L I E) R.AFLY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N I VERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 C 892.3- 
 
 V. I
 
 ALLERTON TOWERS. 
 
 By ANNIE THOMAS 
 
 (Mrs. Pender Cudlip), 
 author of " denis donne," " played out," " eyre of blendon," etc. 
 
 I A THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1882. 
 
 \^AU Rights Reserved.']
 
 Prinfed hi/ Kellv & Co., IjOiidon & Kinp:ston.
 
 7 
 
 ^A3 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 rilAP. PAGE 
 
 I. — Mrs. IIeatiierley's Garden Party . . , . i 
 
 II. — The Bishop's Daughter ...... 19 
 
 III. — " I Shall Never Forget You ; Never ! " . -39 
 
 IV. — Is She Jealous ? 57 
 
 V. — Enter Lily. Exit Ethel 78 
 
 VI. — A Father's Prayer and Plan . . . 97 
 
 VII. — Fanny Yearns for ? 114 
 
 VIII. — Mother and Daughter ...... 131 
 
 IX.- Sisterly Zeal ........ 149 
 
 ji X. — Bale Coppice 172 
 
 C XL— A Plot 197 
 
 ^ XII. — And its Consequenx'es ...... 215 
 
 'P XIII. — At Lamington Hall ...... 224.
 
 ALLERTON TOWERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 MRS. HEATHERLEY'S GARDEN PARTY. 
 
 II^ALTEE, I may as well tell you 
 ^/H^ that mother thinks we have been 
 very premature and foolish." 
 
 "And I may as well tell you, Ethel, that 
 your mother shows great want of consistency 
 in saying so.*' 
 
 " Mother doesn't go in for being consistent," 
 the girl laughs, joyously ; " she speaks and 
 acts on impulse as a rule, and this morning 
 she told me she had one of her strong 
 intuitions against our being engaged ; you 
 see your practice isn't much yet, Walter ; 
 mother's only prudent after all." 
 
 "And do you want to be prudent too, 
 Ethel ? " he asks, and his voice trembles 
 a little as he manfully strives to steady it. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Allerton Towers. 
 
 His feelings are being cruelly assailed by the 
 remarks which the girl to whom he has been 
 engaged a week is repeating so carelessly. 
 
 She laughs again, but her mirth is not 
 quite spontaneous. 
 
 " I don't want to plunge into poverty, I 
 must admit." 
 
 " Poverty ! a day or two ago you were 
 willing enough to face the future with me, 
 darling ; what has changed you ? Your 
 mother was satisfied with the prospect I 
 offered then ; what has made her dissatisfied 
 with it now ? I can give you a good home, 
 surround you with every comfort." He 
 pauses abruptly, for Ethel's eyes and atten- 
 tion are evidently wandering back to a 
 group on the lawn, the centre of Avhich is 
 a young, handsome man of unmistakably 
 " good form," to whose utterances all the 
 girls who grace Mrs. Heath erley's garden 
 party are listening with almost too flatter- 
 ing attention. 
 
 "Who's that fellow?" Walter GifTord— 
 the young surgeon, who has within the last 
 six months made himself a medical power in
 
 Mrs. Heatherlei/s Garden Party. 3 
 
 this district — asks pugnaciously, and Ethel 
 Heatherley answers, in a state of tremulous 
 excitement, 
 
 "Don't you know? that is Lord Manrus 
 Boyne — the Marquis of Monks town's second 
 ■son. 
 
 " Now I know why your mother has grown 
 prudent so suddenly," Mr. Gilford says, quietly. 
 Then he takes Ethel's small hands in his, and 
 holds her fast while he says, " Why has Mrs. 
 Heatherley got that good-looking boy here to 
 ■dazzle all you girls ? he's a young scamp, 
 Ethel, sent here to do penance at poor old 
 Townley's, for having been a naughty boy 
 at Oxford ; he has a courtesy title and eighty 
 pounds a-year, and your mother wants you to 
 throw me over for him!" 
 
 " You're very rude, Walter," Ethel says, 
 her cheeks growing crimson in a condemna- 
 tory way at once ; " mother has asked him 
 here as she always asks Mr. Townley's pupils ; 
 «he can't help his being attentive and hand- 
 some and having a title, and — and how do 
 you dare to imply that dear mother is a 
 match-maker ? " 
 
 B 2
 
 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Don't get savage, Ethel " 
 
 " Then don't you be jealous ! " 
 
 As the girl says this, there flutters towards 
 them one of the prettiest and youngest-look- 
 ing of matrons. Mrs. Heatherley, who has a 
 well-grown daughter of twenty, looks at the 
 first glance little more than thirty herself, 
 for she has the fair beauty and the slender- 
 ness of limb which makes middle-age pass 
 for youth. 
 
 Dressed to perfection to-day in pink sateen 
 with pockets and cuffs and piping of ruby 
 velvet, the pretty blonde widow commands 
 almost as much admiration as does her beau- 
 tiful brunette daughter Ethel, as she flits 
 hither and thither on her closely-shaven lawn, 
 seeing to the amusement and well-being of 
 her guests. 
 
 She has achieved a great social success. 
 The lord-lieutenant of the county and his 
 wife are here, and the Bishop of Allerton 
 Towers and his daughter; and, indeed, every- 
 body who is anybody in all the region round 
 has accepted her invitation for lawn-tennis 
 and strawberries and cream this day. But
 
 Mrs. Heatherley s Garden Party. 5 
 
 she feels a crumple in her rose-leaf! Her 
 only child has just before wilfull}' engaged 
 herself to a hard-working young country 
 surgeon, and now a marquis's son has come 
 and found her fair. 
 
 Such a marquis's son too ! It is all very 
 well for malignant envy and jealousy to sneer, 
 and hint that the Marquis of Monkstown 
 derives his income from Irish property — the 
 rents of which are not paid in these days. 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley knows better. His lord- 
 ship is no mere feckless, improvident, out-at- 
 elbows Irish peer ! Mrs. Heatherley has it 
 on Mrs. Townley's authority that he has to 
 do, surreptitiously, but remuneratively, with 
 indigo and coffee, and that he can snap his 
 fingers at his non-rent-paying tenants. The 
 eldest son. Lord E. Kenmare, is delicate, if 
 not imbecile, and Lord Marcus is the second 
 son — and — well — 
 
 "A coronet would become Ethel well, and 
 it's not with my consent that she shall throw 
 herself away on a mere country practitioner," 
 the ambitious lady tells herself; and imme- 
 diately afterwards she makes that remark to
 
 6 -Allerton Towen^.. 
 
 Ethel, as to their having been very premature 
 and foohsh in enfjaa:ine^ themselves to one 
 atiother, which Ethel has frankly repeated 
 to her lover. 
 
 As Mrs. Heatherley flutters up to the 
 young pair, into the music of whose love 
 and contentment she has introduced a dis- 
 cordant strain, she looks so gladly and gaily 
 unconscious of having said or done anything 
 antagonistic to Mr. Giffbrd's interests, that he 
 is almost inclined to believe that she is as well 
 pleased with the engagement as she professed 
 herself to be at first. Such a dear little airy 
 impulsive woman ! So evidently quick to feel,, 
 and prompt to act as her feelings dictate ! 
 Her future son-in-law can but admire her^ 
 and think that his Ethel has perverted 
 her mother's meaning, rather than think 
 Mrs, Heatherley is either inconsistent, or fool- 
 ish enough to wish to displace him for Lord 
 Marcus Boyne. 
 
 Her first words make him change this 
 view of things. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Giflbrd," she begins, in her 
 bright, electrical, young Avay, "(/o forgive me
 
 Mrs. Heatherley s Garden Party. 7 
 
 for putting your interest before your pleasure ; 
 I am going to take you away from Ethel, and 
 introduce you to the Bishop and Miss Tem- 
 pleton : he is a martyr to the gout, you 
 know, the dear old thing, and if you are 
 called in at the Palace, the whole of Aller- 
 ton Towers will be sending for you ; Ethel, 
 Miss Templeton has been sitting alone for the 
 last ten minutes ! I can't be everywhere, 
 can I ? " she continues, appealingly ; " so 
 you must sacrifice yourself a little to our 
 guests." 
 
 " The Bishop hasn't the gout at the present 
 moment, so he dosen't want me, and Miss 
 Templeton is exercising her maidenly wiles 
 on Townley's new cub, so she doesn't want 
 Ethel," Walter Gifford says, in a way that 
 implies, under these circumstances, he means 
 to keep Ethel to himself — apart from the 
 others — a little longer. 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley makes a face expressive 
 of excruciating suffering, and then explains 
 the cause of it. 
 
 " It would give me intejise pain if the 
 St. Justs and the Bishop remark that my
 
 8 Allerton Towers. 
 
 daughter neglects her social duties," she says, 
 seriously ; " and as Ethel would not wish me 
 to feel pain or annoyance on her account, 
 she will do as I wish her, of course ; and 
 you really must let me introduce you to 
 his lordship." 
 
 She* puts a coaxing hand on the young 
 man's arm as she speaks, and he feels himself 
 being slowly but surely propelled towards 
 the ecclesiastical potentate whose patronage 
 she professes to be anxious to secure for him. 
 Meantime, he sees Ethel going off in the 
 direction of Miss Templeton, who is bending 
 a gracious ear to all the folly it pleases 
 Lord Marcus to utter. Walter Gifford's pro- 
 phetically-jealous heart whispers to him, that 
 not for many minutes longer will the Bishop's 
 daughter have the opportunity of so visibly 
 condescending to a mere man. For Ethel 
 has the winning power to a rare degree, 
 and Walter knows, from sweetly bitter expe- 
 rience, that it is not in her gracious nature 
 to refrain from exercising it. 
 
 He is introduced to the Bishop, who is 
 urbane to, but evidently uninterested in, him ;
 
 Mrs. Heatherleys Garden Party. 9 
 
 in spite of the eulogistic words Avhicli Mrs. 
 Heatherley speaks of him. 
 
 " My lord, allow me to introduce a friend 
 of mine, Mr. Gifford, one of the few people 
 Avho makes this wilderness of Allerton en- 
 durable and pleasant to me." 
 
 In response to this direct call upon his 
 proverbial urbanity, the Bishop smiles briefly, 
 says " he is happy, he is sure, to make the 
 acquaintance of anyone who is fortunate 
 enough to find favour in Mrs. Heatherley's 
 eyes ; " and then, having been previously 
 apprised as to the calling of the young 
 man, who is now supposed to be a suppliant 
 for his favour, goes on to say that he hopes 
 " he finds the climate salubrious and the 
 population healthy." 
 
 " The instinct of self-preservation makes 
 me regret that I am able to answer your 
 lordship's hopes satisfactorily," Walter says, 
 savagely ; for Ethel, Miss Templeton, and 
 Lord Marcus Boyne have just sauntered up 
 to the group of Avhich he is one, and he 
 sees a look of merrily-malicious amusement 
 in Ethel's brown velvet eyes, at the way in
 
 10 AUerton Toicers. 
 
 which her mother is striving to make him 
 perform for patronage. 
 
 "It's just Hke papa always to say the 
 wrong thing to people of that sort," Miss 
 Templeton mutters to Lord Marcus, and 
 Ethel hears the words and understands 
 their full meaning. 
 
 Her colour rises with her generous wrath. 
 Shall she stand by and hear the position of 
 her lover — the man to whom her troth is 
 plighted ! — assailed, without saying one word 
 of rebuke ? or shall she spare the assailant, 
 who is her guest, according to the dictates of 
 hospitality ? For a moment she wavers, then 
 she says : 
 
 '' What sort of people does the Bishop 
 say the right thing to, Miss Templeton?"' 
 
 " Oh, to our own class, or the very poor, 
 papa is always happy in his expressions, and just 
 what he should be in manner ; but to people of 
 that sort " (and Miss Templeton, as she speaks, 
 nods her head towards the young surgeon) 
 "the Bishop is apt to be uncomfortable." 
 
 " Local apothecary, isn't he ? " Lord Marcus 
 asks, tersely.
 
 Mrs. Heatherky' s Garden Party. 11 
 
 " Yes," Ethel says, facing him in her perfect 
 prettiness and irreproachable style, " that, if 
 you please to call him so ; and something 
 else, as I please to call him ; the man 
 who is going to marry me, by-and-bye ! — 
 my ' sweetheart,' in our plain old country 
 vulgar tongue." 
 
 The young fellow she addresses is very 
 handsome, very thoroughbred, very fasci- 
 nating and dazzling in his gay, bright way, 
 but he is very boyish still! Consequently, 
 he bursts into a loud, rather derisive laugh, 
 and says: 
 
 " Come, now. Miss Heatherley, don't 
 chaff a fellow^ too much ; you going to marry 
 a ' local practitioner,' that's too awfully awful 
 a joke." 
 
 " But I am^' Ethel is saying, with steady 
 severity, when her mother again intervenes. 
 
 Flitting up in the most guileless way pos- 
 sible, the active little parent-bird is by the 
 side of the brave but injudicious young 
 one in a moment. 
 
 "Ethel, dear. Lady St. Just was saying just 
 now, she had not spoken a word to you to-
 
 12 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 day ; go to her, my child : Miss Templeton 
 and Lord Marcus" (this with ever so sweet a 
 smile) " will excuse you, I am sure. Lady St. 
 Just is quite another mother to my child," the 
 vivacious little hostess says, fluttering in be- 
 tween her two guests, and contriving to direct 
 Lord Marcus's attention to the graceful way 
 in which Ethel is crossing the lawn towards 
 martial-looking Lady St. Just. 
 
 " Then she's prepared to adopt 'Sawbones,' 
 too, I suppose ? " Lord Marcus says, impru- 
 dently. He has yet to learn that Mrs. 
 Heatherley can snub as well as she can 
 court. 
 
 " What a nice, unsophisticated boy you 
 are," she says, innocently ignoring the fact 
 that youth objects to few things so much as 
 having itself forced crudely into the fierce 
 light of sarcastic observation; "it's an old 
 joke from Pickwick to call a surgeon a 'saw- 
 bones,'" she continues, in an explanatory 
 tone, to Miss Templeton ; isn't it refreshing 
 to meet with any young man hi these days 
 who is sufficiently world-worn to quote such 
 nearly-forgotten Avitticisms? "
 
 Mrs. Heatherleys Garden Party. 13 
 
 Her tone is so full of feminine kindness as 
 she speaks her biting words, that Lord Mar- 
 cus is undecided whether he ous^ht to hate 
 her for the rudeness, which may be uninten- 
 tional, and which is making him smart, or 
 like her for the liking she expresses so 
 openly for him ! Eventually he decides in 
 favour of doing the latter, for, besides having 
 the claim to manly toleration of being a 
 pretty woman still, she is Ethel's mother! 
 And already his heart has gone out to Ethel, 
 with a young man's pure, adoring, but still 
 passionate love. 
 
 So, with the courtesy of his caste, he ac- 
 cepts the snub so gracefully and graciously, 
 that Mrs. Heatherley is half inclined to regret 
 having given it to him, 
 
 "If you had called me ''vulgarly malicious,' 
 instead of ' nice and unsophisticated,' you 
 would have been nearer the mark, Mrs. 
 Heatherley," he says, with proud boyish can- 
 dour. "I won't err again in your estimation 
 — at least, not in that way." 
 
 "And on my side I promise to look very le- 
 niently on your errors," Mrs. Heatherley says,
 
 14 Allerton Towers. 
 
 softly, but not so softly but that Miss Temple- 
 ton hears the words, and malignantly repeats 
 them, by-and-bye, to her right-reverend father, 
 whom she undutifully suspects of a desire to 
 change his state, whenever he sees much of 
 the late Mr. Heatherley's agreeable and good- 
 looking little relict. 
 
