met, but a lighted candle would reveal the 
 vigil, and moonlight on the meadows was attractive at 
 eighteen. Gentlemen of soberer and maturer years might 
 be incredulous, but surely it was not so strange or unusual 
 for a lad, who indulged in visions of adventure, to find a 
 moonlight walk by the river-side more inviting than a bed- 
 room. 
 
 " Shortly after, perhaps as soon as the light was extin- 
 guished, the murder must have been committed. The very 
 presence of that light had been guardianship to the helpless 
 old man below. When it was quenched, nothing remained 
 astir, the way from without was open, the weapon stood only 
 too ready to hand, the memorandum-book gave promise of 
 booty and was secured, though nothing else was apparently 
 touched. It was this very book that contained the signature 
 that would have exonerated the prisoner, and to wliich he 
 fearlessly appealed upon his arrest at the Paddington Station, 
 
302 THE TKL\X. 
 
 before, for his additional misfortune, lie had time to discharge 
 himself of his commission, and establish his innocence by 
 the deposit of the money at the bank. He has thus for a 
 "vvhile become the victim of a web of suspicious circumstances. 
 But look at these very circumstances more closely, and they 
 will be found perfectly consistent with the prisoner's state- 
 ment, never varying, be it remembered, from the explanation 
 given to the policeman in first surprise and horror of the 
 tidings of the crime. 
 
 "It might have been perhaps thought that there was 
 another alternative between entire innocence and a deliberate 
 purpose of robbery and murder — namely, that reproof from 
 the old man had provoked a blow, and that the means of 
 flight had been hastily seized upon in the moment of confu- 
 sion and alarm. This might have been a plausible line of 
 defence, and secure of a favourable hearing ; but I beg to 
 state that the prisoner has distinctly refused any such de- 
 fence, and my instructions are to contend for his perfect inno- 
 cence. A nature, such as we have already traced, is, as we 
 cannot but perceive, revolted by the bare idea of violence to 
 tlie aged and infirm, and recoils as strongly from the one 
 accusation as from the other. 
 
 "The prisoner made his statement at the first moment, 
 and has adhered to it in every detail, without confusion or 
 self-contradiction. It does not attempt to explain all the 
 circumstances, but they all tally exactly with his story ; he 
 is unable to show by whom the crime could have been com- 
 mitted, nor is he bound in law or justice so to do ; nay, his 
 own story shows the absolute impossibility of his being able 
 to explain, what took place in his absence. But mark how 
 completely the established facts corroborate his narrative. 
 
THE TELNX. 303 
 
 Observe first the position in which the body was found, the 
 head on the desk, the stain of blood corres2:)onding A^th the 
 wound, the dress undisturbed, all manifestly untouched since 
 the fatal stroke was dealt. Could this have been the case, 
 had the key of the drawer of gold been taken from the waist- 
 coat pocket, the chain from about the neck of the deceased, 
 and both replaced after the removal of the money and re- 
 locking the drawer ? Can any one doubt that the drawer 
 was opened, the money taken out, and the lock secured, while 
 Mr. Axworthy was alive and consenting 1 Again, what 
 robber would convey away the spoil in a bag bearing the 
 initials of the owner, and that not caught up in haste, but 
 fetched in for the purpose from the office ? Or would so 
 tell-tale a weapon as the rifle have been left conspicuously 
 close at hand ? There was no guilty precipitation, for the 
 uniform had been taken off and folded up, and with a whole 
 night before him, it would have been easy to reach a more 
 distant station, where his person would not have been recog- 
 nised. Why, too, if this were the beginning of a flight and 
 exile, should no preparation have been made for passing a 
 single night from home 1 why should a day-ticket have been 
 asked for ? 'No, the prisoner's own straightforward, unvar- 
 nished statement is the only consistent interpretation of the 
 facts, otherwise conflicting and incomprehensible. 
 
 "That a murder has been committed is unhappily too 
 certain. I make no attempt to unravel the mystery. I 
 confine myself to the far more grateful task of demonstrating, 
 that to fasten the imputation on the accused, would be to 
 overlook a complication of inconsistencies, all explained by 
 his own account of himself, but utterly inexplicable on the 
 hypothesis of his guilt. 
 
