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 ilUGH CEICHTON'S KOMANCE 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE 
 
 BT 
 
 CHKISTABEL R. COLERIDGE 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' LADY BETTY ' 
 
 "^abt is n ^rtstnt for a IHigbtn ^htg 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 bonbon 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1875 
 
 All rights leserved »
 
 8^3 
 
 V. 1. 
 
 DEDICATED TO M. R. P. 
 
 WITH THANKS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 
 PART I. 
 
 
 
 HUGH'S STORY. 
 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 I. 
 
 VIOLANTE 
 
 3 
 
 II. 
 
 MR. SPENCEK. CRICHTON . 
 
 . 19 
 
 III. 
 
 THE SINGING CLASS 
 
 36 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY 
 
 . 55 
 
 V. 
 
 IL DON GIOVANNI 
 
 77 
 
 VI. 
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL 
 
 . 90 
 
 VII. 
 
 WHITE FLOWERS 
 
 104 
 
 PART IL 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 VIIl. THE TIME OF EOSES . . . 123 
 
 IX. OXLEY MANOR . . • 142 
 
 X. PROS AND CONS . . .162
 
 Vlll CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XI. CONTEART WINDS . . . 185 
 
 XII. LEFT TO HEESELF . . . 201 
 
 PART III. 
 ARTHURS STORY. 
 
 XIII. MTSIE .... 217 
 
 XIV. SMOOTH WATERS . . . 240 
 XV. OUT m THE COLD . . 260 
 
 XVI. SUNDAY AND MONDAY . . . 278
 
 PART I. 
 
 HUGH'S STOEY. 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land.* 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 L ICS n^^^^^./^}'^ 
 
 CHAPTEE 1. 
 
 YIOLANTE. 
 
 EUe 6tait pale et pourtant rose, 
 Petite, avec de grands cheveux, 
 
 EUe disait souvent, ^ Je n'ose/ 
 Et ne disait jamais, ' Je veux.' 
 
 The sunshine of a summer evening was, 
 bathing Civita Bella with an intensity of 
 beauty rare even in that fair Italian town. 
 When the shadows are sharp, and the lights 
 clear, and the sky a serene and perfect blue, 
 even fustian and broadcloth have a sort of 
 picturesqueness, slates and bricks show un- 
 expected colours, and chance tree tops tell 
 with effect even in London squares and sub- 
 urbs. Then harsh tints harmonise and 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HUGH CRICHTONS ROMANCE. 
 
 homely faces look fair, while fair ones catch 
 the eye more quickly ; every flower basket in 
 the streets shows whiter pinks and redder 
 roses than those which were passed unseen 
 in yesterday's rain, the street gutters catch a 
 sparkle of distant streamlets, and the street 
 children at their play group into pictures. 
 Eor the sun is a great enchanter, and nothing 
 in nature but sad human hearts can resist 
 his brightness. Civita Bella needed no ad- 
 ventitious aid to enhance its beauty. The 
 fretted spires and carved balconies, quaint 
 :gables and decorated walls, were the in- 
 heritance of centuries of successful art, and 
 their varied hues were only harmonised by the 
 years that had passed since some master spirit 
 had given them to the world, or since they had 
 grown up in obedience to the inspiring in- 
 fluence of an art-loving generation. Down 
 a side street, apart from the clhef centres of 
 modem hfe, stood an old ducal palace. The 
 very name of its princely owners had long
 
 VIOLANTE. 5 
 
 ago faded out of the land, and no one alive 
 bore on his shield the strange devices carved 
 over its portico. It lay asleep in the sun- 
 shine, lifting its broken pinnacles and muti- 
 lated carvings to the blue sky, still beautiful 
 with the pathetic beauty of 'the days that 
 are no more/ 
 
 The old palace was let in flats, and on 
 one of the upper stories flower-pots and 
 muslin curtains peeped gaily out of the dim, 
 broken marbles with a kind of pleasant in- 
 congriuty, like a child in a convent. 
 
 Within the muslin curtains was a long, 
 spacious room, with inlaid floor and colom^ed 
 walls, with a broad band of bas-rehefs round 
 the top leading the eye to the carved and 
 painted ceihng above. There was very little 
 furniture, a grand piano being the most con- 
 spicuous object, and the lofty windows were 
 shaded by Venetian blinds ; but round the 
 farthest, which was partly open, were grouped 
 a few chairs and tables, with an unmistak-
 
 6 HUGH CRICHTO^^ S ROMANCE. 
 
 able attempt to give an air of modern, not to 
 say English, comfort to one part of the vast, 
 half-inhabited chamber. 
 
 A brown-faced, shrewd-eyed Italian wo- 
 man, with gold pins in her grey hair and 
 gold beads romid her neck, and a young lady 
 in an ordinary muslin dress, were standing 
 together contemplating and criticising a young 
 girl who stood in front of them, dressed in 
 the costume of an Itahan peasant. That is to 
 say, she wore a short skirt and a white 
 bodice, but the skirt was of rose-coloured 
 silk, the bodice of fine cambric ; her tiny hat 
 was more coquettish than correct in detail, 
 and the little hands playing with the cross 
 round her neck had surely never toiled for 
 their daily bread. Yet she looked a little 
 tired and a little sad, and her companions 
 were noticing her appearance with the gravity 
 that pertains to a matter of business. 
 
 'I think that will do,' said the young
 
 VIOLANTE. 7 
 
 lady, in a clear, decided voice. ' She looks 
 very pretty.' 
 
 ' Oh, bella — bellissima ! ' said the old 
 Italian woman, clapping her hands. ' But 
 when is not la signorina charming ? ' 
 
 'It does not alter her much. Violante, 
 does it inspire you ? ' 
 
 ' I think it is very pretty ; and you know, 
 Eosa, I shall be rouged, and perhaps my eyes 
 will be painted if they don't show enough/ 
 said Violante, simply. 
 
 ' You don't mind that ? ' said Eosa, curi- 
 ously. 
 
 ' No ! ' with a half-surprised look in the 
 soft pathetic eyes ; ' I am glad. Then father 
 will not see when I am pale. It will be 
 hidden.' 
 
 ' Oh, my child, you will not look pale 
 then. So, Zerhna, you want another bow on 
 your apron ; and then this great dress is off 
 one's mind. We must let father look at you.'
 
 8 HUGH CRICHTON'S EOMANCE. 
 
 ' Do you think he will say I look hand- 
 some enough ? ' said Yiolante, anxiously. 
 
 Eosa laughed. ' I don't know what he 
 may say, but I am sure of what he will think. 
 And besides, he is not the public. Thank 
 you, Maddalena, we need not keep you now.' 
 And, as the old woman departed, Eosa took 
 the little muslin apron and began to sew a 
 bright bow on it ; while Violante stood by 
 her side, manifestly afraid " of injuring her 
 costume by sitting down in it. She looked 
 very pretty, as her sister had said, but her 
 anxious, serious look was little in accord- 
 ance with her gay stage costume. 
 
 ' You see,' said Eosa, as she pinched up 
 her loops of ribbon, ' we have a great many 
 friends. All the members of the singing-class 
 will go, so you will not feel that you are 
 acting to strangers.' 
 
 ' I think Madame Tollemache will go,' 
 said Violante.
 
 VIOL ANTE. af 
 
 ' Of course, and her son, and Emily, and 
 they will take Mr. Crichton.' 
 
 A sudden brightness came over the girl's 
 soft eyes and hps, as she stood behind her 
 sister's chair. 
 
 ' Eosa, mia,' she said, ' you understand 
 about England. What is it il signor — ah, 
 I cannot say his name — does in his own 
 country ? ' 
 
 ' Yiolante, you talk a great deal of English, 
 why cannot you learn how to call people's 
 names ? Crichton ; Spencer Crichton.' 
 
 ' He should not have two hard names,' 
 said Yiolante, with a little pout. ' I would 
 rather call him il signor Hugo." 
 
 ' Well, as you like,' said Eosa, laughing. 
 
 ' And he lives in a beautiful palazzo, with 
 trees and a river ? ' 
 
 ' Does he ? ' said Eosa, ' I should doubt it 
 exceedingly. I dare say he has a very nice 
 house. There are no palaces, "Yiolante, in
 
 10 HUGH CRICHTON's ROMAXCE. 
 
 England, except for bishops, and for the 
 Queen ; certainly not for bankers.' 
 
 ' And what is a banker ? ' 
 
 ' Well.' said Eosa, a little puzzled in her 
 turn ; ' he takes care of people's money for 
 them ; it is a profession.' 
 
 ' And he is not noble ? ' 
 
 ' ISTo ; but as he has this country-seat, I 
 suppose he has a position somewhat equiva- 
 lent to what we mean here by noble. You 
 can't understand it, dear ; it is all different. 
 Mr. Crichton works very hard, no doubt, in 
 his own country, and I suppose his long 
 holiday will soon be over.' 
 
 Yiolante started, and as she stood behind 
 her sister's chair, she hid her face for a 
 moment in her hands. 
 
 ' But his brother is coming — his brother, 
 who so loves art,' she said, after a pause. 
 
 ' Ah, yes ; then I daresay they will go 
 home together. But you will have this 
 artistic gentleman to look at you on Tuesday ;
 
 VIOLANTE. 11 
 
 and we must take care and please your 
 chief admirer before all.' 
 
 ' Shall I please him ? ' said the girl, with 
 a smile shy and yet half-confident. 
 
 ' I hope so. Signor Vasari's opinion is 
 of importance.' Violante's face fell, as if it 
 were not the manager of the Civita Bella 
 opera-house whose opinion she had thought 
 of such consequence, but she did not speak 
 till a hasty step sounded on the stair with- 
 out. 
 
 ' That is father ! ' 
 
 'Yes! Here, the apron is ready; tie it 
 on. Oh, my darling, do not look so fright- 
 ened ; you will spoil it all ! ' 
 
 Violante crept close to her sister and 
 took her hand ; her bosom heaved, her mouth 
 trembled. Manifestly either the result of 
 the inspection was of supreme importance, 
 or she greatly feared the inspector. 
 
 Eosa kissed her, and, with an encouraging 
 pat on the shoulder, put her away, and
 
 12 HUGH CRICHTON'S EOMANCE. 
 
 Violante stood with her gay fantastic dress, 
 a strange contrast to the timid, uneasy face 
 of the wearer. 
 
 ' Ah ha, Mademoiselle Mattel ! So ; very 
 pretty, very pretty. But no ; this is fit for a 
 drawing-room. She might go and drink tea 
 with Madame ToUemache at the Consulate ; 
 she might wear it on a Sunday to church.' 
 
 ' Oh, father, I am sure I could not !' cried 
 Violante, scandalised. 
 
 Signor Mattel stood with his head on one 
 side, contemplating her with critical atten- 
 tion, and stroking his long grizzled beard 
 the while. ' She will be efiaced by the foot- 
 lights and the distance ! More ribbons, Eosa ; 
 more braid, more chains, more gilding. A 
 knot there, a bow there ; here a streamer, 
 here some — some efiect ! ' 
 
 ' But, father, Zerlina was only a peasant 
 girl,' said Violante, timidly. 
 
 ' Tut-tut, w^hat do you know about it ?' 
 he said, shortly. 'A peasant girl! She is
 
 YIOLANTE. 13 
 
 the sublimated essence of the coquetry and 
 the charm of a thousand peasant girls ; and 
 till you see that, you silly child, you will 
 never be her worthy representative ! ' 
 
 'I understand, father,' interposed Eosa, 
 hastily. 'It is soon done. Will you go and 
 take the dress off, Violante ? ' 
 
 But as Violante moved, there was the 
 sound of another arrival, and Maddalena 
 announced ' II signor Inglese.' 
 
 'Stay, child,' cried Signor Mattel, as 
 Violante was escaping in haste. She paused 
 with a start which might have been caused 
 by the sudden sound of her father's voice, 
 for he let his sentences fall much as if he 
 were cracking a nut. ' Stop ! I have no 
 objection to give the world a tiny sip of the 
 future cup of joy ! What, how will you 
 face the pubhc on Tuesday, if you are afraid 
 of one Enghshman, uneducated, a child in 
 Art?' 
 
 The httle cantatrice of seventeen stood
 
 14 HUGH CKICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 flushing and quivering as if only one atom 
 of that terrible public were enough to fill 
 her with dread. But perhaps her father's 
 €ye was more terrible than the stranger's, 
 for she stood still, a spot of gaudy colour in 
 the centre of the great bare room, yet 
 shrinking like a little wild animal in the 
 strange new cage, where it looks in vain for 
 its safe shady hole amid cool ferns and moss. 
 
 Eosa came forward and shook hands 
 with the new comer, saying, in English, 
 * How do you do, Mr. Crichton ? You find 
 us very busy.' 
 
 ' I hope I am not in the way. I came 
 for one moment to ask if I might bring my 
 brother to the singing-class to-morrow. He 
 is very fond of music' 
 
 The speaker had a pleasant voice and 
 accent, spite of a shght formality of address, 
 and although he carried himself with what 
 Signor Mattel called ' English stiffness,' there 
 was also an English air of health and strength
 
 VIOLANTE. 15 
 
 about his tall figure. The lack of colour and 
 vivacity iu his fair grave features prevented 
 their regularity of form from striking a casual 
 observer, just as a want of variety in their 
 expression caused people to say that Hugh 
 Spencer Crichton had no expression at all. 
 But spite of all detractors, he looked hand- 
 some, sensible, and well bred, and none of 
 his present companions had ever had reason 
 to say that he was grave because their 
 society bored him, formal because he was 
 too proud to be familiar, or silent because 
 he was too unsympathetic to have anything 
 to say. Such remarks had sometimes been 
 made upon him, but it is always well to see 
 people for the first time under favourable 
 circumstances, and so we first see Hugh 
 Crichton in the old Italian palace, enjoying a 
 private view of the future prima donna in 
 her stage dress. 
 
 ' We shall be dehghted to see your 
 brother, signor,' said the musician, ' as your
 
 16 HUGH CRICHTONS ROMANCE. 
 
 brother, and, I understand, as a distingmslie<l 
 patron of our beloved art.' 
 
 ' He would mucli enjoy being so consi- 
 dered,' said Hugh, with a half smile ; and 
 then, to Violante, ' Is that the great dress, 
 signorma ? ' 
 
 ' It is only a rehearsal for it,' said Eosa, 
 us Violante only answered by a blush. 
 
 ' No doubt it is all it should be,' said 
 Hugh. 
 
 It was not a very complimentary speech, 
 and Hugh offered no opinion as to the details 
 of the dress. It were hard to say if he 
 admired it. But Violante looked up at him 
 and spoke. 
 
 'They don't think it fine enough,' she said. 
 
 Hugh gave here a quick sudden glance, 
 and a smile as if in sympathy either with the 
 words or the tremulous voice that uttered 
 them. Then he said something both com- 
 monplace and extravagant about painting 
 the lily, which satisfied Signor Mattei, and
 
 YIOLAiS^TE. 17 
 
 astonished Eosa, who thought hmi a sensible 
 young man, and, saying he was bound to 
 meet his brother, he rather hastily took his 
 leave. 
 
 Yiolante went into her own room and 
 gladly took off Zerhna's dress, for it was hot 
 and heavy, and her shabby old muslin was. 
 far more comfortable. She pulled her soft 
 hair out of the two long plaits into which 
 Eosa had arranged it, and let it fall about 
 her shoulders, and then she went to the 
 window and looked out at the deep dazzling 
 blue. She could see little else from the high 
 casement but the carving of the little balcony 
 round it, a long wreath of rich naturahstic 
 foHage among which nestled a dove, with 
 one of its wings broken. Violante's pet 
 creepers twined their green tendrils in and 
 out among their marble likenesses, a crim- 
 son passion flower lay close to its white 
 image, and sometimes a real pigeon lighted 
 on the balcony and caressed the broken one 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 with its wings. Violante encouraged the 
 pigeons with crumbs and sweet noises, and 
 trained her creepers round her own dove, 
 making stories for it in a fanciful childish 
 fashion, she would go and sing her songs to 
 it, and treat it like a favourite doll. But 
 she took no heed of it now, she gazed past 
 it at the sky as if she saw a vision. She 
 was not thinking of the brilliant dreaded 
 future that lay before her, not consciously 
 thinking of the scene just past. She was only 
 feeling to her very finger tips the spell of 
 one glance and smile. Poor Violante !
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON. 
 
 * Just in time to be too late.' 
 
 Hugh Crichton walked away from the 
 musician's apartments towards the railway 
 station, where he had promised to meet his 
 brother. His tweed suit and large white 
 umbrella were objects as incongruous with 
 the picturesque scene around him as the 
 somewhat similar figure often introduced into 
 the foreground of photographs of buildings 
 or mountains ; but his thoughts, possibly, 
 were less unworthy of the soft and lovely 
 land in which he found himself, were less 
 taken up with the home news which he 
 c 2
 
 20 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 expected to receive than perhaps they should 
 have been. 
 
 Hugh was scarcely eight and twenty, but 
 the responsibilities of more advanced life 
 had early descended on him, and he owed 
 his present long holiday to a fall from his 
 horse, from the effects of which, truth to 
 tell, he had some time since entirely recov- 
 ered. But busy men do not often reach 
 Italy, and his friend, the English consul, was 
 about to leave Civita Bella for a more lucra- 
 tive appointment, and why should not Hugh 
 see as much as possible, when he would 
 never have another chance ? ' Never have 
 another chance.' Those words echoed in 
 Hugh's ears and bore for him more than one 
 meaning. 
 
 Some thirty years before, the Bank of 
 Oxley, a large town not very far from 
 London, with the old red brick house be- 
 longing to it, had descended to a young 
 James Spencer, who thenceforth held one
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON". 21 
 
 of tlie best positions in the neighbourhood. 
 For Oxley was a town of considerable 
 importance, and the Spencers had been 
 bankers there for generations, and had 
 intermarried with haE the families round. 
 ]N"evertheless, when Miss Crichton, sole 
 heiress of Eedhiu'st House, refused Sir 
 William Eibstone to marry Mr. Spencer, it 
 was said by her friends that she might have 
 looked higher, and by his relations that no 
 name, however aristocratic, should have been 
 allowed to supersede the old Spencer, with 
 all its honom-able and respected associations. 
 But Lily Crichton laughed and said that Sir 
 William's father had drunk himself to death, 
 and had been known to throw a beef steak 
 at the late Lady Eibstone, and she was afraid 
 that the practices might be hereditary. Mr. 
 Spencer smiled and said that he hoped his 
 friends would find Spencer-Crichton as safe a 
 name as Spencer had been before it, he would 
 not refuse his wife's estate because this condi-
 
 22 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 tion was attached to it, and he could come 
 into the Bank every day from Eedhurst. And 
 so, in Eedhurst House, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer 
 lived and loved each other, and their two 
 sons, Hugh and James were born ; while in 
 course of time the banker's younger brother 
 died, and his three children, Arthur, Frederica, 
 and George, were transferred to their uncle's 
 guardianship, and a little cousin of his wife's, 
 Marion or Mysie Crofton, was left with her 
 eight thousand pounds in the same kind and 
 efficient care. 
 
 These boys and girls, all grew up to- 
 gether in the careless freedom of so-called 
 brother and sisterhood, till the sudden death 
 of the father clouded their happiness, and, in 
 the absence of near relations, left all these 
 various guardianships to his wife and to his 
 son Hugh. 
 
 It was a great honour for a young man of 
 twenty-five to be so trusted, and a great 
 burden ; but Hugh was sensible and steady,
 
 MR. SPEXCER CmCHTOX. 23 
 
 his cousin Arthur was already nearly of age, 
 and his mother, whose elastic spirits soon re- 
 covered more or less from the shock of grief, 
 was, of course, practically responsible for the 
 girls. Hugh's own career at Eugby and at 
 Oxford had been unexceptionable : he had 
 no intention of making his office -a sineciu-e. 
 Conscientious and inflexible both in opinion 
 and action, it would have been strange indeed 
 if at twenty-five he had not been also rather 
 hard and dictatorial ; but the mischievous 
 effects of these qualities was much modified 
 by a certain clearness of judgment and power 
 of understanding his own position and that 
 of others which almost seemed to stand him 
 in the stead of skilful tact, or even of gentle 
 charity. He was really just, and, therefore, 
 he saw difficulties as well as duties, and knew 
 exactly where it would be foolish to strain 
 an authority which he was too young to 
 support, where it was wise to take the advice 
 of others, and where it was necessary to de-,
 
 24 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 pend on himself. He was often lenient in 
 liis judgment of others' actions ; but then lie 
 thought that there was not much to be 
 expected of most people, and he was seldom 
 made angry, because other people's folly did 
 not signify much as long as he was per- 
 fectly sure that he was acting rightly himself. 
 If a man did do wrong he was a coward if 
 he would not own it, even to a child. And 
 so Hugh on the rare occasions when he was 
 cross or unjust, invariably begged pardon. 
 But he did not care at all whether he was 
 forgiven. He had done his part, and if the 
 other side cherished anger, that was their 
 own look out. 
 
 The ownership of the bank had descended 
 to him, and he lived with his mother and 
 helped her to manage the Eedhurst property, 
 which would some day be his own, fulfilhng 
 all his various offices with much credit to 
 himself, and, on the whole, much advantage to 
 other people. For if he thought most of
 
 ME. SPENCER CRICHTON. 25 
 
 what was due to himself, his view of his own 
 duty included great attention to the interests 
 of others, even to self-sacrifice on their be- 
 half. Indeed, as his cousin Arthur said, 
 ' although the old saying might have been 
 parodied with regard to Hugh, that — 
 
 * Though he never did a cruel thing, 
 He never said a kind one/ 
 
 neither did he ever say anything unkind, so 
 they might all be thankful. Most likely old 
 Hugh thought them all prodigies if they 
 could only see into his heart.' 
 
 ' You never were more mistaken in your 
 life, Arthur,' said Hugh with perfect truth and 
 much coolness. 
 
 ' Now, why won't you take the credit of 
 having some fine feelings to repress ? ' said 
 Arthur, who was often guilty of trying to 
 get a rise out of Hugh for the benefit of the 
 younger ones. 
 
 But Hugh was so unmoved that he did
 
 :26 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 not even reply that he did not care about 
 -credit. 
 
 ' You'll get a scratch some day, Arthur,' 
 said James, who nearest in age to Hugh, and 
 exempt from his authority might say what hei 
 pleased. 
 
 ' Oh no, he won't,' said Hugh, with a not 
 unpleasant smile. ' At least, if he does, I 
 shall be much ashamed of myself.' 
 
 ' What ? ' said Arthur, ' I should respect 
 myself for ever if I could put Hugh in a 
 rage.' 
 
 ' People should never be in a rage,' said 
 Hugh — ' they should control themselves.' 
 
 ' If they can,' said Arthur, conscious of 
 the minor triumph of having caused Hugh to 
 be very sententious. 
 
 Hugh was silent. It is one thing to have 
 a theory of hfe, and quite another to mould 
 your character and tame your passions into, 
 accordance with it. Years before, when 
 Hugh was at Oxford and James had just left
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON. 27 
 
 school for a public office ; tliey, in the curious 
 repetition and reversal of human events, had 
 come across a certain Miss Eibstone, the 
 daughter of their mother's old admirer, to 
 whose many charms Hugh, then scarcely 
 twenty, fell a victim. For one whole long 
 vacation he had ridden, danced, talked fun 
 and sentiment with her, until the whole 
 thing had been put an end to by the an- 
 nouncement of her engagement to — somebody 
 else. Then Hugh's pride and self-control 
 proved weak defences against the sudden 
 shock, and he met the girl and her half- 
 saucy, half - sentimental demand for con- 
 gratulations with such passionate reproaches 
 as she never forgot. Probably she deserved 
 them, but the mortification of having so 
 betrayed himself, almost killed regret in 
 Hugh's bosom. ' It was not my fault, I was 
 not to blame,' he said to his brother. ' I 
 should have remembered that,' and as he 
 spoke he made a holocaust of all the notes
 
 "28 HUGH CEICHTOjS^'S eomance. 
 
 and flowers and ribbons lie had hitherto 
 cherished. 
 
 ' Dear me,' said sentimental James, ' what 
 a pity, I keep dozens of them.' 
 
 ' I'll never have another,' said Hugh. 
 
 The incident was only remembered as 
 ^ Hugh's old flirtation with Nelly Eibstone,' 
 but Hugh forswore fine ladies and folly, 
 and never forgot that he had once lost all 
 €ontrol of his own words and actions. But 
 all that was long ago when he had been a 
 mere boy, not a shadow of sentiment hung 
 over the recollection of it, and Hugh awaited 
 his brother's arrival at Civita Bella with a 
 certain self-consciousness and desire to appear 
 specially pleased to see him, which perhaps 
 he had not experienced since his relations 
 had been wont to wonder ' what Hugh could 
 be doing again at Eibstone House.' He 
 had not left himself much time to wait, for 
 as he came up to the station, a slender little 
 man in a velvet coat, with a conspicuously
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON. 29* 
 
 long, silky light brown beard, advanced ta 
 meet him. 
 
 ' Ah, Hugh, there you are yoiu^self.' 
 * How d ye do, Jem ? I never knew the- 
 train so punctual. I thought I'd ten minutesi 
 to spare. I'm so glad you have got yoiu*- 
 holiday.' 
 
 James Spencer would have been a much 
 handsomer man than his brother if he had 
 not been on so small a scale ; as it was, the 
 delicacy of his features, and the fairness of 
 his complexion, gave him something of a 
 finikin aspect ; which was not diminished by 
 the evident pains taken with his dress, hair, 
 and beard ; which were arranged with a 
 view to the picturesque, rather trying to the 
 patience of an ordinary observer. But on a 
 close inspection, he had a good-tempered 
 and kindly expression, which showed that 
 he combined appreciation of other things 
 and people with admiration for himself 
 And though he was very fond of talking
 
 30 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMAK'CE. 
 
 Bohemianism, he went to his office every 
 morning, and to church every Sunday with 
 the regularity of a Phihstine. 
 
 ' Well, you look uncommonly jolly,' he 
 said. ' The Mum was afraid that as you had 
 made so few expeditions, yoiu- back was not 
 strong yet.' 
 
 Hugh despised excuses, so we will not 
 suppose that this ready-made one offered 
 him any temptation as he answered — 
 
 ' Oh no ; I was quite well a week after I 
 got here. There is plenty to see here, I 
 assure you.' 
 
 'I believe you,' said James ecstatically. 
 ' Were ever such colours and such a sky ? 
 Look there,' seizing his brother's arm, 'there's 
 a girl in a red petticoat — under that arch in 
 the shadow — white on her head — oh ! ' 
 
 ' You will have to get used to girls under 
 archways in red petticoats,' returned Hugh. 
 
 ' How were they all at Oxley ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, very well ; the mother was groaning
 
 . MR. SPEXCER CRICHTOX. 31 
 
 after you. She said she couldn't get the- 
 fences mended, and Jones' cow had eaten 
 tjie geraniums. Oh, and she wants to have 
 a gatden-party.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Hugh, ' what should hinder 
 her having a dozen if she likes ? ' 
 
 ' She can't do it without you.' 
 
 'Isn't Arthur there?' 
 
 ' Arthur ? yes. But it isn't worth while 
 asking the Miss Clintons to meet Arthur. 
 
 ' I should think that chattering Katie 
 Clinton was just the girl he would admire.' 
 
 ' Should you ? ' said Jem, rather mean- 
 ingly. ' However, Hugh, when are you 
 coming home ? ' 
 
 ' As soon as you do.' 
 
 ' I have only a fortnight.' 
 
 ' Then we can go back together. That 
 church is considered very line. Look at the 
 spire.' 
 
 James looked with undisguised and gen- 
 uine delight at the fair proportions and
 
 32 HUGH CRICHTON S ROMANCE. 
 
 exquisite colouring of the building before 
 him, and after various half-finished an*d in- 
 articulate expressions of delight, exclaimed : 
 
 * It's intoxicating ! Can't we go in ? ' 
 
 'Not now. Mrs. Tollemache will be 
 waiting for us. There are a dozen such 
 churches, besides the cathedral, and there's 
 an old amphitheatre, at least the remains of 
 one.' 
 
 ' Perish Oxley and its garden-parties in 
 the ruins of its new town-hall and its detest- 
 able station,' cried James, mock-heroically, 
 and striking an attitude. 
 
 ' Then there's a very good opera,' said 
 Hugh — ' and oh, wouldn't the great singing 
 class be in your line to-morrow.' 
 
 ' What singing class ? ' 
 
 ' Why, there's a certain Signor Mattei 
 here. He is first violin in the opera or- 
 chestra, and a very fine musician. I believe 
 he followed music entirely from choice in 
 the first instance.'
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON". 33 
 
 ' Then I respect him,' said James. ' What 
 could he do better ? ' 
 
 ' Exactly. I thought you would say so. 
 Well, he has a great singing class — more, 
 I suppose, what would be called a choral 
 society.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Jem ; ' I belong to the Gipsy 
 Singers, and to Lady Newington's Glee 
 Society, and sometimes I run down to help 
 the choir of that church at Eichmond. I 
 took you there once.' 
 
 ' Well, Signor Mattei's class is the popular 
 one here. Tollemache takes liis little sister, 
 and having nothing better to do, I joined 
 it. To-morrow is the last of the course, 
 so you can go if you hke.' 
 
 ' I should hke it immensely. Quite a 
 new line for you though.' 
 
 'I don't see why I should not smg as 
 well as you or Arthur. I mean why I 
 should not attempt it : of course I am no 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 musician/ said Hugh, who had rather a 
 morbid horror of boasting. 
 
 ' No/ said Jem, ' I have a theory that 
 people's Hves are divided by too sharp hnes. 
 They should run into each other. Let each 
 give something out, and each will get light 
 and warmth and colour. Nobody knows 
 how much there is in other people's worlds 
 till they get a peep at them. I should like 
 to teach everybody something of what was 
 most antipathetic to them, and show every- 
 one a little of the society to which he was 
 not born, whatever that may be.' 
 
 ' There's a great deal in what you say/ 
 said Hugh,' so meekly that Jem, on whose 
 theories the sledge hammer of practice was 
 commonly wont to fall, was quite astonished. 
 
 ' Why, how mild and mellow Italian 
 sunshine is making you. You're a case in 
 point. We shall have you getting that 
 precious town-hall painted in fresco, and
 
 MR. SPENCER CRICHTON. 35 
 
 giving a concert in it, at which you'll sing 
 the first solo ! ' 
 
 And James burst into a hearty laugh, 
 in which Hugh joined more joyously and 
 freely than was often his wont. ' Don't you 
 be surprised whatever I do,' he said. ' See if 
 I can't catch some Italian sunshine and 
 bring it home to Oxley ! But here we are, 
 come in, and you'll see Mrs. Tollemache.' 
 James followed his brother ; but an expres- 
 sion of unmitigated astonishment came over 
 his face. 
 
 ' Hallo! there's something up,' he 
 ejaculated under his breath. ' Is it Miss 
 Tollemache?'
 
 36 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE SIXGING CLASS. 
 
 The little maiden cometh, 
 She Cometh shy and slow, 
 
 I ween she seeth through her lids 
 They drop adown so low. 
 
 She blusheth red, as if she said 
 The name she only thoucjht. 
 
 " So you mean to accompany our party, Mr. 
 James Crichton, to the singing-class ? I am 
 very glad that you should go,' said Mrs. 
 Tollemache. 
 
 ' Yes, for you will see Violante ! ^ cried 
 her daughter, Emily. 
 
 Mrs. Tollemache was a little gentle lady, 
 who, spite of several years of widowhood,
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 37 
 
 spent in keeping house for her son in Civita 
 Bella, always looked as if she were ready 
 for an Enghsh country Sunday, mth her 
 soft grey dresses and white ribbons, slightly 
 unfashionable, not very well made, and yet 
 unmistakably lady-like, just as the diffidence 
 and unreadiness of her manner did not 
 detract in the least from its good breeding. 
 Her daughter was a tall girl of sixteen, with 
 bright, straight falling hair, and a rosy face, 
 simple and honest, though her frank, fearless 
 manners, and capacity for conversation, in- 
 dicated a young lady who had seen some- 
 thing of the world. Her brother, the consul, 
 many years her elder, represented English 
 diplomacy in a pleasant, cheery, if not very 
 deep or astute fashion to the benighted 
 foreigners by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 ' And who is Violante ? ' asked James. 
 
 ' Violante,' said Mr. Tollemache, ' is the 
 rising star of Civita Bella.' 
 
 ' Violante,' said Emily, ' is the dearest.
 
 38 HUGH CRICHTON S EOMANCE. 
 
 sweetest, iiiost beautiful creature in the 
 world I ' 
 
 'Yiolante,' said Mrs. Tollemaclie, 'is a 
 very sweet young person, whose mother I 
 knew something of formerly, and whose 
 sister gives Emily music and Italian lessons.' 
 