 Meantime, the onus of sustaining a conver- 
 sation with a man who evidently labours 
 strenuously to converse with him, is becoming 
 a burden, heavier than he can bear, to Walter 
 Gifford. With that fatal perspicuity, which 
 is one of the gifts which become curses to 
 true love, he sees all that Ethel is doing, and 
 all that Ethel's mother is meaning for her. 
 He sees her drawn into the magic circle which 
 surrounds fiercely-aristocratic old Lady St. 
 Just, who from her heights of age and rank, 
 treats Ethel and Lord Marcus as boy and girl, 
 and thus gives them the opportunity of being 
 more intimate and familiar than they other- 
 wise would have been. Though he does not 
 hear the words they speak, for the Bishop 
 beams at him at brief intervals, he can feel 
 the arrangements for future meetinors that are
 
 Mrs. Heatkerleys Garden PaiHt/. 15 
 
 being made with "her ladyship's cognisance and 
 sanction. His Ethel will be riding and danc- 
 ing and playing tennis with this young lord- 
 ling, whom in his heart he is calling " an ar- 
 rogant beast of a boy," in places to which he 
 — Walter Gifford — will have no right of ac- 
 cess ! He sees it all now ! Her mother's re- 
 cantation of the cordial assent she had given 
 at first to their engagement ; the motive for 
 making the effort to get the St. Justs and the 
 Bishop to this garden party, in order that 
 Ethel may get return invitations to the set in 
 which Lord Marcus will revolve ; the reason 
 why always charmingly-dressed Ethel is more 
 charmingly dressed than ever to-day — all 
 these things are seen and understood by him 
 with horrible distinctness, and summed up 
 tersely in his own mind thus : 
 
 " The mother's a designing woman, and 
 she'll try to make Ethel throw me over for 
 that boy with a handle to his name ; but 
 I'll have a fight for her." 
 
 " I don't think you quite admit the force 
 of my remarks ? " the Bishop questions, 
 suavely, at this juncture, and Walter Gif-
 
 16 Allerton Towers. 
 
 ford ruins his chance of ever being called 
 upon to assuage gouty pangs in the episcopal 
 feet and legs, by answering bluntly : 
 
 " I didn't hear them, my lord." 
 
 " Papa, have you asked Lord Marcus for 
 to-morrow ? " Miss Templeton puts in, with 
 a little air of eagerness, which is meant to 
 show " the mere country surgeon " that he 
 is so completely outside their circle that they 
 can discuss social arrangements before him 
 with the same freedom they feel before ser- 
 vants and inferiors generally. 
 
 " For to-morrow ? " the Bishop asks, per- 
 plexedly. 
 
 " Yes, to dinner ! don't you remember ? 
 Lord and Lady St. Just are coming and Mrs. 
 Heatherley and Ethel." 
 
 Walter Gilford turns away sharply and 
 hears no more. In another moment he has 
 gained Ethel's side, and detached her from 
 the aristocratic group who are seeking to 
 absorb her. 
 
 " Ethel," he begins, a little too gravely, 
 " why haven't you told me that you dine at 
 the Palace to-morrow ? "
 
 Mrs. Heatherleys Garden Party. 17 
 
 " Eeally, Walter," Ethel says, with some of 
 her mother's vivacity (vivacity which strikes 
 Mr. Gifford painfully as being assumed) ; 
 " really, Walter ! did I undertake to tell you 
 where I dined every day Avhen we became 
 engaged ? " 
 
 " You put it in a way that makes me seem 
 a petty tyrant, even in my own eyes ; and yet 
 I know I'm right and you're wrong the whole 
 time," he says, wearily ; and Ethel, quick to 
 mark the change in him, has lier hand on his 
 arm, clasping it caressingly in a moment. 
 
 "Walter! don't look tired and disap- 
 pointed, it hurts me ; mother told me not to 
 say anything about dining at the Palace, ' it 
 would look like boasting,' she thought ; and 
 mother has such perfect taste and tact, now, 
 hasn't she?" 
 
 " She has indeed ! such perfect taste and 
 tact that I feel I jar upon her at every turn 
 to-day," he says, bitterly. 
 
 " No, you don't." the girl cries, with quick 
 compunction ; " only do be broad and look at 
 things as they are, and not try to distort them 
 into what you think they ought to be ; be as 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 Allerton Towers. 
 
 friendly with Lord Marcus Boyne as he Avoiild 
 be with you, and take it for granted, Walter,, 
 that / shall keep my promise as sacredly to- 
 you as I should do to a peer of the realm."" 
 The girl draws herself up and looks proud 
 and noble, true and trustworthy, to a degree 
 that reassures him, as she says this. And for 
 the hour Walter Gifford is satisfied that the 
 idol he has set up will never prove false to 
 him.
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE bishop's daughter. 
 
 do the Bishop justice, he would 
 rather go without the dinner than 
 give it to-day. And this, not be- 
 cause he is an ascetic on principle, but simply 
 because his digestion is out of repair, and his 
 bones are achino;. 
 
 It is hard on him that these things should 
 be, for he has lived sparsely for many a long 
 year ; and now that the good things of this 
 life are about him abundantly, he does not 
 dare to indulge in them, any more than if he 
 had revelled in them from his cradle. 
 
 But his daughter has ordained this dinner ; 
 and what is socially ordained by Miss 
 Templeton, at the Palace, is as the laws of 
 the Medes and Persians. 
 
 At times she runs her social ways mys- 
 teriously, giving out an impression subtly 
 that she has a deeper meaning hidden in her 
 
 c2
 
 20 Allerton Towers. 
 
 virgin heart than is given out and suffered to 
 appear on the surface. If the Bishop utters 
 a faint protest against the expediency of 
 having a lawn-tennis party, when the clouds 
 are loweringly threatening rain ; or hints that 
 it would be pleasanter for him to defer a state 
 dinner until such time as there might be a 
 slight chance of his being able to eat some of 
 it, his daughter's reply invariably crushes out 
 all opposition. 
 
 " I have a reason for having it now, papa ; 
 you know I never do anything without a 
 motive." 
 
 i To-day, Fanny Templeton has a very strong 
 motive for insisting on this dinner coming off 
 ' — a motive that, though not noble, is, at least, 
 essentially feminine. Her mature fancy has 
 been favourably affected by Mr. Townley's 
 handsome, aristocratic, gay-hearted young 
 pupil, and she desires to give him the chance 
 of reciprocating her flattering sentiments. 
 She has been a girl so long that she cannot 
 get out of the habit of thinking herself one 
 still, though she has had ten more years' 
 experience of life than Lord Marcus.
 
 The Bishop's Daughter. 21 
 
 And, to be quite fair to her, the mistake of 
 regarding herself as a girl still, is a par- 
 donable one on her part ; for if a woman is 
 only as old as she looks, it must be admitted 
 that Fanny Templeton looks very young 
 indeed. She is one of those fair, soft-looking 
 women, whose cheeks retain the roses and 
 roundness of youth well on into middle age. 
 
 She has, too, one of those coolly constituted 
 natures that never take it out of their pos- 
 sessors by giving way to deep or violent 
 emotions. Her blue eyes are not in the habit 
 of shedding tears, for no trouble worth crying 
 about has ever touched herself, and she is a 
 very heroine in the way in which she can 
 calmly contemplate the troubles of others. 
 Her father has been Bishop of Allerton Towers 
 for ten years now, and during these ten years 
 she has had no need to take depressing heed 
 to pecuniary ways and means. Additionally, 
 she has had thrust upon her a delightful sense 
 of social importance, and in small, soft ways, 
 social importance is very dear to the good 
 Bishop's daughter. Altogether, the circum- 
 stances of her life are rejuvenating, and she
 
 22 Allerton Towers. 
 
 is justified in feeling that, as far as looks go, 
 age need be no barrier to the alliance she 
 hopes to compass. 
 
 But Ethel Heath erley may be ! Miss 
 Templeton rarely deceives herself, whatever 
 she may do to others ; and she admits that, 
 whereas she is only a pretty young woman, 
 Ethel Heatherley is a beautiful young girl, 
 upon whom Lord Marcus Boyne has already 
 bestowed very favourable glances. She 
 recognises the fact also that if Ethel does 
 enter the lists against her, that it will be a 
 case of two to one ; for Mrs. Heatherley will 
 be on Ethel's side, and Fanny Templeton is 
 fully aware of tlie widow's value as an ally 
 and dangerous qualities as an opponent. 
 And these two are not t]ie sole barriers 
 between herself and holy matrimony with 
 Lord Marcus. 
 
 The Bishop has a chaplain ! 
 
 This fact, as an isolated one, is unim- 
 portant. Every Bishop has a chaplain, 
 and frequently nature and Providence com- 
 bine to make a union between the Bishop's 
 chaplain and the Bishop's daughter a highly
 
 The Bishop's Daughter. 23 
 
 desirable thing. But in this case Fanny 
 Templeton has come to feel that it would 
 be, to say the least of it, unadvisable for 
 her to throw herself away on a mere 
 Eeverend Bernard Grove, when it is in 
 the order of things " that may be " that 
 ■she shall become eventually the Marchioness 
 of Monkstown. 
 
 It is true that " things have been," between 
 Bernard Grove and the Bishop's daughter, 
 which are not now. It is the fashion of 
 smart leader writers, reviewers, and others 
 of that ilk, to represent and pretend to 
 believe that a curate is necessarily a ratlier 
 effeminate, poor-spirited, mild-game-playing, 
 weakly, flirting sort of creature. They 
 heighten the obnoxious tones in which they 
 paint this picture by sneering allusions to the 
 impunity with which ladies, young and old, 
 may " pet " the shepherd of the flock, and 
 assume an idiotic air of surprise if a curate 
 — " a 'poor curate " is the happy phrase to 
 properly describe him — does anything that 
 commends itself to tlie eyes of the world 
 as indisputably manly. Why this idea
 
 24 Allerton Towers. 
 
 should pervade the press-reviewing and 
 ordinary fiction writing mind is incom- 
 prehensible to every one who mixes in 
 decent society, and knows that the clergy 
 are quite up to the level of not only 
 " gentlemanliness," but " manliness," as ex- 
 hibited by the members of any other 
 profession, class,, or clique. Nor does the 
 person who mixes in this aforesaid decent 
 society find that the " poor curate " differs 
 in any way from the " rich rector " in birth, 
 breeding, education, or manner. But those 
 who are outside the pale of good society do 
 not understand or realise this truism. And 
 so the innumerable vulgar men and women, 
 who supply cheap periodicals with emo- 
 tional stories of that life among the upper 
 classes of which they know nothing, invari- 
 ably portray " the curate " as a susceptible 
 ass, or a scheming, hungry fortune-hunter, 
 and make fatuous jokes about his goodness 
 and poverty for the edification and amuse- 
 ment of the dissenting masses. 
 
 It shall be told- at once that Bernard Grove 
 is not a type of either of these classes. He
 
 The Bishop s Daughter. 25 
 
 is merely an honourable, good, good-looking, 
 well-bred, and equally well-read gentleman. 
 Poor enough, in all conscience, to satisfy the 
 greedy desire of all those who would see the 
 priests of the Lord impecunious. But neither 
 mean-spirited nor threadbare, crawling nor 
 audacious on the strength of his spiritual 
 position. Only a gentleman ! gifted with the 
 grace of high culture and real religious 
 feeling. 
 
 It is, however, with his social status and 
 his social career only, that we have to do in 
 these chronicles of hfe at Allerton Towers. 
 
 He has been the Bishop's chaplain for three 
 years now ; and other men, interested in the 
 question, in the diocese, are beginning to say 
 that his chances of a good living from his 
 diocesan are going off rapidly. For Miss 
 Templeton has visibly cooled towards him 
 recently, and it is tacitly understood that 
 the best living in the Bishop's gift will 
 go to the successful clerical wooer of the 
 Bishop's daughter. 
 
 Other chaplains had come and gone before 
 him, but something had always intervened
 
 2G Allerton Towers. 
 
 between themselves and the means of ob- 
 tainmg the coveted promotion. In two 
 cases it had been a wife and several 
 children. In another, a band of hopeless, 
 helpless, penniless sisters. But Mr. Grove 
 had come upon the stage free from all 
 encumbrances, and the heart of the Bishop's 
 daughter had gone out to him gladly. Un- 
 fortunately, as far as regards his chances of 
 gettinof the best livino; in the diocese, he had 
 not responded with flattering celerity. 
 
 But after a time, she, showing him her 
 liking in a thousand undemonstrative ways, 
 he, being only a man, began to be moved 
 to regard her in the light of, at least, a 
 warm and dear friend. The constant daily 
 intercourse gradually melted the bulwark of 
 indifference behind which he had found 
 safety at first, and when once she had com- 
 pelled him to feel that she was both pretty 
 and pleasant, and, moreover, very partial to 
 himself, the rest was easy. 
 
 It certainly would have ended in his 
 marrying her, and thus getting that good 
 living of which mention has been made,
 
 The Bishop s DaugJder. 27 
 
 had not a check been given to the com- 
 pletion of the half-formed scheme by an 
 unintentional outsider. 
 
 Things are in this state of check now, and 
 have been ever since Lord Marcus Boyne 
 came so blithely within the borders of 
 AUerton Towers. For Miss Templeton is 
 quite as well posted up in the probabilities 
 of Lord Marcus succeeding' to the title and 
 estates of his father as Mrs. Heatherley is. 
 Accordingly-, the cool, well-regulated pulses 
 of the Bishop's daughter cease to beat for 
 the man who never can make her more 
 than a rector's — perhaps a rich rector's — 
 wife, and throb with amiably selfish tender- 
 ness for the handsome boy who can make 
 her a marchioness. 
 
 Fanny Teraplelon is, perhaps, as cautious a 
 girl as ever guided herself through the in- 
 tricate ways of good society. But there are 
 times when her over-caution, combined with 
 that high estimate of her own charms which 
 so nearly approaches vanity, betrays that 
 which she most ardently desires to conceal 
 
 It is so now, and though she h:is never >o
 
 28 AUerton Towers. 
 
 much as mentioned Lord Marcus's name to 
 Mr. Grove, that gentleman knows as well as 
 she does herself that the woman who was 
 ready to be his wife only the other day, is 
 now even readier to be the wife of the boy 
 who has the pleasure-loving desire to taste 
 all that is sweetest, as well as the bril- 
 liancy of the butterfly. 
 
 Mr. Grove sees and admits this, and is, to 
 tell the truth, not very much piqued at it. 
 His feeling for the lady, who has been using 
 her womanly wiles to win him, is not suffi- 
 cient for resentment to take the place of the 
 liking she herself planted. Accordingly, he 
 makes no change in his manner of treating 
 her, with the kindly intention of showing her 
 that he has no manner of objection to her 
 carrying her new point — if she can ! And 
 she misconstrues this considerate thoughtful- 
 ness of his, and thinks that he is determined 
 to consider their relations unchanged, and 
 fears she may have some difficulty in getting 
 rid of him without the shadow of a scandal 
 should she succeed with Lord Marcus. 
 
 On the other hand, she does not deem it
 
 The Bishop's Daughter. 29 
 
 wise to burn her boats. To be quite off with 
 the old love before she is on with the new, is 
 a weak policy according to her ideas. So she 
 puts her manner into the scales with her 
 chances, and as these latter go up and 
 down, so shall the former vary delicately 
 and safely. 
 