 1 
 
304 THE TKIAL. 
 
 " Circumstantial evidence is universally acknowledged to 
 be perilous ground for a conviction ; and I never saw a case 
 in which it was more manifestly delusive than in the present, 
 bearing at first an imposing and formidable aspect, but on 
 examination, confuted in every detail. Most assuredly/' con- 
 tinued the counsel, his voice becoming doubly earnest, " while 
 there is even the possibility of innocence, it becomes incum- 
 bent on you, gentlemen of the jury, to consider well the 
 fearful consequences of a decision in a matter of life or death 
 — a decision for which there can be no reversal. The facts 
 that have come to light are manifestly incomplete. Another 
 link in the chain has yet to be added ; and when it shall 
 come forth, how will it be if it should establish the guiltless- 
 ness of the prisoner too late '? Too late, when a young life 
 of high promise, and linked by close family ties, and by 
 bonds of ardent friendship with so many, has been quenched 
 in shame and disgi-ace, for a crime to which he may be an 
 utter stranger. 
 
 " The extinction of the light in that upper window was 
 the sign for darkness and horror to descend on the Mill ! 
 Here is the light of life still burning, but a breath of yours 
 can extinguish it in utter gloom, and then who may rekindle 
 it 1 Nay, the revelation of events that would make the 
 transactions of that fatal night clear- as the noonday, would 
 never avail to rekindle the lamp, that may yet, I trust, shine 
 forth to the world — the clearer it may be, from the unmerited 
 imputations, which it has been my part to combat, and of 
 which his entire life is a confutation." 
 
 Mrs. Pugh was sobbing under her veil ; Gertrude felt the 
 cause won. Tom noiselessly clapped the orator behind his 
 brother's back, and nodded his approval to liis father. Even 
 
THE TRIAL. 305 
 
 Leonard lifted up his face, and shot across a look, as if he 
 felt deliverance near after the weary day, that seemed to 
 have heen a lifetime already, though the sunbeams were only 
 beginning to fall high and yellow on the ceiling, through the 
 heated stifling atmosphere, heavy with anxiety and suspense. 
 Doctor May was thinking of the meeting after the acquittal, 
 of the telegram to Stoneborough, of "the sister's revival, and 
 of Ethel's greetmg. 
 
 Still the judge had to sum up ; and all eyes turned on 
 him, knowing that the fate of the accused would probably 
 depend on the colouring that the facts adduced would assume 
 in his hands. Flora, who met him in society, was struck 
 by the grave and melancholy bracing, as it were, of the 
 countenance, that she had seen as kindly and bright as her 
 father's ; and the deep, full v(jice, sad rather than stern, the 
 very tone of which conveyed to every mind how heavy was 
 the responsibility of justice and impartiality. In effect, the 
 very force of the persuasions made for the defence, un- 
 answered by the prosecution, rendered it needful for him to 
 give full weight to the evidence for the other side ; namely, 
 the prisoner's evident impatience of his position, and pre- 
 meditated flight, the coincidence of the times, the being the 
 last person seen to enter the room, and with the very weapon 
 that had been the instrument of the crime ; the probability 
 that the deceased had himself opened the drawer, the open 
 window, the flight, and the missing sum being found on his 
 person, the allegation that the receipt would be found in the 
 pocket-book, unsupported by any testimony as to the practice 
 of the deceased ; the strangeness of leaving the premises so 
 much too early for the train, and, by his own account, leaving 
 a person prowling in the court, close to his uncle's window. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
306 THE TRIAL. 
 
 No opinion was given ; but there was something that gave a 
 sense that the judge felt it a crushing weight of evidence. 
 Yet so minutely was every point examined, so carefully was 
 every indication weighed which could tend to establish the 
 prisoner's innocence, that to those among his audience who 
 believed that innocence indubitable, it seemed as if his argu- 
 ments proved it, even more triumphantly than the pleading 
 of the counsel, as, vibrating between hope and fear, anxiety 
 and gratitude, they followed him from point to point of the 
 unhappy incident, hanging upon every word, as though each 
 were decisive. 
 