 'She is Signor Mattel's daughter?' said 
 Hugh. 
 
 ' I will tell you all about her, Mr. Crich- 
 ton,' said Emily. ' Signorina Eosa — that's 
 her sister — brings her to talk Italian with 
 me. But some time ago they found out 
 that she had a wonderful voice, and so she 
 is to go on the stage. She is to make her 
 first appearance next Tuesday, as Zerlina in 
 " Don Giovanni ; " but the odd thing is that 
 she hates it, she is so shy. Fancy hating it, 
 I wish I had the chance ! ' 
 
 ' Emily, my dear ! ' ejaculated her mother. 
 
 ' A couple of nights will rub off all that,' 
 said Mr, Tollemache, ' even if it is genuine.' 
 
 ' Genuine ! ' cried Emily. ' For shame,
 
 THE singijN'g class. 39 
 
 Charles. She cannot help it, and even sing- 
 ing in the class has not cured her. It is 
 quite true, isn't it, Mr. Crichton ? ' turning 
 to Hugh. 
 
 Hugh paused for a moment, and — Jem 
 could hardly beheve his eyes — ^blushed, as he 
 answered decidedly, ' Yes, but she is more 
 afraid of her father than of the public' 
 
 ' Dear me,' said James, * this sounds very 
 interesting. And she is a beauty, too, 
 Hugh?' 
 
 ' I don't know if you would consider her 
 so. I do, undoubtedly ! ' said Hugh, with a 
 sort of desperate gravity. 
 
 'Very unlikely acquaintance for old 
 Hugh,' thought James. ' See if I submit 
 to any more criticisms about my mixed 
 society. Is she very young ? ' he said 
 aloud. 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' said Mrs. Tollemache. ' You 
 see, the circumstances are altogether pecu- 
 liar. These two sisters are most excellent
 
 40 HUGH crichton's eomaj^ce. 
 
 girls, and knowing their antecedents, and 
 having them here as occasional companions 
 for Emily, I could not, I cannot suppose 
 that anything would ever accrue to cause 
 me to repent the arrangement.' 
 
 There was a peculiar emphasis in Mrs. 
 ToUemache's manner of making this remark, 
 and it was accompanied by a little blush 
 and nervous movement of her knitting 
 needles. 
 
 ' It must be a very pleasant kind of 
 place,' said James, wondering if Charles 
 ToUemache found this young songstress too 
 bewitching. 
 
 'Yes, but perhaps it is not altogether 
 inopportune that our leaving Civita Bella 
 should coincide with Violante's dehut. 
 Things will be altered now, and I shall 
 wish Emily to have more regular instruction.' 
 
 ' Mamma, I shall love Violante as long 
 as ever I hve,' said Emily, ' and I should 
 not care if she sang at fifty operas.'
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 41 
 
 'You must go to scliool, Emmy,' said 
 Iter brother, 'and attend to the three E's 
 with twopence extra for manners.' 
 
 ' I shall not mind if you will send me to 
 that nice school Mr. Crichton was talking 
 about, where the governess is nearly as 
 young as I am,' said Emily. 
 
 ' Not quite,' said Hugh, laughing. ' I 
 only told you Miss Venning had a young 
 sister.' 
 
 ' I shall ask Mr. Spencer Crichton about 
 it,' said Mrs. Tollemache. 
 
 ' Have you been teUing them about 
 Oxley Manor ? ' said James. ' I am sm-e 
 Flossy Venning is the governess, whatever 
 she may be called. You would make 
 friends with our girls, Miss Tollemache ? ' 
 
 'Yes, I should like that. But now I 
 want to show you my friend, and if we don't 
 make haste we shall be late,' said Emily, as 
 she ran out of the room. 
 
 The httle party of English took their
 
 42 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 way through the quaint and richly coloured 
 streets of the Italian city to Signor Mattel's 
 apartments, and James could not repress his 
 exclamations of delight at every patch of 
 colour, every deep full shadow, and every 
 graceful outline that met his eye. Emily 
 pointed out the various lions, and asked 
 questions in her turn about the England 
 which was but a dim memory of her child- 
 hood, her bright English face gaining per- 
 haps something of an added charm from its 
 fair foreign setting, and itself giving just the 
 last touch of piquante contrast to her com- 
 panion's sense of delightful novelty. 
 
 Young ladies never came amiss to James, 
 and in the intervals of his raptures he amused 
 himself by drawing out Emily's ideas of Eng- 
 lish society derived from much and earnest 
 study of such novels and tales as Mrs. Tolle- 
 mache allowed her to peruse, and which 
 had evidently rendered Sunday-school teach- 
 ings, parsonages, riding in the park, pic-
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 4o 
 
 nics, sportsmen, smoke, and rain, as great a 
 jumble of picturesque confusion as Italian 
 palaces and prima donnas might be to 
 James. Such a state of mind entertained 
 him, and while Hugh walked silently beside 
 Mr. Tollemache, he persuaded her to express 
 her admiration of ' The Daisy Chain ' and 
 ' Dr. Thorne,' her fervent wish to resemble 
 the heroines of the former book ; her rather 
 more faintly expressed supposition that Eng- 
 lish country squires were hke Frank Gresham ; 
 her desire to be kind to little girls in straw 
 hats, and old women in red cloaks — though 
 Mr. Crichton says he never saw an old 
 woman in a red cloak — and her evident 
 belief that benevolent rectors, honest cot- 
 tagers, and useful young ladies, were plenty 
 as blackberries in the England that was a 
 land of romance for her. ' How delightful it 
 would be to know such ! ' 
 
 'I am afraid you will be disappointed, 
 Miss Tollemache,' said James. ' Om: hves
 
 44 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 in England are very commonplace, and the 
 real Frank Greshams are ratlier stupid 
 fellows, who wear muddy boots, care for 
 little but riding and shooting, and are out 
 of doors all day.' 
 
 ' But that seems so manly,' said Emily, 
 with a romantic vision of heather and mists, 
 mountains and dashing streams, floating 
 before her imagination. 
 
 ' Well,' said James, ' I suppose the 
 romance is in people's hearts, and anything 
 may be picturesque if you can get the right 
 point of view, and see it in the right light, 
 and the truest artists are those who have the 
 quickest insight, and the widest sympathies. 
 But your dazzling beauty in this Palace of 
 Art that we are approaching seems more 
 like romance to me.' 
 
 ' Violante ? ' said Emily, to whom the 
 first part of his speech had been an enigma. 
 'Oh, there is nothing romantic about her.
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 45 
 
 She's just a cantatrice, you know, but she is 
 a dear little thins^, and I love her.' 
 
 As Emily spoke they were mounting the 
 great marble staircase that led to Signor 
 Mattel's apartments, and presently entered 
 the long room, now arranged for the con- 
 venience of the musical performance that 
 was about to take place. James looked 
 romid at the painted walls and delicate 
 carvings, faded and injured, yet still soft 
 and harmonious. This was a wonderful 
 enchanted palace ; where was the fairy 
 princess ? He was presented to Signor 
 Mattel, who, in very good Enghsh, ex- 
 pressed his pleasure at seeing him there, 
 and found him a place. Eosa came and 
 offered him a copy of the music that they 
 were going to sing, and as his companions 
 took their seats, and the performance began, 
 he had leisure to study, not his score, but 
 the motley scene around him.
 
 46 HUGH ckichton's eomance. 
 
 Signor Mattel was a tall striking man, 
 with a long grizzled beard, a narrow face 
 with a high forehead and ardent enthusiastic 
 eyes. His long slender fingers looked as if 
 they would have been at home on any in- 
 strument, and indeed he was a first-rate 
 violinist as well as an admirable musician, 
 and as he stood before the class conducting 
 and teaching, he seemed pervaded by his 
 art from top to toe, and though James could 
 not follow his rapid vehement Italian, he 
 perceived that no imperfection escaped him. 
 Hugh's hint that he might have held a dif- 
 ferent position but for his youthful musical 
 enthusiasm seemed credible enough in sight 
 of his refined features and fervid eyes. 
 
 He was a very popular teacher, and the 
 class was a large one. Three or four Eng- 
 lish girls like Emily Tollemache attended it, 
 whose fair rosiness and bad singing were 
 alike conspicuous. Several .slim, dark, de- 
 nuire Italian signorinas, with downcast eyes,
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 47 
 
 sliy or passionate, under charge evidently of 
 elder ladies, were to be seen. Some looked 
 like teachers, and the professional air of 
 some caused James to guess that they were 
 being prepared for the stage, or perhaps, 
 their education already finished, were assist- 
 ing the class with their voices. The men 
 were mostly young teachers or singers, 
 except Hugh and Mr. Tollemache, and an 
 enthusiastic English curate, music-mad, who 
 was taking a hohday in Italy. 
 
 But where was the most beautiful crea- 
 ture in the world ? James looked for her in 
 vain. She was Italian, she was going to sing 
 on the stage, she was a wonder of beauty. 
 Wliich could she be ? 
 
 A handsome girl, with splendid black 
 eyes and crisp black hair, who was standing 
 at the end of the sopranos and singing 
 with a clear fine voice, sui?2^ested herself to 
 James as the most likely person. Certainly 
 she was very handsome, but she did not
 
 48 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 look a bit shy ; however, Tollemache had 
 insinuated a suspicion that shyness was 
 interesting. She looked frank and bright, 
 bold enough to face a crowd. Very pic- 
 turesque, she knew that pomegranates became 
 her. A model for any artist ; but rather an 
 unlikely friend for Miss Tollemache, and a 
 very unlikely here James' thoughts sud- 
 denly pulled themselves up with a start. 
 ' What an absurd fellow old Hugh is ! ' he 
 mused. ' Some one has been chaffing him 
 about these classes, and he stands on his 
 dignity until anyone would imagine — ^but 
 that girl, oh dear, no ! ' 
 
 Suddenly there was a pause for the solo. 
 Emily looked at James and nodded. Hugh 
 gazed intently at his score. The dark beauty 
 sat down, and a girl in grey, with a coral 
 necklace, came forward and stood in front, 
 alone. She stood in the full stream of the 
 dusty evening sunlight, and James thought, 
 ' Why, this is no beauty, they are mad ! '
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 49 
 
 She was tall rather than otherwise, and 
 very slim. Her soft misty hair was twisted 
 loosely about her head, and fell partly on 
 her neck ; it was of so dull a shade of brown 
 that the sunshine whitened it instead of 
 turning it to gold. Her skin was fair for an 
 Italian, and now pale even to the lips. Her 
 eyes were large, dark, and soft, and in them 
 there dwelt an expression of terror that 
 marred whatever beauty they might other- 
 wise have possessed. She did not blush and 
 bridle with a not unbecoming shyness, but 
 she looked, as the saying goes, frightened to 
 death. 
 
 ' Poor little thing, what a shame to make 
 her sing ! ' thought James, ' but she is no 
 beauty at all.' 
 
 And yet, what was it ? Was it the fall of 
 her hair, the curve of her cheek, or the 
 piteous setting of her mouth, that made him 
 look again and again as she began to sing ? 
 James really loved music, and the sweet bird- 
 
 VOL. I, E
 
 50 HUGH CRICHTONS EOMANCE. 
 
 like notes entranced him. It seemed the 
 perfection of voice and execution, and the 
 tones were full of |)ower and pathos. She 
 stood quite still with her hands before her — 
 for she had no music — little child-like hands, 
 and she never smiled or used her eyes, 
 hardly moved her head, the voice seemed 
 produced without effort, and she made no 
 attempt to add to its effect. When it ceased 
 there was an outburst of applause ; she 
 looked towards her father, and at a sign from 
 him made the ordinary elaborate curtsey of 
 a public singer ; but still with never a smile. 
 Then she went back to her place, and as she 
 passed Hugh he whispered a word. She 
 hung down her head and passed on, but her 
 face changed as by magic, and then James 
 knew that she was beautiful. 
 
 She did not sing again, her father was 
 very chary of her voice, and she did not 
 come forward when the music was over, 
 though Signor Mattel hoped ' il signor ' had
 
 THE SIJS^GING CLASS. 51 
 
 been pleased, and Emily lingered, spite of Her 
 brother's sign to lier to make liaste. 
 
 ' Indeed,' said James, ' I liave been 
 delighted ; one does not often hear a voice 
 like your daughter's.' 
 
 ' Her voice is good,' said the father, 
 ' but she does not give it a chance ; she has 
 no notion what study was in my day.' 
 
 ' Oh, father ! ' said Eosa Mattei, as these 
 words were evidently intended to reach the 
 ears of Violante, who was standing at a little 
 distance. ' She does practise, but she is so 
 soon tired. My sister is only seventeen,' 
 she added to James ; ' and her voice is not 
 come to its full strength yet.' 
 
 ' She must not over-strain it — it is so 
 beautiful,' said James, while Emily echoed — 
 
 ' Oh, it is lovely ! oh, cara Violante, come 
 here and let us tell you how beautifully you 
 sang.' 
 
 ' Violante ! ' said her father ; and she 
 came towards them, while James on a nearer 
 
 E 2 
 
 UNWtRSlTV Of
 
 52 HUGH CEICHTONS KOMANCE. 
 
 view saw liow lovely were the curves of 
 cheek and throat, and how delicate the out- 
 line of the still white features. With a view 
 to hearing her speak, he thanked her for her 
 song, and said — 
 
 ' I suppose I need not ask you if you 
 are fond of music ? ' 
 
 Violante cast down her eyes, blushed, 
 and stammered out imder her breath, 
 
 ' Yes, Signor, thank you ; ' while her 
 father said, 'My daughter is very glad to 
 have given you pleasure, and very grateful to 
 those who are kind enough to express it. 
 You must excuse her, Signor, she is not used 
 to strangers.' 
 
 The poor child looked ready to sink into 
 the earth beneath this public notice of her 
 bad manners. Hugh looked so stern and 
 fierce that, had he asked the question, she 
 might well have feared to answer him ; but 
 Emily broke the awkward silence by saying 
 eagerly —
 
 THE SINGING CLASS. 53 
 
 ' You will come and give me my lesson 
 to-morrow, Signorina Eosa? Will Violante 
 come too ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said Eosa, ' that she will 
 be too busy.' 
 
 ' Ah, well, I shall see her if she does not 
 see me, next Tuesday. Good-bye, Violante. 
 Good-bye, Signorina.' 
 
 ' Why ! ' exclaimed James, as they 
 emerged into the street, 'That poor girl 
 looked frightened to death.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Emily, ' she is always fright- 
 ened before strangers. How ever she will 
 sing on Tuesday I cannot think ; but what 
 do you think of her, Mr. Crichton ? ' 
 
 ' I think she is very pretty,' said James, 
 rather dryly. 
 
 ' A pretty little simpleton,' said Mr. 
 Tollemache : ' but a month or two's expe- 
 rience will make all the difference. It is to 
 be hoped her father will take care of her. 
 But I believe she has an admirer — the
 
 54 HUGH ceichton's eomance. 
 
 manager of the operatic company here — so 
 I suppose she may be considered very 
 fortunate. Her voice is vahiable, and she 
 will be very handsome.' 
 
 James nodded assent, but something in 
 the thought of the young childish girl with 
 her shy solemn face and frightened eyes 
 touched him. 
 
 ' It's rather a case of " Heaven sending 
 almonds to those who have no teeth," isn't 
 it ? ' he said. ' Poor little thing ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, the almonds will taste sweet enough, 
 I daresay,' said Mr. Tollemache. 'If not, 
 they must be swallowed, somehow.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Emily, ' on Tuesday we 
 shall see how she gets on.'
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 
 
 Then joining hands to little hands 
 Would bid them cling together, 
 
 For there is no friend like a sister 
 In calm or stormy weather. 
 
 ' YiOLAiS'TE ! Will you never learn common- 
 sense? Your want of manners will give 
 perpetual offence. And let me tell you, 
 English people of influence are not patrons 
 to be despised. It is always well for a 'prima 
 donna to have irreproachable private friends. 
 If ever we should go to England, and the 
 Signora ToUemache would notice you, it 
 would be a great advantage ; and not amiss 
 that those young men should report well of 
 you.'
 
 56 HUGH crichton's eomaxce. 
 
 ' Oh, father ! ' 
 
 ' Why ! They see your name announced. 
 They say, " Ah, Mademoiselle Mattel ! We 
 knew her in Italy — pretty — fine voice. My 
 friend, you should go and see her." They 
 take a bouquet and applaud you ; and you 
 become the fashion. You should be grateful, 
 and show it. But you — you are a musical 
 box ! You sing like a statue, like a wax- 
 doll. Ah, where is your fire and your 
 expression ? You have no soul — you have 
 no soul I ' 
 
 ' Father, I did try.' 
 
 ' Oh, I have no patience ! Where is 
 my music ? I have a private lesson. Go and 
 practise, child, and study your part better ; ' 
 and off wliisked Signor Mattel in a great 
 hurry, and a much disturbed temper. 
 
 Such scenes had been frequent ever since 
 one unlucky day, two years ago, when the 
 great opera manager, Signor Yasari, had heard 
 Yiolante sing, and had told her father that
 
 THE MATTEI FMIILY. 57 
 
 she promised to liave the sweetest soprano in 
 Italy, and he must educate her for the stage, 
 where she would make her fortune. And 
 the owner of this sweet soprano was so timid 
 that her music-master made her tremble, and 
 possessed so little dramatic power that she 
 could scarcely give a song its adequate 
 expression, and was lost when she attempted 
 to act a part. But the music is all important 
 in Italy, and the middle course of concerts 
 and oratorios did not there lie open to her. 
 Her father hoped that her voice and her 
 beauty would carry off her bad acting, and 
 that perpetual scolding would cure her fears, 
 since he gloried in her talent, and much 
 needed her gains. 
 
 He was, as has been said, fairly well 
 born and well educated, and had chosen 
 music as his profession. When quite young 
 he had gone to England, where he played 
 the violin in London orchestras, and gave 
 private lessons on the piano. In England
 
 58 HUGH crichton's eomak^ce. 
 
 "he fell in with a young lady, the daughter of 
 a clergyman, who was governess in the 
 family of Mr. ToUemache's uncle, where 
 Signor Mattel taught. Eose Grey was un- 
 mistakably a lady, a quiet fair-faced girl, with 
 her share of talent and originality and a 
 passion for music. She fell in love with the 
 handsome enthusiastic Italian, and, having 
 no prospects and no friends to object, she 
 married him. They lived for some time in 
 England, where Eosa was bom, and finally 
 returned to Italy. The world went fairly well 
 with them, but they were not without debts 
 and dijOficulties, and when Eosa grew up, and 
 Madame Mattel's brother, now a London 
 solicitor, wrote to offer her a year or two's 
 schooling in England, the proposal was 
 gladly accepted, since she had no voice and 
 could not be made useful at home. Eosa 
 went to England, went to school, taught 
 Italian and music, and learnt the usual 
 branches of education, spent her hohdays
 
 THE 3kIATTEI FAMILY. 59 
 
 with her uncle, and finally helped to educate 
 her cousins, till, three years before our story 
 opens, her mother died, and Eosa came home 
 to take care of the little Violante, a girl 
 of fourteen. Eosa was then twenty-two, 
 entirely Enghsli in manner, accent, and 
 appearance, with pretty brown hair, a sensi- 
 ble face, bright hazel eyes, full of force and 
 character, grave manners, a sweet smile, and 
 a strong will of her own which she was not 
 afraid to enforce if necessary. She had a 
 warm heart, too, with nothing much just then 
 to fill it. She almost idohzed the little 
 sister, who clung to her, sobbing out, ' Oh 
 Mamma mia ! ' and from that day forward 
 guarded, petted, and, it must be confessed, 
 spoiled her. 
 
 Violante was delicate and sensitive, with 
 a certain Itahan fervour of temperament 
 beneath her timidity, which expended itself 
 in the warmest affection for her sister. She 
 was more Itahan than Eosa in appearance,
 
 'QO HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 and though she spoke fluent Enghsh, and 
 they used either language when together, 
 her low sweet tones were unmistakably 
 foreign. Her musical education was so 
 pressed on her and took up so much of her 
 time that she learnt little else, and at seven- 
 teen was sadly ignorant of much which she 
 ought to have known. 
 
 The two sisters belonged to their mother's 
 Church, which unfortunately had the prac- 
 tical effect of their belonging to none at all. 
 When Eosa went to England she did as 
 others did, but it was not her lot to come 
 across anyone of sufficient depth to influence 
 her practical self-reliant temper, and, though 
 a very good and conscientious girl, her 
 education had made her indifferent to the 
 outward duties of rehgion. She thought 
 that she did her duty by Violante when 
 she prevented her from attending Eoman 
 Catholic services unless the music was very 
 fine, and heard her read a chapter in the
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 61 
 
 Bible on Sunday, while tlie rest of tlie day 
 was spent as usual. Madame Mattel had 
 never had health or opportunity to attend 
 English services, and the tAvo girls only 
 went occasionally; though lately, under Mrs. 
 Tollemache's influence, they had been a 
 little more conscious of their nationality 
 and the duties involved in it. Eosa im- 
 pressed Yiolante with a strong sense of the 
 necessity of doing right, and believed that 
 circumstances absolved her from attending 
 to anything further. Violante was of a 
 different mould, and when she saw beautiful 
 ritual and devout worshippers she felt sad, 
 she did not know why, 
 
 Eosa was well aware that she could not 
 protect Violante from the approaching ordeal 
 of her first appearance, and knew too of 
 debts that rendered it necessary ; but she 
 interposed between her sister and many a 
 reproof, and tried by her alternate coaxing, 
 sympathy, and argument to diminish the
 
 62 HUGH CmCHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 girl's dread of the future tliat lay before 
 her. Violante had made fewer complaints 
 of late, and Eosa hoped that she was becom- 
 ing more reconciled to the inevitable. 
 
 On the present occasion Eosa's pleasant 
 cheerful voice was heard talking to Madda- 
 lena, who, besides doing all their housework, 
 took Violante to her lessons and rehearsals 
 when Eosa was busy, the latter retaining her 
 English habit of walking alone. She re- 
 entered the room as her father quitted it, 
 and began to divest it of its concert-room 
 air, to put away music-stands and books, 
 and to give once more a look of Enghsh 
 comfort to the further end of it, where 
 Violante had thrown herself into a big 
 chintz-covered chair, turning her face to- 
 wards the cushion, when Eosa said, 
 
 ' Well dear, you were very successful 
 to-day. I never heard you in better voice.' 
 ' I wish — I wish I had no voice at all.' 
 ' Violante ! That is really quite wrong.
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 63 
 
 You should not despise such a glorious 
 
 gift.' 
 
 'It only makes me wretched. Oh, what 
 shall I do ! ' 
 
 Now Eosa had resolved against weak- 
 minded sympathy, and had made up her 
 mind that her sister must not, at this last 
 moment, be permitted to flinch, so, though 
 the hidden face and despairing attitude went 
 to her heart, she replied briskly, 
 
 ' Do ? Win a dozen bouquets and bring 
 the house down. What a silly child you 
 are, Violante ! ' 
 
 Violante lifted her head, astonished at 
 the shadow of a reproof from Eosa, who 
 little guessed at the tumult of feeling that 
 was making the poor child's heart beat so 
 terribly. 
 
 ' You angry, too, Eosa ! ' she said, for 
 reproaches never made Violante angry, only 
 miserable. 
 
 ' Angry, my darhng, no,' exclaimed Eosa.
 
 64 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 ' I only want you to take lieart and courage. 
 My child, don't cry so dreadfully. What 
 is it, did father scold you ? ' 
 
 Yiolante crept into the warm comforting 
 embrace, and, laying her head on Kosa's 
 shoulder, wept so bitterly that her sister 
 could only think how to soothe her ; till 
 Yiolante's sobs grew quieter and she put up 
 her quivering lips to be kissed, while Eosa 
 smoothed back her hair and began to try 
 the effect of argument. 
 
 ' You see, darling, father is so anxious. 
 When Tuesday is over and he sees how suc- 
 cessful you are, he will be delighted. And 
 you will feel quite differently. Just think 
 of the pleasure of seeing everyone hanging 
 on your voice, and of hearing the applause, 
 and seeing the bouquets thrown at you ! ' 
 (Violante shivered.) ' Oh ! it would be 
 worth living for.' 
 
 ' Oh, Eosa mia, if the voice was yours ! ' 
 
 ' Ah, if — But, darling, I shall be as much
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 65 
 
 pleased to see your triumph as if it were 
 mine.' 
 
 ' But if I fail — and my bad acting — ' 
 
 ' You won't fail. And as for the acting, 
 you will act much better when you are less 
 nervous. People will care for your voice 
 and your beauty — they w^on't be hard on 
 you.* 
 
 ' Eosa, you are so different, you cannot 
 understand. I should not mind so much 
 about faiUng if it did not vex father. It is. 
 doing it at all. When I stand up to sing it 
 is as if all the eyes turned me cold and sick, 
 and my own eyes get dizzy so that I cannot 
 see, and if they applaud — even here at the 
 class — it is like the waves of the sea, and I 
 cannot sleep at night for thinking of it.' 
 
 ' You don't know how pleasant the real 
 applause will be,' said Eosa, feeling as if she 
 were telling a snowdrop to hold up its liead, 
 for the sun was so pleasant to stare at. 
 What could she say to the child, who had 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 no vanity and no ambition — nothing but a 
 loving heart. 
 
 ' You will like to please me and father ? ' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Yiolante, ' but if I should cry, 
 father would — ^^vould — ' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense, you won't cry.' 
 
 ' If father would let me — I would rather 
 teach singing all day ! ' 
 
 ' But you know you could not make 
 nearly so much money in that way. And 
 father wants the money, Yiolante, indeed he 
 does.' 
 
 ' Oh yes — I know it must be done — I will 
 not make a fuss.' 
 
 ' That's a good child. And you will not 
 have to sing only to strangers. Think how 
 kind the Tollemaches are to us, how pleased 
 they w^ill be with you.' 
 
 Yiolante flushed to her very finger tips, 
 and Eosa felt her heart throb. 
 
 'They will not hke me then,' she mur- 
 mured.
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 67 
 
 ' Kot like you, what can you mean ? 
 Why should they not like you ? ' 
 
 ' English people don't like actresses.' 
 
 ' Well, but you don't suppose Mrs. Tolle- 
 mache has any prejudice of that sort ? ' 
 
 ' She would not like Emily to do it.' 
 
 'Emily! Of course not. Young ladies 
 like Emily don't sing in public. She would 
 not be a governess or do anything to get her 
 living. But they would think it quite right 
 for you. Why, you will have Mr. Crichton 
 and his brother to throw bouquets at you ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ! ' exclaimed Violante, with sudden 
 passion. ' He will throw bouquets at me. 
 He will " tell his friends I am pretty," and he 
 will think — ' 
 
 ' He ? Mr. Crichton ? Violante, what can 
 it matter to you what he thinks ? ' 
 
 Violante shrank away from her sister, 
 and covered her flice with her hands. 
 
 'Violante,' cried Eosa, too anxious to 
 pick her words, ' don't tell me you have
 
 68 HUGH CKICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 been so silly as to think about him — that 
 you have let yourself care for him ' 
 
 'Oh — ^I do — I do, with all my heart/ 
 cried Violante, with all the fervour of her 
 Italian nature, speaking from her shining 
 eyes and parted lips. 
 
 ' What has he said to you— what has he 
 done? He has not made love to you — 
 child — surely.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' miu:mured Violante. 
 
 ' Oh, I must have been mad — what have 
 I been doing to let this go on ? ' cried Eosa, 
 starting up and walking about in her agita- 
 tion, while Violante cowered, frightened, 
 into the great chair, but with a certain self- 
 assertion in her heart, too. 
 
 'Now,' said Eosa, recovering prudence, 
 and sitting down on the arm of the chair, 
 ' you see, I have not taken care of my pretty 
 sister. Tell me all about it.' 
 
 ' You are not angry with me, Eosa ? '
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 69 
 
 ' Angry, my little one,' said Eosa, while 
 tears, rare in her eyes, fell on her cheeks — 
 ' no, only angry with myself. Now, tell me 
 what it is ; how long have you felt in this 
 way ? What has he said to you ? ' 
 
 'Ah, how can I tell ? He looks at me — 
 he gives me flowers — he speaks to my heart,' 
 said Violante with downcast eyes, but lips 
 that siniled and needed no sympathy in their 
 satisfaction. 
 
 ' Don't be silly,' said poor Eosa, irritated 
 both by the smile and the sentiment. 'Is 
 that all ? ' 
 
 ' He told me of his home — he said we 
 should be friends — he asked me for a rose, 
 and kissed my hand for it — he said he 
 thought it was Italian fashion.' 
 
 'Oh, Violante, why didn't you tell me 
 before P ' 
 
 'Oh,' with a funny little air of superiority, 
 ' one does not think of telling.'
 
 70 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 Eosa pressed Yiolaiite tight in lier arms, 
 and set her hps hard, and when she spoke it 
 was very low and steadily. 
 
 ' My child, you know how I love you, 
 that I only think how to make you happy. 
 Mr. Crichton had no right to play with you 
 so ; but it was my fault for letting you be 
 thrown in his way. Young men will do 
 those things, just to amuse themselves.' 
 
 ' Some will.' 
 
 'Some?' said Eosa bitterly. 'You 
 little foreign girl — he would think of 
 you just as of a pretty flower, to please 
 him for a time, and then he will go home 
 and leave you to repent that you have ever 
 known him ! ' 
 
 ' Never — never,' cried Violante, clasping 
 her hands. ' Never— if my heart should 
 break.' 
 
 Eosa stamped her foot, and hot, cruel 
 tears, that burnt as they fell, half choked 
 her.
 
 THE MATTEI FAMILY. 71 
 
 ' I dare say he has never thought that 
 you would take what he said seriously. If 
 he likes you, he could not marry you — he 
 must marry some English girl of his own 
 rank. You must put him out of your head, 
 and I must take better care of you.' 
 
 Violante's views of the future were 
 scarcely so definite as these words imphed, 
 but she shivered, and a chill fell on her 
 spirits. 
 
 ' Now,' said Eosa, ' I believe Signor 
 Vasari does really care for you.' 
 
 ' Signor Yasari ! I hate him ! ' cried 
 Violante. ' Eosa, I will be good — I will act 
 — I will sing — but I will not hear of Signor 
 Vasari. If he kissed me, I would kill him ! ' 
 
 ' For shame, Violante, that is a very im- 
 proper way of speaking. Oh, my child, will 
 you promise me to be good ? ' 
 
 Violante did not answer. Was there a 
 secret rebellion in the heart that had always 
 given Eosa back love for love ?
 
 72 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 ' Violante mia — joii don't think me un- 
 kind to yon ? ' 
 
 Violante looked up and smiled, and 
 taking Eosa's face between lier two little 
 hands, covered it with sweet, fond kisses. 
 
 ' Eosa, carissima mia, shall you do any- 
 thing?' 
 
 ' No,' said Eosa, considering. ' I think 
 not. If you will be a good child, and steady 
 — now father will be coming back.' 
 
 ' 01], you will not tell him? ' 
 
 ' No, no — certainly not ; but you have 
 not practised.' 
 
 ' I could not sing a note ! ' 
 
 ' No, not now,' said Eosa steadily. ' You 
 must drink some coffee, and go and lie down 
 for a little. And then you must bathe your 
 eyes, and put up your hair, and come and 
 sing for as long as father wishes.' 
 
 Violante obeyed, and Eosa having ad- 
 ministered the coffee, and seen that no more 
 tears were likely to result from solitude, left
 
 THE MATTEI FA^IILY. 73 
 
 her to rest, and came back to await her 
 father and consider the situation. She did 
 not hke the look of it at all. Violante was 
 a good, obedient child, who tried to do as 
 she was told, and had no power to rebel 
 against fate. But she knew nothing of self- 
 conquest or of self-control, and when she was 
 unhappy had no thought but to cling to Eosa, 
 and cry till she was comforted ; while under 
 all her timidity lay the power of a certain 
 fervour of feeling against which she had 
 never dreamed of struggling. Sweet and 
 humble, innocent and tender, yet with a 
 most passionate nature, how could she con- 
 tend with feelings which were more 
 
 ' Than would bear 
 Of daily life the wear and tear,' 
 
 how endm^e the pangs of disappointment, 
 
 added to the strain of an uncongenial Hfe ? 
 
 ' I think she will break her heart,' thou^jht 
 
 Eosa to herself But then arose the con-
 
 74 HUGH crichton's eomance. 
 
 solatory tliouglit that a life whicli seemed 
 attractive to herself could not be so painful 
 to her sister, and the })robability that Vio- 
 lante's feeling for her lover had not gone 
 beyond tlie region of sentimental fancy. 
 
 Eosa, being naturally of a sanguine tem- 
 perament, inchned to the latter opinion, and 
 rose up smiling as her father came in. 
 
 'Well, and where is Yiolante — ^has she 
 practised yet ? ' demanded Signor Mattel. 
 