 It is grievous to Miss Templeton that the 
 Heatherleys should be here on this, the first 
 day of Lord Marcus's dining with them, but 
 it is better to have him with them than not 
 to have him at all. Besides, Ethel Heath erley 
 is engaged, and though she believes Ethel to 
 be quite as capable of being off with the old 
 love if a satisfactory new one appears on the 
 horizon as she is herself, still she will make 
 Lord Marcus feel that Ethel is devoted to her 
 lover, if the English language can do it. 
 
 Through the whole of the day she has 
 successfully evaded a tete-a-tete with Mr. Grove, 
 little suspecting that he has not made the 
 slightest attempt to have one with her. On 
 otlier sultry summer days,, such as this, it had 
 been her wont after she has seen her house- 
 keeper and ordered the domestic doings for
 
 30 Allerton Towers. 
 
 the day, to go out on the velvet lawn through 
 which the river runs, and over which the 
 grand cathedral casts its dignified shadow, 
 and spend the hours till luncheon. For the 
 Bishop's study window peeps out through an 
 ivy screen upon this lawn, and when the 
 Bishop and his chaplain have transacted their 
 morning's business of seeing suppliant clergy, 
 and answering a budget of supplicating, re- 
 buking, or defiant letters from others, what 
 more natural than that the younger man 
 should get himself out into the fresh air 
 under the waving trees, and glance through 
 the magazines and new publications with 
 which Miss Templeton always sedulously 
 provides herself? 
 
 But the " old order changeth ! " This 
 morning there is no lady on the lawn ready 
 to look up — with a smile playing over the 
 softly-tinted rounded cheeks, and the prettily 
 cut pink lips — at his approach. Nevertheless, 
 Mr. Grove takes his accustomed seat with the 
 air of one who is perfectly satisfied with 
 things as they are, and reads a couple of stiff 
 articles in The Fortnightly right through,
 
 Tlie Bishop's Daughter. 3 1 
 
 without stopping to give one thought to the 
 one who is fancying that her current course 
 of conduct is giving him pain, and causing 
 him bewilderment. 
 
 " When the time comes for him to knoAv it,. 
 he shall not have it to say that I misled 
 him for a moment after I began to care for 
 Marcus," Miss Templeton says to herself, 
 complaisantly ; and she really credits herself 
 with holding rather exalted sentiments, and 
 with acting in an irreproachable manner. 
 
 In the afternoon it is her custom to drive 
 with her father for two hours, and often, 
 Avhen any of the country magnates are to be 
 honoured with a call, Mr. Grove accompanies 
 them. Indeed, the city of AUerton Towers 
 itself is rarely honoured by the presence of its- 
 Bishop, and the city clergy are never invited 
 to partake of the hospitality of the palace..' 
 Why this should be is not clear to the secular 
 mind, which does not understand why this 
 delicate line should be drawn between the 
 cathedral and the city clergy, or why a faint 
 show of the episcopal favour should be ex- 
 tended to the country rectors and vicars^
 
 •32 Allerton Towers. 
 
 which is withheld from their brothers in the 
 town. But, as Miss Templeton says of her- 
 self, she never does anything without a 
 motive, and Miss Templeton is the daughter 
 of her father. 
 
 On this exceptional day, however. Miss 
 Templeton does not second even with a look 
 the Bishop's suggestion that Mr. Grove shall 
 drive out with them to Collingham, five miles 
 from Allerton Towers, to look at a newly- 
 erected cliurch which the Bishop is to con- 
 secrate during the ensuing week. On the 
 contrary, she puts on a look of filial solici- 
 tude, and exclaims almost tearfully against 
 the gentle exertion which her father is 
 contemplating. 
 
 " The effort of getting into this room was 
 almost too much for you this morning, papa," 
 she says ; and then, for the first time this day, 
 she lifts her lashes, and looks Mr. Grove in 
 the face. 
 
 " I am sure you agree with me that it 
 would be injudicious in the extreme on papa's 
 part to venture out, with his left foot swollen 
 as it is ? " she says, appealingly ; and Mr.
 
 The Bishop's Daughter. 33 
 
 Grove replies with an air of good-humoured 
 indifference that makes her fear he is going 
 to obtusely disregard her change of feeling 
 respecting him. 
 
 " I am sure that the Bishop can settle that 
 question for himself; but as regards my going 
 with you, my lord, I shall ask you to excuse 
 me to-day ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; but I thought it would have 
 been well for you to find out what they mean 
 to do at Collingham on the fifteenth," the 
 Bishop says, testily. The vicar of Collingham 
 is beheved to be as much in favour of ad- 
 vanced ritual as his Bishop is opposed to it. 
 And it adds to all the gouty symptoms, 
 this lurking fear that his lordship has, that 
 he may be surprised into sanctioning the 
 coloured vestments and other things which 
 are abominable in his eyes, if his chaplain 
 does not reconnoitre the dubious ground 
 beforehand. 
 
 " I think I may safely say that everything 
 is sure to be done decently and in order at 
 Collingham on the fifteenth," Mr. Grove says, 
 speaking far too cheerfully and approvingly 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 AUerton Towers. 
 
 of that local head-centre of good churchman- 
 ship, his broad Bishop thinks. 
 
 "I specially wished to go to-day," the 
 Bishop says, repiningly ; and his daughter 
 puts in — 
 
 " Dear papa, don't you think it would be 
 better to keep away from Collingham till the 
 day? You can't stand altercation on any 
 subject, and if Mr. llarcourt means to make a 
 fight for certain things of which 3:'ou so 
 pro])erly disap})rove, won't it be easier for 
 you to put it down with authority on tlie day 
 when your presence is essential, than to 
 quibble about it beforehand? I am sure you 
 think I am rifr]it?"she adds, turning — with 
 a pathetic look of reliance on his always 
 thinking lier that, at least — to Mr. Grove. 
 
 " I think you're admirably prudent and 
 perfectly right if you wish to save the Bishop 
 from being troubled," Mr. Gi-ove saj's, cheer- 
 fully ; and again Fanny tells herself that the 
 " poor fellow is blinding himself to her change 
 of feeling, and that it will be a heavy trial to 
 her b3^-and-bye to make him understand that 
 she has altered." But vnen as she tells her-
 
 The Bisliops Daiujluer. 35 
 
 self this, she cannot help seeing that Mr- 
 Grove is very unconcerned, not to say in- 
 different, about missing the opportunity of 
 driving with her this afternoon. 
 
 The end of it is that the Bishop, rendered 
 litigious by the absence of his chaplain and 
 the presence of his daughter, in an absent 
 mood, goes out to Gollingham, and finds fault, 
 that he feels to be uncalled for, with most of 
 the arrangements which the vicar has made 
 for the fifteenth. So the pebble thrown into 
 the social pool, innocently enough, by Lord 
 Marcus Boyne, is making rapidly widening 
 circles. 
 
 Out on the lawn while they are away this 
 afternoon, the chaplain sits reading, and now 
 a,nd aiijain reviewinoj the situation. 
 
 "Poor old fellow! — he hasn't been taught 
 yet that I am to be petted no longer," he half 
 laughs to himself, and then for a few minutes 
 he does seriously consider whether or not 
 Fanny Templeton is the kind of woman whom 
 it would be well for him to make his wife? 
 After a brief period, he ^ays, with an air of 
 relief, " Well ! she has settled it easily for me, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Allerton Towers. 
 
 as it happens ; it might have been, if it 
 hadn't been for this young fellow's opportune 
 appearance : as it is ! — I hope, for old time's 
 sake, she won't make a fool of herself ; Marcus 
 Boyne is a mere boy, and will regard her as 
 an old woman." 
 
 When the Bishop and his daughter come 
 back from Collingham they find Mr. Grove 
 ready to welcome them with unusual impres- 
 siveness. 
 
 " Such capital news I have had by the five 
 o'clock post," he says, with animation, " my 
 old friend, Colereigh, has been offered a 
 colonial Bishopric — Fitz-Spitzburg — some- 
 where up the South African diamond fields, I 
 fancy ; he's coming over to see me before he 
 goes : I shouldn't wonder if he wants me to 
 go with him." 
 
 "They're giving these colonial bishoprics to 
 the wrong men," the Bishop says, testify, "we 
 ought to send out men of moderate views, not 
 those who offer themselves as violent contrasts 
 to those of us at home who like to go on 
 quietly, and are averse to ceremonial." 
 
 "Some of those at home go on so quietly
 
 T]ie Bishop's Daughter. 37 
 
 that the heathen might be forgiven for 
 imagining that sleep and sloth in religious 
 matters were the things needful," Mr. Grove 
 replies, and Fanny says, hastily — 
 
 " Missionary work would suit you I'm sure; 
 you like roughing it and opposing people ; 
 now for my part I feel that I could only be 
 good in an atmosphere of peace." 
 
 ("She fears I may ask her to go with me, 
 poor girl ! " the chaplain thinks.) 
 
 Lord St. Just takes Miss Templeton in to 
 dinner this night, in the order of things. He 
 is a pleasant old gentleman — when he has 
 been kept away from strong waters for some 
 hours — full of scientific information, which he 
 is willing to impart to anybody who listens to 
 him with appreciative understanding, but 
 rather apt to relapse into a grimly-smiling, 
 and silently-ironical frame of mind, when his 
 words of wisdom are not w^aited upon. This 
 is the case now, for on Miss Templeton's other 
 side is Lord Marcus Boyne, separated by some 
 two others on the same side of the table from 
 Ethel Heatherley. 
 
 " He shall not even see her during dinner,"
 
 38 Allerton Tower. 
 
 the astute hostess has declared ; " aud I shall 
 interest him sufficiently to make him come to 
 me instead of to her in the evening." 
 
 If Miss Templeton were quite candid she 
 would confess to herself that by " interesting 
 him " she means that she hopes " to disgust 
 him with Ethel," by speaking of the latter's 
 engagement to Mr. Gilford, " one of the town 
 surgeons." 
 
 rmm. 
 
 im
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " I SHALL NEVER EORGET YOU ; NEVER ! " 
 
 T was touch-and-go whether I came to- 
 ^^ night or not ; I'd made an engage- 
 ment, before I had your invitation, to 
 go with some fishermen, and see wliat they 
 call a seine drawn : I forgot that, you see, 
 when I said I would dine here, and to-night I 
 forgot I Avas coming here, and was going off 
 with them, when Mrs. Townley charged at me 
 witli a rebuke and a reminder." 
 
 Lord Marcus makes this unflattering con- 
 fession with a candid coolness that disarms 
 Miss Templeton's resentment. It is not a 
 difficult task for a woman who wishes to be a 
 marchioness to pardon a small slight from the 
 man who may make her one. 
 
 "Oh! it's so dangerous going out with the 
 seine; I should have been dismal all the 
 evening if you had forgotten us for the iisli," 
 Miss Templeton says, pathetically.
 
 40 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 " I wouldn't regret tlie fish for a moment, 
 if you had. put me next to, or opposite to, 
 that lovely Miss Heatherley," he rephes, 
 ungratefully. 
 
 Miss Templeton presses her lips a trifle 
 closer together, and lowers her eye-lashes 
 for a moment. Then she hfts the cloudless, 
 blue eyes with a smile, and says : 
 
 " Perhaps you would have found her 
 even a duller companion than you are 
 finding me, she is not like the same girl 
 she was before her engagement ; so dread- 
 fully engrossed with thoughts of the absent 
 love, that she is almost useless now in 
 society." 
 
 " It is not really an engagement, is it ? " 
 Lord Marcus asks, kindling to the topic. 
 
 " It is, indeed, a real engagement, and it 
 will be quite a love match, in spite of all 
 her mother's machinations," Miss Templeton 
 laughs. " Poor Mrs. Heatherley ! her own 
 day is done, and she may easily be forgiven 
 for being a little disappointed at Ethel's having 
 fallen so desperately in love with a man who 
 hasn't much of a home, and no position what-
 
 " / Shall Never Forget You ; Never / " 41 
 
 ever to offer her ; but Ethel will have her 
 own way in this as in other things." 
 
 Lord Marcus fixes his sparkling eyes on her, 
 Avith a serious expression in them, which 
 gives a new charm to his boyish, handsome 
 face, and is — silent. 
 
 There is a little awkwardness in renewing 
 the conversation, as he will not aid her ; but 
 she is equal to the task, for she has a few 
 more shots to fire. 
 
 " For my own part, I am glad it is 
 settled so, for I am very fond of Ethel," she 
 begins, looking fondly down the table at Miss 
 Heatherley's profile. " I'm very fond of her, 
 very; but she has been such a silly little, 
 easy-dazzled, little fiirt, that it is a comfort 
 to know" she is settled at last with a man who 
 is able to take care of her." 
 
 " I think she can take care of herself." 
 
 Miss Templeton laughs and shakes her head. 
 
 " She's only a little rustic after all, you 
 know ; poor Mrs. Heatherley gives herself 
 dreadful airs — to a great extent, I fear, be- 
 cause we have noticed them a good deal — but 
 Ethel knows nothing of society ; if it had not
 
 42 Allerton Towers. 
 
 been for this marriage (Lord Marcus winces) 
 I should have had her in town with me next 
 season " 
 
 " What a stir she'd have made," he mur- 
 murs with enthusiasm, " she is prettier than 
 the prettiest woman I saw at the princess's 
 ball just before I came down, and all the 
 beauties who are in the best swim were 
 there." 
 
 "It will not be much use for a country 
 surgeon's wife to make a stir in the ' best 
 swim,'" Miss Templeton says, coldly. Then 
 she remembers Lord St. Just's claims on her, 
 and tries to give her undivided attention to 
 him for five minutes, hoping that Lord Marcus 
 Boyne will feel punished by her neglect. 
 
 Lord St. Just has taken sufficient wine 
 at this juncture to make him feel bitter 
 about having been debarred fi'om speaking of 
 his favourite hobby for so long a time. 
 Accordingly he is not in charity with anyone, 
 least of all with tlie man who has been 
 preferred to him by liis one socially legal 
 auditor. 
 
 " Is that vouno- fellow as witless as his
 
 " / Shall Never Forget You ; Never ! " 43 
 
 brother Kenmare, that you have to waste 
 so many words in makmg him understand 
 that he's not to cast his eyes at pretty Miss 
 Heatherley," he says, sardonically, and Miss 
 Templeton could eat him as she feels that 
 Lord Marcus hears the speech and is amused 
 by it. 
 
 " Pretty Miss Heatherley is so hopelessly 
 attached to her rather rough hero, that I have 
 no need to caution Lord Marcus against 
 falling into the pit which her ambitious 
 mamma is quite prepared to dig for him," 
 Fanny says, presently, and Lord St. Just 
 gnashes his teeth and smiles, and compli- 
 ments Miss Templeton on that •' well-known 
 enofineerino- skill whicli will doubtless enable 
 her to undermine Mrs. Heatherley." 
 
 All this time she has nearly forgotten Mr. 
 Grove, who is down at the other end of the 
 table, near enough to the Bisliop to come to 
 the rescue should liis lordship uuAvarily fall 
 into any theological difficulties. There is a 
 good deal of excitement frequently about this 
 task of extricating the Bishop, for he is apt 
 to forc^et, at times, that he has solemnly
 
 44 Allerton Towers. 
 
 pledged himself to the rigorous observance of 
 certain forms and ceremonies, which occa- 
 sionally he denounces as " puerile, childish, 
 popish, and altogether abominable.' The 
 duty of figuratively picking his lordship 
 up, setting him erect before the Church and 
 the world, and saving him from falling into 
 unconscious heresy, is ofttimes a hard one. 
 But Mr. Groves does his best to perform it, 
 and his best is the work of a churchman, a 
 gentleman, and a peacemaker. 
 