 ^Vhen at length he ceased, and the jury retired, the breath- 
 less stillness continued. With some, indeed, there was the 
 relaxation of long-strained attention, eyes unbent, and heads 
 turned ; but Flora had to pass her arm round her Kttle sister, 
 to steady the child's nervous trembling ; Aubrey sat rigid 
 and upright, the throbs of his heart well-nigh audible ; and 
 Dr. May leant forward, and covered his eyes with his hand ; 
 Tom, who alone dared glance to the dock, saw that Leonard 
 too had retired. Those were the most terrible minutes they 
 had ever spent in their lives ; but they were minutes of hope 
 — of hope of relief from a burthen, becoming more intoler- 
 able with every second's delay ere the rebound. 
 
 Long as it seemed to them, it was not in reality more than 
 a quarter of an hour before the jury returned, and with slow 
 grave movements, and serious countenances, resumed their 
 places. Leonard was already in his ; his cheek paler, his 
 fingers locked together, and his eyes scanning each as they 
 came forward, and one by one their names were called over. 
 His head was erect, and his bearing had something undaunted, 
 though intensely anxious. 
 
THE TEIAL. 307 
 
 The question was put by the clerk of the court, " How find 
 you ? guilty or not guilty 1 " 
 
 Firmly, though sadly, the foreman rose, and his answer 
 was, " "We find the prisoner guilty ; but we earnestly recom- 
 mend him to mercy." 
 
 ^Vhether Tom felt or not that Aubrey was in a dead faint, 
 and rested against him as a senseless weight, he paid no 
 visible attention to aught but one face, on which his eyes 
 were riveted as though nothing would ever detach them — 
 and that face was not the prisoner's. 
 
 Others saw Leonard's face raised upwards, and a deep red 
 flush spread over brow and cheek, though neither lip nor eye 
 wavered. 
 
 Then came the question whether the prisoner had any- 
 thing to say, wherefore judgment should not be passed upon 
 him. 
 
 Leonard made a step forward, and his clear steady tone 
 did not shake for a moment as he spoke. " Xo. I see that 
 appearances are so much against me, that man can hardly 
 decide otherwise. I have known from the first that nothing 
 could show my innocence but the finding of the receipt. In 
 the absence of that one testimony, I feel that I have had a 
 fair trial, and that all has been done for me that could be 
 done ; and I thank you for it, my Lord, and you, Gentlemen," 
 as he bent his head ; then added, " I should like to say one 
 thing more. My Lord, you would not let the question be 
 asked, how I brought all this upon myself. I wish to say it 
 myself, for it is that which makes my sentence just in the 
 sight of God. It is true that, though I never lifted my hand 
 against my poor uncle, I did in a moment of passion fling a 
 stone at my brother, which, but for God's mercy, might indeed 
 
 X 2 
 
308 THE TRIAL. 
 
 have made me a murderer. It was for this, and other like 
 outbreaks, that I was sent to the IMill ; and it may be just 
 that for it T should die — though indeed I never hurt my 
 uncle." 
 
 Perhaps there was something in tlie tone of that one word, 
 indeed, which by recalling his extreme youth, touched all 
 hearts more than even the manly tone of his answer, and his 
 confession. There was a universal weeping and sobbing 
 throughout the court ; Mrs. Pugh was on the verge of 
 hysterics, and obliged to be supported away ; and Gertrude 
 was choking between the agony of contagious feeling and 
 dread of Flora's displeasure ; and all the time Leonard stood 
 calm, w^th his brave head and lofty bearing, wound up for 
 the awful moment of the sentence. 
 
 The weeping was hushed, when the crier of the court made 
 proclamation, commanding all persons on pain of imprison- 
 ment to be silent. Then the judge placed on his head the 
 black cap, and it was with trembling hands that he did so ; 
 the blood had entirely left his face, and his lips were purple 
 with the struggle to contend with and suppress his emotion. 
 He paused, as though he were girding himself up to the most 
 terrible of duties, and when he spoke his voice was hollow, 
 as he began : 
 
 " Leonard Axworthy "Ward, you have been found guilty of 
 a crime, that would have appeared impossible in one removed 
 from temptation by birth and education such as yours have 
 been. What the steps may have been that led to such guilt, 
 must lie between your own conscience and that God whose 
 justice you have acknowledged. To Him you have evidently 
 been taught to look ; and may you use the short time that 
 still remains to you, in seeking His forgiveness by sincere 
 
THE TRIAL. 309 
 
 repentance. I will forward th.e recommendation to mercy, but 
 it is my duty to warn you that there are no such palliating 
 circumstances in the evidence, as to warrant any expectation 
 of a remission of the sentence." 
 