 ' No, father ; she was too tired, she will 
 come directly and sing for as long as you 
 like.' 
 
 ' The child is possessed,' muttered Signor 
 Mattei.' 
 
 ' Now, father,' said Eosa, in a tone rather 
 too decided to be quite filial, ' you must leave 
 Violante to me. I will manage her, and 
 take care that she sings her best on Tuesday. 
 But if she is scolded and frightened, she will 
 break down. I know she will.'
 
 TEK MATTEI FAMILY. 75 
 
 ' Well, figlia mia,' said Signer Mattel, 
 somewhat meekly, for Eosa was the domestic 
 authority, and was at that moment chopping 
 up an excellent salad for him, and pouring 
 on abundance of oil with her own hands. 
 ' But it is hard that my daughter should be 
 such a little fool.' 
 
 'So it is,' said Eosa laughing, 'but she 
 will be good now. Now then, Yiolante,' 
 opening the bedroom door. 
 
 There lay Violante, her sweet round lips 
 smiling, her soft eyes serene, her own fears 
 and Eosa's warnings driven into the back- 
 ground by the excitement of her confession, 
 and by the thought of how Hugh had 
 thanked her for her song. 
 
 She threw her arms round Eosa with 
 a hearty, girlish embrace, quite different 
 from the despairing clinging of an hour 
 before. 
 
 'Yes, I am coming. My hair? Oh,
 
 76 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 father likes it so,' brusliing it out into its 
 native ripples. ' There, my red ribbon. 
 Now I will be biiona — buonissima figha.' 
 
 And she ran into the sitting room and up 
 to her father, pausing with a full, sweeping 
 €urtsey. 
 
 ' Grazie — mille grazie — signore e signori/ 
 she said. ' Is that right, padre mio ? ' 
 
 And her father, seeing her with her float- 
 ing hair, her eyes and cheeks bright with the 
 -excitement that was making her heart beat 
 like a bird in its cage, might well exclaim — 
 
 ' Child, you might bring the house down 
 if you would. Come and kiss me, and go 
 and sing " Batti batti," before you have your 
 supper.'
 
 i i 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 IL DON GIOVAJ^NI. 
 
 Oh, the lute, 
 For that wondrous song were mute, 
 And the bird would do her part, 
 Falter, fail and break her heart — 
 Break her heart and furl her wings, 
 On the inexpressive strings. 
 
 'My dearest Hugh, 
 
 ' I write at once to- 
 tell you oiir good news. The class lists are 
 out, and Arthur has got a second. I am 
 siu*e he deserves it, for he has worked 
 splendidly, and I always thought he would 
 do well. I hope his success will not alter
 
 78 HUGH ckichton's romance. 
 
 his wislies witli reo\T,rd to the bank where 
 your dear father so much wished to see liim 
 take a place ; but the hfe may seem rather 
 hum-drum, and Arthur is naturally much 
 flattered at all the things that have been said 
 to him at Oxford. The girls are delighted. 
 I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, but 
 how much time you have spent at Civita 
 Bella ! When do you think of returning ? 
 1 am going to give some parties as a sort of 
 introduction for Mysie. The Clintons are 
 coming. I don't know if you admire Katie 
 Clinton ; she is a very nice girl, and she is 
 thought a beauty. That fence by the oak 
 copse is in a sad state ; do you think James 
 Jennings ought to mend it ? We have a 
 very good hay crop. I have had a raptm^ous 
 letter from Jem, but you say less about your 
 delights. I wish you would choose a present 
 for me for each of the girls from Italy, and I 
 should like to 2^ive Arthur somethinor on his
 
 iL Dox GIoyAN^^I. 79 
 
 success, but I dare say he would rather 
 choose some books for himself. 
 ' Ever my dearest boy, 
 
 ' Your loving mother, 
 
 'L. Spencer Crichton.' 
 
 Redhurst House, Oxley. 
 
 This letter was brought to Hugh Crichton 
 as he was dressing for the performance of 
 ' Don Giovanni,' at which ' Mademoiselle 
 Mattel ' was to make her first appearance 
 before the public of Civita Bella. The 
 Tollemaches were full of interest in her suc- 
 cess ; and Hugh and James had selected the 
 bouquets which were to be thrown to her, 
 with both the ladies to help them, and 
 Hugh's choice of white and scented flowers 
 was declared by Emily to be remarkably 
 appropriate to Violante. 
 
 The pleasant commonplace letter came 
 like a breath of fresh, sharp wind from
 
 80 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 Oxley into the midst of the soft Itahaii 
 
 air, good in itself, may be, but incongruous. 
 
 Arthur's success ? Hugh was gratified ; but 
 
 not immoderately so, and it crossed his mind 
 
 to think ' What a fuss every one will make ! 
 
 But he shall have his way about the bank ; 
 
 it is not fau' to tie any one down to other 
 
 men's wishes. Katie Clinton! If the mother 
 
 only knew ! ' If his mother had only known 
 
 how his heart beat and his face burnt with 
 
 excitement at the crisis in one little foreign 
 
 girl's life, if she knew how far Eedhurst 
 
 seemed away to him ! If she knew that he 
 
 had fallen entirely in love with Violante 
 
 Mattel! Would she ever know? And 
 
 Hugh, perhaps for the first time, saw that 
 
 question and all it implied looming in the 
 
 distance. Was it to be ' all for love and the 
 
 world well lost ? ' Would the world be lost ? 
 
 What did he mean to do.^ Husfh knew 
 
 quite well what he would have advised Jem 
 
 to do under similar circumstances. It was a
 
 IL DON GIOVANNI. 81 
 
 foolish, unsuitable thing, likely to make 
 every one unhappy, it — . ' I must sing, but 
 I am frightened, Signor Hugo.' ' Will she be 
 so frightened to-night ? She said she liked 
 stephanotis. I wonder if they can see on 
 the stage where a bouquet comes from ! I 
 have not seen her for days. We should all 
 be at sixes and sevens. Well, there's no 
 time now for consideration; but this letter 
 has given me a shake, and I'll play neither 
 with her nor myself,' and Hugh took up his 
 bouquet, and resolved for the moment to do 
 the one thing possible to him — look at and 
 think of Violante. 
 
 The house was full, but the Tollemaches 
 had taken care to secure good places. Emily 
 was full of excitement, proud of having a 
 private interest in the public singer, and 
 eagerly wondering how Violante felt then. 
 Jem discoursed to her on the various great 
 stars whom he had seen fulfilling Zerlina's 
 part, nothing loth to show his acquaintance 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HUGH crichton's eomaxce. 
 
 with little scraps of their history, and with 
 some of the technicalities of their profession, 
 for Jem was great in private and semi-public 
 theatricals and concerts, and was much 
 amused and interested by what he had seen 
 and heard of Mademoiselle Mattel. 
 
 Hugh sat leaning forward on the front of 
 the box, and during the two first scenes he 
 kept his eyes fixed on the stage as if he had 
 never seen an opera before, and though he 
 was not continuously attending, he never all 
 his life long heard a note of the music 
 without recalling that little Italian opera 
 house, with its dim lights and imperfect 
 scenery, its true sweet singers, and the throb 
 of excitement and expectation as the third 
 scene in which Zerlina makes her first appear- 
 ance opened. 
 
 ' There she is ! ' cried Emily, and there 
 Avas nothing more in the theatre for Hugh 
 but one little terrified face. Ah, so terrified, 
 so white, he knew, under all its rouge, with
 
 IL DON GlOyANXI. 83 
 
 eyes that saw nothing and looked through 
 the carefully practised smiles as if longing 
 and appealing for the help no one could give 
 her. Hugh felt a wild desire to jump down 
 and snatch her in his arms, stop the music, 
 drive away all those fantastic figures — any- 
 thing, rather than that she should suffer such 
 fear. What right had anyone to applaud 
 her, to look at her— ah! she was going to 
 sing ! 
 
 She sang ; and after a few faint notes the 
 exquisite quality of her voice asserted itself, 
 and, with her look of extreme youth and 
 shyness, excited an interest that made the 
 audience lenient to the stiffness of her 
 gestures and the gravity and formality of 
 what should have been coquettish dalhance 
 between the peasant and the noble lover. 
 
 The notes were true and pure as those of 
 a bird ; but in their beautiful inflexions was 
 no human passion, no varieties of meaning. 
 Her face was lovely ; but it did not image
 
 84 HUGH CRICHTOIS^'S ROMANCE. 
 
 Zerlina's affectionateness, vanity, triumph, 
 and hesitation, her mischievous dehght in the 
 new admirer, and her hngering concern for 
 the old one ; it spoke nothing to the audience, 
 and to Hugh only Violante's fear and pain. 
 But the music was perfect, and Yiolante, with 
 her gay dress and mournful eyes, was a sweet 
 sight to look on ; so she was well received 
 •enough, and Hugh, as he saw her mouth 
 quiver, thought that the noisy plaudits would 
 make her cry. 
 
 ' Oh, doesn't she look just as sweet as 
 ever ? ' cried Emily. 
 
 ' She looks just the same as ever ; she has 
 
 no notion of her part,' said Mr. Tollemache, 
 
 ' but the voice is first-rate.' 
 
 ' She would be a study for a picture, 
 
 " The Unwilling Actress," ' said Jem. 
 
 ' What say you, Hugh ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ; it is a great success — it is very 
 
 good,' said Hugh vaguely ; but his face was 
 
 crimson, and he felt as if he could scarcely 
 
 breathe.
 
 IL DOX GIOVAWI. 85 
 
 The piece went on, and wlien the famous 
 songs were heard in those perfect tones, when 
 it was only necessary for her to stand and 
 sing instead of to act, her voice and her 
 youth and her beauty gained the day, there 
 was a storm of applause, and a shower of 
 bouquets fell at her feet. Hugh flung his 
 white one, and Don Giovanni took it up and 
 put it in her hand. Then suddenly the eyes 
 lit up, the face was radiant, and the real 
 passion which she had no power to assume 
 or to mimic seemed to change her being. 
 
 ' By Jove, she is lovely ! ' cried Jem. The 
 next moment she had hidden her face in the 
 flowers, and her next notes were so faltering 
 that they were hardly heard. Hugh felt a 
 fury of impatience as the public interest 
 tiurned to the other heroines of the piece, 
 and yet he had time to watch Violante as 
 she stood motionless and weary, forgetting 
 the bye-play that should have kept her in 
 view while she remained silent. Hugh did
 
 86 HUGH CEICHTOXS ROMAXCE. 
 
 not think that she saw hhn ; lie could not 
 catch her eye, and felt angrily jealous of the 
 stage lovers. 
 
 ' JSTow's the trial,' said Mr. Tollemache. 
 ' Let us see how she will make a fool of 
 Masetto.' Masetto was a fine actor as well 
 as a good singer, and the part of Don 
 Giovanni was played by Signor Vasari, the 
 manager of the company himself. Even 
 Hugh, preoccupied as he was, could not but 
 perceive that Zerlina gave them few chances 
 of making a point. 
 
 ' I feel just as if it was Violante herself 
 who was unhappy,' said Emily. ' She looks 
 as if Simor Mattel had been scoldinor her.' 
 
 Hugh, at any rate, felt as if it were 
 Violante whom Don Giovanni was perse- 
 cuting, and was utterly carried away by the 
 excitement of the scene, till, just as the wild 
 dance came to a climax, and Zerlma's 
 screams for help were heard, his brother
 
 IL DON GIOVANNI. 87 
 
 touched Ins arm. Hugh started, and came 
 suddenly to hunself. James was gazing 
 decorously at the stage. Hugh was conscious 
 of having been so entirely absorbed as not 
 to know how he might have betrayed his 
 excitement. Of course he was in a rage 
 with Jem for noticing it, but he sat back in 
 his place and became aware that his hand 
 trembled as he tried to put up his opera 
 glasses, and that he had been bitmg his lip 
 hard. He saw very little of the concluding 
 scenes, and could not have told afterwards 
 whether Don Giovanni died repentant or met 
 the reward of his deeds. Even when the 
 curtain dropped and Mademoiselle Mattei was 
 led forward, to receive perhaps more bouquets 
 and more ' bravas ' than she deserved, he felt 
 a dull cold sense of disenchantment, though 
 he clapped and shouted with the rest. 
 
 ' It is all very well,' said Mr. Tollemache, 
 as he cloaked his mother ; ' her extreme
 
 88 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 youth and lier voice attract for tlie present, 
 but she is too bad an actress for permanent 
 success.' 
 
 ' She hasn't the physical strength for it/ 
 said Jem ; ' her voice will go.' 
 
 ' It is to be hoped Yasari will marry her,' 
 said Mr. Tollemache. 
 
 ' It is a very pretty opera,' said Hugh ; 
 ' and I thought Donna Elvira had a fine 
 voice.' 
 
 ' The theatre was very hot,' said Mr. 
 Tollemache, when they reached home ; ' has 
 it made your head ache, Mr. Crichton? ' 
 
 ' No, thank you, but I'll go to bed, I 
 think. I don't care for a smoke, Jem, to- 
 night.' 
 
 ' Jem,' said Mr. Tollemache, as they parted 
 after a desultory discussion of Violante, the 
 opera, the Matteis, and the chances of 
 Violante's voice being profitable to Signor 
 Vasari, ' if you and Hugh care to go on and.
 
 IL DON GIOVANJfl. 89^ 
 
 see a bit more of Italy, to push on to Eome, 
 for instance, for the few days you have left, 
 you mustn't stand on ceremony with me.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said James. ' I'll see what 
 Hugh says ; I should hke to see the — the 
 Vatican, immensely.'
 
 so HUGH CEICHTON's ROMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL. 
 
 ' They were dangerous guides, the feelings — ' 
 
 James Crichton liad a certain taste for 
 peculiarity, and anything unexpected and 
 eccentric attracted him as much as it repels 
 many other people. He piqued himself on 
 his liberality, and had friends and acquaint- 
 ances in many grades of society, to whom 
 he behaved with perfectly genuine freedom 
 and equality. He also loved everything that 
 the word ' Bohemian ' implies to those classes 
 who use it entirely ab extra. His mother's 
 vision of Jem's daily life was a confused 
 mixture of shabby velveteen, ale in queer
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL. 91 
 
 mugs, colours whicli she was told to admire but 
 thought hideous, mingled with musical instru- 
 ments of all descriptions. He teased her to 
 ask the Oxley photographer to dinner, and 
 perpetually shocked her by reveahng the 
 social standing of acquaintances, whom he 
 spoke of in terms of the greatest enthusiasm, 
 till her dread was that he would marry some 
 of ' the sweet girls and perfect ladies ' who 
 supported their famihes by their own ex- 
 ertions in ways, which, though doubtless 
 genteel, were not exactly aristocratic. She 
 would have expected him to fall a victim to 
 Yiolante at once. 
 
 But people do not always act in the way 
 that is expected of them, and Mrs. Crichton 
 would have been saved much uneasiness had 
 she known that Jem's affections, so far as 
 they were developed, were placed on the 
 daughter of an Archdeacon, who dressed at 
 once fashionably and quietly, did her hair in 
 accordance with custom and not art, was such
 
 92 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 a lady that no one ever called her lady-like, 
 and so exactly what she ought to have been 
 that no one would have ventured to say 
 she was dull. Jem had a great many flirta- 
 tions, but if ever a vision of the wife that 
 years hence might reward his devotion to 
 his work at the Foreign Office, crossed his 
 mind that vision bore the form of Miss Helen 
 Hayward. It takes a great deal of theory 
 and very strong opinions to contend in 
 practice with the instincts to which people 
 are born ; but instincts have less chance 
 where feehngand passion rise up to do battle 
 with them. 
 
 James looked into Hugh's dazzled absent 
 eyes as they stood at his room door on their 
 return from the opera, and felt that it was 
 a bad moment for trying to bring him to 
 reason ; but the awkwardness of taking his 
 elder brother to task in cold blood on the 
 following morning made him seek for a con-
 
 BROTHERLY COU^^SEL. 93 
 
 versation at ouce. So he followed him into 
 his room and began : — 
 
 'Did you hear what Tollemache said 
 about going to Eome ? ' 
 
 ' Eome ? No ; do you want to go there ? ' 
 
 ' Why, yes ! Of course. Wlio doesn't ? ' 
 
 ' I don't,' said Hugh quietly. 
 
 ' No ; but isn't it a pity to miss the oppor- 
 tunity ? In short, Hugh, — I say, — you know% 
 aren't you coming it rather strong in that 
 quarter ? ' said Jem, who was so astonished 
 at the novel position in which he found him- 
 self that he plunged into his task of Mentor 
 at once. ' In short, suppose it was Arthur, 
 you know, what should you say ? ' 
 
 ' I should say exactly what you want to 
 say to me,' said Hugh, and made a little 
 pause. ' If I do this thing,' he went on, 
 looking straight before him, 'it will, I 
 know, cause a great deal of vexation for 
 the moment.'
 
 94 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 ' It's not that ; but it could not possibly 
 answer, Hugh, you can't be such a fool. Go 
 away and take time to reflect ; no one is 
 more reasonable than you.' 
 
 Hugh roused himself as if with an effort, 
 and, sitting down on the edge of his bed, 
 looked up at his brother and prepared for 
 the contest. 'I will tell you all you are 
 going to say,' he said. ' This young lady — 
 for she is a lady, Jem, and the daughter of 
 a lady — is half a foreigner ; she is only 
 seventeen, she has no money, she has hardly 
 any education, she has sung in public, on 
 compulsion, and much against her will. If 
 I marrv her — ' 
 
 'You will break mamma's heart,' said 
 Jem, going back in his vexation to his 
 childish mode of speech. 
 
 ' No, I shall not. She won't like it, of 
 course, but she'll come round to it. Of 
 course some w^omen would not, but she 
 would never make the worst of a thing.
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL. 95 
 
 There's an end of her plans for me, what 
 else is there to matter ? ' 
 
 ' No one would visit her,' muttered Jem^ 
 who had often inveighed at the folly of social 
 prejudice. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, they would, if my mother re- 
 ceived her. It would be a bad match, of 
 course, but not so bad as that when all the 
 circumstances were explained.' 
 
 ' You seem to have considered it all' 
 
 ' Did you suppose I should do it without 
 considering ? I'm not the man, James, not 
 to see all these difficulties ; I am not going 
 to take a leap in the dark.' 
 
 ' It's just as bad if you leap over a preci- 
 pice in the light ! ' 
 
 Hugh was silent. It was perhaps owing 
 to his clear sense of what was due to every- 
 one, and to his power of seeing both sides of 
 a question, that he was not offended by his 
 brother's displeasure. What else could 
 James say? He hhnself, as he had told
 
 96 HUGH crichton's eomaxce. 
 
 ]iim, coukl say it all, had said it, did say it 
 still. And what could he answer? That, 
 though a broken heart was a form of speech, 
 his would in future be a broken life without 
 Violante was a statement that he could not 
 bring himself to make, and which James 
 would not have believed. ' Of course I can 
 give her up,' he thought ; ' but if I do shall 
 I ever live my life whole and perfect again ? 
 Is it not in me to be to her what I never 
 have been, never could be, to anyone else ? ' 
 
 Hugh was a self-conscious person, as well 
 as a conscientious one ; he was not very 
 young, and thus it will be perceived that he 
 knew well what he was about. He was 
 enough himself to Avonder at himself; but 
 in these sweet holiday weeks something had 
 possessed him beyond his own control. He 
 'Could fly from it, but he could not conquer 
 it. 
 
 ' Well,' he said, as James continued his 
 arguments, ' grant that I should forget her,
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL, 97 
 
 what should I be worth then ? how much of 
 myself should I have lost ! ' 
 
 ' Anyone might say that about any temp- 
 tation of the sort,' said Jem. 
 
 'And truly. But — "halt or maimed,'* 
 you know, Jem. There are times when we 
 must pay the price. You can't say this is 
 a case in point.' 
 
 'But how about the gui?' said Jem. 
 ' Have you involved yourself with her ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Hugh, and then added : ' Not 
 intentionally.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Jem, with a whistle. He 
 was surprised to perceive that the argument 
 of Violante's probable disappointment had 
 not been the first to be put forward by 
 Hugh. His brother had argued out the 
 question of right and wrong for himself first, 
 though now he eagerly took up this point. 
 
 ' I think she does like me,' he said, in a 
 much more lover-like manner ; ' and her 
 father tyrannises over her, poor child : she 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 HUGH crichton's romais-ce. 
 
 hates lier profession; slie would never want 
 to hear of it again.' 
 
 ' Well, and how did it all come about ? ' 
 
 To this question James did not obtain a 
 direct answer ; but after about half-an-hour 
 of explanation, description, and rapture, he 
 said: 
 
 'Well, Hugh, you are in for it, and 
 no mistake. I'm sorry for you. And, pray, 
 what do you intend to do ? ' 
 
 ' I wish to act as considerately as possible 
 to everyone,' said Hugh. ' I shall go home 
 and tell my mother myself — ' 
 
 ' Without engaging yourself to Violante.^' 
 
 ' I shall do nothing in a hurry ; but you 
 cannot suppose that it needs spoken words 
 to bind me now.' 
 
 ' But I say,' said James suddenly, ' did 
 not some one say she was engaged to the 
 manager ? ' 
 
 ' That is not true,' said Hugh, coloiu-ing 
 up ; ' she cannot endure him.'
 
 BKOTHERLY COUNSEL. 99 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said James, dryly. ' All things 
 considered, I wonder you did not speak 
 before to-night.' 
 
 ' I should not have expected you to take 
 that view,' returned his brother. 
 
 'Well, she's none the worse for it, of 
 course ; but, still, when it comes to one's 
 wife, you see, Hugh, there are advantages 
 in plain sailing.' 
 
 ' Look here, James,' cried Hugh, starting 
 up, ' we have talked long enough ; I'll take 
 care of my mother, but I love Violante, and 
 I beheve she loves me, and our hves shall 
 not be spoilt for anyone's scruples. Do you 
 suppose / don't know my own mind? do 
 you think I should act in a hurry, and 
 repent of it afterwards ? I would give her 
 up now if I thought it right. It might be 
 right in some cases, but this stands apart 
 from ordinary rules — ' 
 
 ' I think I've heard that remark before,' 
 James could not resist interposing. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 ' Very likely. In my case it is true. Not 
 answer ? It shall answer ! Do you think I 
 shall ever be afraid of the consequences of 
 my actions ? ' 
 
 Hugh had the advantage of definite 
 purpose and strong feeling. He spoke low, 
 but his whole face lighted up as he, usually 
 scrupulously self-distrustful in his speech, 
 uttered this mighty boast. James, fluent 
 and enthusiastic as he was, had for the 
 moment nothing to say. He meant well ; 
 but his objections were vague and incon- 
 sistent with much of his own conduct. Hugh 
 had the better of him, and reduced him to 
 looking dissatisfied and cross. 
 
 ' Well, if you will make a fool of your- 
 self,' he muttered. Til say good night.' 
 
 ' Good night ! ' said Hugh, coming out of 
 the clouds. 'You were quite right to say 
 yoiu- say, Jem.' 
 
 James was a very good-tempered person,
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL. 101 
 
 but this was a little more than he could 
 stand. 
 
 'Some day you may wish you had 
 listened to it,' he said. ' If you had seen as 
 much of girls as I have, you would know 
 there was nothing extraordinary in being 
 extra silly and sentimental. Good heavens! 
 I might have been married a dozen times 
 over if I'd been so heroic over every little 
 flirtation.' 
 
 iN'ot being a woman, Hugh left the last 
 word to his brother. He had no particular 
 respect for Jem's opinion, and did not care 
 at all whether he approved of his choice or 
 not. He believed that he could make his 
 mother content with it ; and his mother's 
 contentment would silence all active opposi- 
 tion of the outer world. His boy and girl 
 cousins had no right to a remark : he sup- 
 posed he could put up with Arthur's non- 
 sense. Here he took the flower out of his
 
 102 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 coat, and thought that the scent of stephanotis 
 would always remind him of Yiolante. And 
 then he went and leaned out of his window 
 in the soft starlit southern night, and won- 
 dered if Yiolante was dreaming of her 
 success or of him. 
 
 How strange it was that to him, of all 
 people, should have come this wonderful and 
 poetical experience I Hugh was not aware 
 that the beauty of the scene, the clearness 
 of the sky, the delicate shadowy spires and 
 pinnacles that stood out soft and clear 
 against it, the light of the stars, the breath 
 of the south, in any way influenced him ; 
 he would have laughed even then at a 
 description of a lover looking at the stars 
 and thinking of his lady. It never occurred 
 to him to call to mind any song or poem 
 that put into words such common-place 
 romance. For the place, the circumstances, 
 Yiolante herself, the flower in his hand, the
 
 BROTHERLY COUNSEL. 103 
 
 notes yet ringing in his ears, appealed to a 
 simplicity of sentiment any school-girl might 
 have shared with him. Yet real honest feel- 
 ing might give for once reality to these 
 hackneyed images, just as it could as easily 
 have dispensed with them altogether.
 
 104 HUGH CEICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 
 
 ' True love 
 Lives among the false loves, knowing 
 
 Just their peace and strife ; 
 Bears the self-same look, but always 
 
 Has an inner life. 
 
 Tell me, then, do you dare offer 
 This true love to me ? 
 
 Neither you nor I can answer : 
 We must — wait and see ! ' 
 
 The fearful ordeal was over ; the first night 
 had Gome and gone, and the earth had not 
 opened to swallow Violante up ; the disgrace- 
 ful tears had been successfully controlled; 
 and through all the fear and confusion, the 
 dread of the audience and of her fellow-
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 105 
 
 actors, the physical discomfort of the noise 
 and the heat, had penetrated a little thrill 
 of pleasure ; and for one moment, when all 
 the ' Bravas ' seemed to ring with Hugh's 
 voice, and his sweet white bouquet fell at 
 her feet, the excitement was not all pain. 
 But, painful or joyful, it was far too intense 
 for so delicate a creatine to bear ; and tears, 
 sleeplessness, and excessive exhaustion, were 
 its natm-al result. Both Eosa and her father 
 were so much relieved that no break-down 
 had taken place that, though both were 
 fully capable of criticising her performance, 
 they rejoiced as if it had been an absolute 
 success ; and even the tender sister could not 
 believe but that the pleasm^e must have pre- 
 dominated over the pain. So poor Violante 
 dried her tears as fast as she could, conscious 
 of being too silly a child even for Eosa's 
 sympathy, and not daring to say that the 
 worst terror of all was Signor Vasari's com- 
 mendation. She had no need to suffer from
 
 106 
 
 Masetto's, who declared with indignation that 
 it was impossible to execute scenes of passion 
 and sentiment with so irresponsive a soprano. 
 On the Wednesday another opera was to be 
 given ; on the Thursday ' Don Giovanni ' 
 would be repeated, and then there loomed 
 before Yiolante the dreadful impossible arch- 
 ness of the playful heroine of ' II Barbiere.' 
 Surely, when she came back from the re- 
 hearsal on Wednesday, some one would 
 come to hear how she had fared! There 
 was no one. Even Emily ToUemache 
 neither came nor wrote. So he only 
 wanted to throw bouquets at her! 
 
 ' Oh, I hate the flowers ! I hate their 
 very smell,' sobbed poor Violante to herself ; 
 but she did not throw them away ; and 
 when, on Thursday night, as the opera pro- 
 ceeded, no white bouquet fell, her spirit 
 died utterly within her, and then rose in 
 passionate despair. She could not bear her 
 troubles — this poor child — for one day ; but,
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 107 
 
 weak and soft as she was, it was no mere 
 tender sentiment that gave lier face a sort of 
 power and thrilled her voice with a new 
 energy. 
 
 When the curtain rose on the performers 
 after the opera was over, a great white 
 bridal-looking bouquet fell at Yiolante's feet. 
 Don Giovanni, impelled perhaps by various 
 jealousies of the favour shown to the little 
 debutante, picked it up and gave it to Donna 
 Elvira, who graciously curtseyed thanks. 
 Zerlina started ; she could see no one ; and 
 the curtain fell. 
 
 'Mademoiselle, I think those are my 
 flowers.' 
 
 Donna Elvira biu-st out laughing and 
 pointed the bouquet scornfully at Zerhna. 
 
 ' Eccola — Brava, brava ! Mademoiselle 
 learns quickly. She wants other ladies' 
 bouquets, not content with her own ! ' 
 
 ' Mademoiselle's thoughts are elsewhere 
 than on the stage,' sneered Masetto.
 
 108 HUGH ceichton's komance. 
 
 ' Ah — it is a love token ! Is it il Sigiior 
 Inglese ? Ah, ha, ha ! 
 
 Violante, in an agony of shame at her 
 own folly, with burning cheeks and beating 
 heart, shrank away without a word ; but 
 when she reached home and could hide her 
 face on Eosa's shoulder, her first words 
 were — 
 
 ' Oh, my flowers, my flowers ! ' and when 
 Eosa understood the story she could give no 
 adequate consolation. 
 
 ' Oh, child — child ! ' she cried at last, ' do 
 not sob and cry in this way. Who ever 
 cured their troubles so ? JSTow I will not 
 have it. Perhaps he did not tlirow the 
 flowers after all ! Lie down and go to 
 sleep.' 
 
 Violante endeavoured to obey ; she put 
 the damp tumbled hair ofl* her face, and lay 
 down and closed her eyes. 'But he did 
 throw them,' she thought to herself; but she 
 did not say so to Eosa, for her sorrow was
 
 WHITE FLO WEES. 109 
 
 beginning to give the child a stand-point of 
 her own. 
 
 Hugh, meanwhile, was the victim of 
 circumstances. Mrs. Tollemache had planned 
 an excursion, which carried them off early 
 on the morning after the first opera, and 
 from which they did not return till late in 
 the evening of the second day. Hugh was 
 annoyed ; but he knew that he should have 
 other opportunities of seeing Violante, and 
 he could not escape without more commo- 
 tion than was expedient. So he went and 
 enjoyed himself all the more, because the 
 excitement of his whole nature made him 
 more than usually open to enjoyment. 
 Hugh had never thought scenery so beauti- 
 ful or sights so interesting ; he was ready to 
 be amused by every trifling incident of their 
 trip. He knew that Violante would be 
 there when he came back ; while she^ poor 
 child, knew nothing. But he managed to 
 look in at the end of the opera and throw
 
 110 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 his bouquet; and on the next day he thought 
 no one could have objected to his making a 
 visit of enquiry, particularly as most Hkely 
 Yiolante would not be at home. James's re- 
 marks had not been without their effect, in so 
 far as they increased his desire to act with the 
 greatest possible tact and caution ; and he 
 much wished to secure his mother's consent, 
 certainly before any public disturbance took 
 place, and even, if possible, before actually 
 engaging himself to Violante, and this for 
 her sake. He had no dreams of hiding 
 himself from the world with her : he could 
 do no other than follow his profession, and 
 live with his wife in the midst of his friends. 
 In short, Hugh wished to eat his cake and 
 have it — to do a wild, foolish, utterly romantic 
 thing, and yet sacrifice no conventional or 
 real advantage. And he had quite sense 
 enough to know that conventional advan- 
 tages were real in this case, and quite 
 confidence enough in himself to believe that,
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. Ill 
 
 he, in his wisdom, could succeed in doing 
 what most other men had failed in attempt- 
 ing. 
 
 'There shall be no secresy and no 
 quarrelling,' he thought ; ' and yet I will 
 judge for myself.' 
 
 However, this evening, politeness would 
 have prompted a call on Signor Mattel had 
 Violante never existed ; and as Jem had 
 promised to take some drive with the 
 Tollemaches it was not worth while to ask 
 for his company ; so he asked if Signor 
 Mattel was at home. ' No — il signor was out.' 
 ' La signorina Eosa ? ' 'Out too, she was 
 giving a lesson — ah, it was only Enghsh 
 people Avho went out in such a sun. What 
 a pity ! Even Mademoiselle Mattel (Madda- 
 lena proudly gave Violante the French title 
 by which she was known to the public) was 
 not there ; she was tired with the rehearsals ; 
 she was lying down. Would il signor wait ? 
 They would be in soon.' Hugh thought
 
 112 
 
 that lie would wait. This was not the first 
 time that he had seen Maddalena. 
 
 Hugh came into the great shady room, 
 where the Venetian blinds were down and 
 the light was green and cool. Only one 
 window was open — a little one at the end 
 facing east — and on its ledge stood a great 
 bowl of flaming flowers, the blue sky and a 
 distant marble pinnacle, fretted and pierced, 
 behind them ; a girl in an old white dress on 
 the low cushioned bench beneath — ^Vio- 
 lante's delicate face and floating' hair clear 
 against the sky. There were red flowers and 
 blue flowers in the great china bowl, but white 
 ones in Violante's little hands ; and as Hugh's 
 foot fell on the old scratched inlaid work of 
 the floor she held them to her lips. Then 
 the foot-fall sounded, and she turned her 
 head and sprang up with such a start that 
 down fell flowers, red, white, and blue, with 
 the china bowl in one common ruin. In 
 another moment Hugh and Yiolante, both
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 113 
 
 laughing and exclaiming, were picking them 
 lip, and Hugh was pursuing the bowl as it 
 rolled along the pohshed floor. 
 