 He has been having a hard time of it 
 during this dinner, for CoUingham is on the 
 tapis^ and the Bishop, supported by some re- 
 cently delivered judgments, is as a lion on 
 the subject of one or two things that will 
 give him extra trouble if he does " not stamp 
 them out," as he vehemently expresses the 
 operation he proposes to himself. To revise, 
 cancel some portion of, and generally edit, 
 the Bishop during the heat of a controversy 
 into which he has hurled himself unsupported 
 by facts, has been a ^sk for a Titan. But 
 Mr. Grove has not only undertaken it, but 
 actually carried it through.
 
 "7 Shall Never Forget You; Never!'' 45 
 
 And all the while he has been in this fray. 
 Miss Templeton deludes herself (when she has 
 time to think about him at all) with the idea 
 that he has been aching and seething at the 
 sight of his successful rival on her left hand. 
 
 They go ■ into the drawing-room presently, 
 and Ethel instantly finds her way to a deep 
 old bow window, with cushioned seats in 
 its recess, in a corner of the room. She 
 takes up her position without let or hin- 
 drance from Fanny Templeton, for this win- 
 dow is remote from the piano and other 
 points of general attraction in the room, 
 and the girl, engaged as she is, will not have 
 the face to seclude herself in such a corner 
 with a man. Miss Templeton thinks. 
 
 Fanny has found out that Lord Marcus is 
 fond of music, and sings and plays a little 
 himself. It is a terrible trial to her now, that 
 she should have disregarded the efforts her 
 music and singing masters made in years 
 gone, by, to instil something like artistic feeling 
 into her ; for, intuitively, she feels that Lord 
 Marcus will not listen tolerantly to mere 
 namby-pamby prettiness, such as she can
 
 46 AllertOn Tower 
 
 deliver. With a further pang, she reflects 
 that Ethel Heatherley plays the viohn, and 
 plays it well, too, for an amateur! Blessings 
 from Miss Tem]3leton for her own far-sighted- 
 ness in not having asked Ethel to bring her 
 violin to night. 
 
 In a short time it all seems to be going 
 as Fanny wishes. Old Lady St. Just has got 
 Mrs. Heatherley well within her gossiping 
 clutches, so that there is nothing to be feared 
 from the widow, as regards the Bishop, yet 
 awhile. Mr. Grove is discussing the possi- 
 bilil}^ and advisability of making an under- 
 ground railway right into the lieart of Dart- 
 moor ; tlius rendering access to tlie most 
 picturesque points easy, and at the same 
 time preserving the wikl aspect of the place 
 unimpaired. Other people have grouped 
 themselves together more or less unconge- 
 nially and incongruously, and Lord Marcus 
 is safely landed at that bane to peace in the 
 majority of houses — the piano. 
 
 " Mrs. Townley tells me you have such a 
 lovely voice, and sucli a perfect style,*' she 
 says; and he lauglis Inioyanlly.
 
 " / Shall Never Forget You ; Neve?- ! " 47 
 
 "Mrs. Townley knows little of music and 
 less of styles. My voice is good enough as 
 far as nature goes, but I haven't had much 
 good training." 
 
 " But 3^ou will sing something to oblige us ? 
 
 It will be such a pleasure to hear you ! ( )li, 
 
 do ! " 
 
 She begins to pick a nund^er of songs out 
 
 of the music-stand, but he rej^ulses her, and 
 
 refuses them politely. 
 
 " Haven't learnt one of them. Miss Temple- 
 ton, and wouldn't offend your ears by crudely 
 singing anything I hadn't learnt," he says, 
 gallantly ; but she knows that he is looking 
 about for Ethel as he speaks. Suddenly he 
 discerns Miss Heatherley, and crosses over to , 
 lier leisurely, quite regardless of the expres- 
 sion of mingled spite and admiration in the 
 blue eyes which follow him. 
 
 " Wdl you })lay an accompaniment for 
 me?" he asks, gently; "'Twickenham Ferry;' 
 you know it." 
 
 "Yes, I know," she says, rising swiftly, 
 and coming out of the mysterious light of 
 the recess with a bright gladness in lier ftice
 
 48 AlUrton Towers. 
 
 and manner that undoes all Miss Templeton's 
 work. "I wish I had my fiddle here," she 
 goes on, as she seats herself at the piano, " it 
 goes with the violin, oh ! so deliciously." 
 
 She seems half appealing to Miss Temple- 
 ton for an endorsement of her sentiments re- 
 specting her beloved violin, but that lady's 
 heart is hardened towards her. 
 
 "A little bird has Avhispered to me that Mr. 
 Gifford wishes your choice had fallen on any 
 Q.ther musical instrument than the violin, 
 Ethel ; how will he like your speaking of it 
 as ' your fiddle ? ' " 
 
 Ethel turns slowly to the piano, draws off 
 her many buttoned gloves without the 
 slightest sign of haste or annoyance, flutters 
 her small, nervous hand over the keys, and 
 looks up into Lord Marcus's face with a smile 
 for wliich Fanny could kill her. 
 
 " Now ! " Ethel says ; and the pleased, 
 enamoured young fellow sings " Twickenham 
 Eerry," to her sympathetic accompaniment, in 
 a way he has never sang it before — or since ! 
 
 They all listen to him, and to her — spell- 
 bound, till the last echo of the last whispering
 
 " / Shall Never Forget You ; Never ! " 49 
 
 notes die out ; then a chorus of thanks and 
 admiration greet both the briUiant young 
 performers. 
 
 In listening to the thriUing strain, the 
 Bishop has forgotten ColHngham and his gout, 
 but both are rapidly recalled to him when 
 his daughter crosses over, and whispers : 
 
 " There is nothing in the song itself, but 
 the way her playing prompted him to sing it 
 was simply shocking ! Speak to Ethel, papa, 
 for her own sake ; point out the impropriety 
 of that daring, defiant style ; and don't hint 
 to her that I have asked you to do it, or the 
 poor, vain, silly child may think I'm jealous 
 of her." 
 
 So, at the bidding of his exemplary child, 
 the good Bishop presently calls Ethel to his 
 side, and unwillingly reproves her. 
 
 " It's a dreadful song for that boy to have 
 sung in the Palace, before me," he says, as 
 austerely as he can bring himself to speak to 
 the pretty widow's prettier daughter, " and 
 I'm sorry to find that you are so well 
 acquainted with it as to be able to play it in 
 a way that must have shocked everybody."
 
 50 Allerton Tower 
 
 '• What harm is there in the song ? I'll ask 
 you about my playing the accompaniment 
 afterwards," Ethel asks, respectfully ; but 
 there is a light in her brown velvet eyes, 
 that shows she is ready for battle. 
 
 . " No actual harm, but it's altogether not 
 quite the song for a lady or gentleman to 
 sing in a drawing-room before other ladies 
 and gentlemen." 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen listen to it de- 
 lightedly at concerts." 
 
 " In private society it is not well that the 
 full meaning should be put either into the 
 words or air," the Bishop says, dictatorially ; 
 and then, satisfied that he has said enough to 
 satisfy his daughter and his conscience for the 
 present, he resumes his conversation with the 
 Townleys, and leaves Ethel to reflect on his 
 counsels. 
 
 Humming the last two lines of the song 
 which has been the cause of her disgrace, 
 Ethel saunters away to her seat in the win- 
 dow again, and there, behind the curtain, is 
 Lord Marcus. 
 
 " I didn't see you come," she says ; and he
 
 " I Shall Never Forget You; Never!" 51 
 
 knows there is no girlish subterfuge here ; 
 she did 7iot see him come. 
 
 " Isn't it the best place in the room ? " the 
 girl goes on, never lowering her voice a half- 
 tone, but speaking out so that all in the room 
 may hear if they be minded to listen. " The 
 view is lovely, and we needn't talk." 
 
 She plants herself on the low seat op- 
 posite to him, and he crosses to her side 
 quickly. 
 
 "It is the best place in the room, for it's 
 the place you're in ; and I can't look at the 
 view, lovely as it is, while I can look at you ; 
 and as for one not talking, I must say some- 
 thing to you. May I ? " 
 
 " You say ' you must,' " she says, looking at 
 him with wonder in her eyes. 
 
 " Well, I must. It is this : I shall never 
 forget you, never ! And you are engaged ? " 
 
 " I am engaged to Mr. Gifford ; I told you 
 that myself, yesterday," she says, looking at 
 him too kindly. 
 
 " And yesterday I heard, and didn't care 
 whether I believed it or not ; to-night I've 
 heard it again. It was dinned into my ears 
 
 K 2
 
 52 Allerton Town's. 
 
 all through dinner, and now I can't bear to 
 believe it. Do you know why ? " 
 
 " Because you like me yourself, I suppose," 
 the girl says, proudly ; " that's the only 
 reason I can think of, and I'm sorry." 
 
 " Oh ! Ethel, it's because I love you," he 
 says, bending nearer to her — worshipping 
 her with the pure worship of a young 
 man's first passionate love — "don't be sorry 
 for me, whichever way it goes ; be glad, 
 for if I ever can gain you it will be my 
 life's happiness, and if I'm to lose you ! 
 Well ! be. glad I have loved you, won't 
 you?" 
 
 " You'll forget me and your fancy in a 
 week," Ethel says ; and she tries to say it 
 steadily, and tries to believe that she 
 means it. 
 
 " Forget you ! " He rises up, and stands 
 before her straight, erect, beautiful in his 
 youth and strength, and love for her. 
 
 " Forget you ! Is it because I'm younger 
 than the man in whose love you are going to 
 rely that you think mine will fade? or is it 
 because you despise me for having been so
 
 " / Shall Never Forget You ; Never ! " 53 
 
 quickly won, that you think I shall be 
 lightly lost?" 
 
 " No ; it's because I love the other one best 
 that I say you'll soon forget me ; because I 
 hope you will." 
 
 " Best ! Then you do feel something — 
 liking or something for me ? " he pleads, 
 eagerly ; but before Ethel can answer him, 
 Miss Templeton dances into the recess, and 
 puts her hand within Ethel's arm. 
 
 " I hope the others — the Townleys especi- 
 ally — haven't noticed this, Ethel," she whis- 
 pers, and the grip on Ethel's arm grows 
 vicious as she says it. Then she adds aloud 
 to Lord Marcus : 
 
 "Mr. Townley has said good-night to us, 
 and the carriage is at the door ; do you go 
 with them?" 
 
 " No. I shall walk home to-night," he 
 says, gloomily. 
 
 " Walk ! impossible ! it's five miles. Stay 
 here, my father will be most happy if you 
 will, I am sure ; if you are determined not to 
 drive." 
 
 " Thanks, Miss Templeton, but to stay here
 
 54 Allertoji Toicers. 
 
 would be more impossible still ; in the first 
 place I have no clothes with me, and in the 
 second place " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I have no inclination— to stay without 
 them," he says, lazily ; and then lie takes 
 Ethel's hand, and mutters "good-night" to her. 
 
 " Good-night, good-bye," Ethel says, rather 
 chokingly ; it is a bit of romance, and she 
 rather likes it. Still she thinks it would be 
 well to end it ! — while yet there is time ! 
 
 " It isn't ' good-bye, ' " Lord Marcus says, 
 impetuously ; " it can't be that — when you're 
 the one person in the world I want to see 
 again." 
 
 He wrings her hand, and something in the 
 strong grasp impresses her with the truth 
 and reality of what he has been saying to her. 
 A]id she cannot but be pitiful towards the 
 man who has given his love to her so un- 
 reservedly and quickly, and to whom slie 
 feels convinced she can never give her love 
 in return. 
 
 As soon as he is gone Miss Templeton 
 drops her mask of sweetness.
 
 " r Shall Xever Forget You; Never V 55 
 
 " Ethel ! " she begins, in a tone of reproba- 
 tion ; " you have been more than fooHsh to- 
 night ; even papa spoke of the way in which 
 you played just now, so professional and 
 showy, not at all what we -could have wished 
 to liear in our drawing-room ; and then, to 
 cap such an exhibition, you retire into a 
 dark corner with a young man who is a 
 stranger, and flirt with him in a way that 
 must have amused him." 
 
 Ethel's eyes flash in the growing darkness 
 — " Don't call me ' Ethel ' when you speak to 
 me in that way, Miss Templeton, or rather 
 never speak to me again till you can remem- 
 ber that I am neither your dependent nor 
 your servant, but your equal ; and as for 
 your father's opinion of my manner of play- 
 ing, you worded it for him, and made him 
 say it, because you knew Lord Marcus sang 
 the song as if he loved it simply because I 
 played it for liim," 
 
 " Oh, Ethel ! " Miss Tem])leton cries, des- 
 perately, feeling that if she has driven Ethel 
 into (^pen rebellion, the girl will hold no 
 terms, will keep no covenant.
 
 56 Allerton Towers. 
 
 "I am 'Miss Heatherley' to you, if you 
 please, until you tell me you are sorry for 
 having insulted me," the girl cries, pas- 
 sionately. "Wasn't it bad enough to be 
 tempted " 
 
 She checks herself abruptly, walks like a 
 queen into the lighted room, and bending 
 over lier mother, whispers, " We have stayed 
 too late, mother dear ! come ! " 
 
 A. 
 
 w
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 IS SHE JEALOUS? 
 
 jiT is the morning after the dinner at the 
 
 Palace, and Ethel Heatherley is out in 
 
 tlie garden at the back of her mother's 
 
 pretty cottage, alone with thoughts that are 
 
 not pleasant. 
 
 She cannot help admitting to herself that 
 she did like that brief, spasmodic bit of 
 romance which flashed into her life so un- 
 expectedly on the previous evening. She 
 liked it at the time, and remembers it with 
 blushes and pride, and pleasure now. And 
 for doing this she knows she ought to be 
 thoroughly ashamed of herself, for the man 
 whom she is pledged to marry has announced 
 that he is coming to have a serious talk with 
 her this morning, and he is not the man who 
 has temporarily glorified existence for her 
 with this Hash of bright romance. 
 
 " I shall never forget you, never ! " she
 
 58 Allerton Towers. 
 
 keeps on repeating to herself, but, do all 
 she can, she fails to utter the words with 
 that drawing sweetness which had been in 
 his tones wdien he uttered them. Did he, 
 could he mean them ? She hopes not ; iov 
 of course she is engaged to Walter, and she 
 loves him dearly, and wouldn't do anything 
 but marry him for the world. Still, did 
 Lord Marcus mean them ? 
 
 Marcus is a lovely name, too, she tells 
 herself. His name, Marcus Boyne, attracts 
 her more than his title, it's so Irish, and so 
 uncommon, and so exactly the gallant-sound- 
 ing, fitting name for so gallant-looking a 
 hero. How he ransj out those words — 
 
 " With love like u rose at the stern of the wlierry, 
 Tliere's danger in rowing to Twickenliani Town."' 
 
 What an old prude the Bishop was for carp- 
 ing at such a sweet love-song. But no ! it 
 wasn't the Bishop's fault, poor old man ; it 
 was Fanny who had prompted her father to 
 find fault; it was Fanny's jealous}^, the 
 foolish, spiteful thing ; as if he would ever 
 look at her, even if she, Ethel Ileatherley, 
 didn't exist.
 