 And therewith followed the customary form of sentence, 
 ending with the solemn "And may God Almighty have 
 mercy on your soul !" 
 
 Full and open, and never quailing, had the dark eyes been 
 fixed upon the judge all the time ; and at those last words, 
 the head bent low, and the lips moved for " Amen." 
 
 Then Tom, relieved to find instant occupation for his 
 father, drew his attention to Aubrey's state ; and the boy 
 between Tom and George Eivers was, as best they could, 
 carried through the narrow outlets, and laid down in a room, 
 opened to them by the sheriff, where his father and Flora 
 attended him, while Tom flew for remedies ; and Gertrude 
 sobbed and wept as she had never done in her life. 
 
 It was some time before the swoon yielded, or Dr. May 
 could leave his son, and then he was bent on at once going 
 to the prisoner ; but he was so shaken and tremulous, that 
 Tom insisted on giving him his arm, and held an umbrella 
 over him in the driving rain. 
 
 " Father," he said, as soon as they were in the street, " I 
 can swear who did it." 
 
 Dr. May just hindered himself from uttering the name ; 
 but Tom answered as if it had been spoken. 
 
 " Yes. I saw the face of fiendish barbarity that once was 
 over me, when I was a miserable little schoolboy ! He did 
 it ; and he has the receipt." 
 
 Dr. May squeezed his arm. " I have not betrayed the 
 secret, have IV 
 
310 THE TRIAL. 
 
 "You knew that he knew it !" 
 
 " Not knew — suspected — generosity." 
 
 " I saw him ! I saw him cast those imploring earnest eyes 
 of his on the scoundrel as he spoke of the receipt — and the 
 villain try to make himself of stone. AYell, if I have one 
 wish in life, it is to see that fellow come to the fate he 
 deserves. I'll never lose sight of him ; I'll dog him like a 
 hlood-hound ! " 
 
 ** And what good will that do, when — Tom, Tom, we must 
 move Heaven and earth for petitions. I'll take them up 
 myself and get George Rivers to take me to the Home Secre- 
 tary. Never fear, while there's justice in Heaven." 
 
 "Here's Henry!" exclaimed Tom, withholding his father, 
 who had almost run against the brother, as they encountered 
 round a corner. 
 
 He was pale and bewildered, and hardly seemed to hear 
 the doctor's hasty asseverations that he would get a 
 reprieve. 
 
 " He sent me to meet you," said Henry. " He wants you 
 to go home — to Ave I mean. He says that is what he wants 
 most — for 3^ou to go to her now, and to come to him to- 
 morrow, or when you can ; and he wants to hear how Aubrey 
 is," continued Henry, as if dreamily repeating a lesson. 
 
 "He saw then— r' 
 
 " Yes ; and that seems to trouble him most." 
 
 Dr. May was past speaking, and Tom was obliged to 
 answer for him — that Aubrey was pretty well again, and 
 had desired his dearest, dearest love ; then asked how 
 Leonard was. 
 
 "Calm and firm as ever," said Henry, half choked. 
 " Nothing seems to upset him, but speaking of — of you and 
 
THE TRI.NX. 311 
 
 Aubrey, Dr. ]May — and poor Ave. But — but they'll be toge- 
 ther before long." 
 
 " 'No such thing," said Dr. May. "You will see that cer- 
 tainty cures, when susj^ense kills ; and for him, I'll never 
 believe but that all will be right yet. Are you going home ] " 
 
 " I shall try to be with — with the dear unhappy boy as 
 long as I can, and then I'll come home." 
 
 Dr. May grasped Henry's hand, gave a promise of coming, 
 and a message of love to the prisoner ; tried to say something 
 more, but broke down, and let Tom lead him away. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 R <;I.AT, SON, A>T) XAYLOK, PRIXTBRS BREAD STREET HILL.