 'No harm done,' he said, as he brought 
 it back, ' it is not broken.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so glad ! Father is so fond of 
 it. Oh, how wet the cushion is ! ' 
 
 ' Hang it out of window,' said Hugh, 
 as he pulled it off the seat. ' I don't want 
 it. And there,' taking it from the chair, ' is 
 another one for you.' 
 
 And Hugh sat down on the vacant half 
 of the window-seat ; and, replacing the bowl 
 on the ledge, began to arrange the wet 
 flowers in it. Violantesat down also ; and, 
 shaking the drops from the roses and 
 oleanders, held them to him one by one. 
 
 She felt quite happy; past and future 
 had floated away from her. She did not 
 think of saying anything ; the flowers were 
 enough. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 ' I don't think I understand mucli about 
 arranging flowers,' said Hugli. 
 
 ' They were dying, or I should not have 
 taken them to pieces,' said she, with a glance 
 at the white bouquet. 
 
 ' You had a ivliite bouquet ? ' 
 
 ' Oh — I had so many — this beautiful 
 one — all roses,' said Violante, trying, in her 
 heightened spirits, this elementary piece of 
 coquetting. 
 
 ' Too many to count ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes — quite loo many. There were 
 three red ones and this — all colours — and 
 one white.' 
 
 She looked at Hugh, seized with a 
 sudden fear. Perhaps he had not thrown 
 the white one, after all ! 
 
 'Your trophies. Mademoiselle Mattei. 
 Were you very proud of them as you were 
 counting the spoils ? ' said the equally foohsH 
 Hugh, as he thought : ' Of course, she does 
 care for it, after all.'
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 115 
 
 Violante blushed intensely and her lips 
 quivered. 
 
 'I like \hQ flowers^' she said. 
 
 ' And the applause ? ' said Hugh, jealously. 
 ' Don't you know you had a great triumph ? 
 We shall all boast of your acquaiutance.' 
 
 Violante bent her head low, her lashes 
 heavy and wet. 
 
 ' Still, you don't like it,' cried Hugh ; and 
 suddenly the tones were tender. ' Does it 
 still frighten you so much, Violante ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes — so much ! ' 
 
 'Ah, I saw you were frightened. It 
 was Violante, not Zerlina, that I was looking 
 at.' 
 
 ' Yes, that's the worst of it.' 
 
 ' The worst of it ? ' 
 
 ' I never act enough, they say. I can 
 only sing.' 
 
 ' Well, what more would anyone have ? 
 You sing like an angel. And Violante is 
 I 2
 
 116 HUGH CRICHTON'S EOMAISTE. 
 
 mucli better worth looking at tlian Zerlina, 
 any day.' 
 
 ' All,' said Violante, more brightly, ' but 
 you would not think so if you were Signor 
 Eubini.' 
 
 ' What— Masetto— shouldn't I ? ' 
 
 ' He said,' continued Violante, with peni- 
 tence, 'that he would rather act with a 
 wax-doll, and — and that I show off my own 
 voice and do not think of his. But I cannot 
 help it, indeed.' 
 
 ' What an insolent scoundrel ! You 
 shall — ^why do you ever act with him 
 again ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, but it is a great honour ! I ought 
 to please him if I could. But I don't know 
 how.' 
 
 The sorrowful, contrite tones, and the 
 droop of her lip were almost more than 
 Hugh could bear. James had told him that 
 it would be cruel to make this poor httle 
 child unhappy by the uncertainties of an
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 117 
 
 engagement that could not be immediately 
 fulfilled. Would she be any ha^^pier if he 
 left her to cry over her bad acting, and to 
 be criticized by Itahan singers? He was 
 coming to a resolution, but for a moment he 
 held it back. 
 
 ' Give yourself airs,' he said. ' Say 
 you'll never sing again if they find fault with 
 you ! See what they will say then.' 
 
 ' I .^ ' said Violante, openmg roimd eyes 
 of amazement. ' How could I ? ' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Hugh, with growing excite- 
 ment, ' but one of these days you will say, 
 " 1 will not act with Signer Eubini ! " We 
 are gomg home, you know, when I come 
 back ' 
 
 He paused, and Violante turned cold 
 and sick, as when the eyes of the whole 
 theatre were fixed upon her. He was going 
 away! Hugh started up and walked away 
 fi:om her for a moment ; then he came back 
 and stood before her, and spoke.
 
 118 HUGH CEICHTON'S EOMANCE. 
 
 ' No, you cannot say that. I will tell you 
 what to say. Say you have promised to be 
 my wife, my darling ; and it does not matter 
 if you act well or ill. Listen to me one 
 moment. Signorina, I love you ; though 
 I cannot tell you so in persuasive words. If 
 you will trust me for a little while, I will 
 come back and bring my mother, who will 
 welcome you and love you. Can you care 
 for me, Yiolante ? ' 
 
 Hugh, scrupulous and self- conscious, 
 wasted many words. He had said within 
 himself that he would show more deference 
 to Yiolante than he would have thought 
 necessary to a princess ; that with his first 
 words he would make it plain, both that 
 there were difficulties, and that he would 
 overcome them. There was a suppressed 
 fire in the eyes generally so quiet, and a 
 sort of coiu^thness in the manners that were 
 sometimes so stiff, a deference that would
 
 WHITE FLOWERS. 119 
 
 soon be tender, an earnestness just held back 
 from passionate force. 
 
 Violante heard but three words : ' I love 
 you.' Shy as she was, she was utterly 
 trustful, and was too mnocent and too fer- 
 vent for any pretence of coyness. 
 
 ' Do you love me, Violante ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! ' and she let him take her in 
 his arms, while her tears fell with the soft 
 relief of having found a comforter. She 
 was won, this little southern Juliet, won — 
 ah, how easily ! — and Hugh vowed to himself 
 that he would justify her innocent trust, and 
 give her all she knew not how to demand. 
 
 ' You are not frightened now, my child ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' 
 
 ' Let me look and see ;' and, as Hugh 
 drew away the veiling fingers, she did not 
 shrink from the kiss that came in their 
 stead. 
 
 ' What will father say ? ' miu-miured she 
 presently.
 
 120 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 N"ow, it would have suited Hiigli better 
 could he have left Signor Mattel in ignorance 
 until he had settled the affair with his own 
 people ; but he was too generous to involve 
 Violante in the toils of a secret. Never 
 should she be tempted by him to one doubt- 
 ful action. So he answered — 
 
 ' That I will soon find out ; and to do so, 
 my darling, I must go.' 
 
 And so, with many tender words, and 
 with a wonderful delight in his own love as 
 well as in the sweet child who had awakened 
 it, Hugh took his leave for the present ; 
 and she, who was conscious of no delight but 
 in him, watched him for a moment, then 
 came and tiurned the old lock of the door, 
 which he suddenly found so perplexing ; so 
 that, as he went away, he saw her standing 
 in the dim, lofty corridor, with the sunhght 
 shining halo- wise behind her hau% and the 
 still brighter aureole of his passionate fancy 
 glorifying her innocent face.
 
 PART 11. 
 
 CONTRASTS. 
 
 There's none so sure to pay his debt. 
 As wet to dry, and dry to wet.'
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THE TIME OF KOSES. 
 
 * When all the world was young, lad, 
 And all the trees were green.' 
 
 While the bright southern sunshine was 
 fining the old palace with its rays'; and 
 while, beneath the blue Italian sky, Hugh 
 Crichton was arranging Yiolante's flowers ; 
 the same fair summer weather was making 
 life enchanting in the Enghsh coimty where 
 Oxley lay. Instead of deep, unbroken aziu^e, 
 see a paler tint, with fleecy, snowy clouds ; 
 and, for the fretwork and the imagery, the 
 marble, and the alabaster of Civita Bella, 
 broad, green, low-lying meadows, where
 
 124 HUGH CRICHTO^'S ROMANCE. 
 
 dog-roses tossed in the hedges, and dog- 
 daisies and buttercups were faUing beneath 
 the scythe ; a slow, sleepy canal, with here 
 and there a bright-painted boat ; and, on the 
 low hill side, the clustering white villas and 
 modern streets, surmounted, not by innumer- 
 able pinnacles and domes, but by one tall, 
 grey spire. 
 
 Oxley was a large, flourishing town, some 
 forty miles from London — next to the county 
 town in dignity, and before it in size and 
 enterprise. It could boast no architecture 
 and no antiquities, save a handsome church — 
 neither very old nor very new — and some 
 tumble-down, red-tiled, dirty streets, sloping 
 down from the back of the town to the 
 €anal — unless, indeed, like some of its 
 townsmen, you counted the Corinthian fa9ade 
 of the railway station, the Gothic gables of 
 the new Town Hall, or the sober eighteenth- 
 century squareness of the Oxley Bank. 
 These two latter public buildings opened on
 
 THE TIME OP EOSES. 125 
 
 to a broad, sunny market-place ; from 
 which started a clean, white, sunny road, 
 which led past villas, nursery gardens, mea- 
 dows, and bits of furzy, heathery waste, 
 all the way to Eedhurst, and was the old 
 coach-road from the county town to London, 
 Along this road were the prettiest resi- 
 dences, the gayest little conservatories, the 
 most flowery lilacs, laburnums, and acacias 
 of suburban Oxley. Here was the ' best 
 neighbourhood,' and here, on the clean, 
 gravelled footway, the nursery-maids and 
 children went to walk on fine mornings ; 
 ladies and httle dogs paid calls of an after- 
 noon ; and groups of slim, long-haired girls 
 came out to attend classes at Oxley Manor, 
 the famous Young Ladies' School. The 
 Manor House lay back from the road be- 
 hind high, substantial, red brick walls, with 
 mossy crevices, and bushy ivy peeping over 
 the top ; showing beyond, garden trees, 
 walnuts, acacias, and horse-chesnuts, sur-
 
 126 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 rounding tlie big, substantial house, where, 
 from the small-paned windows, peeped now 
 and then a girl's face. 
 
 There was no better school in the country 
 than the Miss Vennings' at Oxley Manor ; and 
 it was considered a great privilege for the 
 girls of Oxley that certain classes there were 
 opened to them ; and a still greater that 
 Miss Spencer and Miss Crofton were allowed 
 to attend regularly as day scholars. But 
 these young ladies did not come from Eed- 
 hurst by the road. There was a pretty, 
 quiet path through the meadows — half way 
 between the pubhc road and the towing path 
 by the eanal — that led here, through a bit of 
 copsewood famous for primroses, there across 
 a sunny, open meadow ; now over a low, 
 wooden stile, then between high hedges, 
 full of brambles, honey-suckles, and roses ; 
 till the hedges grew neater and closer, and 
 terminated in the high red wall of the 
 Manor kitchen-garden, from which opened
 
 THE TIME OP ROSES. 127 
 
 a little green gate. On the other side of the 
 road was a paddock, with a shallow pond 
 where ducks flomished, and where, on the 
 opposite bank, an old pollard willow threw 
 its slender branches across the muddy water. 
 On that sunny afternoon a sunnier spot 
 could hardly have been found than the 
 narrow path under the wall ; and yet here 
 lingered two figures : a girl, who had poised 
 herself on the end of a great garden-roller, 
 and a young man who leaned against the 
 white railing of the pond beside her. She 
 was a graceful httle lady, small and soft- 
 faced ; with brown hair, shining and neat, 
 round rosy hps, and clear, steady eyes of a 
 hazel tint. Her white dress was elaborately 
 trimmed with handsome embroidery, and all 
 her blue ribbons were fresh and smart, as if 
 they had no need to see sunny days enough 
 to dim thefr brightness. There was a bag of 
 books at her feet, and her pretty eyes were 
 cast down towards them ; and her pink
 
 128 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 cheeks were flushed with considerable, yet 
 not excessive, embarrassment. 
 
 ' But, Arthur,' she said, with a clear, dis- 
 tinct, and yet soft utterance, ' but, Arthur, 
 I think we ought to consider about it a 
 great deal.' 
 
 ' I have never considered it at all,' said 
 Arthur Spencer. 
 
 He was a tall young man, slight and 
 graceful ; with — spite of his second class and 
 his cultivated expression — a sort of happy- 
 go-lucky air, that seemed hardly to have 
 outgrown the right to his old appellation of 
 a ' very pretty boy,' earned by his bright 
 colour, dark hair, with a pictiuresque wave in 
 it, and black -lashed eyes, of that distinct 
 shade of grey which cannot be mistaken for 
 blue or hazel. He was an elegant, rather 
 handsome young man at three-and-twenty, 
 with a light-hearted, self-reliant manner that 
 might have been careless and even conceited 
 had a less earnest and genuine aflfection
 
 THE TIME OF EOSES. 129 
 
 looked out from his bright eyes at the pretty 
 creature beside him. Arthur thought him- 
 self clever, good-looking, rather a fine fellow 
 in his way ; but what did he not think of 
 Mysie Crofton ? 
 
 ' There's nothing new in it ; is there, 
 Mysie ? ' he continued, as he took her 
 prettily-gloved hand, with the freedom of 
 old intercourse, just touched with something 
 sweeter. ' Nothing new. We were always 
 the friends of the family, and it must have 
 come to this soon.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mysie, simply ; ' but I 
 thoudit — I thoucrht — those thino-s never did 
 come to anything.' 
 
 ' You thought ? Ah, Mysie, I have my 
 answer now : You thought, you little 
 worldly-minded thing, that first love was all 
 humbug, eh ? Well, we'll be an instance to 
 the contrary. ' 
 
 Mysie blushed. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 HUGH crichton's romaxce. 
 
 ' I'm sure/ she said, ' you were always 
 telling me about young ladies.' 
 
 ' But I always told you about them, 
 Mysie ! And now I could not go on any 
 longer without having it out. I knew it ; 
 and yoii knew it — oh, yes, you did ; and 
 Aunt Lily was beginning to find out.' 
 
 ' But there's Hugh ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, Hugh. I daresay he won't quite 
 Hke it ; those things are not in his line. 
 But he is too good to make foolish objections. 
 To be sure, there is one he may fairly 
 make.' 
 
 ' What's that .^ ' said Mysie, frightened. 
 
 ' Your fortune, Mysie ; and when I think 
 of it, it half frightens me.' 
 
 ' I don't think it is so very much,' said 
 Mysie. 
 
 ' It is enough to give you a right to all 
 this,' said Arthur, touching her pretty dress ; 
 ' and if I thought I could not give it you, I 
 woukl be silent. But, Mysie, I have not
 
 THE TIME OF EOSES. 131 
 
 'inucli of my own ; but I think I have 
 earned the right to say I have a good chance 
 -of success in any career I miglit choose ; and 
 there is always the Bank. I know I cannot 
 marry you now, Mysie, my darhng,' he con- 
 tinued, with a sort of frank, eager deference ; 
 ■' and if anyone you hke better comes by I 
 mil never hold you to your promise. But 
 in the meantime are we the worse for acknow- 
 ledging that which has existed so long — so 
 long ? Oh, Mysie, I don't know how to make 
 love to you. I think it's all made, but you 
 are part of myself. I could have no Hfe 
 without you. I cannot imagine myself not 
 loving you, not looking to have you one day 
 for my own.' 
 
 If Mysie was a little slow to answer, it 
 was not because she could imagine her life 
 without Arthur. All this was only the right 
 name for that wliich had always been. 
 They were Arthur and Mysie; and they
 
 132 HUGH crichton's eomance. 
 
 would be Arthur and Mysie to the end of 
 the chapter. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' that's quite true. It 
 just is. But I'll try and be a great deal 
 better to you than ever I have been. It 
 ought to be like " John Anderson." ' 
 
 Mysie had ideas, and was not afraid to 
 express them. She used nice, pretty lan- 
 guage, and when a thought struck her she 
 would say it out in a way sometimes formal, 
 but always genuine and sweet. 
 
 ' John Anderson ? ' said Arthur— not 
 that he did not know. 
 
 And Mysie repeated the sweetest of all 
 sweet love-songs, the one fulfilment in the 
 midst of so much longing desire. 
 
 As Arthur heard her gentle, fearless voice, 
 and saw her clear eyes raised to his own, as 
 she repeated, without fear or falter : 
 
 * And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 John Anderson, my jo/ 
 
 a great awe came over him.
 
 THE TIME OF ROSES. 133 
 
 ' Oh, Mysie, my love, my darling, may 
 <jod grant it! For nothing in life could 
 €ver come between us/ 
 
 And with this hope, that in its intensity 
 was almost fear, he drew her towards him, 
 and gave her his first lovers kiss. She was 
 silent ; and then, recovering herself, said, in a 
 different tone : 
 
 ' And I don't think it will be inconvenient 
 to have a little money ! ' 
 
 The revulsion of ideas made Arthur 
 laugh. 
 
 ' Worldly wisdom ! ' he exclaimed ; then 
 suddenly sprang up from the other end of 
 the roller as a tall handsome lady, in a 
 garden hat, came out of the green gate. 
 
 ' ]\Iiss Crofton ! ' 
 
 ' I — I was only taking Mysie to school, 
 Miss Venning,' said Arthur; while Mysie, 
 pink and fluttered, picked up her books and 
 Jiurried off up the path. 
 
 Miss Venning was a stately, blue-eyed
 
 134 HUGH crichton's eomakce. 
 
 woman of forty or thereabouts ; with a fair,, 
 fresh complexion, and a manner that twenty 
 years of school-keeping had rendered some- 
 what condescending, as if the world con- 
 sisted of pupils to be at once governed and 
 encouraged ; while her blue eyes had a 
 certain look of enquiry in them, as if she 
 was in the habit of passing judgment on 
 those who came before her. But, that the 
 judgment would be just and kind, the hand- 
 some face gave every promise ; and, perhaps, 
 the scales might even drop a little in favour 
 of a kind of culprit that did not often come 
 before her. Besides, if Arthur Spencer had 
 brought the girls to school once within her 
 recollection, he had done so fifty times. 
 
 ' But '. Arthur did not give time for 
 
 this awful monosyllable to frame itself into 
 an objection. 
 
 ' Miss Yenning,' he said, persuasively, 
 ' I'm doing no harm. I daresay you have
 
 THE TIME OF ROSES. 135 
 
 often tliouglit of it before ; it couldn't be 
 helped, you see. any longer.' 
 
 ' Arthur,' said Miss Yenning, in a deep, 
 full voice, somewhat appalling to hear, ' if 
 you had anything particular to say to Miss 
 Crofton, you have ample opportunities with- 
 out following her here.' 
 
 Arthur did not look much discomfited. 
 Perhaps there was the slightest turn in the 
 formidable voice that showed that the 
 humour of the situation was not quite lost 
 on the speaker. 
 
 He blushed, and then said, with a 
 straightforwardness that few ladies would 
 have resisted : 
 
 ' Miss Venning, I want to have Mysie for 
 my wife, if my aunt and Hugh will consent 
 to our engagement. I don't know when we 
 began to think of it, but I suppose to-day it 
 — well — came to a head.' 
 
 ' And what does Mysie say ? ' said Miss
 
 136 HUGH crichtcn's rom.\nce. 
 
 Yenning, still judicial, but interested. She 
 considered Arthur Spencer a very promising 
 young man. 
 
 ' Mysie sees no objection, Miss Venning. 
 I didn't mean to take a liberty, I'm sure, 
 with the sacred precincts of tlie Manor 
 House ; but, since it has happened so, I do 
 wish you would let me consult you.' 
 
 Whether this appeal was the result of a 
 dehcate tact, or of the overflowing happiness 
 that longed for sympathy, it caused Miss 
 Venning to walk along the path beside him, 
 saying : 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Arthur, ' you see how it is 
 with us ; and we have our lives before us, 
 and there is time for me to make myself 
 worthy of Mysie's money — I'll not say of 
 lierself,' he added, with a little softening of 
 his confident voice. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Miss Venning again, with a 
 yet deeper intonation.
 
 THE TBEE OF KOSES. 137 
 
 ' I have not hitherto made up my mind 
 •as to my profession,' said Arthur. ' I hardly 
 looked beyond the examination; but the 
 Bank has always been my destination, and 
 you know my uncle's kindness marked out 
 my career there long ago.' 
 
 ' And haven't you any further ambition ? ' 
 said ]\iiss Yenning, who thought young men 
 ought to push themselves. 
 
 ' Wliy,' said Arthur, ' I don't like 
 teaching, in which career my degree would 
 be of most use to me ; and the bar is very 
 •slow work. Hugh really wants help ; and, 
 in short, Miss Venning, when life is so 
 crowded and the world so over-full I think 
 if a man has the good luck to have a line 
 marked out for him he ought to stick to it, 
 unless his tastes point very decidedly the 
 other way. Besides, I like Oxley. And I 
 think,' he added, laughing and coloming, ' I 
 should say this under aiii/ circumstances. 
 But if not, one must take hfe as a whole, you 
 know.'
 
 138 HUGH ceichton's komaxce. 
 
 Miss Yenning thought Oxley Bank rather 
 a flat ending to so creditable a career as 
 Arthur's had been ; but then, on the other 
 hand, it was eminently safe and respectable,, 
 and, with this early marriage, would effectually 
 ' keep him out of mischief.' 
 
 ' But what will your cousin say ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' Why, I'm afraid he'll think it his duty 
 to object a little. But Hugh is such a good 
 fellow, and has always been so thoroughly 
 kind to me, and is so fair in judgment, that 
 I am sure he will own I have as good a 
 right to try for the prize as anyone else. 
 It's very odd that he has never looked out 
 for himself. But, dear me ! he would be so 
 awfully particular ! ' 
 
 ' Well, Arthur,' said Miss Venning, ' I 
 approve of young men marrying. It's far 
 more necessary for them than for girls.' 
 
 ' One couldn't well manage it without a. 
 girl,' murmured Arthur.
 
 THE TIME OF ROSES. loD" 
 
 ' So that/ said Miss Yenning, ' it's well 
 young v/omen have different opinions on the 
 subject. Go home, and take the responsi- 
 bility off my shoulders by telling your aunt 
 at once.' 
 
 ' I'll never do it in your garden again, 
 Miss Venning,' cried Arthur, as he left her 
 with a very hearty shake of the hand. 
 
 Certainly life lay fair before and behind 
 Arthur Spencer. He was clever, with the tech- 
 nical skill needed for the attainment of his 
 scholastic honours more developed than the 
 general power behind it. That is to say, all his 
 brains — and they were good ones — had been 
 given to the composition of Greek and 
 Latin, and to the acquirement of the know- 
 ledge necessary to the attainment of a good 
 degree. He was naturally active, and 
 industrious; and ambition and conscience had 
 both urged him to do well tlie work that 
 nature had made easy to him. He had won 
 plenty of praise, which he liked exceedingly ;,
 
 140 HUGH CRICHTON's EOM.iNCE. 
 
 and plenty of popularity, wliicli came so 
 naturally that lie was hardly conscious of it. 
 But he had hitherto taken life outside the 
 schools very much for granted ; thought 
 Hugh infallible on matters of business, and 
 James an oracle in matters of art. Indeed, 
 Arthur's power of appreciation was one of 
 his best points. Unlike many of her sons, 
 he loved and believed in Oxford — ^]^)erhaps 
 because he had given her his best and she 
 had well repaid him ; and, while there, his 
 time and thoughts had been fully occupied 
 with the work before him. At once affec- 
 tionate and self-rehant, he took readily to the 
 independence that circumstances indicated, 
 and at a very early age took good care of 
 himself. And, though there was no one in 
 his boyhood to bestow on him exclusive 
 affection, his warm heart gave out enough to 
 all to make his kindly home a happy and 
 sunny one. For Arthur liked most people. 
 It had been said with some truth that one
 
 THE TIME OF KOSES. 141 
 
 person was much the same as another to him, 
 he ' got on ' so well with all. It w^ould be 
 praising the gay untried boy far too highly 
 to say that he had a spirit of universal 
 charity ; but he did possess a sort of loving- 
 kindness, a gift in whose soil the greatest of 
 all graces might grow ; an entire absence of 
 depreciating ill-nature. 
 
 But Arthur himself had long known that 
 for him the human race was divided into two^ 
 parts — Mysie and other people.
 
 142 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 
 * Oh, so many, many, many maidens ! 
 
 Under the great walnut-tree on the lawn the 
 three Miss Vennings were assembled in con- 
 sultation. The Manor House possessed one 
 •of the most enchanting gardens that the 
 past has ever handed down to the present. 
 High walls shutting it in safe, on wliich grew 
 jessamine and westeria and sweet old- 
 fashioned roses ; a narrow path running round 
 the lawn, and leading away into vistas of 
 shrubbery; while on the soft turf grew 
 beautifid trees, and, in especial, an immense 
 walnut. Miss Yenning sat on a garden
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 143 
 
 iDench communicating to her sisters the 
 important event that had just electrified 
 her maidenly precincts. 
 
 ' It was very inconsiderate of Arthur to 
 select our garden-roller for the purpose/ said 
 Miss Clarissa, the second of the trio. 
 
 ' Why, Clarissa? You don't suppose 
 people settle the exact spot beforehand ! * 
 said Miss Florence, the third. 
 
 Miss Florence, as she now aspired to be 
 called, had been little Flossy not many years 
 back ; and the thick bright hair of fairest 
 flaxen — ' Flossy's tow,' as her sisters called 
 it — now twisted round her head, had not so 
 very long ago hung down her back in all its 
 native lustre. She was a tall girl of twenty, 
 with a fine open face, handsome in form, 
 and coloured with a pink — ' as pink as pink 
 ribbon,' Clarissa said — bright enough to allow 
 for a little fading as the years went by ; and 
 her blue eyes were full of thought and 
 energy. Yomig as she was, everyone knew
 
 144 HUGH CRICHTOX'S EOMAXCE. 
 
 that she was a much greater power in tha 
 house than Miss Clarissa, and was hardly 
 second to Miss Yenning herself. All the 
 girls obeyed her; she was full of hfe and 
 force to the very tips of her strong, slender- 
 fingers ; could learn better than the girls, 
 teach better than the governesses, thought 
 school-keeping a vocation and not a drudgery,. 
 and spent her half-holidays in the parish ; 
 was never ill, never tired, and never unhappy ; 
 and possessed such a store of spirits and 
 energy that — to quote again from Clarissa 
 — ^if Flossy was not marked out for mis- 
 fortune Nature had wasted a great deal of 
 good stuff in the making of her. 
 
 Flossy was Miss Yenning's darling, and 
 need never have corrected an exercise nor 
 set a sum if she had not been so minded ; 
 but she had replied to the offer of freedom 
 with scorn and contempt : ' Did sister think 
 she should be happier for being idle?' and 
 set to work with all her mig-ht and main ta
 
 OXLEY liOL^OR. 145 
 
 ^ enlarge tlie minds and improve the tone ' of 
 lier sister's pupils, introducing new studies, 
 jiew authors, and new ideas ; talking over Miss 
 Yenning — or sometimes, perhaps, talking her 
 down — with an equal amount of self-confi- 
 dence and self-devotion. 
 
 In Miss Clarissa's girlish days no such 
 possibility of freedom had been offered to 
 her. Nine or- ten years ago, during the 
 long illness of their mother, and wliile the 
 brothers who filled up the wide gaps between 
 the three sisters had been yet unsettled in, 
 life, the circumstances of the school had 
 required more personal exertion ; and when 
 Clarissa was at the end of her teens she had 
 been too busy — teaching all the English, that 
 the resident s^overness mis^ht be French — to 
 consider if it was desirable for the pupils to 
 read Thackeray or to learn Latin and 
 Euclid. Clarissa was a good girl and did 
 her duty ; but now, at eight and twenty, she 
 felt as if life mis^ht have oifered her some- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 thing more than school-keeping. She told 
 Plossy that she should like to marry a Duke 
 and drink chocolate out of Sevres china — - 
 and the scandalized Plossy perceived neither 
 the twinkle of the sleepy blue eyes nor the 
 wistful fall of the well-curved mouth, the 
 delicate prettiness of which gave to the 
 small curly-haired Clarissa a look of youth 
 which neither the absence of Sevres china 
 nor the presence of young ladies had hitherto 
 impaired. Flossy 's eyes were always ^vvide 
 open and rarely twinkled, though they often 
 laughed. 
 
 They brightened into a laugh now, as^ 
 she repeated her remark— 
 
 ' You don't suppose, Clarissa, that people 
 settle the exact spot beforehand ! ' 
 
 ' Eeally, Flossy, my experience is limited ; 
 but, as Mary says, as Arthur lives in the 
 house with Mysie, I think he might have 
 managed matters at home.' 
 
 ' Oh, but,' said Flossy, ' now he has sister 
 on his side, you see.'
 
 OXLEY MAJN^OE. 147 
 
 . * Yes, Mary ; you're in the scrape,' said 
 Clarissa. 
 
 ' Eeally, my dear, I don't see that at all. 
 I am not responsible for Miss Crofton now, 
 beyond her German and music lessons.' 
 
 ' I suppose she might do much better,' 
 said Clarissa. 
 
 ' She couldn't do better,' said Plorence, 
 decidedly, in her full rich voice. Will 
 it quite detract from Flossy 's character 
 for feminine softness if it be owned that she 
 spoke rather loud ? ' Arthur has very good 
 prospects, and is the very nicest young man 
 I know.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! Flossy,' said Clarissa. ' I 
 thought you considered matrimony a mis- 
 take.' 
 
 ' By no means,' emphatically returned 
 Flossy ; ' when everything is suitable and 
 people are fond of each other. I don't 
 think I shall ever wish to marry anyone 
 myself; and how anyone can say life is 
 
 L 2
 
 148 HUGH CRICHTOX'S EOMAXCE. 
 
 wanting in interest I can't conceive ; but 
 I should never be so absiu:d as to lay down 
 general principles. Tliat is wliere people 
 fall into error. And besides,' she concluded 
 heartily, ' anyone could see dear little Mysie 
 was fond of Arthur, and I am so glad she 
 will be happy ! ' 
 
 ' Well, there are more words than hers 
 and Arthur's to that,' said Clarissa. 
 
 ' Mrs. Crichton never objects to any- 
 thing,' said Flossy ; ' and as for Mr. Crichton, 
 siu:ely he won't be so horrid.' 
 
 'Well, / could not help it,' said Miss 
 Yenning. 
 
 ' No,' retiurned Flossy ; ' and as Mysie is 
 not exactly a girl it doesn't signify.' 
 
 Mysie was eighteen and a week; but 
 Flossy used the term 'girl' in a strictly 
 technical sense. 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' she continued, ' my class will 
 be waiting for me.' And as she ran into 
 the house Miss Yenning looked after her. 
 
 HHBH
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 149 
 
 *I think young men have very strange 
 tastes,' she said. 
 
 ' Because Flossy has no lovers ? ' said 
 Clarissa, with a slight emphasis. 
 
 ' Well, I am sure I do not want her to 
 have any,' returned Miss Yennmg, with a 
 smile at her sisterly partiality. 
 
 ' Dear me, no, Mary ! Flossy won't be 
 fit for a lover for five years at least. She 
 has all the world to reform first I ' 
 
 Miss Vennini? lauo'hed as she went to 
 tend her beautiful roses, and Clarissa, left 
 alone, wandered on till she sat down under 
 an acacia tree. She threw herself back on 
 the soft turf, and gazed up at the sky 
 through its veil of delicate dancing foliage, 
 while she caught the fast-falhng white 
 blossoms in her hand. It was a childish 
 attitude and a childish action ; but it may 
 have been absently done, for she was still 
 smihng at the joke of the surprised lovers. 
 At last the smile trembled and ceased, and 
 
 ■■■
 
 150 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. 
 
 slie liid lier face on the mossy turf. Lying 
 there on the grass, with her httle slmi figure 
 and curly head, she looked hke a girl es- 
 caped from school, fretting over her tasks 
 •or dreaming of fairy princes. But Miss 
 Clarissa was twenty-eight, and a school- 
 mistress ; and had tasks to set instead of to 
 learn, and no lovers to dream of, past, 
 present, or future. So she soon sat upright, 
 brushed off the acacia blossoms, and went 
 into the house to get ready for tea. 
 
 Meanwhile, Flossy had taken her way 
 to the long sunny school-room, where sat 
 some twelve or fifteen girls reading Wilhelm 
 Tell with the German governess — all, save one 
 or two, evincing in tone, look, or manner a 
 conviction that German and hot afternoons 
 were incompatible elements. There was a 
 little brightening as Miss Florence paused on 
 her way to the dining-room, where her own 
 class of younger ones were preparing their 
 lessons. Mysie sat with her clear eyes ^xeci
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 151 
 
 on her book, lier soft round face pinker than, 
 usual, her little figure very still, her pencil 
 in her hand. Was she taking notes of the 
 lesson ? 
 