 Is She Jealous? b\) 
 
 Was lie fickle, as Irishmen are, prover- 
 bially? Would he forget her, as she had 
 told him he would in a week ? How she 
 would like to test him, and find him faithful 
 and true ; that is to say, how she would like 
 to do it if Walter (dear, good Walter, who 
 shouldn't be snubbed for anyone) didn't exist ; 
 and Walter was coming in a moment, and 
 Lord Marcus had said he would " never for- 
 get her, never ! " 
 
 " She looks prettier this morning than she 
 has ever looked in her life, and somehow 
 or other she knoAvs that she does so, and 
 attributes this pleasing result rather to the 
 effect of the new emotions which have been 
 awakened in her by the brief romance of last 
 night, than to the deliciously-tinted pale pink 
 lawn dress, with its flounces and frills of 
 white lace. Xew feelings, new emotions, new 
 aspirations, new possibilities have entered in 
 and taken possession of and beautified her, 
 all through this bright glimpse she luis had 
 of an ardent's man's suddenly-developed ad- 
 miration and love. 
 
 If he could only see her this morning lie
 
 60 Allerton Towers. 
 
 would surely like her better than ever. If 
 he could only see her ! Not that she wishes 
 him to come, or to see her, or to think about 
 her any more ; but he had said he should 
 " never forget her, never ; " and after that, 
 what can she do but think of him a little, 
 for a time at least. 
 
 She is startled out of her meditations on 
 this head abruptly, by a step close to her 
 side, a hand on her shoulder, and a voice in 
 her ear, saying, 
 
 " Ethel, darling, I'm afraid I've kept you 
 waiting, but I've heard from my sister, offer- 
 ing to come and stay with me ; she wants 
 to come at once, and to bring a friend with 
 her, so I've been about searching for lodgings, 
 and the time has slipped away without my 
 knowing it." 
 
 He stoops over her as he speaks, as if 
 to kiss her, but Ethel stands a little aloof, 
 not angrily, nor coldly, but just as if a kiss 
 from him were not in the programme at 
 the moment. 
 
 " I didn't know you were late. I mean, 
 you haven't kept me waiting," Ethel says.
 
 Is She Jealous? 61 
 
 hurriedly, and then, seeing that Mr. Gifford 
 looks hurt and surprised, she tries to throw 
 a little extra interest into her next w(^rds. 
 
 " I'm so glad your sister is coming, Walter, 
 it will be so nice for you. But Avhy are 
 you getting lodgings for her? Why won't 
 she stay with you ? " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you she is bringing a friend 
 with her ? " 
 
 " But why can't the friend stay with you, 
 too?" 
 
 " The friend is a young lady, and it 
 wouldn't be quite the thing for her to stay 
 in a bachelor's house." 
 
 "" What nonsense ! What utter nonsense ! 
 Not the proper thing to stay in a bachelor's 
 house, when the bachelor's sister is with him. 
 Such prudery and rubbish ! I've no doubt 
 she's an old maid whom you wouldn't look 
 at ; besides (with a gay, self-satisfied laugh), 
 while I am in the way she needn't be afraid 
 of your falling in love with her, need she ? '' 
 
 " She's not an old maid," he says, witli 
 slight embarrassment. 
 
 "Isn't she?" Ethel asks, quickly. "You
 
 62 Allerton Towers. 
 
 told me your sister is twenty-nine or thirty, 
 so I took it for granted that her friend would 
 be equally aged. What is her name ? Is she 
 pretty ? " 
 
 " Very," he says, emphatically. 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 "Very pretty, and very clever, and " 
 
 " How pleased you must feel at the pros- 
 pect of welcoming her," Ethel interrupts, with 
 a little air of hauteur that becomes her well, 
 and that pleases Walter Gifford, because he 
 fancies it betokens jealousy! Alas! for him 
 and his short-sightedness. Ethel's jealousy 
 will never bring her nearer to him. His first 
 instinct against the coming of his sister's 
 friend has been a correct one. Her presence 
 will bring no peace to him. 
 
 "I am not at all pleased, to tell the truth. 
 I wish Mabel had come by herself, and then 
 she could have stayed with me ; as it is, Miss 
 Somerset has spoilt the pleasure of my sister's 
 visit, as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " Don't you like Miss Somerset ? " 
 
 " My not wishing her to come has nothing 
 to do with mv likino-, or not likino- her. I'm
 
 Is She Jealous? G3 
 
 annoyed because she will take Mabel into 
 lodgings instead of letting her come to nie, 
 and she will engross my sister entirely." 
 
 " You either hate or love her very much, 
 Walter," Ethel says, gravely. " I wonder 
 which it is ? " 
 
 " It certainly is not ' love ' that I feel for 
 the lady who is going to interfere with my 
 plans for Mabel." 
 
 " Then it has been love, now, hasn't it P 
 If she is less than a friend to you now, it is 
 because she has at some period in the past 
 been more than a friend. Won't you trust 
 me and tell me, Walter? I shouldn't be 
 the least bit annoyed or hurt. I'm not 
 silly enough to fancy that I am the only 
 one you have ever cared for. One can't 
 have one, and only one love in a life " 
 
 " I hoped that I was your first love, at any 
 rate, Ethel ; and told myself that I had won 
 you utterly." 
 
 " You shouldn't tell yourself anything 
 so foolish and dog in-the-mangerish. Why 
 should I only have the pleasure of being 
 in love once, any more than the rest of
 
 64 Allerton Towers. 
 
 my fellow-creatures? You've half confessed 
 already, at least, I've screwed it out of you, 
 that you have been in love with this Miss 
 Somerset, whatever you may be now. Why 
 should I be different, and vow truly that 
 you're the first and only one my heart has 
 thought of for a minute ? " 
 
 " If I could think you were jealous," he 
 is beginning, when she laughs and stops 
 him. 
 
 " No, no, Walter ! I'm not jealous, I'm 
 only glad to find that I'm not so much, so 
 everything to you, as I thought I was ; it 
 would have frightened me to feel that you 
 never had loved anybody, and never could 
 love anybody but me ; now I feel freer, oh ! 
 ever so much freer." 
 
 " I'm sorry that your assumption of facts, 
 that you can't verify, should give you such 
 liberty of conscience. Miss Somerset is no 
 more to me than any other person who in- 
 tervenes between me and unfettered inter- 
 course with my sister." 
 
 " You got red about her," Ethel says, 
 with a lively laugh, that seems to tell liim
 
 Is She Jealous? 65 
 
 she does not care whether he is in love with 
 Miss Somerset or not. 
 
 " I came to speak to you about something 
 widely different, and that is your mother's 
 unjustifiable opposition to our engagement, 
 after having given her free consent to it." 
 
 " Don't call anything my mother does or 
 says 'unjustifiable,' if you please." 
 
 "It is unjustifiable to profess perfect satis- 
 faction with a man and his prospects one 
 day, and then, suddenly, without any change 
 having taken place in either, to find fault 
 with both." 
 
 " Mother doesn't find fault with you, as a 
 man." 
 
 " She does with my position, and seems 
 to distrust my power of improving it ; and 
 you don't appear the least distressed at her 
 doing so. Why is this, Ethel? What has 
 happened to change you from the dear, 
 loving, devoted, staunch little girl you were 
 that day you said you would be my wife ? " 
 " Please don't use such words and such 
 grand sentiments about it," Ethel says, with 
 unaffected distaste to the subject ; " you're
 
 66 Allerton Towers. 
 
 making it all big and important by the way 
 you speak ! Why can't you let things be ? 
 Why can't you drift on just as we are, con- 
 tentedly, for a little time ? " 
 
 " Because I love you, Ethel, and can't see 
 you either taken from me, or drifting from 
 me, without showing the pain I feel," he 
 says, with emotion. 
 
 They have come away from the house, 
 down along the winding paths that lead 
 from the pretty, old-fashioned garden to the 
 banks of the river, as he says this ; and now 
 they stand in silence for a time, looking down 
 at the water, as it ripples and leaps now 
 along quiet places, and now over big boulders. 
 On the opposite side of the river, the Palace 
 grounds spread their stately, sheltered walks 
 and lawns, and, presently looking across, 
 Ethel sees, on one of these latter. Miss 
 Templeton sitting on a rustic bench, under 
 a deeply-drooping tree, looking down com- 
 placently at a manly form reclining on the 
 grass at her feet. 
 
 " Fanny and Mr. Grove don't often come 
 so far as this," Ethel is saying, when the
 
 Is She Jealous? 67 
 
 manly form starts to its feet, with an amount 
 of activity that does not characterise Mr. 
 Grove's movements usually, and a strong, 
 clear, young voice calls out, 
 
 " Hold hard, there, will you, Miss Heather- 
 ley, and I'll cross over on some of these big 
 stones," and Ethel recognises the form and 
 voice of Lord Marcus Boyne, and cannot 
 restrain an exclamation of glad delight as 
 she does recognise him. 
 
 This at the first blush of pleasure ! A 
 moment after she remembers that Lord Mar- 
 cus can never be anything to her, and that 
 her lover is by her side ! Oh ! the joy there 
 ought to be in such a reflection ! Oh ! the 
 flat pain there is in it ! 
 
 ("That puppy here again ! ") she hears Mr. 
 GifTord mutter, and she can't refrain from 
 saying, 
 
 " He's manly and gentlemanly, and bright 
 and beautiful ! Why do you call him a 
 * puppy,' Walter ? " 
 
 " ' Beautiful ! ' What a word to use about 
 a man ! One gets a contempt for the man to 
 whom it's applied, even if one hadn't it before." 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Allerton Towers. 
 
 "Why?" Ethel asks, impetuously, as she 
 eagerly watches Lord Marcus's perilous pas- 
 sage across the boulders, over whicli the river 
 is rushing tumultuously. "Why? We use 
 it about a sunset, and a horse, and a moun- 
 tain ; why not about a man ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " 
 
 " There's no ar^^ument asfainst its use in 
 that, anyway," Ethel says, stubbornly. Then 
 she drops her acknowledged lover's arm, 
 which has been holding her tightly this while, 
 and goes of! to meet the unacknowledged 
 one, as he clambers up the bank, flushed and 
 dripping from his exploit. 
 
 " A modern Leander ! " Miss Templeton 
 shouts from her dry and deserted position on 
 the opposite lawn ; but her spitefully sug- 
 gestive words fall on Walter Gifford's ears 
 only, and deeply do they aggravate him. 
 The others hear them not. Ethel is bending 
 over the bank, holding an enthusiastic hand 
 out to Lord Marcus, who is leaping up in 
 most Leander-like fashion, quite oblivious of 
 the jealous glances which are being hurled at 
 them from either side of the bank.
 
 Is She Jealous? GD 
 
 " I have come to tell you something,'' Lord 
 Marcus gasps, as he reaches level land. " T 
 know you won't care to hear it, but, still, I 
 can't help wanting to tell you, and to hear 
 you say you're sorry for me. Kenmare — 
 he's my brother, you know ? — is aAvfully ill, 
 and I'm going home at once to see him ; but 
 I wouldn't go without saying good-bj'e to 
 you." 
 
 He is holding her hand, and looking into 
 her face with his wonderful, glistening, aqua- 
 marine eyes, and she is tenderly touched, as it 
 behoves a woman to be who hears of the 
 sudden illness, which may possibly have a 
 fatal termination, of one who is dear to one 
 whom she loves. 
 
 " Perhaps your brother Avill get better," 
 she blurts out, prosaically ; " but, if you 
 wanted to say good-bye to me, why Avere you 
 lying on the lawn at Miss Templeton's 
 feet ? " 
 
 " Because I had to take a message Irom 
 Townley to the Bishop ; and when I said I 
 was coming on l:ere to the cottage, she tcld 
 me she expected you there this morning,
 
 70 Allerton Towers. 
 
 and said I should miss you if I didn't 
 wait. Would you have been sorry ? Would 
 you have cared a bit, Ethel ? " 
 
 " Ethel," Mr. Gifford shouts from a height 
 a few yards above her, looking down 
 with threatening eyes upon the fascinating, 
 frivolous pair. " Ethel, I must go in five 
 minutes, and I have many things to say to 
 you." 
 
 " Why the deuce doesn't he say them and 
 have done with it," young Marcus Boyne 
 mutters to himself, discontentedly. He is 
 mad with fate, love, everything this morning ! 
 and Ethel's eyes are distracting him. Why 
 are the " sweetest eyes that were ever seen " 
 predestined to light the path of another 
 man? Why may he not dare to ask her to 
 definitely break all previous bonds, and share 
 his fortunes with his heart to-day? 
 
 No, he cannot. There is that man on the 
 little winding path above them proclaiming 
 his rights in the cold, cavilling, displeased 
 tone in which he says — 
 
 " Ethel, I must go in five minutes." 
 
 Wearily, Ethel begins to ascend the winding
 
 Is She Jealous? 71 
 
 path. What is she to say to Walter Gifford 
 when she rejoins him ? Nothing ; absolutely 
 nothing ! She cannot tliank him for waiting 
 for her, for she has not wanted him to wait ! 
 She cannot profess to think that he will be 
 glad to see Lord Marcus Boyne, because she 
 knows that the young man's name is <-is the 
 root of bitterness to him ! And if she does 
 not do either of these things, Walter may be 
 righteously annoyed. 
 
 " Why, oh why, has any one but mother 
 the right to control me or find fault with 
 me ? " she says to herself, as she plods up the 
 path. Lord Marcus affectionately at her heels. 
 Then she meets Walter Gifford, and must say 
 something. 
 
 " You don't know one another, I find ? 
 Mr. Gifford, let me introduce you to Lord 
 Marcus Bovne ; now come in and see 
 mother," she adds, witli an air of relief, turn- 
 ing towards Lord Marcus. 
 
 " And you stay here with me," Walter 
 Gifford puts in, decisively. 
 
 She looks from one to the other for a 
 moment, and then makes up her mind tliat
 
 72 Allerton Towers. 
 
 she cannot even seem to slight the man who 
 is in sorrow about his brother. 
 
 " Lord Marcus's will be rather a sad good- 
 bye, Walter," she says, gently ; " you are 
 going to see your sister and her friend, who 
 are both full of spirits and life ; he is going 
 to his dying brother. I think I must stay 
 with him and mother." 
 
 Walter GifTord stands back and folds his 
 arms over his chest. In that moment he 
 comes to a definite conclusion concerning 
 the part he will play in this drama. Ethel 
 shall go her own way for a year. At the 
 end of that year he will either have the 
 power to control her, or the will to resist 
 her ! What matter which ? She shall go 
 her own way now. 
 
 " It must be as you please," he says, inclin- 
 ing his head, and Ethel lifts her bonnie, 
 blooming face towards him and answers — 
 
 "My pleasure is that you go and enjoy 
 yourself with your sister and Miss Somerset, 
 for a time, and leave me to mother ! Now, 
 you can't say Tm nasty, and exacting, and 
 jealous."
 
 Is She Jealous? 73 
 
 "I wish to Heaven you were," he says, 
 piteously, but she is not listening to him. 
 She is already running up the winding path, 
 with Lord Marcus by her side. 
 
 The young Irishman has all his woman- 
 worshipping wits about him, for all the real 
 trouble he is in about his brother. 
 
 " I knew it was on the cards that you 
 couldn't or wouldn't see me if I came," he 
 says, with that bewitching humility which 
 more than other form of pride compels a 
 woman to surrender ; " but still, I thought 
 I'd come and ask for your sympathy, th(High 
 you can't give me your " 
 
 "Oh! don't, don't." They are in the 
 clematis-covered entrance-porch to the cottage 
 now — a little place — the interior of which is 
 a mass of tea-roses, stephanotis, gardenia, and 
 giant mignonette.' It is all so sweet that for 
 a few moments poor Ethel feels sweetly 
 astray. Then she recovers herself. 
 
 " I wish Mr. Gifibrd had come with us," 
 she says, rather mournfully. 
 
 "If he had I shouldn't be here now," 
 Lord Marcus cries. Then he goes down on
 
 74 Allerton Towers. 
 
 one knee before her, and she can but hear 
 what he has to say. 
 