 ' Have you -written out yoiu: translation, 
 Mysie ? ' said Flossy, mischievously. 
 
 ' No, Miss Florence,' said Mysie, in formal 
 school girl fiishion ; but she could hardly 
 restrain her little quivering smile. 
 
 'These young ladies are idle, Miss 
 Florence,' said their teacher. 
 
 ' That is very wrong of them,' returned 
 Flossy. 'There is only one excuse for being 
 idle — ' then, as Mysie looked up with a start, 
 she added, ' the hot weather.' 
 
 Neither romance not hot weather inter- 
 fered with Miss Florence's energy over her 
 German lesson, and the sleepy little school- 
 girls had small chance with their brisk 
 young teacher. A bell rang, Flossy fired 
 a concluding question at the sleepiest and 
 -stupidest, extracted an entirely wrong answer.
 
 152 HUGH crichton's eomance. 
 
 and, but slightly disconcerted — for was not 
 she used to it ? — ran off to her room, 
 arranged her dress, stuck a great red rose 
 in her hair, and came down to tea. 
 
 Miss Florence was much admired by her 
 pupils, and had a sort of half-sympathetic,. 
 half- genial pleasure in their admiration. 
 Besides, her rose was as a flag to celebrate 
 the festal occurrence of the afternoon. ' I 
 always hke to wear pretty things when I feel 
 jolly,' she would say ; ' and if ever you see me 
 going about in a drab dress and a brown 
 veil you may be quite sure I've had a 
 disappointment ! ' 
 
 'Then,' said Clarissa, 'if you buy that 
 very pink silk I shall think you have had an 
 offer.' 
 
 * Oh, no ; think I don't want one.' 
 
 Elossy crushed her rose under a big 
 straw hat, when she was set free after tea, 
 and took her way merrily along the fields to 
 Eedhurst. The way was very pretty, and
 
 OXLEY MAIs'OE. 153 
 
 the evening lights very charming ; but Flossy 
 scurried along, much too full of human 
 nature to. care for any other. She had been 
 half playfellow and half teacher to Mysie for 
 years, and had grown up in famihar inter- 
 coiu-se with all the household, and was on 
 terms with Arthur of mutual lectiuing and 
 teasing. 
 
 Eedhurst was a square, red liouse, with 
 white facings ; and stood in the midst of pretty, 
 park-like meadows, through which ran the 
 shallow, sedge-grown river, wliich, nearer 
 Oxley, merged in the sleepy canal. The 
 garden came down to the river's brim, and 
 great white fierce swans and little furry- 
 black ducks swam up and down under the 
 willows. The field-path led to an old white 
 stone bridge, looking like a small model of 
 one of those over the Thames, and across it 
 Flossy came into the garden which led up ta 
 a terrace and steps in front of the house- 
 So far the garden was rather stiff and old-
 
 154 HUGH CRICHTO^''S ROMANCE. 
 
 fashioned, but croquet lioo2:)s profaned the 
 .soft turf, garden chairs and a tea-table 
 enhvened the terrace ; a girl of fifteen, with 
 a mane of dark rusty hair, stood on the step, 
 and a lady was sitting in the most comfort- 
 able of the chairs above her. 
 
 Mrs. Spencer Crichton was as like her 
 son Hugh as a stout, cheerful-looking lady 
 of eight-and-forty can be to a grave young 
 man of eight-and- twenty. She was pale and 
 handsome and fair, and hardly looked her 
 .age, so smooth was her brow, so contented 
 her mouth, so ready the smiles that came 
 with equal kindliness for all the young ones 
 ivho had grown up under her easy swa}'. 
 It was said that the young people at Eed- 
 hiu:st were sadly spoiled — spoiled, that is to 
 say, not by being the objects of devoted 
 affection or too partial admiration, but by 
 being allowed their own way to an ex- 
 tent incredible to more idealistic mothers. 
 Whether from the absence of any very
 
 OXLEY MAXOR. 155 
 
 marked individual affections, or from some- 
 thing of the same cast of mind that produced 
 in her eldest son such even-handed justice, she 
 not only treated all her young kinsfolk with 
 the same kindness, but, so far as they knew, 
 felt for them much tlie same amount of 
 interest. She did not think it incredible 
 that Arthur should surpass James ; or that, in 
 the few contentions that crossed their sun- 
 shiny life, Hugh should sometimes be mis- 
 taken. All were sure of a kind judgment, 
 and often of a sense of the rights of their 
 story : none of them made a demand for 
 an exclusive or individual tenderness ; for 
 their bringing-up had made them inde- 
 pendent. Mrs. Crichton did not trouble her- 
 self much as to whether their idiosyncrasies 
 were suitable or desirable or likely to lead 
 to any one result. It was all right that 
 Hugh should keep to his business ; she did 
 not wish that James was as fond of books as 
 Arthur, since he preferred Art and a great
 
 156 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 deal of conversation. George preferred rats 
 and rabbits to either. ' Well, poor George 
 did not like his lessons.' Mysie liked needle- 
 work, and flowers, and Sunday schools — 
 ' so good of little Mysie.' Frederica thought- 
 happiness consisted in a day's hunting. ' She 
 was growing up quite a different sort of girl.' 
 But Mrs. Crichton was not at all sur- 
 prised when George got flogged at school 
 for not knowing the lessons, observing ' that 
 George was so stupid he was always in 
 scrapes;' and when Frederica pouted, sobbed,. 
 and scowled when some special friend called 
 lier a Tom-boy she only heard : ' But you are 
 a Tom-boy, my dear,' as consolation. And 
 when in young enthusiasm, anyone brought 
 his or her special hobby into notice, he or she 
 well knew that, though that hobby might 
 prance unrebuked through the family circle, 
 it was regarded as nothing but ' so-and-so's- 
 hobby,' whether it concerned the destinies- 
 of the human race or the best way of laying
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 157 
 
 'Out flower-beds. There are two sides to 
 everything. It is very pleasant never to be 
 scolded; but whqn Hugh had laid down 
 some law in a way that bore heavily on 
 liis juniors, it was not always quite pleasant 
 to hear his mother placidly say : ' My dear, 
 don't resist, it's Hugh's way to be particular ' 
 — as if Hugh's way, and not the thing itself, 
 were all that mattered. Still, light hearts 
 and good tempers had resulted from the 
 kindly, peaceable rule, and the young 
 Spencers lived their own lives and took each 
 other for granted. Hugh might hope that 
 his little Italian song-bird might be accepted 
 as ' Hugh's way,' and Arthur and Mysie need 
 fear no opposition, either tyrannical or con- 
 scientious, little as the necessity of each to 
 the other's life midit be realised. 
 
 ' Ah, Flossy,' said Mrs. Crichton, ' I 
 thought we should see you to-night. I 
 suppose Miss Yenning told you of what she 
 saw ? '
 
 158 HUGH crichton's romance, 
 
 ' Yes,' returned Flossy, rather shyly; ' so I 
 came to see Mysie.' 
 
 ' Mysie is somewhere. I have told them 
 they must wait in secresy and silence till 
 Hugh comes home, or he will never forgive 
 lis.' 
 
 'Then you don't object, Mrs. Crichton ? '' 
 said Mossy, eagerly. 
 
 ']^o. Mysie might do better, perhaps, 
 but there is no use in making her miserable 
 if she does not think so herself. Surely 
 people must choose for themselves in these 
 matters,' said Mrs. Crichton, uttering this 
 sentiment — so often practically ignored — as if 
 it were such a truism that Flossy felt as if 
 life w^as really so easy as to be quite flat. 
 
 ' I am sure Arthur will get on,' she said. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; and I don't know a nicer 
 fellow anywhere. Dear children, how sur- 
 prised Hugh will be! I wish he would 
 follow their example. But, dear me ! I 
 cannot expect him to see with my eyes^ 
 There is Arthur ! '
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 159 
 
 Arthur came up and exchanged a heartjr 
 squeeze of the hand and dehghted smile 
 with Flossy. 
 
 ' Mjsie is in the garden,' he said ; ' do 
 come and find her.' 
 
 ' Oh, Arthur, I am so glad,' cried Flossy, 
 impulsively, as she walked away with him. 
 ' I am so glad that Mrs. Crichton — ' 
 
 'Aunt Lily? I prepared several irre- 
 sistible arguments, and felt as if — well, as if 
 I might have kept them for Hugh. How 
 kind she is ! But, now, Flossy, you are 
 unprejudiced ; don't you think I shall make 
 Mysie as happy as that swell in the air who 
 is supposed to loom in the future ? ' 
 
 ' Now, how angry you would be if I did 
 not say yes! How can you expect me to 
 sacrifice your friendship to a disinterested 
 regard for truth ? ' 
 
 ' I want somebody to convince ! I feel 
 as if I had been readino; hard and the ex- 
 aminers had asked me to dechiie " Dominus."'
 
 160 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 ' oil, Arthur, anyone may see where you 
 have been lately. How ungrateful you are ! ' 
 
 ' No, I am not. Flossy/ said Arthur ; ' but 
 I really feel as if I ought to object to myself 
 as a duty to the family.' 
 
 ' Do wait for your cousin,' said Flossy ; 
 ' he will do that duty for you, no doubt. No, 
 I am very glad.' 
 
 'Thank you — thank you,' said Arthur, 
 pleased at the hearty sympathy in her voice. 
 
 ' Ah, there's Mysie, picking roses.' 
 
 'Now, Arthur, do stay away for five 
 minutes. How can we talk with you there 
 to listen ? ' 
 
 ' Well — make haste.' 
 
 Flossy ran away from him and seized 
 Mysie in a warm, and — considering their 
 respective sizes — somewhat overwhelming 
 embrace. 
 
 'My Httle darhng, it's delightful. I 
 always meant you to have a fairy prince, and 
 to think it shouM be Arthur ! '
 
 OXLEY MANOR. 161 
 
 ' I am very glad he is not a faiiy prince/ 
 said Mysie, smiling. 
 
 ' What is he, then? ' cried Flossy. 
 
 ' Why, Flossy/ said Mysie, ' I think he's 
 only what old Miss Eogers used to call 
 '' Mr. Eight." ' 
 
 YOL. I. M
 
 162 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 mOS AND CONS. 
 Go back, my lord, across the moor ! 
 
 SiGNOR Mattei was coming out from a re- 
 hearsal. He often told Yiolante that her 
 work was nothing to his ; and, indeed, his^ 
 violin was always in its place in the orchestra. 
 His work was his life, he would have been 
 miserable without it; and yet, with a not 
 uncommon inconsistency, he liked to pity 
 himself for having got it to do. He was a. 
 man with an ideal, with a dream that was. 
 very difficult of fulfilment ; and, perhaps, did 
 not need sympathy less than the girl who 
 suffered so much and disappointed him so-
 
 PEOS AND COXS. 163 
 
 sorely. Whatever may have been Signor 
 Mattel's youthful hopes, in the days when he 
 had thrown away the chance of a more 
 eligible profession to follow the art he so 
 loved, he had long been forced to limit 
 them to making a fair livelihood by it. 
 Aspirations are not always capabilities ; and, 
 spite of self-devotion and enthusiasm and 
 much technical skill, he was not destined to 
 rise to the top of the tree. He was not, 
 indeed, great enough to do as he liked ; and 
 his temper and touchiness often brought good 
 engagements to a premature end ; and, though 
 he had never hitherto failed in obtaining 
 fresh ones, there was an element of uncer- 
 tainty in his fortunes. However different 
 things might be with him from what he had 
 once desired, Signor Mattel had not been a 
 discontented man. Small successes which 
 he would once have despised were much 
 pleasanter than small failin-es ; and he had 
 grown to limit his desires to such as were 
 
 M 2
 
 164 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 possible of fulfilment ; when ambition, desire 
 of gain, and burning enthusiasm were all 
 reawakened by the discovery of Violante's 
 wonderful voice. Here was his chance 
 a2^ain. His daughter's name should be heard 
 in every capital in Europe : the fortunes of 
 the whole family should be assured. What 
 sacrifices were too great, what toil too 
 arduous by which the possessor of this 
 glorious gift could turn it to account! If 
 such a voice had belonged to Violante's 
 father how he would have gloried and 
 rejoiced, how he would have w^orked early 
 and late, how intoxicating would have been 
 the success that crowned his efforts ! People 
 bear much harder on each other by the 
 inevitable workings of their alien natures 
 than b}^ wilful selfishness or cruelty. Vio- 
 lante and her father made each other 
 miserable ; yet he was anxious to give her 
 what would have been to himself the 
 greatest good, and she wore herself out
 
 PEGS AND COXS. 165 
 
 in trying to obey and to please him. It is 
 not easy for a bystander to judge between 
 distaste and incapacity ; it is difficult to say 
 which is the most provoking. Xo amount 
 of idleness on Violante's part would have so 
 provoked her father as did her unenthusiastic 
 performance of the amount of study re- 
 quired of her, her tears and terror when she 
 achieved a success. Such folly must be 
 curable by a sufficient amount of scolding 
 and argument. A person must enjoy what 
 is enjoyable when the advantage is pointed 
 out to them with sufficient strength. And 
 Yiolante had been just successful enough to 
 make her father believe that it entirely 
 depended on herself to succeed better still. 
 Yiolante thought this belief cruel ; and Eosa, 
 standing between both, while she prevented 
 either from feehng the very sharpest edge of 
 the other's opinion, if she pitied her little 
 sister the most, to a certain extent sympa- 
 thised with Signor Mattei.
 
 166 
 
 So much for sentiment. Yiolante was un- 
 worthy of her gift, but slie possessed it, and 
 it brought substantial gains, much needed ; 
 for in a life with so many ups and downs 
 Signor Mattei had not held himself free from 
 debt. Besides, no engagement had ever 
 suited him so well as his present one, and 
 was not that confirmed to him by Signor 
 Yasari's interest in his young lorima donna ? 
 If Violante married the manager her success 
 was certain, and the fortunes of the whole 
 family were assured; but if Vasari w^ere 
 offended there was an end of everything. 
 
 Her gains for her present engagement 
 would belong to her father ; and he felt, 
 though he would not own, that there was 
 enough uncertainty about her future to 
 make the solid good of her marriage most 
 desirable. And Signor Vasari had just 
 made the flattering suggestion that Mdlle. 
 Mattel's timidity and reluctance might be 
 in part owing to a maidenly coyness and
 
 PROS AND COXS. 167 
 
 -consciousness towards himself. Once acknow- 
 ledged as his 2?roinessa sposa she would gain 
 •courage and self-confidence. Siirnor Mattel 
 joyously pledged himself to do everything in 
 his power to favour the manager's views. 
 Art, fame, and fortune all smiled upon him ; 
 and no experience could make Signor Mattei 
 Lelieve that Violante was so unlike other girls 
 as not to view such a proposal with rapture. 
 Pull of this pleasing prospect he w\as walking 
 hastily home from the theatre to his own 
 dwelling, Avhen he was accosted by Hugh 
 Crichton, who begged the favour of a few 
 words with him. 
 
 Hugh was courteous and deferential, but 
 he had no expectation that his proposal 
 would not be received with pleasure ; and 
 was desirous, since he must speak to Signor 
 Mattei, to have so far committed himself 
 before he again encountered his brother, 
 whose co-operation when he reached home 
 he felt that he could not altogether afford to
 
 168 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 despise. Spite, however, of liis not unnatural 
 confidence in tlie result, he felt verv hot and 
 shy ; blundered through a few unintelligible 
 sentences ; tried Italian, with a view of being 
 polite; forgot the Italian for 'daughter,' 
 'proposal,' for everything ; and finally, with 
 startling abruptness, hoped in plain English 
 that Signer Mattel would consent to his 
 engao^ement to his daughter. Si^iior Mattel 
 stopped short in the street, struck an attitude 
 of astonishment, and loudly exclaimed : 
 
 ' Signer Hug<3 ! Do my ears deceive 
 me?' 
 
 'No, sir, assuredly not,' said Hugh, 
 much discomposed at the sudden standstill. 
 * I have long admired la signorina Violante, 
 and to-day I have ventured to tell her so.' 
 
 ' Tell her so ! tell her so ! ' ejaculated 
 Signer Mattel. ' Tell her so, in her father's 
 absence ! Signer, is this the conduct I could 
 expect ? ' 
 
 ' If I have acted in ignorance of Itahan.
 
 PROS AXD COXS. IGO 
 
 customs,' said Hugh, ' your long residence in 
 England must have informed you that in 
 coming to you at once I have done all tliat 
 is required by our own. If you will walk 
 on, sir,' for Signor Mattel was still figuring 
 about on the pav^ement in a way that 
 worried all the sense out of Hugh's head, 
 ' I will explain myself further.' 
 
 Signor Mattel, who had really been taken 
 utterly by surprise by Hugh's application, 
 and was not undesirous to gain a little time 
 for consideration, bowed profoundly and 
 walked on by Hugh's side ; while the latter, 
 who, with all his desire to make a good im- 
 pression, felt irritated by his companion's 
 way, began stiffly : 
 
 ' I should tell you, Signor Mattei, that I 
 am in all respects my own master, and quite 
 independent of everyone. I am not afraid 
 that my mother will not give Mdlle. Mattei 
 a welcome ; and of my own feehngs, I assure 
 you, sir, they arc most — most strong. I
 
 170 
 
 love her, and I liope I shall make her 
 Jiappy — happier than she can be in a pro- 
 fession to which she is so unsuited.' 
 
 Hugh was a good speaker, and generally 
 said what he had to say on all public and 
 private occasions with perfect fluency and 
 .distinctness ; but his eloquence failed him 
 now, and he coloured up and looked entreat- 
 ingly at Signer Mattel as he made this false 
 step. 
 
 ' Unsuited to her profession, signer ! un- 
 -suited to her profession ! Do you mean to 
 insult my daughter ? ' 
 
 ' I mean that the profession is unsuited 
 to her,' said Hu^^ih, not mending; matters. 
 
 ' Signer, she has been dedicated to my 
 beloved art from her earliest years. Music 
 is her vocation, as in a lesser — I am proud to 
 -say in a lesser — degree it is mine.* 
 
 Hugh was not naturally conciliatory ; and 
 to listen patiently to what he considered such 
 jaonsense, uttered with a flash of the eyes
 
 PROS AND CONS. 171 
 
 that proved its sincerity, jarred upon him so 
 much that there was as much annoyance as 
 -entreaty in his voice as he answered : 
 
 ' I venture to set myself up as a rival to 
 your art, and I ask you for — ^Violante. In- 
 deed, I don't think she will regret the fame 
 she gives up.' 
 
 Hugh was so sure that it was better for 
 Yiolante to marry him, an English gentle- 
 man, than to sing at all the operas in Europe, 
 lie felt that he was making so good an offer, 
 •and yet he wanted her so much, that the 
 humility born of passionate desire conquered 
 his sense of his own merits, and he finished 
 pleadingly : 
 
 ' If I can help it she never shall.' 
 
 ' Signor, my daughter is already pro- 
 mised, and the arrangements for her mar- 
 riage will shortly be begun.' 
 
 ' That is impossible,' exclaimed Hugh ; 
 * she has given her promise to me.' 
 
 ' Her promise ? ' cried Signor Mattei ;
 
 172 HUGH crichton's eomance. 
 
 ' the promise of a little, foolisli, most foolish,, 
 girl ! No, sir, she knows what my views 
 are, and she is Signor Vasari's promised 
 wife.' 
 
 ' She knows ! ' She — the loving, trustful 
 child whom he had seen kiss his white 
 flowers, who had given herself to him 
 without one word of misgiving. Impos- 
 sible, indeed. 
 
 ' She shall not be sacrificed,' cried Hugh, 
 in his turn stopping short. ' She has told 
 me that she loves me. Whatever you may 
 have intended her to do is without lier will 
 or knowledge.' 
 
 ISTow, in thus asserting Yiolante's indi- 
 viduality Hugh made a great mistake. The 
 Italian father did not think that it made 
 much difference if Violante had told Hu^h 
 that she loved him twenty times. It was his 
 part to arrange a marriage for her ; and her 
 little wishes, her foolish tongue, went for 
 nothincf.
 
 PROS AND COXS. 173 
 
 'I do not believe Mademoiselle Mattei 
 IS aware of your wishes,' said Hugh again, 
 hotly. 
 
 Now this was an assertion which Signor 
 Mattei could fairly face. Yiolante was ^vell 
 aware of her father's wishes. That she was 
 involved in any positive promise she could 
 not know, insomuch as the promise had 
 l)een made for her at the very time when 
 she had been making a far different one for 
 herself. Nor had she fully known her 
 danger, since Eosa, for the sake of peace 
 and composure, had carefully kept the sub- 
 ject out of sight. 
 
 'Nevertheless, she is aware of them,* 
 said Signor Mattei ; and while Hugh paused, 
 silenced for the moment, he went on, not 
 without dignity : 
 
 ' Signor, I thank you. Your proposal 
 honours my little girl, and honours you, 
 since you mean to sacrifice much to Win 
 her. But I know your country and your
 
 174 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 manners, and I will not give up my daugh- 
 ter. Your noble ladies will not receive her- 
 well.' 
 
 ' There is nothing of the sort — we have 
 no rank at all,' interposed Hugh, ' and E 
 will answer for my mother.' 
 
 'My daughter, sir, has a great future- 
 before her ; she shall not sacrifice it. She 
 shall not marry out of her class and away 
 ,from her country and give up what Fortune- 
 has laid at her feet. Your fancy, Signor, 
 will pass as it came, and hers — pshaw — she 
 has nothing strong in her but her voice, her 
 voice of an angel.' 
 
 Signor Mattei was a single-minded man, 
 though he had not dealt singly with Hugh.. 
 The good match for his daughter shrank to- 
 nothing compared to the career from wdiich 
 it w^ould shut her out. That underneath 
 lurked some consciousness of the advantage 
 to himself is true ; but never would he have
 
 PKOS AND COXS. 17.> 
 
 dreamed of claiming any like advantages 
 from this other suitor. 
 
 Hugh walked on by his side pale and 
 bewildered, a horrible doubt of Yiolante 
 weakening his arguments and chilling his 
 entreaties. At last he said, desperately,.. 
 ' Signor Mattel, after what has passed I 
 cannot take my answer from you. She told 
 me nothing of a former promise. She must 
 tell me that she has made none, and then I 
 swear to you her life shall have none of the 
 trials you dread. I will either go home and 
 bring you my mother's words of welcome — 
 my mother herself,' he continued, rashly, 
 ' or I will seek no consent at all — none is 
 needed. I would marry her to-morrow if 
 you care for such a test.' 
 
 'You in England, Signor, may marry 
 spite of a parent's curse.* 
 
 ' Curse ! nonsense,' said Hugh, impa- 
 tiently.
 
 176 HUGH CRICIITOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 ' But here a father's word is enough. 
 She can give you no answer but mine.' 
 
 ' I will have an answer from her,' said 
 Hugh ; ' and if she can tell me she is not 
 promised to that fellow I will never give 
 her up till — till I have persuaded you to 
 take a different view of this.' 
 
 ' But she is promised, sir, and I refuse to 
 entertain your proposals for her.' 
 
 ' She never told me so ! ' 
 
 ' She is timid,' said Signor Mattel, with a 
 shrug, ' timid, and, like all girls, a fool. 
 Enough ; I can say no more, Signor. I 
 have the honour to wish you good evening.' 
 And, with a rapidity for which Hugh was 
 miprepared, Signor Mattei darted down a 
 side street, and left him to himself. 
 
 Baffled as he was, Hugh did not mean to 
 rest satisfied with his answer. He could not 
 believe that the opposition would hold out 
 after he had proved himself to be thoroughly 
 in earnest. If only the horrible doubt of
 
 PROS AND CONS. 177 
 
 Yiolante's own fair dealing could be removed I 
 — and removed it should be the first time he 
 had the chance of a word with her. For 
 Hugh was not a suspicious person, and it 
 would have been hard indeed to doubt the 
 ?liy yet passionate tenderness of Yiolante's 
 voice and face. He did not understand the 
 entancrlement, but he was not ^yoinor to con- 
 vict her without a trial. Still, this later 
 interview had effectually brought him down 
 to earth ; and he went back to the Consulate 
 with the arguments w^hich were to bring 
 James over to his side by no means in such 
 order as he had hoped. He found the 
 ladies drinking coffee and James discoursing 
 on the dehghts of his afternoon ramble. 
 
 ' I assure you. Miss ToUemache, she had 
 eyes like a gazelle, and her smile — there 
 was intelhgence and intellect in it ; you 
 could see by the w^ay that she smiled that 
 she had a mind, you know.' 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 'But flower-girls always do smile, Mr. 
 Cricliton.' 
 
 ' Ah, but how different this was from the 
 made-up smiles you see in England — such a 
 sense of art, too, in her white handkerchief 
 — no hats and feathers. She only said, 
 " Grazie, signor ! " but there was a sort of 
 recognition, you know, of one's interest in 
 her.' 
 
 ' I shall go and look at her,' said Emily. 
 
 * Now, if one lived in a simpler state of 
 society,' pursued Jem, ' what curious inter- 
 course one might have with such a being — 
 how much she mio;ht add to one's knowlednre 
 of existence ! How one can imagine the great 
 men of old — ^Eaphael in search of the Beau- 
 tiful — dancing in the evening ! Oh, Hugh, 
 I didn't see you ! Where have you been ? ' 
 
 ' Where have you been would be more 
 to the point,' retorted Hugh. 'In one of 
 Bulwer's novels ? '
 
 PROS AND COXS. 179 
 
 'He has Mien in love with a flower- 
 ^irl/ said Emily. 
 
 ' Emily, my dear,' said her mother, ' Mr. 
 Crichton was only describing an artistic 
 -effect. It is very desirable to cultivate a 
 love of nature.' 
 
 ' Very.' said Jem. His enthusiasm had 
 been perfectly genuine, though he had not 
 been without a desire to interest his audience ; 
 and he could not resist a side glance at 
 Hugh, who looked hot and cross. 
 
 ' Have you seen any flo^ver-girls, Mr. 
 •Crichton ? ' said Emily, wickedly. 
 
 ' 1^0, Miss Tollemache, nothing so in- 
 teresting ;' and then a sudden sense of the 
 'extreme falsity of his words came over him ; 
 and he blushed in a violent, foohsh way, 
 which completed his annoyance with things 
 in general. 
 
 James saw the blush and knew that 
 something had happened. He did not, how- 
 
 N 2
 
 180 HUGH ceichton's roman^ce. 
 
 ever, quite like to question liis brother ; and' 
 when the ladies left tliera they went out on 
 the balcony and for some time smoked in 
 silence. 
 
 At last Huc^h knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe, and said, in a formal, uncomfortable 
 tone : 
 
 ' James, I have made a proposal to Mdlle. 
 Mattel/ 
 
 ' The deuce you have ! ' ejaculated Jem.. 
 ' And what did she say ? ' 
 
 ' She accepted it. But, Jem, you may 
 entirely disabuse your mind of the idea that 
 there has been any attempt to — to catch me ;, 
 for her father has just given me to under ^ 
 stand that he will not consent to it.' 
 
 ' What ! he prefers the manager ! ' 
 
 ' So he says.' 
 
 ' And she doesn't ? ' 
 
 ' No,' very shortly. ' But I cannot sup- 
 pose that if he was fully aware of th&
 
 PROS AND COXS. 181 
 
 'genuineness of my intentions and knew that 
 
 my mother would receive her In short, 
 
 Jem, another person's words ' 
 
 ' Another person ? Do you mean me ? 
 Answer for mamma ? I declare, Hugh, that's 
 a little too much. You're going to raise 
 sucli a row at home as was never heard of, 
 and you want me to help you ! ' 
 
 Hugh said nothing, and James's momen- 
 tary perturbation subsided. 
 
 ' This is 2food ! ' he said. ' You wantincc 
 help ! Did you ever live in Oxley, Hugh, 
 or is it all a mistake? "Jones at the -opera 
 abroad " is so very unlike " Jones at the 
 •opera at home." ' 
 
 ' I am in earnest, Jem,' said Hugh, as 
 James did all the laughing at his own joke. 
 
 ' It's a great mistake being in earnest,' 
 said Jem. ' Here have you spoilt all your fun 
 by it.' 
 
 ' I don't understand you.'
 
 182 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 ' Why/ said Jem, mischievously. ' Of 
 course, Violante was intended to amuse you 
 during yoiu: hohday. A little sentiment — 
 study of life.' 
 
 'I have asked Mdlle. Mattel to be my^ 
 wife,' interrupted Hugh, in a tone of high, 
 offence. 
 
 'I beg your pardon,' said Jem, after a 
 moment's pause. ' I'll be serious. So Signor 
 Mattel is the difficulty ? H'm ! How far- 
 do you suppose he is involved with this dan- 
 gerous rival ? ' 
 
 ' That is what I cannot make out. He-, 
 says that she, Violante, is engaged to him ;. 
 but she never mentioned his name.' 
 
 ' Told you nothing about him ? ' 
 
 ' No. So the question is,' said Hugh, in 
 a voice that he tried hard to keep at an even 
 level, ' the question is, who is deceiving me ?^' 
 
 ' Both and neither,' returned Jem. 
 
 'What.?'
 
 PKOS AND COXS. 183 
 
 ' I dare say she likes you best, and thinks 
 she will try to get out of her previous en- 
 tanglement.' 
 
 ' She should have spoken the truth,' said 
 Hugh, frowning. 
 
 'Come, Hugh, that's expecting a great 
 deal of a poor little frightened thing hke 
 that, and an Itahan, too. What would you 
 have ? ' 
 
 ' You did not see her ? ' said Hugh. 
 
 James looked at him, and saw that his 
 hand shook as he put his pipe back into its 
 case while he kept his face turned away. 
 
 ' What shall you do ? ' he said. 
 
 'Find out,' returned Hugh, 'and act 
 accordingly.' 
 
 He walked away as he spoke. James 
 did not suppose it likely that Yiolante would 
 come out of the ordeal with such flying 
 colours as to satisfy his brother ; and, though 
 he was very little inclined to judge the poor
 
 184 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 child harshly, he could not help hoping that 
 here was a way of escape for Hugh from a 
 most unlucky prepossession, though, as he 
 was forced to acknowledge, at the cost of 
 considerable pain.
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONTRARY WIXDS. 
 * Oh, well for him whose will is strong ! * 
 
 ^ EosA ! you were mistaken ! He loves me — 
 he says so. Oh, I am so happy — he is so 
 good ! ' cried Yiolante, as she ran to meet 
 her sister and threw herself into her arms. 
 Timid as the southern maiden mi^ht be she 
 had none of the proud, reticent ' shamefast- 
 ness ' that would have led an EngHsh girl to 
 conceal her joy even from herself. It was 
 all right and natural ; and as Rosa, aghast, 
 ■dropped into a chair she knelt beside her.
 
 186 HUGH CKICHTOjS^'S komaiste. 
 
 her sweet, pathetic eyes and lips transfigured 
 as a flower by the sun. 
 
 ' What did he say to you ? ' exclaimed. 
 Eosa. 
 
 ' He loves me — he is coming back again. 
 
 He does not mind about my singing Ah,. 
 
 I cannot tell you,' and the bright face 
 drooped with sudden bashfulness. 
 
 ' Oh !' cried Eosa, passionately, as she 
 pulled off her hat and fanned herself with it ; 
 'what a foolish world this is ! What has he 
 said ? what has he done ? ' she repeated^, 
 almost fiercely. 
 
 'He asked me to marry him,' said. 
 Violante, with a sort of dignity. 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! he is a very foolish young 
 man. What is to come of it? — what can 
 come of it ? l^othing but trouble.' 
 
 Yiolante gazed at her, mute and fright- 
 ened ; then her face brightened with an in- 
 credulous smile. 
 
 ' Oh, if you had never seen him ! *
 
 COXTRAKY WINDS. 18T 
 
 * Eosa ! * cried Violante, springing to her 
 feet, ' rather than that, I would be miserable 
 for ever — rather than that^ I would die.' 
 
 ' Because you are as silly as the rest ! 
 Oh, you unlucky child ! don't you see that it 
 is impossible ? Either he will go back to his 
 own people and they will talk him out of it, 
 or he will marry you in spite of them. 
 But no, he shall never do that ! ' 
 
 'But he said it would be right,' said 
 Yiolante ; then, as Eosa laughed bitterly, she 
 went on, pleadingly : ' Oli, Eosa mia, it is 
 you who are silly. He will make it right. 
 Indeed, I am happy ; but I cannot bear to see 
 you cry. I will act, I shall not care now, 
 and you must keep father from being vexed.' 
 
 Tiiere was much in Yiolante's speech of 
 the unconscious selfishness of one to whom 
 the part of comforter was a strange reversion, 
 of ordinary life ; but her caresses were very 
 sweet to Eosa, who, recovering herself with 
 an effort, said :
 
 188 HUGH crichton's eomance. 
 
 ' Well, Yiolante, you can't expect me to 
 believe in him as you do ! I never thought 
 it would come to this ! ' 
 
 ' But, Eosa, you will not try to stop it ? ' 
 
 Eosa hesitated. Even supposing Hugh 
 entirely faithful, what doubtful happiness lay 
 before her sister ; and, if not, what a blank of 
 disappointment, what hopeless injury, what 
 misery how unendurable to the girl who 
 shrank and trembled at a harsh word I 
 
 Eosa sat upright and gazed straight 
 before her, while Violante watched, unable to 
 understand her face. 
 
 ' No ! ' at length she exclaimed, ' you 
 must take your chance with the rest of us. 
 flow can I or anyone help it? But — but 
 — I'll never stop anyone's love — oh, my 
 little darling, my little darling ! ' and Eosa 
 broke down into tears, hiding her face in the 
 girl's soft hair. 
 
 ' Eosa, you think I could not bear any 
 trouble ; but I could — for him.'
 
 CONTRARY WIXDS. 180 
 
 There was a new fervour in her voice, 
 and Eosa yielded to it. ' Oh, I hope you 
 will be happy,' slie said. 
 
 ' Why, you see I am happy ! ' said 
 Violante, with a childish laugh. ' Fatlier is- 
 late ; let us have some coffee — you are so 
 hot and tired, I will get it. There is no^ 
 terrible opera to-night. Maddalena ! Mad- 
 dalena ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! signorina, / know who nearl}^ 
 broke the china bowl.' 
 
 ' Wliy, I did, Maddalena ! / threw it 
 dowm,' said Violante, as she tripped about 
 after the old woman, whose gold hair-pins 
 were quivering with sly triumph. ' But it 
 is quite safe — not a crack in it.' 
 
 The coffee was finished ; the bright, hot 
 sun went down ; and the sisters sat long by 
 the open window in the warm, pleasant 
 twilight. Violante fell into dreamy silence ; 
 Eosa also. But there was a OTeat frulf be- 
 tween their meditations, though they were
 
 190 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 thinking of the same subject and, partly, 
 •of the same person. 
 
 ' There's father ! ' cried Violante, as a step 
 sounded. ' Oh, I will run away, and you 
 shall tell him.' 
 
 ' 1^0, no, you little coward ; he wi]l be 
 sure to ask for you — stay a minute.' 
 
 Violante leant back against the window- 
 sill, her eyes drooping, her breast heaving, 
 and yet her face flushing and dimpling, — the 
 new confidence almost conquering the old 
 fear. Eosa looked far the more frightened 
 of the two. Signor Mattel's step came up the 
 great staircase quick as a boy's ; he seemed 
 almost to skate across the polished floor, so 
 instantaneously did he bear down on his 
 daughters. In a moment his roll of music 
 was cast aside in one direction, his great white 
 umbrella in another ; and, with accents rising 
 every moment into higher indignation, he 
 exclaimed : ' Violante, what folly is this that 
 I hear ? Is this what all your idleness and
 
 COXTRARY WINDS. 191 
 
 obstinacy mean ? I'll not hear a word of it. 
 A lover, indeed ! Xever let me hear of it 
 again ! ' 
 
 Yiolante stood breathless, but Kosa inter- 
 posed : 
 
 ' Has Mr. Crichton been talking to you, 
 father ? ' 
 
 'Ay, and a fine story he brought me. 
 Talking of promises, indeed ! How dare she 
 dream of making promises ? And you — 
 what have you been doing ? Taking care 
 of your sister ? Xo ! No ! Encouraging 
 her in disobedience and deceit ! ' 
 
 Xow Signor Mattei was wont, on all 
 occasions of domestic disturbance, to relieve 
 his feehngs by the most voluble scoldings 
 that the Italian temperament could suggest 
 and the Italian tongue express. Had Vio- 
 lante broken the china bowl she would 
 probably have heard nearly as many re- 
 proaches ; but no amount of experience ever 
 accustomed her to these outbreaks ; and,
 
 192 HUGH CRICHTO:r^'S EOMAXCE. 
 
 though practically she had never been ill- 
 treated, she feared her father far more than 
 he guessed ; while Eosa usually answered 
 him back more promptly than respectfully,, 
 and, loving him better than Yiolante did,, 
 often ended by having her own way. Now 
 she said : 
 
 ' Why are you angry with Violante,. 
 father ? She has done nothing wrong. Is- 
 it her fault if Mr. Crichton loves her and 
 has asked her to marry him ? ' 
 
 ' Asked her — asked her ! How dared 
 he ask her ? Now, most undutiful, most 
 ungrateful child, how long has this con- 
 spiracy lasted ? ' 
 
 ' He came to-day,'* stammered Yiolante. 
 
 ' To-day ? You tell me this folly has 
 begun to-day I You, who have been secretly 
 sighing for this stranger, sighing for him 
 instead of singing ! Ah — shame on you \. 
 — tell me — tell me — tell me!' in a rapid
 
 COXTRAEY WINDS. 193 
 
 x^rescendo, as lie seized her wrist and pulled 
 her towards him. 
 
 Yiolante burst into tears. 
 
 ' Father ! how can you speak to her so ? ' 
 •cried Eosa. 'Let her 2:0 — and I will tell 
 jou. ^Ir. Crichton never said a word to 
 her till to-day. Why will you not consent 
 to their engagement ? ' 
 
 ' Because I know my duty as a father 
 iDCtter. But it is all over. Do you hear, 
 Yiolante ? I have ended it for ever ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, father,' cried Yiolante, holding out 
 her hands imploringly, ' I will not neglect 
 my singing, I will practise all day long ; but 
 you would break my heart — oh, dear father, 
 I love him ;' and the poor child, with un- 
 wonted courage, went up to her father and 
 put her arms round his neck with a look 
 and gesture that, could she have called them 
 up at will, would have settled her stage 
 difficulties for ever. 
 
 ' No, Yiolante ! ' Signor Mattel said. ' You 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 PUGH ceichton's komance. 
 
 know what my wisli has been. You were^ 
 not free to promise yourself; and to-day I. 
 have made my arrangements with Signor 
 Vasari and have promised you to him.' 
 
 ' Father, father, I would kill myself first ! ^ 
 cried Yiolante, dropping on her knees and 
 hiding her face. 'Oh, Eosa — Eosa — help^ 
 me!' 
 
 'Hush, hush, my child. Stand up and 
 control yourself,' said Eosa, with Englisli 
 dislike to a scene — a kind of self-conscious- 
 ness shared by neither father nor sister. 
 ^ Go away — go into our room. I will talk 
 to father first.' 
 
 Yiolante rushed away with her hands 
 over her face, and then the other two pre- 
 pared for war. 
 
 Signor Mattel divested himself of his- 
 neck- tie, rubbed his hands through his hair, 
 marched up and down the room, and said : 
 
 ' Now, Eosa, be reasonable, be dutiful^ 
 and hear what I have to say.'
 
 CONTRARY WIIS'DS. 195 
 
 Eosa sat down by the table, with a red 
 spot on each cheek, and took up her knit- 
 ting. 
 
 ' Yes, father, that is just what I wish. I 
 want to know what has happened/ 
 
 ' Am I a cruel father ? Do I beat or 
 starve you, or do I work all day for my 
 ungrateful children ? ' 
 
 ' I think you were cruel to Yiolante, 
 father, when you called her deceitful.' 
 
 ' Violante is a little fool. Now, once for 
 all. Eosa, I will have no disputes. This 
 very day I have promised her to Yasari.' 
 
 ' Father ! ' cried Eosa, in high indigna- 
 tion. ' It is one thinsr to forbid her eno-a^je- 
 ment to Mr. Crichton, and quite another to 
 insist on her marrying Yasari. / would not 
 stand it.' 
 
 *But you, figlia mia, have the sense 
 to decide for yourself,' said Signer Mattel, 
 with a httle flattery inexpressibly provoking 
 2
 
 196 HUGH crichton's eoma^te. 
 
 to the downright Eosa. ' Your sister is a 
 child, and cannot judge. Consider. This 
 young Enghshman goes home. The proud 
 ladies of his house would see him moulder- 
 ing in his grave before they blessed his 
 betrothal.' 
 
 'I don't believe they would be so 
 ridiculous ! And he is quite independent. 
 But I agree with you, father, that it would 
 be a very unfortunate thing if he married her 
 without his friends' consent, and what we 
 could not agree to. But he speaks con- 
 fidently of being able to gain it.' 
 
 * He speaks!' echoed Signor Mattei, with 
 jscorn. ' He speaks ! He goes home — he 
 sees his folly. Flattered by the flowers of his 
 own aristocracy will he remember Yiolante?/ 
 
 ' I don't believe he has anything to do 
 with the aristocracy ! Of course, father, I 
 see all the risks — ^they are fearful ones ; but 
 the other way is such certain misery,' said 
 Eosa, faltermg. ' How will she bear it ! '
 
 CONTKAEY WINDS. 197 
 
 ' Eosa, I am surprised at you. Can you 
 not see the benefits of this marriage ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I know all that,' said Eosa, 
 sturdily. ' I know, if she could make up 
 her mind to it, it would be a very good 
 thing for her and for all of us. But, father, 
 married or single, she will never make an 
 actress, it will kill her ; and she hates 
 Yasari.' 
 
 Then Signor Mattel's patience fairly gave 
 way. 
 
 ' Hates him ! Don't tell me of anything 
 so absurd. How many girls, do you tliink, 
 liave hated their suitors and been happy 
 enough ! That is no reason.' 
 
 In spite of Eosa's English breeding she 
 had seen instances enough of the truth of 
 this remark not to have an instant contra- 
 diction ready. It might turn out well ; 
 which was all that could be said in favoiu: of 
 Hugh Crichton ; and yet Eosa felt that, had 
 she been Violante, she w^ould have wiUingly
 
 198 HUGH . criciiton's romance. 
 
 risked her all in favour of that one glorious 
 possibility. ' But it doesn't always pay,' she 
 thought, and while she hesitated, thinking 
 how such a risk had once been run and run 
 in vain, her father spoke again. 
 
 ' Now, Eosa, listen. Mild as a lamb in 
 daily life, in emergencies I am a lion ; and 
 my will is law, you cannot change it. 
 Yiolante shall be Vasari's wife. I have 
 promised, I will perform.' Here Signor 
 Mattel struck his hand on the table in a 
 highly effective manner. ' She will be raised 
 above all the uncertainties of our profession, 
 need not work beyond her strength, and we 
 shall share in her success. To this she must 
 agree, and if you will not promise to see 
 that she does so I shall send her to Madame 
 Cellini's.' 
 
 Madme Cellini was a fine old opera- 
 singer who had married and settled in 
 Civita Bella. She had shown much kind- 
 ness to the motherless girls and had not
 
 CONTRARY WIXDS. 199 
 
 heen an injudicious friend to tliem ; but her 
 contempt for Violante's fears and her strenu- 
 'Ous efforts to rouse her to a sense of her 
 privileges had rendered her instructions and 
 herself an object of dread ; and Eosa an- 
 :swered, after a pause; 
 
 ' I will promise to remain neutral. If 
 Yiolante can be happy without Hugh 
 Crichton I had far rather she did not 
 marry him. But if she is sent away or 
 too much coerced she will be utterly unable 
 to act. Let her alone, and I don't suppose 
 -she will liold out very long.' 
 
 ' You will send no letters or messao-es ? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' said Eosa ; ' I promise that I will 
 not. I shall leave her to herself.' 
 
 To herself! To her weak will and her 
 cowardly spirit ! How long would they hold 
 out ? 
 
 Eosa went in search of her ; and, as 
 Yiolante sprang towards her exclaiming.
 
 200 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 ' Oh, Eosa, you will help me ! ' she held her 
 back, 
 
 ' J^o, Violante, I cannot help and I will 
 not hinder you. Father is determined, and 
 you inust do it, if do it you will, all yourself.. 
 If I move a finger, you will be sent away 
 from me ; but I will not try to persuade you 
 either way.' 
 
 Violante stood still, with despair in her 
 face. How could she resist her father for 
 an hour ? She crept away to bed, at Eosa's 
 suggestion ; received her Idsses with passive 
 absence of offence ; and, as she hid her face 
 on her pillow, thought not of self-support but 
 of the only help left to her. ' He will come, 
 again to-morrow — they will listen to him' .
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 
 
 * As we have met, we sliall not meet again 
 For ever, child^ for ever ! ' 
 
 Left to herself ! In the early morning 
 Violante's senses awoke from the confusion 
 of disturbed and dreamy sleep ; and, with 
 burning eyes and throbbing temples, she sat 
 upright and tried to think ' for herself.' 
 
 ' He will come and persuade father/ 
 She repeated tliis watchword over and over 
 a^ain to herself; but the new confidence 
 could hardly combat the old experience, and 
 she could not realise that ' father ' would 
 be over-persuaded — even by her lover.
 
 202 HUGH ceiciiton's romaxce. 
 
 Childish as Violante was she had grown up 
 too much in the constant discussion of ways 
 and means not to be quite aware of the 
 worldly advantages of Signor Vasari's offer. 
 Those attaching to Hugh Crichton's were 
 like a dim and distant dream, scarcely to be 
 realised ; nor , had she, in the abstract, any 
 sense that she would be unfairly treated by 
 being deprived of her right of choice. 
 Perhaps no creature ever entered on a 
 conflict with less hope of success. She 
 felt so sure that neither prayers nor tears 
 would move her father that she never 
 thought of trying their effect ; while Signor 
 Yasari seemed still more inexorable. If 
 Hugh did not somehow set it right for her 
 what remained but submission ? ' I had 
 rather die ; but I shall be so frightened, I 
 -shall say yes,' she thought. 'They have 
 always made me do what they wish. I 
 ■could not help it ! There's no one to help 
 pie — no one ! ' Her cowardice and weak-
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 203 
 
 ness had been so often cast in the pool- 
 child's teeth that she had lost every scrap 
 •of confidence in her own powers. Her 
 father said, ' You shall give in/ Eosa said, 
 * You cannot hold out ; ' and Yiolante knew 
 nothing of a Strength not her own, of a 
 Hand that would hold hers more firmly 
 than sister's or lover's. Her love was the 
 .strongest thing about her : would it hold her 
 up ? She thought with a kind of ardour of 
 resisting and refusing, of holding out and 
 dying rather than yielding. But all the 
 time she" knew that she should yield ; that 
 she could not act and sing between the two 
 fires of father and suitor ; that the long days 
 of conflict would not kill her all at once, 
 but would each one be very miserable and 
 hard to endure, and would each one wear 
 out a little of her strength. For Yiolante 
 had some experience of troublous times, and 
 knew very well what it meant to be unhappy 
 and in disgrace.
 
 204' HUGH ceichton's komaxce. 
 
 * He willcome ; lie will help me/ She 
 pushed aside the thought of what was to 
 follow and resolved to please her father as 
 much as possible, in the hope of protracting 
 matters till Hugh should have time to inter- 
 fere. So, to Eosa's surprise, she appeared 
 in a clean muslin dress and a pink ribbon 
 and sat down to sing her scales, instead of 
 lying in bed and crying, as inchnation would 
 have prompted. N'ay, she carried her father 
 his cup of chocolate, and kept her hand 
 from trembling as he took it from her. 
 Signor Mattel view^ed all this as betokening 
 intended submission : Eosa was puzzled. 
 For the first time she could not understand 
 Violante. 
 
 The morning hours wore aw^ay ; there 
 was, fortunately, no rehearsal. Violante sat 
 in the window with some knitting in her 
 lap. She did not say one word to Eosa of 
 her fears or her intentions. Steps came 
 up the stairs and across the corridor, and
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 205 
 
 'Signor Mattel ushered in the great Vasari 
 himself. Eosa started up and came forward 
 to receive him. Violante shrank into her 
 corner ; she grew white and . cold, but she 
 set her mouth, and under her long eye- 
 lashes her eyes looked hard and strange. 
 
 'Signor,' said Signor Mattei, 'here is 
 my daughter. I give her to you with pro- 
 found pleasure, and assure you that she is 
 sensible of the honour of your choice.' 
 
 Violante spoke not a word. She rose up, 
 obedient to her father's eye, and, perhaps, 
 somewhat urged by the long habit of obedi- 
 ence to the manager. She dared not utter the 
 refusal on her lips. What would they do to 
 her ; what would they say ? It was better 
 to submit — to submit till he came. Signor 
 Vasari took her by the hand, bowed pro- 
 foundly, and offered to her a handsome 
 diamond cross and chain of pearls. 
 
 ' Permit me, Signorina ; they were the 
 jewels of a princess.'
 
 206 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 He fastened it on her neck, and then^ 
 putting liis arm around her, drew her 
 towards him as he had done before now — on 
 the stage. Violante started and lifted her 
 eyes. There stood Hugh Crichton within 
 the door, his eyes fixed on her, his face as- 
 pale as hers. 
 
 ' Signor Mattei, you were right, and 1 
 thank you,' he said in Enghsh, and in a 
 liard, fierce voice. Then he turned and was 
 gone, before anyone spoke a word. 
 
 Suddenly Violante wrenched herself out 
 of Yasari's grasp. She pulled the cross off" 
 her neck, scattering the pearls far and wide 
 as she threw it on the floor. 
 
 ' I hate you ! ' she said, ' I hate you I 
 And if you marry me I will kill you.' 
 
 ' Signorina ! ' ejaculated the astonished 
 manager. 
 
 ' Violante, Violante ! ' cried Kosa. 
 
 ' I hate, you ! ' she repeated, and then 
 she threw herself on her knees.
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 207 
 
 ' rather, father, father, kill me, kill me 
 first.' 
 
 ' Ungrateful, wicked child, you are driv- 
 ing a dagger into my breast ! ' cried Signer 
 Mattel. 
 
 ' I am deceived, I om deceived, but 1 will 
 have my rival's blood ! ' exclaimed Vasari. 
 
 ' Signor Vasari, you are treading on that 
 cross and spoiling it,'* said Eosa. ' Yiolante, 
 for shame ! You don't know what you say/ 
 
 ' I do know,' said Yiolante ; but the 
 quick reaction was coming, and she let Eosa 
 lift her up and cowered into her arms, 
 trembling and shivering. Her defiance was 
 over, and had com , like the actions of most 
 cowards, five minutes too late. 
 
 ' Signor Vasari,' said Eosa, ' I think you 
 had better leave us and — and — come again 
 when my sister is more herself. I will pick 
 up the pearls, and — and, father, isn't that 
 best?' 
 
 ' La Signorina has no lack of passion
 
 308 HUGi^ criciiton's romance. 
 
 when it suits her turn,' said Vasari, with a 
 sneer. ' Yes, I will go — but, as to coming 
 again, that is another matter.' 
 
 Then Sign9r Mattei broke out into a 
 perfect storm of invective and adjuration, 
 calling the Saints to witness his own honest 
 dealing, and speaking of and to Yiolante in 
 terms of such anger and contempt as were 
 hardly calculated to excuse her to her lover. 
 Yiolante shook like a leaf, but made no 
 attempt at an answer, and Eosa at last pulled 
 her away from the room, leaving her father 
 still in the full flow of his eloquence and 
 Signor Yasari stiff ^nd upright with offended 
 dignity, yet casting involuntary and half- 
 unconscious glances at his scattered pearls. 
 
 Hugh Critihton, on the other hand, had 
 suffered since his interview with Signor 
 Mattei, from a kind of doubt, not unnatural 
 to a man treading on unknown OTOund. 
 He would have had far more confidence 
 in Yiolante had she been the Miss Katie
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 209 
 
 CliiitoQ whose cause his mother advocated, 
 httle as he would have beheved anyone 
 who had echoed the sentiment ; and when 
 Mr. ToUemache came in before dinner and 
 said that all the world was talking of Made- 
 moiselle Mattel's great good luck in her 
 en^iagement to Sisfnor Yasari, Hudi turned 
 visibly pale, and James said : 
 
 ' Is it a fact or a rumour, Mr. ToUemache?' 
 
 ' A fact, I believe. I had it from young 
 Contarini, who haunts the musical world; 
 and he said Vasari had told him of it himself.' 
 
 Neither looked at Hug;h, who sat still for 
 a moment and then got up and went away. 
 James could not help a look of consterna- 
 tion, and Mr. ToUemache said : 
 
 ' I assure you, Crichton, J had no notion 
 anything serious was going on. Hugh's tlie 
 last fellow I should have suspected of — 
 of ' 
 
 ' Making such a fool of himself ? ' said 
 VOL. I. p • ,
 
 210 HUGH CmCHTOX'S KOMAKCE. 
 
 James. ' Well — you see he never could take 
 things in moderation.' 
 
 ' He's well out of the scrape, in my 
 opinion.* 
 
 ' Yes, poor old boy, I suppose he is. 
 The rest of us are, at any rate.' 
 
 Dinner passed, of course, with no refer- 
 ence to the subject ; nor did Hugh mention 
 it till the next morning, when, alone with 
 Jem, he said, with a nervous laugh but an 
 odd twitch in his voice : 
 
 ' Jem, you profess to understand young 
 women. Which should you have said was 
 the favoured one ? ' 
 
 Jem was driven into a corner. He 
 certainly had thought that Violante had 
 favoured Hugh. He thought so still, and 
 felt pretty sure that she was not a free 
 agent ; but he did not wish to say so, and 
 yet he could not but be touched by the 
 eager wistful look with which Hugh re- 
 
 g 
 
 arded him.
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 211 
 
 ' Well/ he said, ' I thought she looked 
 .graciously on you ; but you see the — ' 
 
 ' If so,' interrupted Hugh, ' I'd marry 
 her to-morrow, spite of them all.' 
 
 ' Good heavens, Hugh ! ' cried Jem. 
 * Don't think of such a thing ! I don't 
 beheve ToUemache would consent. It's 
 impossible ! ' 
 
 ' ToUemache ? ' 
 
 'British Consul, you know. You carUt 
 get married out here as if it was Gretna 
 Green ; and I won't have a hand in it ; 
 I declare, Hugh, I won't,' cried Jem. ' It's 
 all very well, but I won't, you know ; and 
 there's an end of it.' 
 
 ' I did not ask you,' said Hugh, coldly, but 
 becoming conscious that to marry Yiolante 
 without the consent of her friends or his was, 
 under the circumstances, utterly impossible. 
 
 He said no more to James, but resolved 
 to see Violante once again at all hazards. 
 How he saw her, and what effect the scene 
 p2
 
 212 HUGH CRICHTONS EOMANCE. 
 
 he beheld had on a mind ah^eady full of 
 doubts and suspicions, has been already told. 
 Anger, intensified by the recollection of how 
 he had once before been treated, swallowed 
 up every other feeling. He went back to 
 the Consulate and met his brother on the 
 stairs. 
 
 ' I shall go home, Jem,' he said. ' I can- 
 not stay here. You can explain and follow 
 when you like. Yes, it's all at an end. 
 Never speak of it any more.' 
 
 James could obtain no word of explana- 
 tion — no single particular — as he tried to help 
 Hugh to pack up his things and to arrange 
 some decent sort of leave-taking. Hugh was 
 too desperate to care who was surprised at 
 his proceedings. The ladies were out, and 
 he wrote three lines of courteous thanks to 
 Mrs. Tollemache, but wished her son good- 
 bye without any reason given, and never 
 gave his brother a chance of sympathizing: 
 with or restraining him.
 
 LEFT TO HERSELF. 213 
 
 ' I am going straight home,' lie said, as 
 lie went away. 
 
 ' Well!' exclaimed Mr. Tollemache, ' who 
 could have expected such a tornado ? ' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Jem, ' Hugh never could take 
 -circumstances into consideration. I believe 
 the poor little thing was as much in love 
 ivith him as she knew how. How could he 
 •expect her to tell the truth about the mana- 
 ^ger ? Of coiu:se she liked Hugh, and of 
 course she told fibs, and now she will cry 
 her eyes out, and then marry Vasari after all. 
 What else can she do, poor httle victim? 
 And then there's Hugh, who won't dance 
 four times with a girl for fear of " exciting 
 false expectations," has gone and broken her 
 .heart — if hearts ever are broken. Much 
 he knows about the tricks girls will play to 
 ^void an uproar ! Poor httle, pretty thing !' 
 
 ' I don't care for the girl,' said IVIr. Tolle- 
 mache, ' but it's no joke about Hugh.' 
 
 ' Poor old fellow, no ; but those things
 
 214 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 pass off, you know ; and, after all, anything's 
 better than that he should have married 
 her.' 
 
 ' Undoubtedly,' said Mr. Tollemache. 
 
 'Poor little child !' repeated Jem, with a 
 not unkindly pity, but which yet made small 
 account of Yiolante beside the other interests:^ 
 involved. 
 
 And so Hugh Crichton went away from 
 Civita Bella, and Yiolante was left behind. 
 Mm.
 
 PART III. 
 
 AETHTJE'S STOEY. 
 
 I love thee to the level of every day's 
 Most quiet need — by sun and candle-light.*
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTEE Xin, 
 
 MYSIE. 
 * Oh, happy spirit, wisely gay ! ' 
 
 * What are you doing, Mysie ? ' said Florence 
 Venning, as she came one afternoon into the 
 Eedhurst drawing-room. 
 
 ' I am sewing a button on Arthur s 
 glove,' returned Mysie, who was sitting by 
 herself on a low chair in the window with a 
 smart little work-basket by her side. ' Do 
 you know. Floss, Hugh is coming back to- 
 night ? Aunt Lily had a line from him from 
 Paris.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! And do you want to get the 
 button sewn on before he comes ? '
 
 218 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 Mysie shook her head, smiHng, while 
 Plossy went on : ' Seriously, Mysie, aren't 
 you in a great fright ? ' 
 
 '!N;o!' answered Mysie, 'I cannot see 
 why I should be in a fright. You know. 
 Flossy, I have never been at all afraid of 
 Hugh. I know he always does what he 
 thinks right. And he knows what is right, 
 too.' 
 
 ' Well, but suppose he says you are too 
 young ? ' 
 
 ' But I shall explain to him,' said Mysie^ 
 * that I am not young. Now, don't laugh ^ 
 Flossy ; but I can't help feeling that when 
 people are so very sure of themselves as I 
 am they must be able to make others 
 believe in them.' 
 
 ' That's a profound remark,' said Flossy. 
 
 ' I'm not at all changeable,' said Mysie, 
 ' and I know I shall be able to make Hugh 
 understand that I am quite in earnest.' 
 There was a peculiar intensity in her quieti
 
 IMYSIE. 219 
 
 voice ; and as she lifted up her eyes, clear and 
 serene, Flossy felt that they would have con- 
 vinced her of anything. 
 
 ' It will be very unromantic if you don't 
 get anything to try yoiu- constancy,' said 
 Flossy, teasingly. 
 
 ' Well, one can be very happy without 
 romance,' said Mysie, laughing. 'Eomance 
 generally means something rather uncom- 
 fortable.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Flossy, in her full, clear tones, 
 ' so does love — generally. I always observe 
 that when a girl can't do her lessons, or can't 
 eat her dinner, and is dismal and rather a 
 bore, Mary has a confidence from home 
 about her. And if one happens to see the 
 man he's generally such a creature. Now, I 
 can imagine regarding St. Ambrose ' 
 
 'Flossy!' 
 
 ' Well, of course, I mean some one like- 
 him. I think my ideal is a mixture of intel- 
 lect aud strong common-sense, something like
 
 220 HUGH CRICHTONS KOMANCE. 
 
 King Alfred. And I greatly admire the 
 strength of Luther and Hampden ; only those 
 people are so often on the wrong side. But 
 you see, Mysie, I shall never meet the great 
 man of the age, and I shall never care for 
 anyone unless he is wiser, cleverer, and 
 better than I am myself!' 
 
 ' That would be so difficult to find,' said 
 Mysie. 
 
 ' Mysie, how dare you be so sarcastic ! ' 
 cried Flossy, with a great, hearty laugh. 
 * But I don't care ; I can do without him, and 
 when he turns up I'll let you know.' 
 
 ' Is he to be anything like that man in your 
 old story who never smiled ?' said Mysie. 
 
 ' No, no, that was a very juvenile idea. 
 But, Mysie,' coming nearer and speaking with 
 slight embarrassment, ' there is a story and a 
 hero in it. I wonder if you would like 
 Mm.' 
 
 ' Oh, do show it to me.' 
 
 ' Then, you must promise not to tell
 
 IVIYSIE. 221 
 
 Arthur. Ah, is Arthur so cool as you are 
 about your cousin ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Mysie, ' he says that he should 
 say " no " in Hugh's place. But,' slie con- 
 cluded quietly, ' that is because it is coming 
 so near.' 
 
 ' And what has become of Arthur now ? * 
 
 ' There's a cricket-match between Eed- 
 hurst and Oxley, and Arthur is playing. 
 Will you come down to the ground ? Aunt 
 Lily's there and Frederica ; they went to pay 
 a call first.' 
 
 Flossy assented, and Mysie went upstairs 
 to put on her hat. She was a girl with a 
 great many quiet little tastes of her own, and 
 her room gave opportunities for the study of 
 them. There was something about her far 
 removed from the ordinary hurry and bustle 
 of modern young-ladyhood. She was noted 
 in the family for always having time for 
 everything. So on her table lay an album 
 and a book of photographs, set in little
 
 222 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMAXCE. 
 
 paintings, and a basket containing pin- 
 cushions and needle-books of wonderful 
 shapes and capable workmanship, besides 
 other varieties of fancy-work. Mysie dearly 
 loved needlework, and secretly regretted the 
 days when she could have stitched Arthur's 
 shirts for him. There were flowers, gathered 
 and growing, and quiet, dainty little birds — 
 fivadevats and the like— hanging in tlie win- 
 dow ; while on the mantelpiece was almost 
 every little possession of Mysie's short exist- 
 ence : the China dogs and the China shep- 
 herds of her babyhood, the little glass tea- 
 set and the spun -glass boxes of advancing 
 childhood, up to the pots and scent bottles — 
 her schoolfellows' presents in later years. 
 Tor Mysie never lost or broke anything, and 
 never grew tired of anything because it was 
 old. She kept her big wax doll in her 
 wardrobe, and all her old story-books on the 
 shelf in company with Arthur's birthday pre- 
 sent of Tennyson's poems, and such and so
 
 j^n'siE. 223 
 
 many works of fiction as might be expected 
 on a young lady's book-shelves whose taste 
 was exceedingly correct and who was able 
 to gratify it. Mysie had, however, two little 
 tastes of her own. She was fond of very 
 sentimental poetry, which she read, copied, 
 and learnt by heart quietly to herself, not 
 feehno; at all hurt if xirthur laudied at it or 
 Plossy declared that it lowered her spirits ; 
 but, being an exceedingly happy little person, 
 she had somehow a peculiar relish for faded 
 flowers, bygone days, sad hearts, and all 
 such imagery. She also liked all books con- 
 taining quaint and pregnant sayings of wit 
 or wisdom ; read George Herbert and Bacon's 
 essays ; and wdien asked, as a little girl, which 
 part of the Bible she liked best to read had 
 replied : 'The Book of Proverbs : it was so 
 exceedingly true.' 
 
 With every possibility of being an idle 
 young lady Mysie was really useful and 
 industrious, good, and pious — in the simplest
 
 224 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 meaniDo; of that mucli abused word. She 
 was a far more develojoed person than her 
 lover, young as she was ; and she loved him 
 with all the force of old association, sisterly 
 admiration and anxiety, mingling with tlie 
 newer and sweeter dependence on liis talents 
 and his counsel. She beheved in him, but 
 her instinct was to advise him and to take 
 care of him and to think of what was good 
 for him, even while his opinions had uncon- 
 sciously moulded many of her own ; and to 
 j)lease him was her greatest dehght. 
 
 Carefully she arranged her little hat, with 
 its wild-rose trimming, and settled her pretty 
 summer dress before she rejoined Mossy 
 and started with her for the cricket-field, 
 where several ladies and other spectators 
 w^ere already watching Arthur making runs 
 in a white flannel suit edged with scarlet, 
 which Mysie thought exceedingly becoming. 
 Mrs. Crichton made room for them on a 
 bench beside her. Frederica and Flossv
 
 MYSIE. 225 
 
 began to compare notes of the runs ; while 
 Mysie sat in the bright sun, dreamily con- 
 templating her lover's prowess. Some of the 
 cricketers came up to speak to them ; one of 
 the Oxley curates, in black trousers and a 
 grey shirt, eagerly pointed out to Flossy the 
 performance of a mutual protege. Mrs. 
 Harcourt, the wife of the old rector of Eed- 
 hurst, made the welcome announcement that 
 she had ordered afternoon tea to be brought 
 into the field. Mysie's Eedhurst Sunday 
 scholars ciu:tseyed and smiled at her from a 
 distance ; and the far more elegant damsels of 
 Oxley, who absorbed all Flossy 's unpro- 
 fessional efforts in the way of teaching, made 
 her gracious bows, and offered her an oppor- 
 tunity of studying how to dress, or not to 
 dress, hair of every shade of black, brown, 
 flaxen, and auburn. A detachment from 
 Oxley Manor, headed by Clarissa and the 
 Oerman governess, appeared at a discreet 
 distance. Mysie became aware that Arthur 
 YOL. I. Q
 
 226 HUGH ceichton's komance. 
 
 saw lier, and was making his tliirtietli riin^ 
 under the inspiring influence of her eyes 
 when a tall shadow fell on the dry, sunnjr 
 grass, and a well-known voice said, ' Well,, 
 mother, how are you ? ' 
 
 ' My dear Hugh ! How you surprised 
 me ; we did not expect you till dinner 
 time ! ' 
 
 ' I came half-an-hour ago ; and finding 
 you were all down here I thought I would 
 follow you.' 
 