 " Ethel, I love you, I love you ; whatever 
 comes, I shall come back and tell you so ; 
 Ethel, you are my star ! Guide me back to 
 you soon ; forgive me for saying this now 
 when he's here, and I oughtn't to say it, but 
 I'm unhappy about my brother, and I want 
 someone to love me. I mean I want to tell 
 someone all about myself and what's before me." 
 
 Ethel is leaning back ao-ainst a shelf, her 
 hands behind her, tightly clasping it, and he 
 is standing before her, grief-stricken, be- 
 wilderingly handsome, and utterly oblivious 
 of the fact that the man she is pledged to 
 marry is standing a few yards away from 
 them, anathematising him. 
 
 In response to his ardent appeal, Ethel, 
 with the instinct for self-preservation which 
 is inherent in her sex, says nothing ; but 
 moves discreetly towards the inner hall, 
 cooing out as she moves, 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! we want you ! Are 
 you not down yei, darling ? " and presently 
 Mrs. Heatherley appears, all India muslin
 
 /.s' She Jealous? 75 
 
 and surah, and soft laces, looking lier fresh- 
 est, sweetest, airiest morning self in fact, and, 
 as with a quick glance she takes in the 
 whole situation (for Walter Gilford is loom- 
 ing gloomily in the background), Ethel 
 feels that the onus is off her ! 
 
 " Mother will manage them both,'" she 
 says to herself, with a sensation of relief, 
 for it has not come to the pass yet, with 
 her, that she desires to manage either of 
 them apart from " mother." 
 
 " My dear boy," Mrs. Heatherley says, 
 quiveringly, presently, when she has heard 
 the reason why he has been recalled home, 
 " my heart bids me go and help to nurse 
 your brother ; but my motives might be 
 misconstrued if I volunteered for the service ! 
 What say you? Shall I go?" 
 
 For a moment Lord Marcus thinks of his 
 motherless, dying brother, away in the 
 imposing but exceedingly ill-regulated Irish 
 castle, and is half inclined to accept the 
 Quixotic offer. The next he looks at 
 Ethel's face, and reads her look of pained, 
 scornful disapj)roval aright.
 
 76 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 " I daren't ask you, though I'd give all 
 I have, or may have, in the world to get 
 you and Ethel there," he says, with un- 
 wonted trembling and hesitation in his 
 voice and manner. And Mrs. Heatherley 
 looks at him with tears of maternal under- 
 standing in her eyes, and Ethel turns away 
 hastily, and gets out to look for Walter 
 Gifford. 
 
 He is just about to depart when she 
 comes, and it is in his heart to punish her 
 for having been so long. 
 
 "I had a hundred things to say to you, 
 Ethel ; but you have been so much taken 
 up with Lord Marcus, that I must put 
 them off till the evening." 
 
 " Or till another day — say till you've 
 found lodgings for your sister and Miss 
 Somerset," she says, calmly. 
 
 " Ethel ! don't send me off like this ! and 
 don't be dazzled by that boy." 
 
 "That ' boy,' as you call him, is not in the 
 * dazzling ' line of business, at present. He's 
 in grief, real grief, about his brother 
 Kenmare.'
 
 Is She Jealous ? 77 
 
 " If Kenmare dies, he will be the Marquis. 
 His grief is as real as all else about him," 
 Walter GifFord storms out ; and Ethel can 
 only say, 
 
 " Walter ! how can you say it ? " 
 
 
 t
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 entp:r lily, exit ethel. 
 
 pORE than a week has elapsed, Mr 
 '^ GifFord has found the most com- 
 fortable and picturesque lodgings 
 for his sister and her friend that the heart 
 of woman can desire, or the most exacting and 
 fastidious nature of man can desire for her. 
 
 Three lavender-scented rooms in a sweet 
 farm-house, called " The Uplands," are placed 
 at their service by one of the bonniest- 
 faced housewives in the West counties. 
 
 Three old, raftered rooms, low and roomy, 
 with quaint corner cupboards full of china, 
 and long, queerly carved settles, along the 
 walls. Eooms that are full of the sweetness 
 and light of the country, and, it may be told 
 here, rooms into which Lily Somerset would 
 rather die than enter, if she too had not an 
 end to gain. 
 
 For she is one of the world's spoilt dar-
 
 Enter Lily. Eait Ethel. 79 
 
 lings, and for her " to rough it " in ever so 
 shght a degree, is an extraordinary thing. 
 It is the mornincf after their arrival at the 
 
 o 
 
 Uplands — the farm-house that lies on the 
 breezy borders of Allerton Towers — and the 
 two ladies are sitting at their rather late 
 breakfast, in the old oak-panelled, low-raftered 
 sitting room which has been placed at their 
 service. 
 
 Anything more incongruous than these two 
 friends are in appearance, manners, motives, 
 habits, and aspirations, cannot well be ima- 
 gined. Mabel Gifford is a tall, stout, good- 
 humoured, commonplace-looking woman of 
 thirty, full of thriftiness, and excellent house- 
 hold ways, blessed with an eagle's eye for the 
 main chance. Not a mean woman! Far be 
 it from the chronicler of this portion of her 
 blameless, uneventful career, to su^sest that 
 Mabel GifFord is endowed, in ever so slight a 
 degree, with the quality of meanness. But 
 essentially a thrifty, careful, saving Avoman, 
 who, abhorring every form of luxury and 
 extravagance for herself, is rather apt to be 
 intolerant of it in others.
 
 80 Allerton Towers. 
 
 Yet, see her now, the chosen friend and 
 companion of Lily Somerset, a girl of four- 
 and- twenty, whose fortunes are as fair as her 
 most lovely face — a girl who has never known 
 what it is to " deny herself anything that 
 money can purchase, or which she has set her 
 heart upon having — a girl to whom fine rai- 
 ment is absolutely one of the chief necessaries 
 of life, who invariably averts her eyes from 
 the seamy side of everything, and who feels 
 it rather hard that some one cannot bribe the 
 sun to perpetually shine upon her — a self- 
 indulgent, wilful, capricious, extravagant, 
 exacting, ungrateful young lady, yet one for 
 whom Mabel Gifford is willing to sacrifice her 
 time, principles, occupations, sharply-defined 
 rules of life, and personal independence. 
 
 She does not puzzle her head much by 
 trying to define the reason why she has gone 
 into this bondage to one who, she feels dimly, 
 will cast her off and do without her very 
 buoyantly as soon as she no longer needs her. 
 It is enough for Miss Gifford, who has no 
 charms, no caprices, and but a very narrow 
 fortune of her own, to shine in the reflected
 
 Enter Lily. Ed-it Ethel. 81 
 
 light of this glittering fairy queen, wlio is as 
 fair, slender, graceful, and sweet to look upon 
 as the lily whose name she bears. 
 
 Miss Somerset is lying back in the most com- 
 fortable chair in the room, her long morning 
 gown of cream Madras musUn and lace float- 
 ing away in soft folds around her fragile figure. 
 Her beautifully shod diminutive feet are stuck 
 up on a chair in front of her. A cup of choco- 
 late is frothing on the table by her side, and 
 Miss Gilford is just engaged in the critical task 
 of selecting; the daintiest bit of sweetbread in 
 the dish, wherewith to tempt her (Lily's) fitful 
 appetite. 
 
 " Put your hat on, Mabel, and go at once," 
 Miss Somerset is saying, after there has. been 
 a short pause in the conversation. 
 
 " Yes, dear. Go where ? " Miss Gilford re- 
 plies, acquiescently, but vaguely. 
 
 "To your brother, of course. Oh, I forgot 
 you didn't know what I have been thinking 
 about. I have just made up my mind that I 
 won't touch a thing, not a single thing, for 
 breakfast, until I know what Mr. Gilford means 
 by treating me in this exceedingly rude manner." 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 82 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Rude, my dear ! Walter rude to you ! 
 He couldn't be." 
 
 "It's bearish of him not to have come to 
 inquire for me this morning, after that hideous 
 journey yesterday; and I will not be treated 
 with churlish discourtesy by any man, least of 
 all by Walter Gifford. He inust come, and 
 make something like an apology to me, before 
 I touch anything this morning ; and if I go 
 without my chocolate, I'm always ill, as you 
 know ; so go at once, please." 
 
 Mabel Gifford rises promptly, and puts on 
 her hat ; but she sighs as she does it, for she 
 knows that her task is a hopeless one, and 
 that when slie comes back with it unfulfilled, 
 her loved tyrant will make her suffer for her 
 inability to perform it. 
 
 " You must remember that Walter's time 
 is not his own," she says, feebly. 
 
 " Then pray who's is it ? " Lily retorts, 
 imperiously. 
 
 " Well, a doctor, you know, must consider 
 his patients before even his friends," Miss 
 Gifford says, humbly. 
 
 " I will not have his patients considered
 
 Enter Lily. Exit Ethel. 83 
 
 before me, and he would never be fool enough 
 to tell me that he does so," Lily says, with 
 smiling derision. " You are blundering, as 
 usual, you good, awkward old Mab, in your 
 efforts to defend your brother ; you had much 
 better simply do as I tell you — go and tell 
 him he must come at once. Leave the work 
 of explanation to him." 
 
 It is in Miss Gifford's mind to say, " Time 
 was when Walter would have left every 
 patient in the world for your sake, and then 
 you drove him from you." But she does not 
 say it, for it is the fondest desire of her heart 
 that these two shall come together again, and 
 she humbly acknowledges that she is not 
 gifted with the grace of uttering those season- 
 able words which may bring this desirable 
 end about. 
 
 The young surgeon's house is in one of the 
 most picturesque quarters of the old city, but 
 the distance between it and the Uplands farm- 
 house, where the two ladies are lodging, is as 
 wide as Walter has been able to make it. 
 His sister's feet grow tired, and her soul grows 
 sad as she walks it rapidly this morning, for 
 
 G 2
 
 84 Allerton Towers. 
 
 she detects a meaning in his having placed 
 them so far away. 
 
 " He doesn't want to be in the way of 
 seeing her often, I'm afraid," Mabel solilo- 
 quises, shaking her head. " And I really do 
 believe, now, that she's got to be fond of him, 
 and finds she can't do without him ; what a 
 thiuCT it would be for dear Walter. Five 
 thousand a year, and no one to interfere with 
 the way she spends it ! There'd be an end of 
 all the working and scraping and toiling, and 
 being beaten back by richer men, who can 
 afford to make more flourish about what they 
 do, if Walter will only love and trust her again." 
 
 .Walter is just coming out of his surgery 
 door, into the yard, where his stanhope is 
 waiting for him. The stanhope " looks pros- 
 perous," Mabel thinks, for it is well built and 
 well kept, and the big, powerfully modelled 
 bay horse that stands between the shafts has 
 a satisfactory air of sleekness about him, that 
 reassures his owner's sister. Still ! " It is 
 hard work, grinding work, for poor Walter to 
 keep things up to the mark, I know," his sis- 
 ter thinks, pityingly, as she steps across the
 
 Enter Lily. Exit Ethel. 85 
 
 yard towards liiin. Then in a moment it 
 flashes across her, that he may be Lily 
 Somerset's husband, and the master of five 
 thousand a year, if he pleases, and her pity 
 resolves itself into a sensible, practical, earnest 
 desire and intention, to see that he uses this 
 opportunity aright. 
 
 "You moving at this hour, after your jour- 
 ney, Mabel," he says, addressing her in cheer- 
 ful accents, though he has no cheerfulness in 
 his heart, for he has not seen Ethel since that 
 day when he left her pouring out pity, that 
 seemed to him misapplied, for Lord Marcus 
 Boyne, about his brother Lord Kenmare. 
 How, therefore, should cheerfulness and him- 
 self be " on terms " just now ? 
 
 " Yes, Walter, and I'm here without having 
 had any breakfast, let me tell you," Mabel 
 says, querulously, and then, as she sees that he 
 is about to step into his stanhope, she makes 
 a sudden step forward, lays her hand on his 
 arm, and arrests his further progress. 
 
 " You must come back with me, Walter. 
 Lily is — is hurt tliat you haven't been over 
 already; you'll come back with me now?"
 
 86 Allerton Tov-ers. 
 
 Walter Giffdrd slowly takes out a note- 
 book of imposing proportions, and reads a 
 list of cases and the hours which he is bound 
 to give to them. 
 
 " You see, Mabel, I have no time to give 
 to you this morning," he says, as he closes 
 the note-book. 
 
 " Not to me, but to hei\" his sister pleads 
 with unconscious pathos. 
 
 " Nonsense, dear old girl." He speaks 
 with affected unconcern and indifference, but 
 within he is terribly moved. Why cannot 
 this Syren cease to lure him now, when he 
 is so nearly safely anchored in a far more 
 holy love ? Why cannot she cease to strive 
 to distract him ? Why— cannot she cease to 
 be herself, in fact? 
 
 " Nonsense, dear old girl ; my time is not 
 my own. Present my compliments to Miss 
 Somerset, and tell her that if she gets bilious 
 or neuralgic down here, I will come to her at 
 once, in pursuit of my calling ; but while she 
 is well and happy, she does not need me, and 
 other people do." 
 
 He steps up into his stanhope as he speaks,
 
 Enter Lily. Exit EtJiel. S7 
 
 and his sister imj^erils all lier limbs in striving 
 to follow him. 
 
 " But, Walter ! do listen ! " 
 
 Brightly he leans forward, holding the 
 reins, and looking horribly ready to drive 
 over her, she thinks. 
 
 "I am listening." 
 
 " Think, Walter ; think of what I shall 
 have to endure when I go back without you ! 
 Lily is nervous this morning ; take her as one 
 of the patients whom you will not neglect." 
 
 As his sister says this, Mr. Gifford thinks of 
 Ethel, the girl he loves and longs to marr}^ ; 
 of Ethel, the girl who seems so heartily disin- 
 clined to marry him just at present Then 
 across the thought of her, comes another 
 thought — a thought, lightning-like, of Lily, 
 who is all flush and glow, and passionate 
 resolve ! 
 
 " With all my heart, I wish Miss Somerset 
 had selected another spot to recover her 
 faded health in, and another medical adviser 
 than myself ; understand me, Mabel ! I will 
 not help Lily out in another sham ! tell her 
 so from me."
 
 88 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " If I dared to do it, she would be sitting 
 in your surgery when you came home to- 
 day. Walter, be sensible, be led by Lily 
 and me." 
 
 " Led ! to what ? " 
 
 " To be Avhat you wanted to be once to 
 her. Oh, Walter, do listen, think of her 
 beauty, and sweetness, and money ; think ! " 
 
 " Of their all beino- the devil's snares 
 for me, and of how I won't be snared,"" 
 he said, coldly ; " go back to your friend, 
 Mabel, and tell her that T know now what 
 self-preservation means ; I sliall not leave 
 my duty at lier bidding." 
 
 "And she won't touch a bit of breakfast till 
 she sees you," Mabel pleads, as she sees the 
 chances of her mission ending successfully 
 fading away. 
 
 " Then I fear she will not breakfast to-day,"' 
 he laughs, " for when I come back from my 
 rounds, I am due at Mrs. Heatherley's." 
 
 *'Who is Mrs. Heatherley?" 
 
 " She is Ethel's mother, and Ethel is the 
 girl I hope to make my wife." 
 
 "Walter!"
 
 Enter Lily. Exit Ethel. 89 
 
 " Why this announcement ? " 
 " I have never even heard of her." 
 " No ; I have kept my heart's darling very 
 close," he says, meditatively. 
 
 " Are 5^ou teasing and trying me ? I hope 
 you are, Walter, for rather than go back and 
 repeat what you have just said, as a truth, 
 to Lily, I would — I don't know where I 
 wouldn't go." 
 