 ' Quite right. How are you, and have 
 you enjoyed yourself? ' 
 
 ' Very well ; and I have enjoyed myself 
 exceedingly,' said Hugh. 
 
 'Where's Jem?' 
 
 ' In London, to-day, I beheve, but we- 
 did not travel back together. He wanted to 
 see some other places.' 
 
 ' And Civita Bella was charming ? You 
 are sunburnt, Hugh.' 
 
 ' Civita Bella is a very charming place.
 
 MYSIE. 227 
 
 -with sun enough to burn anyone. How 
 dye do, Mysie ? I did not see you.' 
 
 Mysie put her hand into Hugh's and 
 felt her courage sink to her toes. 
 
 ' I'm very well, Hugh, thank you,' she 
 said, in a small voice; and then she perceived 
 that Arthur had caught sight of his cousi.n, 
 found himself ' out,' he hardly knew how, 
 and came over towards them with his face 
 much more crimson than exertion need have 
 made it. 
 
 ' Well, Arthur, I congratulate you,' said 
 Hugh. ' On your degree,' he added, as 
 Arthur started and looked blank. 
 
 ' Oh, I forgot,' said Arthur, as he turned 
 his back on Hugh and Mysie, in an awkward 
 boyish way, and began to talk vehemently 
 to the two Miss Dickensons, daughters of the- 
 Oxley doctor, with whom he had been some- 
 times accused of flirting ; while Hugh turned 
 to receive various greetings. To all this lie 
 had looked forward, and his manner and look 
 q2
 
 228 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 did him credit, for, as his mother said, ' he 
 seemed as if he had never been away.' 
 
 Poor Hugh ! When miles away from 
 Civita Bella he had come to himself, as it 
 were, after the passion of rage and grief in 
 which he had left the city, he had resolved 
 to cut the past seven weeks out of his life 
 and to let them leave no trace behind* JSTo 
 one knew anything about them but James, 
 who could well be trusted to keep the secret 
 at home ; they were utterly apart from all 
 the rest of his life, and they should remain 
 so. All their joy and all their pain should 
 be buried for ever. These few short days 
 should not influence all the rest of his life. 
 What difference could it make to Eedhurst 
 and Oxley that a little Italian girl had made a 
 fool of him ? He had plenty of interests 
 which remained unaltered, and this thing 
 should be, what James had called it, a fooHsh 
 holiday incident that was over and done. 
 This resolution, though prompted by resent-
 
 MYSIE. 229 
 
 ment, was agreeable to common-sense ; and 
 Hugh was not likely to betray himself. He 
 knew that he must suffer a certain amount of 
 pain, and then he supposed it would be over; 
 if not he must bear it. What Avas there to 
 see here while he waited for the train ? A 
 cathedral : he would go and see it. 
 
 And a girl offered him a great bouquet of 
 roses and oleanders, such as Yiolante had 
 put in the china bowl. Hugh turned off with 
 a sharp refusal ; but suddenly thought : 
 ' What, if after all I was mistaken ! If I had 
 waited one moment longer — ' and the tor- 
 ment of that doubt, which yet was not 
 strong enough to prompt any measure for 
 its own satisfaction, haunted him and 
 fretted him as the actual sorrow could 
 not do, for it was a doubt of himself. 
 
 He had always been grave, and he was too 
 strong and vigorous for trouble to tell easily 
 on his health ; so his appearance struck no 
 one as unnatural, while he answered his
 
 230 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 mother's enquiries about the Tollemaches, 
 and described the beauties of Civita Bella — 
 rather proud to find that he could do it so 
 easily. Moreover, the home party had an 
 absorbing interest of their own ; and as soon 
 as the match had ended, in the triumph of 
 Eedhurst, Mrs. Crichton took her son's arm 
 to walk home with him, and Mysie and 
 Arthur slipped away by a different path 
 through the lanes. 
 
 Arthur put out his hand and took hold 
 of Mysie's, and they walked on for a bit 
 hand in hand — a fashion Mysie favoured, 
 perhaps as reminding her of holiday after- 
 noons, when Arthur's big-boy companionship 
 had been so flattering and delightful to the 
 little school-girl. The air was scented with 
 meadow-sweet and with hay ; the elms, in 
 full leaf, threw heavy shadows across their 
 path ; a thrush was singing ; the church clock 
 chimed half-past six ; everything was full of 
 peaceful beauty. Mysie looked shyly into
 
 MYSIE. 231 
 
 Arthur's eyes, and then they both laughed ; 
 they were not really afraid or in suspense as 
 to their fate, only Arthur wished that the 
 'decisive interview was over. ' Suppose, for 
 the sake of supposing,' he said, ' that Hugh 
 was really to act the cruel parent and send 
 me away. What should you do, Mysie? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Mysie, lightly. ' If 
 he locked me up I think I should give in to 
 him.' 
 
 ' Then I should blow my brains out ! ' 
 .said Arthur. ' I don't know why I am talking 
 such nonsense,' he added. ' I know there is no 
 reasonable likelihood of any interference ; but 
 .sometimes, Mysie, it comes over me to think 
 -svJiat have I done to deserve, what so few 
 fellows get — my first love — nothing in the 
 way ? Everything in my hfe has gone well 
 with me.' 
 
 ' We must be very good,' said Mysie, in 
 .a low voice. 
 
 Arthur half shook his head. He was
 
 232 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 not given to talk about himself, or even to 
 think much about himself from a critical 
 point of view, but he felt that life had been 
 made uncommonly easy to him, by circum- 
 stances, by temperament, and by the lode- 
 star of Mysie's love ; and it, perhaps, proved 
 that he was not spoiled by prosperity ; since^ 
 with the stirring of the deepest feeling that 
 he had ever known, there came a profound 
 sense of these blessini^s and an almost 
 exaggerated conviction of the absence of 
 effort by which they had been attained. 
 
 ' I have done nothing to deserve any of 
 it,' he thought. ' My work was pleasant to- 
 me. How could I go wrong with her before 
 my eyes ? ' The kind actions, the ready 
 aid which won much affection, the quick 
 interest in all around him which made him- 
 helpful and useful everywhere — what had 
 these ever cost him ? More pains, perhaps, and 
 more virtuous effort than he remembered or 
 thought worth mentioning ; but it was true:
 
 MYSIE. 23a 
 
 that Arthur's was a gracious nature, so 
 kindly and genial that, though his hfe had 
 been singularly blameless, he had hardly 
 been conscious of aims above the average. 
 
 Mysie cut into the heart of his per- 
 plexity. 
 
 ' I think it would be very ungrateful,' 
 she said, ' not to be glad that we are happy. 
 We should be very thankful to God for it, 
 and try to make other people happy, too ; 
 and trials are sure to come in this life,' she 
 added, in her sweet, fearless, untried voice. 
 
 ' You shall have few, my darling, if I 
 can keep them away. But you are right ; 
 and it would be strange, indeed, if one were 
 not thankful — for you.' 
 
 ' The Christian Year says,' said Mysie,. 
 in her free, simple way : 
 
 * *' Thankful for all God takes away, 
 Humbled by ail He gives " — 
 
 That is what you meant, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Arthur listened, half in admiration of
 
 234 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 Mysie's goodness — lie tliouglit, as others like 
 him have done, his lady-love so good — and 
 half with the shyness of young manhood 
 of devotional, apart from theological, lan- 
 guage. 
 
 ' Is'othing so saintly, I fear, as that,' he 
 said. ' But I see what the last part means. 
 What ! ' — as Mysie started and shrank up 
 to him — ' not afraid of cows, still, my little 
 -one ! ' 
 
 ' N — o,' said Mysie, doubtfully, as half- 
 a-dozen cows and a couple of woolly little 
 calves turned out of a field, noisily and 
 quickly. ' JSTo ; it is very silly, and I am 
 almost cured ; but I did not expect them.' 
 
 Arthur put a protecting arm around 
 her, very wilhng to forgive the fear that 
 made her chng to him. 
 
 ' Flossy does tease me so about it ; but 
 I shall always hate cows and strange dogs 
 and guns,' said Mysie, in whom a sort of
 
 MYSIE. 235 
 
 physical timidity contrasted strangely with 
 her quiet self-possession in other ways. 
 
 ' You must not walk by yourself if they 
 frighten you, darling,' said Arthur ; ' but 
 these are very harmless beasts. Come, 
 here's the garden-gate — and there's Hugh. 
 Tastes differ, but a herd of buffaloes would 
 he a trifle ; here goes ! ' 
 
 Mysie vanished, and Arthur advanced 
 ^to wards his cousin, into whose ears Mrs. 
 Crichton had already poured the whole 
 story. 
 
 Hugh had listened, but he was annoyed 
 and unsympathetic. 
 
 ' Arthur is too young.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear Hugh, so much the better. 
 Your dear father was very little older, and 
 I only wish I could see you ' 
 
 ' Mysie has a right to a wider out-look.' 
 
 ' But, my dear, she quite adores him ; 
 .she always did. And she is the most con-
 
 236 HUGH CRICHTOX'S EO]VL\XCE. 
 
 stant little creature. There cannot be a 
 word aQ-ainst Arthur.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; he is exceedingly well-con- 
 ducted,' said Hugh, dryly. 
 
 ' And what a pity to come" between 
 young people ! It always does them harm^, 
 even where it's inevitable. Disappointments 
 are very bad things.' 
 
 ' Most people have to survive them. 
 However, mother, if you are satisfied on 
 Mysie's behalf, I can have nothing to say. 
 I see Arthur. I'll get it over at once.' 
 
 Hugh crossed the lawn, but had he 
 wished to win Mysie for himself he could 
 hardly have felt a bitterer pang of jealousy 
 than that which came upon him as he 
 looked at Arthur's gladsome eyes and heard 
 the proud satisfaction in his tones through 
 all their embarrassment. 
 
 ' I have nothing to say, Hugh, but that 
 we have chosen each other. I think I can 
 make her happy, and I will do my best to
 
 m'siE. 237 
 
 "be helpful to you, and to place myself in 
 a less unequal position as regards lier 
 fortune/ 
 
 ' As mother consents/ said Hugh, ' I 
 cannot have a different opinion ; but as 
 regards the Bank, you must know your own 
 mind, and I shall not consent to your taking 
 any place there till you have taken time to 
 consider of it. It is not exciting work nor 
 satisfying, if you are ambitious.' 
 
 ' I repeat,' said Arthur, ' I have chosen 
 my lot in life. I want Mysie, and Oxley, 
 and the Bank, if you'll have me ; and 
 Heaven knows I think myself a lucky 
 fellow ! ' 
 
 ' You know,' said Hugh, ' by the terms 
 •of my father's will you have the offer, but I 
 should wish you to consider well of it.' 
 
 ' Oh, ril consider,' said Arthur, in rather 
 an off-hand manner ; ' but why lose time ? 
 And you'll be very busy and want help 
 now Simpson's getting past his work.'
 
 238 HUGH CRICHTONS ROMANCE. 
 
 'Thank you.' Hugh paused, and then 
 said, he hardly knew how ungraciously : ' I 
 shall not interfere with you : you can, of 
 course, do as you like. I believe I ought to 
 speak to Mysie ; but, of course, you know 
 what she will say.' 
 
 Arthur laughed joyously, little knowing 
 how the gay, confident sound smote on 
 Hugh's ears. 
 
 ' You're very good, old fellow,' he said.. 
 'Don't imagine I think my good fortune a 
 matter of course. But I want to hear all 
 your adventures. We have set upon you 
 before you have even had your dinner,, 
 which is cruel. How many girls did Jem fall 
 a victim to ? Have you brought him home 
 safe?' 
 
 'Jem took very good care of himself. 
 But, as you say, it is dinner time. I must 
 see if my things have come.' 
 
 ' You've never wished me good luck I
 
 MYSIE. 239^ 
 
 Well, you- have assured it to me, whicli is 
 better.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' said Hugh ; ' I wish you joy, 
 and certainly would not be the means of 
 interfering with your good fortune.'
 
 ^40 nuGii cmcETONS komance. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIY. 
 
 SMOOTH WATEHS. 
 
 * the old June weatlier, 
 
 Blue above lane and wall.' 
 
 '^ You are quite sure of your own mind, 
 Mysie ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Hugh. I am quite certain.' 
 ' Because I ought to set before you that 
 you might do nmch better for yourself. You 
 have seen very few people, and I ought not 
 to let you act upon impulse,' said Hugh, in 
 the driest of voices. 
 
 Mysie had been prepared for this appeal ; 
 and, though she blushed crimson and kept 
 Jier eyes on her lap, she replied, not by 
 protestations, but by the arguments which
 
 SMOOTH WATEES. 241 
 
 she thought ought to prove convincing. 
 Hugh had called her into the study, a little 
 room looking out on the garden, and more 
 or less appropriated to himself. There was 
 another room which all tlie young men 
 shared when at home, and where pipes, 
 guns, dogs, and books were to be found in 
 wild confusion ; but this was Hugh's sanctum, 
 where he wrote letters and transacted busi- 
 ness and possibly read the highly-respectable 
 volumes that lined its walls. Mysie sat in 
 a great leather chair by the window, with 
 the flickerino; sun on her bricrht brown hair 
 and the shadows of the roses on her gay 
 green and wliite dress. 
 
 ' I know,' she said modestly, but quite 
 clearly, 'that perhaps some one richer than 
 Arthur might — might meet me by- and- 
 
 by-' 
 
 ' Exactly,' said Hugh. 
 ' But then, Hugh, you cannot be sure of 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 tliat, and what would it matter, when — when 
 my mind was made up ? ' 
 
 ' If you know your own mind, Mysie/ 
 
 ' I might not know it if I had only just 
 met him. People often make mistakes then. 
 But— but ' 
 
 'Well,' said Hugh, kindly, as she stam- 
 mered and stopped, ' what is it, Mysie ? 
 Don't be afraid. I only want to know your 
 thoughts exactly.' 
 
 ' I think,' said poor Mysie, though with 
 much confusion, ' that I ought to say them, 
 as you seem to think it is I wdio have the 
 advantage. I could never give Arthur up, 
 and there will be plenty of time for you to 
 see, as he says he thinks that — that — there 
 must be a year at least. I would promise 
 to tell you if I did change, and / should 
 not mind not being called engaged to him, 
 though he wishes it. I hope you believe 
 me, because I know it depends on that.* 
 
 '- Yes, Mysie/ said Hugh, ' I believe you.
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 243 
 
 "You mean to say nothing can change your 
 love for Arthur, no one could over-persuade 
 you, no one could frighten you ; you are so 
 ;sure of it and of him that you don't care 
 for any outward tie to bind you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mysie, rather appalled at the 
 •emphasis with which this speech was uttered, 
 but holding bravely to her colours ; ' that is 
 what I mean. For you see, Hugh, we know 
 all about each other so well.' 
 
 ' Then, Mysie, I shall not consider it 
 necessary to make any opposition.' 
 
 Mysie got up and said : ' Thank you, 
 Hugh,' and slowly moved away. Slie 
 thought Hugh would have congratulated her 
 and kissed her, as he had done all her life on 
 set occasions ; but he let her go in silence, 
 and, left alone, stood staring into the empty 
 grate with bitter thoughts in his heart. 
 Here was this girl had won her way 
 by her own fearless confidence, her ab- 
 solute trust in herself and her lover. How 
 
 E 2
 
 244 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMAISX^E. 
 
 fortune smiled on the wishes of this pair T 
 How snre might Arthur be of his happy 
 future ! He turned restlessly round and,, 
 looking out of the window, saw Mysie run 
 down the garden-path with flying feet, saw- 
 Arthur spring up from the grass, meet her, 
 and draw her away into the shrubbery ; 
 heard the low murmur of their voices, and 
 the gay, careless laughter, called forth by the 
 reaction from Mysie's anxiety and suspense. 
 It was but a fortnight since he, too, had 
 laughed idly and carelessly over Yiolante's 
 flowers ; but a fortnight since he, too, had 
 thought himself happy in his love. But he 
 had lost his faith in the poor child who was 
 all unknown and un vouched for, and she had 
 had no power to stand up for herself. The 
 difference between this perfectly simple, 
 straiditforward encratrement and the foolish, 
 impossible dream from which he told himself 
 that it was well to wake struck him forcibly. 
 It was the contrast between good and ill
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 245 
 
 fortune, between success and failure. There 
 were times wlien Hugh felt utterly miserable, 
 ^nd when the profound silence in which his 
 .short, wild love-story was buried was in- 
 tolerable to him — thankful as he was for it in 
 cooler moments ; times when he longed so to 
 hear Violante's name that he felt the wildest 
 desire to tell his foolish secret. It is needless 
 to say that he never did tell it, not being of 
 a confiding nature ; but concealment is nearly 
 as fatal, in many cases, to the temper as to 
 the complexion ; and poor Hugli was un- 
 -accountably and unromantically cross. Why, 
 when Arthur was teaching his Skye terrier 
 to jump over a stick, did Hugh feel that if 
 that little beast jumped over at exactly the 
 -same height once more he must wring its 
 neck ? Why, when his mother complained 
 that the rabbits had eaten her carnations, 
 did he positively assert that no mortal rabbit 
 could possibly have come near them. And 
 was it not unworthy of him to feel so ex-
 
 246 HUGH CRICHTOX'S EOMAXCE. 
 
 ceedingly irritated when Arthur produced^ 
 the corpse of the offender, having shot it 
 from his bedroom window the next morning- 
 in the act of eatin^:^ the one remainincf shoot? 
 Why should he oppose the Mayor of Oxley 
 on the subject of gas and the Eector of Eed- 
 hurst about the new schools ? He advocated 
 neither physical nor mental darkness, and 
 when he became aware that he was resting 
 his objections on the colour of the bricks 
 proposed to be used in the building he 
 pulled himself up and gave in wdth a good 
 grace. But, surely, anyone with ordinary 
 self-control would not allow these trifles to 
 irritate him. Hugh sometimes felt a dim 
 suspicion that, though he had a very good 
 self on the whole, controlling it was not his 
 strong point. Moreover, Mrs. Crichton had 
 made the engagement an occasion for a great 
 deal of country summer gaiety, and Hugh 
 was persecuted by croquet and archery- 
 parties, picnics and dances. He was usually
 
 SMOOTH WATEES. 24 
 
 very particular in what he called ' doing his 
 duty to society ; ' but now these things were 
 intolerable to him ; and, worst of all, per- 
 haps, was the sunshiny, peaceful mirth of the 
 happy love-story that was working itself out 
 beside him. Arthur shrewdly suspected that 
 there was something amiss with nis cousin ; 
 but they were not on terms for him to invite 
 a confidence, and he contented himself with 
 the idea of consulting Jem, and by taking 
 on himself, with unobtrusive goodnature, all 
 the trouble of the many small arrangements 
 that devolve on the young men of a country 
 house in times of unusual gaiety, even to 
 enter taininc]^ the visitors when Hu^^h mi^ht 
 have been free from business and when a 
 stroll with Mysie would have been far pre- 
 ferable to himself. 
 
 ' Hugh doesn't like it,' he would say ; 
 ' and I think he's rather out of sorts ; so we 
 mustn't bother him.' 
 
 Hugh rewarded him by wondering how
 
 248 HUGH CmCHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 he could care for such trifles, and by some- 
 what despising the comfortable, unsentimental 
 terms of the two lovers, even while he envied 
 them only too bitterly. 
 
 Doubtless they were enviable ; for in 
 between-times many a sweet morsel fell to 
 their lot, and one shining hour rested in 
 Arthur's memory in the days to come as the 
 typical instance of the warm home-like 
 sunshine, the every-day happiness, of the 
 summer when he was engaged to Mysie. 
 
 Once upon a thne — there seems no fitter 
 beginning — on a still, hot summer afternoon, 
 Arthur and Mysie went down the new-mown 
 meadows to the water- side. They were 
 going in a boat down the canal to where it 
 joined the river at a place called Fordham 
 Beeches, where Frederica and Flossy Yenning 
 were to meet them, having walked through 
 the woods. 
 
 Oxley canal was but a canal. Its waters 
 sparkled over no pebbles, revealed no pellucid
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 241) 
 
 •depths ; but to-day its dull and sluggish face 
 reflected the ' blue, unclouded weather/ and 
 the slow oars splashed up living light. 
 The speedwells were hardly faded, the pink 
 Ibind-weed blossomed all over its grassy 
 edges. The flat meadows were green as 
 emerald. Pollard willows hung over one 
 side, and brightly-painted barges were tugged 
 along by the towing-path on the other. 
 
 Arthiu- rowed slowly, and Mysie sat, in 
 her big straw hat, facing him ; and they 
 talked of the time when they should live 
 together in the old red-brick Bank House, in 
 Oxley, unless Hugh married ; and then there 
 were the pretty little villas on the Eedhurst 
 road. They talked of ways and means, 
 pounds, shillings, and pence ; and laid their 
 plans, and settled what they would and what 
 they would not do ; and how, in a year's time, 
 Hugh would be satisfied of Arthur's capacity 
 and steadiness, and would admit him to that 
 share in the Bank proposed for him by his
 
 250 HUGH CRICHTOXS ROMANCE. 
 
 father. And, as tliey talked, they passed 
 along the back of Eedhiirst village and past 
 the turnip-fields, where the little partridges 
 were bemnnins^ to run and flutter, and 
 Hugh's bit of copse, where little brown 
 rabbits were already taking their evenings 
 airing. 
 
 ' Too many by half,' said Arthur, and 
 Mysie declared that he was cruel, as their 
 course was stopped by Eedhurst lock, 
 rendered necessary by the more broken, 
 ground. 
 
 The lock-keeper's little cottage, in a 
 bower of vines, stood on one side ; and Mysie 
 blushed as she sat in the boat, for the men 
 smiled as they greeted Arthur and re- 
 sponded to his remark on the rabbits ; and 
 the lock-keeper's daughter — a tall girl, with 
 fan' hair flying in the sun — laughed as she- 
 curtseyed and called her little sister to ' look. 
 at Miss Mysie.' 
 
 ' Ahce Wood sees us,' whispered Mysie..
 
 SMOOTH WATEKS. 251 
 
 * We can see Alice Wood/ said Arthur, 
 as the nursery-gardener's smart seedsman 
 strolled by with a parcel, and whispered to 
 the girl, who turned off giggling, shy of the 
 young lady, who gave her a half- sympathetic 
 smile as the boat slo\vly sank down — down 
 into the cool, damp shadow — down beloAV the* 
 steep, dank sides, below the sparkling water — 
 till the great doors groaned back and they 
 shot out into light and sunshine and lifa 
 again. 
 
 Mysie drew a long breath. 
 
 ' I am glad to get out,' she said. ' It 
 seems like the bottom of the sea.' 
 
 Arthiu- laughed. 
 
 'I am afraid we shouldn't make many 
 scientific discoveries here. It would be 
 hardly hke dredging the deep sea-water.' 
 
 ' Do you know,' said Mysie, ' I always 
 think of the bottom of the sea as if it was like 
 Andersen's Little Mermaid, with beautiful 
 shells and strange creatures and coloured
 
 ^52 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROM.\XCE. 
 
 sea-weeds covering tlie poor drowned people 
 like tlie leaves did the children in the wood? ' 
 ' " Should toss with tangle and with shells," * 
 ■quoted Arthur. ' I don't think one associates 
 the idea of rest with drowning.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Mysie, ' I did, after I read that 
 story. It was my great favourite.' 
 
 'You must show it to me. But I say, 
 my darling, look out ! That old sw^an wants 
 your blue ribbons.' 
 
 The great majestic swan, with white 
 ruffled plumes and fierce writhes of his long 
 neck, bore down fiercely on them. 
 
 ' Now^, he has come down the river from 
 Eedhurst,' said Mysie. ' Eow faster, Arthur ; 
 he is horribly fierce, and, besides, the others 
 will be tired of waiting.' 
 
 ' ^ever mind them,' said Arthur, ' we 
 shall be in the river in a moment, and then, 
 we're close on Pordham Beeches.' 
 
 So they sped on their way to where the 
 canal joined the bed of the river, and here
 
 SMOOTH WATEES. 25^ 
 
 the banks were broken and picturesque ; great 
 yellow flags, and white star-like lilies grew in 
 the shallow water ; and now the great grey 
 boles of Fordham Beeches appeared rising 
 from their carpet of bright brown leaves. 
 
 ' There are the girls/ said Mysie, waving 
 her hand. 
 
 Arthur rested on his oars and tilted his 
 hat back, with a sudden twinkle of consterna- 
 tion in his merry grey eyes : 
 
 ' I say, Mysie, we've forgotten the basket ! '' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear Arthur, what shall we do ? 
 You called me to look at that horrid little 
 tom-tit just as I was going to give it to you. 
 The strawberries and everything ! And they 
 have walked all these miles in the heat ! ' 
 
 ' I know,' cried Arthur. ' Don't you say 
 a word. I'll settle it.' 
 
 And as they pulled into the landing and 
 Plossy and Frederica ran down to meet them 
 he called out : 
 
 ' I say, Flossy, get into the boat. I've got
 
 254 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 jsucli a splendid idea. We'll go and eat 
 strawberries at " The Pot of Lilies." ' 
 
 ' " The Pot of Lihes ! " But you've 
 brought some strawberries, haven't you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind ! It's such a jolly place. 
 You can get a capital glass of beer there, and 
 it's only fifty yards further on. Jump in, 
 Freddie.' 
 
 'But, Arthur, are you quite sure it's 
 proper?' said Mysie. 
 
 ' Proper ? oh, dear, yes ! No one there 
 ■on a week-day.' 
 
 ' Now, if you will humbly confess that you 
 and Mysie forgot all about the provisions, 
 ^nd that you never thought of " The Pot of 
 Lihes" till this moment, we'll come,' said 
 Plossy. 
 
 ' Plossy ! I'll confess I never heard of 
 " The Pot of Lihes " till Mysie mentioned that 
 you and she rowed up here now and then of 
 an evening ! Come along. I'll take care of
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 255 
 
 you, and neither Hugli nor Miss Venning will 
 come and prociorize us.' 
 
 'The Pot of Lilies ' was a tiny public-house, 
 so called from the hhes of the valley which 
 were supposed to grow wild in Fordham 
 Woods. It stood close by the water's edge, 
 with a little landing-place of its own, and a 
 quaint, small-paned bow-window hanging 
 over the river. Bright flowers grew on 
 every window-sill and the Lily sign-board 
 swung overhead. On one side w^as a garden, 
 where arches and arbours, twined with 
 •creepers, shaded one or two little tables ; for 
 here, on fine Sunday evenings, Oxley and 
 Eedhurst sometimes came to tea. 
 
 Arthur sprang out of the boat and went 
 in alone ; but, soon reappearing, said : 
 
 ' Come along ; it's all right,* and a very 
 smiling hostess escorted the girls into the 
 bow-windowed sitting-room while Arthur 
 went to make his further arrangements. 
 
 There were china shepherds and great
 
 256 HUGH CKICHTOX'S KOMAXCE. 
 
 shells on the mantelpiece, queer coloured 
 prints of the Queen and the Duke of 
 Welhngton on tlie walls, which were broken 
 up by endless beams and cupboards. 
 
 ' What a dear little room ! ' said Mysie ; 
 and, though the floor was sanded and there 
 was a faint odour suggestive of beer and 
 pipes, perhaps this only gave a slight flavour 
 of novelty to the situation. 
 
 'I'm sure. Miss,' said the landlady, ad- 
 dressing Flossy, who looked the most re- 
 sponsible of the party, ' I only wish the 
 gentleman had sent his orders beforehand, 
 for in the middle of the week, you see, Miss, 
 we don't have so much company. If you'll 
 
 excuse me. Miss ' and she vanished in 
 
 search of various necessaries. 
 
 Arthur soon returned, saying : 
 
 ' We're «^oinfy to have tea in an arbour. 
 It's a lovely spot ! ' 
 
 The three girls followed him down the 
 little gravel path, bordered by box edgings.
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 257 
 
 to an erection wliicli was termed by the 
 proprietress ' tlie liarbour,' and which was 
 built of wood and partly shaded by an apple- 
 tree. Monthly roses climbed up its trellis- 
 work front ; and stones, shells, and broken 
 bottles were picturesquely disposed in heaps 
 at its two sides. It contained some chairs 
 xmd a round table, on which preparations for 
 their meal were begun, and at present 
 consisted of a cloth and k large mustard-pot. 
 This was, however, followed by slices of 
 ham, bread and butter, and water-cresses, 
 and by some tea, which — as neither young 
 lady would take on herself to pour it out — 
 Arthur superintended, and which proved so 
 atrocious that he substituted ginger-beer for 
 the girls and some bottled beer for himself. 
 They might have drunk the tea, however, 
 rejoicing; for they hardly knew whether 
 the setting sun on the river or the steel 
 forks and the great tall tumblers were the 
 most dehghtful, so full of merriment were 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 HUGH CEICHTOJ^'S KOMANCE. 
 
 they at this unusual and amusing festivity^ 
 and they afforded quite as much amusement 
 as they received; for hearty landlady and' 
 pretty barmaid knew well enough who these- 
 blushing, smiling, well-dressed young ladies 
 were, and that Mr. Arthiir Spencer, of Eed- 
 hurst, was engaged to one of them. 
 
 Presently strawberries and raspberries- 
 and currants, red, black, and white, appeared 
 on the table. 
 
 ' Mysie,' whispered Arthur, as he helped 
 her to the fruit, ' the Oxley folk always 
 come out here for their wedding trip. If 
 they're very swell they stay a week. Shall 
 we follow their example ? ' 
 
 Mysie, of course, blushed and bridled, and 
 Arthur said aloud : 
 
 ' I propose we come and have tea here' 
 every summer. This is the 15th of July; 
 let us remember it next year.' 
 
 'Perhaps it will rain next year,' said 
 Prederica.
 
 SMOOTH WATERS. 259 
 
 ' Then we will have tea inside the bow- 
 window. What, Mysie ! you're not looking 
 at your watch ? It's not time to go home.' 
 
 It proved, however, time to think of it ; 
 and after a little more lingering and a few 
 more raspberries the four took boat again. 
 Flossy and Frederica rowed home through 
 the soft summer twilight, wliile Arthur and 
 Mysie sat side by side in the stern. Mysie 
 sang a melancholy little song about ' days 
 of old,' and how 
 
 * The sky was blue in the days of old, 
 Bat now it is always grey ; ' 
 
 and then they all laughed at the way they 
 would describe what Artliur called ' their 
 little summer outing' to the home party, 
 for the sentiment of Mysie's song found no 
 echo in the heart of any one of them. 
 
 But the moon rose, and the boat came 
 to land at last ; they came home through 
 the meadows ; and the tea-drinking at ' The 
 Pot of Lihes ' was over. 
 
 H 2
 
 260 HUGH crichton's R0MA>'CE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 
 ' Boys and girls, come out to play ! ' 
 
 ^0 SANG Florence Yenning as slie danced 
 down the empty scliool-room at Oxley Manor 
 on the 3rd of August. The last young lady 
 had driven from the door — even the French 
 governess had gone to see her friends ; and 
 Flossy, whose devotion to the cause of edu- 
 cation by no means precluded a thorough 
 enjoyment of peace and liberty, sang and 
 danced as she picked up stray school gram- 
 mars and dictionaries and consigned them to 
 a six-weeks' imprisonment in the cupboard. 
 Clarissa had been standing on a form to
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 261 
 
 reach its top shelf; and now she sat down 
 on the desk, with her feet on the form, and 
 yawned. 
 
 ' What are you going to do to-day.^ ' said 
 Flossy. 
 
 ' Nothing,' replied Clarissa, with em- 
 phasis. ' I shall go to sleep, or read " Tom 
 Brown " — that's all about boys — or nurse the 
 kitten,' picking it up and kissing it, ' which 
 is babyish in a governess, you know.' 
 
 ' Dear me I ' said Flossy, ' I shouldn't 
 care what it was if I liked to do it. Well, 
 it's nice to have some time to oneself. I 
 shall draw hard. I shall go to the School of 
 Art twice a-week, and see if I can't get into 
 the Life class ; and I shall be able to help at 
 the drawing classes they're having down at 
 Oxley National School. And I want to have 
 a tea for my Sunday class — I wonder if 
 Mary would ! And I never do read anything 
 steadily when the girls are here. Besides,' 
 with equal vivacity, ' I want a new dress,
 
 262 HUGH cpjchton's romance. 
 
 and must see about it ; I think 111 do that 
 first; 
 
 ' Anything else in a small way ? ' said 
 Clarissa. 
 
 ' Oh, fifty other things if I'd time to 
 think of them.' 
 
 ' Well/ said Clarissa, in languid, sleepy 
 tones, ' I don't want to read a novel ; 
 there would be sure to be any number of 
 girls in it I I'd like to be a man myself for 
 the holidays, for a change. One would take 
 an interest in girls then, at any rate ! ' 
 
 ' Dear me, why don't you take an interest 
 
 in them ? I am sm:e forming the minds of 
 
 others is the most interesting thing possible.' 
 
 ' If one had a mind of one's own. / 
 
 haven't.' 
 
 ' Clarissa, I call that affectation. I don't 
 consider you at all a stupid person.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Clarissa, again kissing 
 the kitten. 
 
 ' Only you are so lazy. Now, will you
 
 OUT IN THE COLD* 26^ 
 
 ^come into Oxley about my dress ? You know 
 Ave are to dine at Eedhurst to-night.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mary will go with you about your 
 dress. Is James Crichton come home? ' 
 
 ' Yes, for a fortnight. I want to show 
 him my sketches, and see those he made in 
 Italy. Well, I'll try and get Mary ; but I 
 think she is busy. She has been writing to 
 Mrs. Grey abqut a girl to come as governess- 
 , pupil.' 
 
 ' That girl will be a bore,' said Clarissa. 
 
 'Kow, really,' cried Flossy, in tones of 
 virtuous indignation, 'I do think that's a 
 shame. I am very glad of the opportunity. 
 I disapprove of all the books that are written 
 on that subject. They put it into girls* 
 heads to pity themselves, even if they are 
 true. And I intend that there shall be a 
 tone here that will be quite different. Think 
 what a chance it is for really helping a girl ! 
 I wish we could have two or tliree. I shall 
 make a friend of her, and then see if the big
 
 264 HUGH CRICHTOiS'S EOMANCE. 
 
 girls don't do so too. But if you go and' 
 have old-fashioned prejudices — ' 
 
 ' I won't make her do my hair, if that's 
 what you mean,' said Clarissa, meekly. 
 ' Well, Kitty, come along,' and, with slow, 
 lazy steps, she sought the drawing-room, 
 ■where she sat in an easy-chair with the kitten 
 in her lap and read ' Punch.' 
 
 Flossy, finding that her eldest sister w^as 
 not inclined to spend her first leisure hours 
 in the hot walk to Oxley, got ready to go by 
 herself. If Mysie Crofton's maiden bower 
 was ordered and coloured by the quiet 
 completeness and tasteful arrangement that 
 marked all her doings, Florence Yenning's 
 afforded a proof of the variety and ambition 
 of her aims and of the many hobbies that 
 chased each other through her soul. With 
 so many irons in the fire it was no marvel 
 that some of them were apt to grow cold ; 
 that the plants and flowers, the arrangement 
 of which she considered a form of art, and.
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 265 
 
 in whicli she took great pride, sometimes 
 •wanted water ; that a chalk head was dis- 
 placed, half finished, by a water-colour 
 landscape ; and that the books in use at the 
 moment were apt to tumble off the edges of 
 her dressing-table, where they had sought a 
 last refuge. Moreover, Flossy, in a severe 
 fit of historical and artistic fever, had once 
 painted the panels of her room with scenes 
 from English history, set in frames of deco- 
 rative flowers and scrolls. The flowers were 
 pretty, but the historical heroes — though ex- 
 ceedingly creditable to Flossy's research and, 
 indeed, to her powers of execution — were 
 hardly up to the mark of the cartoons ; and 
 their arms and legs, as her artistic knowledge 
 increased, became a source of anxiety, if not 
 of distress, though she could not resolve to 
 have them hidden by what Miss Venning 
 called a ' nice clean tint of buff.' At present 
 history and heroes were finding an outlet on 
 sundry pages of foolscap ; which, as Clarissa
 
 266 HUGH CRICHTOX'S KOM^VXCE. 
 
 observed, took up less room ; and wliicli 
 reflected, perhaps, better the pictures of 
 Flossy 's imagination. With her head full 
 of the newest and most successful, Flossy set 
 off down the sunny road to Oxley. She 
 walked fast, regardless that the heat deep- 
 ened her pink cheeks to crimson — for Flossy 
 had always rather more to do than her time 
 permitted — and she walked well, with a free, 
 bounding step, carrying her head well up ia 
 the air ; with smiling eyes, satisfied with 
 their own thoughts, yet ready for any diver- 
 sion from them. The hero gave place to 
 blue and white muslin and to a new hat. 
 Flossy also arranged her intended drawing 
 lessons, paid a call or two, transacted a little 
 Sunday-school business, and came home in 
 time to dress for the Eedhurst dinner-party*, 
 She found Clarissa sighing over the family 
 tea that was to be resigned in consequence ; 
 but sighs were of no avail in averting the
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 267 
 
 •evil any more than were the grumbles of 
 Hugh over the necessity of entertaining his 
 neighbours. Miss Yenning was always a 
 pleasant and popular person. Her fresh com- 
 plexion and her blue eyes, her handsome 
 ^silk, and her pleasant tongue ornamented a 
 party ; but Clarissa, though thought pretty, 
 was regarded as more entirely the school- 
 mistress, and, when so regarded, had httle 
 to say for herself Flossy was too devoid 
 of sentiment and of vanity and too full of 
 her own concerns to be a favourite with 
 young men. James thought her overpower- 
 ing ; and though Hugh was at ease with her, 
 no one ever having suggested that he ought 
 'to marry her — since Flossy, handsome as she 
 ■was, was just the sort of girl who does not 
 •easily get credited with a lover — he rarely 
 ^ave her a second thought. But she and 
 Arthur were excellent friends, and she was 
 .much more intimate with the whole family
 
 268 HUGH cf.ichton's eomance. 
 
 than was Clarissa, in whose younger days nO' 
 girls liad existed at Eedhurst to afford an, 
 excuse for intercourse. 
 
 James had arrived the day before. He- 
 was warmly greeted by his mother ; and, as 
 he congratulated Arthur and Mysie, was 
 informed that Hugh had gone to a magis- 
 trates' meeting. Miss Katie Clinton, who 
 was staying in the house, had been playing 
 croquet in pink muslin with Frederica and 
 the schoolboy George ; and as they all sat on 
 the terrace at tea and Hugh's ordinary 
 doings and sayings w^ere mentioned, James- 
 began to feel an odd sort of discrepancy 
 between his thoughts and the actual facts. 
 ' Hugh had been rather astonished at their 
 news. Yes, he gave very prudent advice ; but, 
 still, he had given his consent.' ' Hugh did 
 not want the new railway to come through 
 Pordham : he was going to vote against it. 
 Had he talked much about Italy .^ Yes, a 
 good deal. He had described Civita Bella
 
 OUT IN THE COLD. 269 
 
 ■and the art galleries there, and the weather, 
 and the Eoman Amphitheatre.' 
 
 And presently Hugh came back, greeted 
 Jem much in his usual way, and, sitting 
 •down, began to talk of his meeting, and how 
 very foolish he considered his brother-magis- 
 trates' opinion of the matter in hand. James 
 could not help staring at him. Could this 
 be the Hugh who had declared to him in 
 passionate language that life would be worth 
 nothing without Violante? Had he really 
 lectured, advised, and reproved, and alto- 
 gether taken the upper hand of the brother 
 now sitting before him ? ' I could as soon 
 •call at Lambeth and lecture the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury,' thought James. ' Surely 
 he never begged and prayed me to take his 
 part with the Mum ! Does he remember it 
 all as well as I do? He doesn't look 
 :altered.' 
 
 And yet James missed something that 
 had been in his brother's face during that
 
 270 HUGH CRICHTON's ROMA^X'E. 
 
 brief fortniglit tliey liad spent together at 
 Civita Bella. Lights and shadows had all 
 been stronger then ; the clear, sensible eyes 
 had changed and softened, and the hand- 
 some lips, that Hugh would never hide by a 
 moustache, had not been set so close together. 
 As James turned his eyes away from this in- 
 spection they met Arthur's, looking at him 
 curiously. 
 
 ^ Well, Arty,* he said, getting up, ' come- 
 and have a smoke, and let's hear all about 
 
 it; 
 
 Jem and Arthur were much more com- 
 panionable together than either of them was 
 with Hugh, and now strolled down the 
 garden, and after a little desultory talk 
 Jem said : 
 
 ' Well, and what did Hugh say to you ? ' 
 
 'I declare, Jem, I never was in such a 
 
 funk in my life! Hugh said — just what he 
 
 ought to have said, of course ; but he wasn't 
 
 gushing.'
 
 OUT IX THE COLD. 271 
 
 ' No ? And how has he conducted him- 
 self since ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Arthur, ' if it were possible 
 that Hugh could have fallen a victim to- 
 some lovely black-eyed peasant, or — you 
 didn't meet any girls, did you ? ' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Arthur ! Everyone isn't in 
 your predicament.' 
 
 'Then the Bank must be shaky,' said 
 Arthur coolly. 
 
 ' Do you mean to say that Hugh is out 
 of sorts ? ' said Jem, after a little pause. 
 
 ' Well,' said Arthur, more seriously, ' I 
 shouldn't like to think that he was put out 
 about Mysie and me ; but everything rubs 
 him up the wrong way. To give you an 
 instance : You know there's to be a great 
 gathering to open the new Town Hall, and 
 a concert and dinner. The Lord-Lieutenant 
 is to bring his bride, and Hugh is on the 
 committee. Well, I went to one of the 
 meetings to represent the interests of Eed-
 
 272 HUGH CRICHTOIS'S EOMANCE. 
 
 liurst, as the villages round are to send their 
 choirs and school- children to sing " God 
 Save the Queen" in the square outside. So 
 I went to see that our people were provided 
 for, and also to get good places for Aunt 
 Lily and the girls. There were the rector, 
 and Sir William Eibstone, and the mayor, 
 and everyone else. You never heard any- 
 thing like the way in which Hugh bothered 
 them. Not a suggestion would he let pass 
 without pulling it all to pieces, till they 
 came to a perfect deadlock. Hugh was 
 perfectly civil, but cantankerous enough to 
 drive the old gentlemen frantic, and gene- 
 rally he knows exactly \7here to give in. I 
 thought he was over-worked, and begged 
 him to let me begin going to the Bank ; but 
 he will say I shall not pledge myself without 
 due consideration ; which, you know, Jem, 
 is really enough to drive a fellow wild! 
 Consider ? As if I hadn't considered ! He 
 seems to think one can never cease to be 
 a boy ! ' concluded Arthur, viciously.
 
 OUT IX THE COLD. 273 
 
 James laughed. He would mucli have 
 liked to confide the story to Arthur ; but 
 somehow he felt that Hugh regarded it so 
 seriously that he could not tell it as a good 
 joke, in which light Arthur, never having 
 seen Violante, would be almost sure to 
 regard it. A few hours soon showed him 
 the truth of his cousin's remarks. Hugh, 
 though somewhat condescending, was gene- 
 rally courteous and obliging enough ; but the 
 captious way in which he complained of the 
 approaching dinner-party, and the spiteful 
 comments he made on Miss Clinton's manners 
 and looks, his scornful laugh at Artliur's open 
 boyish love-making, were the spray that in • 
 dicated the waters of a bitter fountain. But 
 he did not soften, even to his brother ; on the 
 contrary, with defiant bravado, he referred 
 to the subject, asking James if he did not 
 triumph in the result of his predictions that 
 all would soon be as if his foohsh fancy had 
 never come to disturb him. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 HUGH CRICHTOXS ROMANCE. 
 
 James was not a person to stir tlie waters, 
 even witli a view to their final sweetening. 
 He disliked a fuss too miicli to face the 
 matter out. He did not sympathise with the 
 feelings which he supposed to exist in 
 Hugh's breast ; it was better to suppose the 
 thing a trifle, after all ; so he answered : 
 
 ' Oh, well, no one's the worse for a bit 
 of romance in their life.' 
 
 ' To supply them with pleasant memories, 
 eh ? You've hit it exactly.' 
 
 Hugh, said no more, but a sense of con- 
 tempt for the brother who was his only con- 
 fidant added to the loneliness that oppressed 
 him. In this humour, to sit down to dinner 
 with Mrs. Har court on one side of him and 
 Miss Clinton on the other seemed intolerable 
 thraldom, and every subject more unprofit- 
 able than the one before it. He was so 
 inharmonious a liost that the discussion on 
 local politics grew rather warm, though Mrs. 
 Crichton sat smiling through any amount of
 
 OUT IX THE COLD. 275 
 
 ■* gentlemen's talk.' James wondered Low- 
 anyone could excite themselves over 
 •drainage and rights of way; and Arthur 
 strenuously entertained the neglected ladies 
 on either side of him, glinting in between- 
 times at Mysie as she sat far av^ay on the 
 •other side of the table. He was the first to 
 propose music after dinner, and Flossy was 
 the first lady to accede to his request. 
 
 She stood up, erect, fair, and rosy, and 
 began to sing, clearly and correctly, her last 
 Italian song : ' Batti, batti.' 
 
 Flossy was tolerably self-confident. She 
 had a good voice and ear, and she sang her 
 Italian better than is usual with young ladies, 
 «ure of applause at the end. She little knew 
 how her first notes startled two of her 
 audience. James gave a great jump. ' Pro- 
 fanation ! ' he murmured, as he thought of 
 the exquisite voice and accent in which he 
 had last heard the words uttered, of the 
 lovely scared eyes that had so belied their 
 
 T 2
 
 276 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 meaning. Jem smiled and sighed and dre\v^ 
 nearer to listen, full of the ' associations ' of 
 the song, even while he glanced round to see 
 how his brother had taken it. 
 
 There is a vast gulf between passion and 
 sentiment, and Hugh was too much under 
 the dominion of the one to endure the other. 
 He did not wait for the second line of the- 
 song, but turned and escaped from it out 
 into the warm twihght garden, where the 
 clear, strong notes pursued him relentlessly. 
 He sat down on a bench and hid his face in 
 his hands. ' Yiolante ! Yiolante ! ' he cried, 
 half aloud. ' Oh, what a fool I was not ta- 
 wait one moment longer! Then I should 
 have been sure ! What is the use of it all ' — 
 And then Hugh got up and laughed, 
 keenly conscious of the absurdity of sitting 
 here in his dress-coat lamenting; hating 
 himself for his folly, and yet haunted by the 
 old, soft accents : ' I was frightened, Signor 
 Hugo;
 
 OUT IX THE COLD. 277 
 
 Suddenly the quiet garden seemed filled 
 with chattering and laughing. All the 
 younger ones had streamed out on to the 
 terrace, and were wandering about in twos 
 and threes. Arthur had Mysie to himself 
 at last, and as they Av^andered past Hugh's 
 hiding-place, he heard her say, mischievously, 
 something about 'Katie's charming conver- 
 sation,' and Arthur retort with ' That curate 
 that was sitting by you ; ' and then she threw 
 a rose at him and they both laughed, till 
 Hugh muttered passionately to himself: 'I 
 wish I had never got to hear them play the 
 fool and laudi a^ain.'
 
 278 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 SUNDAY AJs^D MONDAY. 
 
 ' There is no time like spring, 
 
 Like spring- that passes by ; 
 
 There is no life like spring-life born to die.' 
 
 Hugh Crichton was at this time in the sort 
 of humour which, dignified by the name of 
 misanthropy, would have admirably suited: 
 one of those interesting and uncomfortable 
 heroes who stalk through the pages of ro- 
 mance with masks over their faces, under a 
 vow to speak to no one ; or who, like Lara, 
 cloaked and with folded arms, look on at life 
 from an altitude of melancholy and disen- 
 chantment. The world seems to have 
 watched such vagaries in former days with.
 
 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 279 
 
 mucli patience ; but times are changed, and 
 Hugh had far too much to do to fold his 
 arms, and was forced to put on a frock-coat 
 and white waistcoat on Sunday morning as 
 usuaL But an invisible and impalpable mask 
 may be as stifling a3 one made of black 
 velvet ; and the mysterious silence which 
 everyone respected was scarcely a greater 
 effort than the silence of which no one was 
 to suspect the necessity, or the words that 
 seemed so trivial or so foolish. In truth, it 
 was as much to avoid Arthur's constant com- 
 panionship as for any other reason that 
 Hugh had so persistently refused to allow 
 him to begin his work at the Bank. He 
 could not stand Arthur's bright, shrewd eyes 
 upon hmi as they went to and fro, or endure 
 his notice of the fits of idleness which alter- 
 nated with the hard v^'ork to which he thus 
 condemned himself For after liis long ab- 
 sence he had more on hand tlian usual ; and 
 Arthur, who was brisk and business-like and
 
 280 HUGH CRICHTONS ROMAIS-CE. 
 
 justtlienfullof an enei'gy that would liavemade 
 stone-breaking light and interesting work, 
 might have been very helpful to him. Hugh 
 did not, perhaps, dishke the notion of being 
 overworked ; but the fact that he was so did 
 not tend to smooth his temper or to raise his 
 spirits. For, of course, the life of a man of 
 business, with all the calls and occupations of 
 a country gentleman added to it, was an ex- 
 ceedingly laborious one ; but it was Hugh's 
 pride that he had never shirked any of the 
 work to which his father had been born, and 
 that he made the squire give way to the 
 banker where the two clashed. 
 
 James, on growing up, had so decidedly 
 declared in favour of a London life that all 
 notion of his coming into the business had 
 been abandoned ; but there was more since 
 his father's death than Hugh could properly 
 manage ; and so his determination that no 
 pressure should be put on Arthur if his suc- 
 cess at Oxford induced him to wish for a
 
 SUNDAY AND MOM) AY. 281 
 
 more ambitious career had been a real 
 act of kind and liberal judgment. His re- 
 fusal to accept at once Arthur's decision in 
 his favour sprang partly from a foohsh and 
 unworthy pride, which refused to be the 
 better for anyone's sense or good behaviour, 
 and, partly, as has been said, from a sort of 
 personal distaste to his bright young cousin — ^ 
 a feeling which Arthur had done nothing to 
 deserve. Nor was his brother's presence 
 any satisfaction to Hugh. Now that the 
 danger was past, James was quite ready to 
 forget all the annoyance with which he had 
 regarded the matter, and to find the recollec- 
 tion of so romantic an incident rather plea- 
 sant than otherwise. 'What is it to him?' 
 thought Hugh bitterly ; but it was quite true 
 that, even had James been himself concerned 
 and had sincerely felt the disappointment, he 
 would have taken a certain pleasure in re- 
 calling the picturesque aspects of the affair ; 
 could have laughed at himself ' with a smile
 
 282 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 on his lip and a tear in his eye ;' have made 
 full allowance for Yiolante's difficulties, and 
 even speculated a little about her future lot, 
 honestly wishing it to be a prosperous one. 
 He found room for kindly sentiment in his 
 flirtations, and would have derived amuse- 
 ment from the externals even of a real pas- 
 sion. But Hugh's equal judgment fell before 
 the force of personal feeling ; and as he had 
 thoudit of nothing^ at the time but Yiolante- 
 herself his brother's view of the matter 
 seemed to him utterly heartless and frivolous. 
 Sunday w^as a pleasant day to the young- 
 people of Eedhurst. Mr. Harcourt, the 
 Eector, was a very old man, who had christ- 
 ened their mother, and to whom 'Mr. 
 Spencer, of Oxley Bank,' meant their grand- 
 father. He was still fully capable of manag- 
 ing his little country parish ; and though they 
 had heard his sermons very often, and had 
 not had the satisfaction of assisting at many 
 improvements in his church — since the work
 
 SUJsDAY AKD MONDAY. 283 
 
 had been well done for them in a former 
 generation, when Mr. Harcourt, now so 
 cautious, had been regarded as a dangerous 
 innovator — they were very fond of him and 
 of his wife ; and had any one of them, in a 
 foreign country or in future years, recalled 
 the Sundays of their youth it would have 
 been the unaltered and seemingly imalterable 
 services of Eedhurst Church and its white- 
 haired Eector that would have risen before 
 their eyes. Not but that they liked a walk 
 to Oxley and an evening service at the new 
 St. Michael's considerably better than an 
 afternoon one at Eedhurst ; but, whether 
 they deserted his second sermon or not, they 
 rarely failed to present themselves at the 
 Eectory after it was over for a cup of tea 
 and a chat. Indeed, it was almost a second 
 home to Mysie, who had groAvn up to be the 
 young lady of the village — all the Miss Har- 
 courts having married almost before she was. 
 born. Hugh was a very useful and conscien-
 
 284 HUGH CRICHTOX'S ROMANCE. 
 
 tious squire ; his motlier, by nature and posi- 
 tion, a Lady Bountiful : so Eedhurst was a 
 favoured spot. 
 
 ' So you come and eat my apricots, young 
 people, and run away from my sermons ? ' said 
 Mr. Ilarcourt, as he picked out a specially- 
 perfect specimen of the fruit in question and 
 offered it to Mysie, who, with her smiling face 
 peeping out from a sky-blue bonnet, looked 
 much like a bright-eyed forget-me-not. "j 
 
 ' I've been to church and to school, too, 
 tliis afternoon,' said Mysie, with a deprecating 
 look. 
 
 ' Ah, you are always a good girl. Why 
 didn't you bring Arthur with you ? ' 
 
 ' She wouldn't let me come to the Sunday- 
 school,' said Arthur. ' She says the girls 
 laugh at her. So you see, sir, I can't be 
 useful if I would.' 
 
 ' For shame, Arthur ! Mr. Harcourt, he 
 did not want to be of any use, only to walk 
 down with me.'
 
 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 285 
 
 ' Well, my dear, in my young days we 
 liked a walk with our sweethearts on 
 Sundays.' 
 
 ' And I am going to walk with him ta 
 Oxley/ said Mysie, slipping her little hand 
 into the old Eector's arm and very little dis- 
 composed by his joke. 
 
 ' Ay, ay, walk away, and come back and 
 tell me what fine things they're doing at St. 
 Michael's. There is Hugh has never told me 
 a word about Italy. When young men made 
 the grand tour formerly their conversation 
 was quite an enlightenment to their friends/ 
 
 'Weren't they rather a bore, sir?' said 
 Arthur. 
 
 'We weren't so easily bored in those 
 days, my dear boy, by useful information.' 
 
 ' No,' said James, ' those were the days- 
 to live, when each event had time to round 
 into its proper proportion — the days of taste 
 and leisure, when people were simple enough
 
 28G HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 to be excited by a Christmas party or by the 
 €oniing in of a coach.' 
 
 ' But don't you think, Jem,' said Mysie, 
 ^ that they must have been rather dull to 
 care about the coach coming. I've heard 
 Arthur say he used to go at school on a wet 
 half-holiday and watch the trains. I'm sure 
 •he wouldn't have done it if he had had any- 
 thing else to amuse him.' 
 
 ' Very true,' said Arthur. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mrs. Harcourt, ' when I was 
 a girl I used to read Sir Charles Grandison, 
 I)ut I took it down the other day and found 
 it very lengthy.' 
 
 ' Such a prig as Sir Charles Grandison 
 never can have really existed,' said Hugh. 
 
 ' Well, Hugh,' said the Eector, with a 
 humorous twinkle, 'we none of us know 
 what we might come to under favourable 
 circumstances. But, now, what day do you 
 "think to-morrow is ? '
 
 SUNDAY AXD MOXDAY. 287 
 
 ' Your wedding-day, Mr. Harcourt,' said 
 Mysie, after a moment's pause. ' I remember 
 it was on Sunday last year, and you gave 
 Mrs. Harcourt an apricot.' 
 
 * Ah, you're the httie girl for a good 
 memory. Our golden wedding. Yes, it's 
 iifty years ago that I married Mrs. Harcourt, 
 and she wore a dark green riding-habit for 
 the occasion. Fifty years to be thankful 
 for!' 
 
 'Fifty years ago!' said Mysie, rather 
 awestruck. 
 
 ' Yes,' said the Eector's wife, ' and we 
 liave asked the school-children to come up 
 :after school and drink our health ; but not 
 having such a good memory as Mysie I have 
 forgotten some of them. If you could ask 
 the little Woods, my dear, and the Masons 
 to-morrow I should be glad.' 
 
 Mysie promised to do so, and distant 
 chimes soundins^ on their ears reminded 
 them that it was time to start for Oxley,
 
 288 HUGH CmCHTONS EOMAXCE. 
 
 Hugli and his mother went home, the old 
 couple went slowly up their sunny garden- 
 path together, while the young pair, lingering^ 
 a little behind their companions, looked back 
 and smiled. 
 
 ' There's our model, Mysie,' said Arthur,, 
 as he drew her hand through his arm. ' In 
 fifty years' time ' 
 
 'Oh, don't, Arthur!* 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' It frightens me to think of fifty years,^ 
 said Mysie, with quivering lips. Then sud- 
 denly she said, 'I wonder which are the- 
 happiest, they or we ! ' 
 
 ' Let us go to-morrow and ask them,' said 
 Arthur, more lightly, perhaps, than he felt. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! Let us go the first thing- 
 to-morrow and take them some flowers 
 ready for their breakfast — they alway;^ 
 breakfast at eight.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Arthur, ' and they will 
 give us some breakfast. I promised George
 
 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 289 
 
 to take him out shooting to-morrow — the 
 rabbits are really getting intolerable. I 
 want Hugh to come home early and join 
 us.' 
 
 They soon reached St. Michael's and 
 dispersed in search of places, for the church 
 was crowded. Arthur and Mysie had the 
 good luck to find them side by side. 
 Mysie's feelings had been somewhat disturbed 
 by what had passed, and she was glad of the 
 quiet and of the service, which took, her out 
 of herself. The sermons at St. Michael's 
 were considered striking, and this one was 
 about thankfulness. ' He giveth us all things 
 richly to enjoy.' Mysie listened, and 
 thought that she had more to be thankful for 
 than anyone in the world ; and she turned 
 her listening into a prayer that she might 
 never forget it. Arthur hstened too, but 
 his thoughts were less defined and were per- 
 vaded by a certain sense of the prettiness of 
 Mysie's face in its blue setting. 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 And then they stood up and sang — 
 
 * Brief life is here our portion, 
 Brief sorrow, short-lived care j 
 The life that knows no ending, 
 The tearless life, is there,^ 
 
 Brief? And yet they might keep their 
 golden wedding after those long fifty years ! 
 Fifty years of going to church together, of 
 sorrows shared and joys doubled ! And as 
 Mysie's heart went forward to what those 
 joys and sorrows might be it was no wonder 
 that she walked home hushed and silent, 
 though there never came to her a moment's 
 doubt of how she might regard her young 
 lover after the fifty years were past. 
 
 The morning light brought the golden 
 weddins^ before her in a more cheerful 
 aspect, and she had gathered most of her 
 flowers and was arranging them in a large 
 basket before Arthur joined her, accusing 
 her of being unnecessarily early. 
 
 ' Oh, I wanted to gather plenty. Look. 
 1 have put the hothouse flowers in the centre,
 
 SUNDAY AXD MONDAY. 291 
 
 and then the outdoor ones, and ferns round 
 the edge/ 
 
 'And what's that?' 
 
 ' That is a note from Aunt Lily to ask 
 them to come up to dinner to-night. It is 
 all ready now,' 
 
 Arthur took up the basket, and they went 
 down the garden, out at a side-gate, and 
 across the road into the almost adjoimng 
 garden of tlie Eectory. This was small, but 
 within walls, and so gay with flowers as to 
 seem to render Mysie's gift unnecessary. 
 Arthur gave her one side of the basket, and 
 they came across the lawn in the bright 
 morning sunshine up to the open French 
 window of the dining-room, where Mr. and 
 Mrs. Harcourt had already perceived them. 
 
 * Here comes the young couple to see the 
 old one ! ' 
 
 ' We have brought you some flowers.' 
 
 ' We have come to wish you many happy 
 returns of the day,' said both at once. 
 
 Mrs. Harcourt took the flowers, and her
 
 292 HUGH ceichton's romance. 
 
 husband, kissing Mysie, held out his hand to 
 Arthur. 
 
 ' God bless you, my dear children, and 
 give you fifty such happy years as He has 
 given to my wife and me ! ' 
 
 ' Amen ! ' said Arthur, and he turned, and, 
 drawing Mysie towards him, he kissed her, as 
 if the blessing had been the seal of their be- 
 trothal. The tears came into her eyes, and 
 she was glad to turn to the old lady to be 
 praised and thanked for her beautiful flowers. 
 
 ' Now, then, of course you are come to 
 breakfast ? Arthur, when you were a little 
 boy you alv/ays liked my pine-apple preserve ; 
 so I shall get you some.' 
 
 'At his present stage of existence, my 
 dear, I should think he would rather begin 
 upon eggs and bacon.' 
 
 ' But don't forget the jam for a finish, 
 Mrs. Harcourt,' said Arthur. 
 
 So they sat down and had a merry 
 breakfast, lingering over it till Arthur 
 jumped up, saying :
 
 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 293 
 
 ' I must go home to catcli Hugh before 
 he goes to Oxley, to ask hhn where we shall 
 shoot.' 
 
 ' But you are not going to carry away 
 Mysie ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' said Mysie. ' I don't like the 
 neighbourhood of guns at all, and I must 
 stay to put my flowers in water.' 
 
 ' Very well, then, I'll leave you. Mr. 
 Harcourt, we shall see you to-night.' 
 
 Mysie stayed behind, and arranged her 
 flowers and renovated Mrs. Harcourt's dinner- 
 cap, by which time the morning was so far 
 advanced that she was persuaded to stay to 
 lunch, before going to give the forgotten in- 
 vitations. Meanwhile Mrs. Harcourt enter- 
 tained her with much pleasant gossip about 
 the days of her courtship and the wedding 
 that had followed it. 
 
 ' Did not fifty years seem a long time to 
 you then ? ' asked Mysie. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, I don't think I looked 
 forward to any special time, or to any end
 
 294 HUGH crichton's romance. 
 
 at all in tliose days. And I don't now, 
 Mysie — I don't now, in another sense, for 
 fifty years is a very little bit of eternity.' 
 
 The old lady spoke rather to herself than 
 to the girl ; but the words chimed in with 
 Mysie's previous thoughts. 
 
 ' I think,' she said, dreamily, ' you are the 
 happiest. If Mr. Harcourt were to die you 
 would have such a little while to wait ; but 
 
 if Arthur It's almost all life^ if it is but 
 
 a little bit of eternity.' 
 
 ' Die, my dear ? What has put such 
 sad thoughts into your head this bright 
 morning ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. But I shall remember 
 this morning as long as I live.' Then, 
 shaking off her sadness, she started up, and, 
 kissing the old lady, went off rather hastily 
 on her errands. 
 
 The everyday occupation soon chased 
 away the solemn thoughts that had oppressed 
 her, and having disposed of her other busi-
 
 SUNDAY AND MONDAY. 295 
 
 ness she went down to the canal, along the 
 bank, and across the gates of the lock — the 
 unrailed condition of which was one of those 
 grievances which are always talked of and 
 never remedied — to the lock-keeper's cottage, 
 where she gave her message about the health- 
 drinking ; and sent two little girls, who 
 were at home from school, off in a great 
 hurry to join their companions. These 
 children were motherless, and Mysie took 
 great interest in the pretty sister Ahce, who 
 had charge of them. 
 
 Tlie youngest boy was ill, and Mr. Dick- 
 enson, the Oxley doctor— who was most 
 favoured at Eedhurst — was paying him a visit. 
 Mysie heard his opinion, and promised 
 sundry delicacies to assist the child's 
 recovery. 
 
 ' Then you will send the children down 
 to the Eectory, Alice ? ' she said. 
 
 'Yes, Miss Mysie. I can't come with 
 them, because of Freddy.' 
 
 ' No, of course not. Good-bye.'
 
 296 HUGH crichton's romance. ' 
 
 ' Good-bye, miss.' 
 
 Mysie tripped out into the sunsliine, and 
 on to the gates of the lock, Alice thinking 
 how pretty her white dress and muslin- 
 covered hat looked on this hot August d^^\ 
 ' She always wears her prettiest things now 
 Mr. Arthur's here,' she thought, when the 
 sudden loud report of a gun sounded from 
 the copse close at hand. Ahce gave a little 
 scream and start. Mysie, half-way across, 
 started violently also, and, either losing her 
 balance or catching her foot on the rough 
 surface, slipped and fell, out of the sunshine, 
 out of the light, down into the cold, dark 
 water below. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUABK 
 
 AND PARLIAilENT STREET