 " Come up and have a quiet talk with 
 me this evening, Mabel," he answers, for 
 his sister's manner and appearance is too 
 flustered and heart-rending altogether for 
 him to hold further converse with her 
 now. A strong, brawny woman dissolved in 
 tears is a sight to make even strong men 
 shudder and depart from it ; they themselves 
 being the cause of the unseemly emotion 
 being the more cogent reason why they are 
 intolerant of it. 
 
 " If this is what I have come to AUerton 
 Towers for, I could almost wish I had stayed 
 at home, though for months it has been the 
 dearest wish of my heart to see you, Walter," 
 Miss Gifford says, half to her brother and lialf
 
 90 Allerton Towers. 
 
 to herself, as he drives away, and leaves her 
 ill the full morning light, clearly outlined and 
 very warm, in his stable yard. 
 
 Presently, stepping daintily and tenderly 
 across the paving stones, there comes a deli- 
 cate little lady, vaporously dressed in raiment 
 of the most gossamer-like grey. Intuitively, 
 Miss Gifford feels that this is an antagonist, 
 and when with a pardoning smile the trans- 
 parent intruder addresses her, the substantial 
 sister feels that Walter's path may be beset 
 with other snares than his own untoward will. 
 
 '^ lias Mr. Gilford gone? Ah! how un- 
 fortunate I am, to be so late," the pretty little 
 lady in grey exclaims, disconsolately, and a 
 conviction starts through Mabel's mind, that 
 this can be no other than the Mrs. Heatherley 
 to whom Walter has declared he is due as 
 soon as he has finished his rounds. 
 
 " My brother is gone for several hours, I 
 believe," Miss Gifford says, frigidly, and 
 Mrs. Heatherley, with eyes wide open with 
 perplexity and friendly feeling, murmurs : 
 
 "Your brother; is it possible? I am 
 delighted to meet such a sister of Mr.
 
 Enter Lily. Exit Ethel. 91 
 
 GifFord's, for I take a deep interest in him, 
 and have so often wished that he had a 
 wise sister near him." 
 
 " I am the only sister he has, and I am 
 near enough to him now," Mabel says, 
 fluently. " As to my wiseness ! we won't 
 say about that at present — as 3'ou are such 
 a friend of Walter's, I may venture to ask 
 your name." 
 
 "Oh! I am Mrs. Heatherley," the fair little 
 widow says, with the prettiest air of surprise 
 imaginable. That anyone should be ignorant 
 of her name and status, is not at all in order 
 at AUerton Towers. 
 
 " Ethel's mother ! " Miss Giffbrd cries, sur- 
 prised out of prudence, and Mrs. Heatherley 
 nods her head assentingiy, and says : 
 
 " Yes, Ethel is tlie name of my child, and 
 now you have come, I almost regret that I 
 have just made arrano-ements for takino- her 
 away for a time ; she is so young, and as it 
 is so terribly dull here, at last I have yielded 
 to her unspoken plea for a change ; we leave 
 Allerton Towers just as you come to it, Miss 
 Gifford; can anything be more unfortunate?''
 
 92 Allerton Toifers. 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley does not even assume the 
 shallow appearance of being sorry for the 
 combination of circumstances which she is 
 verbally regretting, and Mabel Giilbrd feels 
 her face flushing with mortification. That 
 Ethel's mother is no more anxious for the 
 engagement to last and the marriage even- 
 tually to come off', than she herself, Walter's 
 sister, is, is evident to her, and it angers her 
 that it should be so. She can justify herself 
 for undervaluing and lightly regarding the 
 unknown Ethel. But that Mrs. Heatherley 
 should presume to undervalue Walter, whom 
 she knows, goads Walter's sister into the 
 utterance of words of indiscretion. 
 
 "I have just heard something from my 
 brother that makes me feel rather surprised 
 at your daughter's desire to go away from 
 Allerton Towers," Mabel says, stiffl}^ ; and 
 Mrs, Heatherley aggravates the already 
 aggravated sister still further by taking 
 no notice of her remark. 
 
 " When did you say you expected your 
 brother home ? I am most anxious to see 
 him before I go, in order tliat he may pre-
 
 Enter Lily. Edit Ethel. 
 
 scribe for my neuralgia. You would hardly 
 believe it, Miss Gilford, but I am a martyr to 
 my nerves " 
 
 " My brother will be home in the course of 
 two or three hours," Mabel interrupts. "Are 
 you leaving so suddenly that you won't wait 
 to see him ? " 
 
 " The train will not wait for us, my 
 dear Miss Gilford," the little widow says, 
 graciously ; " we leave in an hour, I regret 
 to say, as I, should much like to have seen 
 Mr. Gilford, so kind and nice as I have always 
 found him ; but the train, like the tide, waits 
 for no man, you know, and the hour is fixed 
 for us to join our friends the St. Justs, at the 
 station ; delightful people. Lord and Lady 
 St. Just ; I wish your brother knew more 
 of tliem. We have arranged a little tour 
 together. My Ethel is enthusiastic about 
 scenery. If we had been staying here, I 
 should have begged you to be kind enough 
 to come to the cottage and look at some of 
 her sketches ! as it is, unfortunately, all I can 
 say is, good-bye, dear Miss Gilford, and I 
 trust we may meet again."
 
 94 Allerton Towers. 
 
 Bewildered and annoyed as she is, still 
 Mabel has no definite ground of offence 
 against Mrs. Heatherley, and cannot, there- 
 fore, refuse to take the graciously proffered 
 little hand which that lady extends. 
 
 " But it seemed to sting me, Walter," she 
 says, by-and-bye, when she is reporting the 
 interview to her astonished and acforrieved 
 brother, who has not seen Ethel for a week ! 
 
 " Ethel, gone ! without a word to me ! Im- 
 possible ! " he says, sternly. Biit when he 
 goes up to the cottage to have the "mistake," 
 as he believes it to be, triumphantly rectified, 
 he finds the place deserted and its occupants 
 flown. 
 
 The servants are " left in charge, on board- 
 wages, for six weeks at least," they tell him ; 
 but they cannot give him any address, as 
 missus said '• there Avas no need to forward 
 letters; everything would keep till she came 
 home." 
 
 He has a sharp tussle with his pride for 
 a few minutes, and then he asks : 
 
 •'Is there no note, no message for me, 
 from Miss Heatherley ? "
 
 Filter Lily. Exit Ethel. \)'y 
 
 "Not a line, nor a word, sir," they tell 
 him, cheerfully ; and his heart is atiame with 
 wrath and fear. Instinctively he feels that 
 Mrs. Heatherley is going to try the well- 
 known power absence has of making the 
 heart grow fonder of — somebody else ; and 
 his jealous fancy vainly strives to paint the 
 lucky man who will be fiendishly invited to 
 join the party by that atrocious old match- 
 maker. Lady St. Just. 
 
 " And, unless Ethel writes to me, I can't 
 send her a line, praying her to be staunch," 
 he tells himself, miserably ; " her mother has- 
 planned it Avell ! I can't combat that false 
 little fairy, who looks as innocent as a hare- 
 bell. She has planned it well! And she will 
 teach Ethel to think me careless and in- 
 indifferent." 
 
 There is no professional call on his time 
 this evening, and in his desolate, miserable 
 dulness he is more than half inclined to go 
 to the Uplands, where two women are wait- 
 ing to welcome him with warm gladness, in 
 sharp contrast to the two who have gone away 
 from him with callous indifference. But he
 
 96 Allerton Towers. 
 
 subdues the half indmation, teUing himself 
 that he will be a true knight to Ethel, how- 
 ever sorely she may try him. 
 
 It is disappointing after this to find his 
 sister and Miss Somerset waiting for him 
 under the verandah, outside his drawing- 
 room window.
 
 i^m'^ 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 A FATHER S PEAYER AND PLAN. 
 
 ITHEL HEATHERLEY mu3t be freed 
 
 K;$^ 
 
 Nl^^iis from the odium of being suspected 
 of being either heartless or sly witli 
 as little delay as possible. The temptation of 
 being taken into the heart of beautiful 
 scenery has been put before her suddenly 
 and adroitly by old Lady St. Just, who likes 
 interfering with a love-affair for love of inter- 
 ference ; and who, additionally, really thinks 
 " that pretty Ethel Heatherley ought to marry 
 someone better than a country surgeon." 
 Having once committed herself to the public 
 statement of this opinion, she is determined to 
 leave no stone unturned in the path by which 
 she proposes to lead Ethel out of the local 
 difficulty; and, without consulting Ethel's feel- 
 ings or wishes in the least, proceeds to pull 
 various strings, by means of which she intends 
 to set various influential puppets in motion. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Keep her from corresponding with the 
 young man while she is away, and leave the 
 rest to me," her ladyship says to Mrs. 
 Heatherley, " and be ready to start within 
 an hour after Ethel hears that we are 
 going." 
 
 " All letters shall wait our return, and 
 I'm always in light marching order," Mrs, 
 Heatherley says, blithely. " My only diffi- 
 culty will be in case she insists on seeing 
 him before she goes." 
 
 " Don't let her know she's going till he has 
 started on his long morning round. The rest 
 will be easy. Ethel is not an infatuated 
 goose. She won't be impolite enough to 
 want to make us lose our train, in order that 
 she may take a sentimental leave of her 
 lover," Lady St. Just says, gruffly. And on 
 these lines Mrs. Heatherley works. 
 
 Ethel is apprised of the contemplated 
 pleasure-trip, made to engross herself with 
 "Dackincf, told of Miss Gifford's arrival with a 
 
 J. o ' 
 
 " lovely friend, who has already shocked the 
 worthy mistress of the Uplands by her eager- 
 ness to see Mr. Gifford," and, in short.
 
 ^4 Father s Prayer and Plan. 99 
 
 admirably " managed " through the hour 
 that elapses between her hearing that she 
 is to go, and her going. 
 
 When, in a flush of pleased excitement at 
 the prospect of the change, mixed with a 
 blush at the sound of the alarming charms 
 of Miss Somerset, Ethel comes down ready 
 dressed for the journey. Lady St. Just is 
 Avaitinoj for them in her carriao^e at the 
 door. 
 
 " Mother," Ethel Avhispers, " you said 
 you'd go and tell Walter, and fetch him up. 
 Have you been? Why isn't he here?" 
 
 " His sister was there, dear child, and 1 
 could not get a clear answer from her as to 
 where her brother was," Mrs. Heatherley says, 
 with affected hesitation. " Don't mind it, 
 dear ; if he's worth anything, he will not be 
 dazzled away from you, though they say this 
 Miss Somerset is very dazzling. I almost wish 
 I had not sent up to the farm for eggs this 
 morning ; then I should not have heard of 
 her beauty, and her anxiety to see ' Walter,' 
 as she calls him. The servant told Sarah 
 that the young lady wouldn't eat any break- 
 
 h2
 
 100 Allerton Toicer.'i 
 
 fast till Miss Gifford went to fetch her 
 brother ; so, I suppose, he had gone to the 
 Uplands when I went to his house with your 
 message. Naturally, I did not leave it with 
 his sister." 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley speaks almost sadly, her 
 sympathy with her child is so strong. But 
 her heart bounds with delio'ht when Ethel 
 replies : 
 
 " Come, mother, dear ; Lady St. Just is 
 waiting for us. Walter will write to me, if 
 he cares still. Of course, he'll get our 
 address from the servants." 
 
 This is not said in the form of a question ; 
 consequently Mrs. Heatherley does not feel 
 called upon to answer it. In a few minutes 
 her heart bounds more exultantly still ! They 
 are clear out of Allerton Towers without 
 having met with any obstruction from Walter 
 Gifford. It will be six weeks before he will 
 have a chance of making a personal appeal 
 to Ethel ! Time is so kind in the way of 
 obliterating one set of impressions, and 
 substituting others. Ethel is so pretty, and 
 fascinating, and sensible ; and dear Lady
 
 A Father s Prayer and Plan. 101 
 
 St. Just is so practical and successful as a 
 social diplomatist ! No wonder that Mrs. 
 Heatherley feels satisfied that these ensuing 
 six weeks will contain all the possibilities 
 on which she relies to save her. 
 
 "It has all been so sudden that I don't 
 even know where we are going, first," Ethel 
 says, as the train bears them free of Allerton 
 Towers. 
 
 "Be satisfied to know that Lady St. Just 
 has' arranged a series of most delightful 
 surprises for 3'ou, Ethel. You could never 
 have arranged anything half so charming 
 for yourself," her mother says, rapturously : 
 and Ethel strives to express gratitude, and 
 to repress curiosity. But the latter is very 
 strong within her, and will put forth its head 
 again presently. 
 
 "Shall we be travelling all the time. Lady 
 St. Just?" 
 
 " We shall travel till we settle for a time," 
 her ladyship says, and again Ethel combats 
 curiosity successfully for a few minutes. 
 
 "Shall w^e settle for more than a week?" 
 
 Lady St. Just nods assent.
 
 102 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " For a fortnight ; or a month perhaps P " 
 
 " About a month ; that will bring us to 
 the end of September, and the best of the 
 shooting will be over then." 
 
 " Oh ! Are we going to stay at a shoot- 
 ing box ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "At one of Lord St. Just's?" 
 
 "At one he rents." 
 
 "Where is it? " 
 
 "In Gloucestershire." 
 
 " Lady St. Just, do tell me a little more 
 about it ; I've never been at a shooting 
 box ; is this one large or small, beautiful 
 or bleak, and what is it called ? " 
 
 " It's a bijou shooting box, and it's called 
 Boyne Gate," Lady St. Just says, fixing her 
 eyes full on Ethel. " If you want to know 
 more about it, my dear, you must get your 
 information from the Marquis of Monkstown, 
 of whom we rent it, when he and his son, 
 Lord Kenmare, come to stay with us in a 
 fortnight." 
 
 Ethel feels her face tingling as this abrupt 
 mention is made of Marcus Boyne's father
 
 A Father's Prayer and Plan. 103 
 
 and brother ; but she struggles to speak 
 unconcernedly : 
 
 " I thought Lord Kenmare was very ill ? " 
 " The one you are thinking of died the 
 day before yesterday ; Marcus is Kenmare 
 now. And now, my dear, take your book^ 
 or keep quiet ; I like to read when I'm 
 travelling, and hate to be bothered with 
 questions." 
 
 Ethel is only too glad to avail herself 
 of the opportunity of hiding her confusion 
 under cover of being engrossed with a 
 book. Has Fate played her this trick, and 
 are her mother and Lady St. Just guiltless 
 in the matter of bringing her into collision 
 with that delightfully dangerous rock on 
 which her fidelity to Walter Gifford was 
 so nearly wrecked the other day? If Fate 
 alone is to blame, then will Ethel go 
 through the ordeal of another meeting 
 with Marcus without repining and without 
 reproach. But if her mother and Lady 
 St. Just are leagued against her and Walter, 
 then Ethel w^ill retire from the unequal 
 battle, lest she loses it.
 
 104 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Oh, Walter ! pray that I may be true if 
 I am tried," the girl says to herself, " for I 
 love you and honour you ; but the other loves 
 me so well, and tells me, too, so. warmly." 
 
 Meanwhile " the other " — his sorrowful 
 duty of soothing the last sad, nearly un- 
 conscious hours of his afflicted brother over 
 — is trying hard to reconcile the conflicting 
 influences of his father and his unwon love. 
 
 The young man's task is a hard one. He 
 is Lord Kenmare now, the heir and hope of 
 his house, and his father can but partially 
 conceal the satisfaction he feels in having 
 such an heir. The Marquis of Monkstown 
 has suffered keenly both in his affections and 
 his pride during the whole term of life 
 allotted to the poor boy who is now gone. 
 He has loved him, Kenmare, as a son, but he 
 has shrank with bitter sickening pain of mind 
 and heart from the thought of Kenmare as 
 his successor. And in a dim way the poor 
 young fellow, who has not been so altogether 
 witless as some have believed, has felt and 
 mourned over his own indolent inability to 
 satisfy. When this grief and mourning and
 
 A Father s Prayer and Plan. 105 
 
 self-distrust has been overwlielmincr him at 
 times, he would have died under it, battered 
 down by the hard heavy cruelty of it, had 
 it not been for his brother Marcus. But 
 Marcus is too like tlie mother the-y loved and 
 have lost, to have anything but deep generous 
 love in his heart for his brother. So it is in 
 Marcus's arms that Kenmare has died, and to 
 Marcus's lot it falls now to bear the brunt 
 of the first burst of mino-led orrief and relief 
 which emanates from Lord Monkstown, 
 •carrying with it a confidence which is 
 almost a command. 
 
 "While my poor boy lived I said nothing 
 to you about your cousin Caroline ; your 
 uncle would never have let her look at 
 you," liord Monkstown says to the son who 
 is Lord Kenmare now, and who will be 
 Marquis of Monkstown, the day after the 
 death which Marcus is deploring with boyish 
 honesty and fervour ; " but it's different 
 now, and it's my duty as a father to tell 
 you what good fortune may be yours for 
 the asking." 
 
 " I think there's only one human being
 
 106 Allerton Towers. 
 
 on the face of the earth for whom I care 
 rather less than I do for my cousin Carohne, 
 and that is for my uncle Hawtrey," Kenmare 
 says, languidly. His thoughts are with his 
 dead brother and his living love, Ethel 
 Heatherley, " who will be sorry for his 
 loss when she hears of it." He does not 
 like having these thoughts rudely disturbed 
 by suggestions about relations whom he 
 rather dislikes than otherwise. 
 
 " Caroline Hawtrey has fifty thousand a 
 year of her own," Lord Monkstown says. 
 
 " Ah ! so I've heard ; she has reason to 
 bless Cotton. I suppose she'll buy a title 
 with it ; something bigger than her mother 
 succeeded in getting. Sir John Hawtrey 
 was quite a little one, but he's a more 
 decent article to hand about as a father, 
 than old Willesdon, of Manchester, is re- 
 puted to have been." 
 
 " Sir John Hawtrey is your mother's bro- 
 ther, Kenmare," the Marquis says, rebukingly, 
 but his eyes kindle with sympathetic fire 
 when his son flashes out — 
 
 " A brother who gave my mother many a
 
 A Father s Prayer and Plan. 1U7 
 
 heart-aclie, many a rude rebuff and harsh 
 word when she was Lady Kenmare, and some 
 of his bloated wealth mi^ht have made life 
 smoother than it was then for you and her. 
 My brother, perhaps, would not have been 
 afflicted as he was if his mother's brother 
 had been more of a man and less of a mean 
 brute before your eldest son was born, sir." 
 
 " Forget old injuries, Kenmare ; Sir John 
 and I have been friendly now for many a 
 long year ; we buried the hatchet " 
 
 " When you came to the title and a good 
 property ; yes, I know that, father ; but my 
 brother's case was beyond medical skill by 
 that time, I've heard my mother say, and when 
 Sir John Hawtrey sheds crocodile tears over 
 Kenmare's grave, I shall remember and per- 
 haps remind him that the nephew he professes 
 to lament might have been alive and well 
 now, if he had spared a few guineas from his 
 thousands some years ago to a sister's prayers 
 and tears." 
 
 " Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive 
 them that trespass against us ; " quotes Lord 
 Monkstown, gravely and earnestly, laying his
 
 108 Allertcm Toicers. 
 
 hand on his son's shoulder. " Besides," he 
 adds, " in any case she is guiltless of all 
 offence ac^ainst us. She must not be held 
 accountable or to blame for her father's 
 indifference and neglect. You are in a posi- 
 tion to ask for the hand of any woman in 
 England ; your uncle will admit that, though 
 his daughter is a magnificent match from the 
 money point of view, you will bestow a grand 
 equivalent on her ; and as you are free to 
 make it, I pray you to do so, my boy, for 
 Irish land no longer keeps up Irish titles." 
 
 " I'm not free to make it," Kenmare says, 
 ■quietly. He has grown considerably older 
 during these sad days which he has spent by 
 the bedside of his dying brother. Manhood 
 and boyhood are separated by so fine and 
 delicate a line that a sharp touch of sorrow, 
 a keen feeling of responsibility, are, as a rule, 
 quite sufficient to break it. 
 
 " Not free ! " Lord Monkstown has bushy 
 eyebrows and penetrating deep blue eyes. 
 His glance stabs like steel as he utters these 
 words — " Not free ! " 
 
 " Well, not free in a sense," Kenmare says,
 
 A Father's Prayer and Plan. 109 
 
 moving uneasily under the stabbing glance, 
 not from any feeling of shame for his love, 
 but because of the disquieting doubt he has 
 of having won anything like reciprocal feeling 
 from her, 
 
 " In what sense, may I ask, are you — who 
 are responsible now for the honour of the 
 house and the welfare of the house — bound? " 
 the Marquis asks, with his grandest, because 
 it is his most subdued and intensely quiet 
 manner. 
 
 "I am neither bound nor free," Kenmare 
 says, trying to laugh away his own confusion. 
 "The truth is, sir, I have seen a girl who 
 seems to me to be the only girl I can ever 
 care to marry, but I am afraid she will never 
 care to marry me." 
 
 " May I ask whether or not you have 
 confided these romantic sentiments to the 
 young lady ? " 
 
 " I have let her know tliat I like her — that 
 I like her better than any one else in the 
 world," Kenmare says, flushing hotly. 
 
 " And she, I presume, has been prudent 
 enough to say nothing definite?"
 
 110 Allerton Towers. 
 
 "Why should you presume that, sir?" 
 Kenmare asked, angrily. 
 
 "' Because I assume that you declared 
 yourself — while you were my second son — 
 with no income worth mentioning; it is 
 to the credit of the girls of this generation 
 that they are prudent enough to be indefinite 
 with younger sons." 
 
 " She is not a girl of the class you are 
 thinking of, sir ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens, Kenmare, I am thinking 
 of gentlewomen of our own class ! Is your 
 enslaver beyond that pale?" 
 
 " She is the sweetest gentlewoman that ever 
 breathed," Kenmare cries, hotly ; " but she 
 is not a fashionable girl who regulates her 
 smiles to the fellows about her according to 
 their incomes ; the same day I told her dear 
 old Ken. was dying, I told her that I loved 
 her and would go back to her ; and she 
 stood out against me, and tried her best to 
 make me feel that nothing should ever tempt 
 her to " 
 
 He pauses abruptly; after all, he is not 
 justified in speaking of Ethel's engagement to
 
 ^4 Father s Prayer and Plan. Ill 
 
 Mr. Gifford, to his father, who will regard it 
 as another insurmountable barrier to the ac- 
 complishment of his own (Kenmare's) wishes. 
 
 " Yes ! that nothing shall ever tempt her 
 to do — do what ? " Lord Monkstown asks, 
 icily. 
 
 " To — to have anything to do with me," 
 Kenmare stammers out, composedly, and Lord 
 Monkstown smiles in a weary, pitying way, 
 that shows he suspects his son is not stating 
 the case fully. 
 
 " I will not ask you to tell me this young 
 lady's name ; it is probably one I have never 
 heard, nor will I ask where you met her ; 
 Townley ought to have known better than to 
 bring you in contact with designing rustic 
 beauty ; however, as things are, all is well, 
 and I am happy to find that I can honour- 
 ably repeat what I said of you just now — 
 you are free to make the best match that 
 may be made in the kingdom ; I need not 
 add, my boy, that it is the fervent prayer of 
 my poor, over-tried heart, that you make it." 
 
 "Does Miss Hawtrey know of your 
 wishes ? " Kenmare asked, gloomily.
 
 112 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " What are you thinking about ? " Is it 
 hkely that we would risk wounding her 
 amour j^ropre until we were sure of your 
 prompt and eager acquiescence in the scheme 
 for your own happiness. Caroline will 
 accompany her father, and when they leave 
 we shall go back with them ; Boyne Gate is 
 close to Hawtrey's place, and I have accepted 
 an invitation from St. Just to stay there for a 
 month ; by the way. Lady St. Just hopes that 
 you will go to her for a few days." 
 
 " Hate staying at Boyne Gate," Kenmare 
 grumbles, little guessing who will be there 
 to make Boyne Gate an Elysium on earth to 
 him. 
 
 " When you're tired of it you can go to 
 your Uncle Hawtrey's, and in her own home 
 you will have the best opportunity of study- 
 ing the best way of winning ray dear little 
 niece," Lord Monkstown says, conclusively ; 
 and for the time Kenmare feels that it will 
 be wise on his part to say no more of 
 Ethel. 
 
 The poor young fellow feels the iron enter- 
 ing into him whichever way he turns. On
 
 A Father s Prayer and Plan. 113 
 
 the one side is Ethel, who, though she has 
 not disdained, has unquestionably not en- 
 couraged his suit, and on the other side is 
 his father unconditionally scorning him for 
 pursuing it — or rather, for wanting to pursue 
 it, and despising Ethel without knowing 
 her. 
 
 " Jove ! she'd match him for pride, and 
 beat him hollow for savoir faire,'' Kenmare 
 tells himself. At the same time he admits 
 to himself that his father will liave a fair 
 amount of right and justice on his side 
 even if he does oppose an alliance with the 
 Heatherleys with all his might. 
 
 " The girl is perfect, as perfect as my wife 
 ought to be," the young fellow says, proudly 
 to himself, " but I wouldn't like to meet the 
 mother in the dark if I had offended lier ; 
 she'd as soon throttle that young doctor now 
 as look at him — for the sake of clearing m}^ 
 path ; and if an eligible duke cast a gracious 
 glance at Ethel ! — the woman I want to make 
 my mother-in-law would gladly poison me ! 
 All the same, I'll risk the surgeon's life and 
 my own for Ethel's sake." 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FANNY YEARNS FOR ? 
 
 npHE travelling has been very pleasant, 
 pleasant as only wealth and experi- 
 ence can make travelling, and, while 
 it has lasted, Ethel has scarcely been con- 
 scious of missing anything ; for the girl is still 
 young enough and fresh enough to find 
 happiness in mere change of scene ; and, 
 moreover, she has been the pet of the party. 
 All things have been made to mould them- 
 selves to her wishes, and the feeling of 
 consequence this course of treatment has 
 engendered has been very delightful to her. 
 Two or three people who were not in the 
 original programme have joined the party at 
 various places. The Bishop and his daughter 
 ran against them as they sauntered through 
 a Surrey village one evening, in a way that 
 would have surprised Lady St. Just and Ethel 
 much less than it did if they had only known
 
 Fanny Yearns for f 115 
 
 that Mrs. Heatherley had written to the 
 Bishop three days before, hinting that a 
 rencontre with him in this very place would 
 be one of the happiest incidents of the tour. 
 This bait would, she well knew, be quite 
 sufficient to catch his lordship, were it not 
 for his daughter. That young lady being 
 capable of interfering successfully for the 
 salvation of her parent, if free herself, it was 
 necessary to hang a tempting bait out for 
 her also, therefore, Mrs. Heatherley threw 
 a September fly for her, and landed her 
 cleverly. 
 
 " I am sure Miss Templeton and you will 
 both be glad to hear that poor Lord Kenmare 
 has sufficiently recovered from the crushing 
 effects of the grief he felt at his brother's 
 death to promise to join us at Weybridge, 
 and, after a few days spent there in sketching, 
 boating, and fishing, to go on with us to 
 Boyne Place," the pretty little widow wrote, 
 laughing to herself the while, and telling 
 herself that "dear Fanny will leap at this 
 bait, and will bring dear papa to my feet 
 without delay, rather than lose the oppor- 
 
 I 2
 
 ]16 Allerton Towers. 
 
 tunity of displaying her pretty innocence 
 and disinterestedness to Kenmare in the midst 
 of river scenery ! Let her come ! He will 
 never even see her when my Ethel is by." 
 
 So they are at Weybridge now, spending 
 the late August days very happily, according 
 to their respective lights. Lady St. Just, who 
 really loves Ethel Heatherley for her frankness 
 and good looks, loves sketching also, and is 
 well satisfied to sit for hours in one of the 
 exquisite glades on St. George's Hill, while 
 the young folks roam about, and lose them- 
 selves in the wood, or to float idly in a boat 
 on the broad bosom of the Thames, while 
 Kenmare teaches Ethel how to hold her 
 line, and takes the little roach and barbel 
 off her hook, with a lingering tenderness 
 that is a maddening thing for Miss Tem- 
 pleton to witness. 
 
 For Fanny does not do herself the injustice 
 of absenting herself from any of these 
 lounges through the wood and on the river, 
 and, to her surprise, Ethel never seems to 
 wish to rid them of her (Fanny's) compan- 
 ionship. The Bishop's daughter is fairly
 
 Fanny Yearns for ? 117 
 
 puzzled by this toleration, and is vexedly 
 uncertain whether it is attributable to indiffer- 
 ence to Kenmare or contempt for her own 
 charms. But whatever it may be, she takes 
 advantage of it to the utmost, and gives them 
 all to understand that " dear Ethel can't bear 
 to be a moment without her," And as Ethel 
 does not take the trouble to contradict this 
 statement, or in any way to tone it down, Ken- 
 mare is compelled to take a part constantly 
 in a trio while he is pining for a duet. 
 
 To tell the truth, Ethel is almost glad of 
 the girlish vigilance which protects her from 
 an outspoken avowal from Kenmare. For she 
 is tempest-tossed in her own soul now by 
 reason of the doubt of him, which Walter 
 Gifford's continued silence is causing her to 
 feel. And, worse than the silence, is the 
 rumour which every now and again floats 
 past her unwilling ear, relative to the beauty, 
 and bewitching charms and caprices, and the 
 lavish liberality to the poor, of Miss Somerset, 
 " the doctor's sister's friend." 
 
 There is much of the happiness of " stolen 
 joy " in this period to Kenmare. He has
 
 118 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 joined them at Lady St. Just's bidding, and 
 his father is well pleased that it should be 
 so, for every day the Marquis hopes to hear 
 they are at Boyne Gate, in Caroline's atmo- 
 sphere. An additional source of peace and 
 satisfaction to Lord Monkstown may be 
 found in the fact of his utter ignorance 
 and unsuspicion of Miss Heatherley being the 
 girl for whom iiis only son's heart is sick. 
 
 His son ]]as not kept him in the dark as 
 to the names of the other guests of Lady 
 St. Just. With a half-sense of its being 
 better to be. ingenuous than secret, Lord 
 Kenmare has written : " There are three or 
 four people here who seem to mean staying 
 on at Boyne Gate. The Bishop of Allerton 
 Towers, an old chap who would always be 
 Vicar of Bray, and who promotes men of 
 power and promise in his diocese without 
 regard to their views, provided they can 
 serve him when promoted ; and his daugh- 
 ter, a girlisli young creature, who means, I 
 fancy, to be Lady Kenmare ; Grove, the 
 Bishop's chaplain, a right good fellow, and 
 Mrs. Heatherley and her daughter. Mrs. H.
 
 Fanny Year 7X8 for f 111) 
 
 means the Bishop, as decidedly as the Bishop's 
 daughter means me, and if the latter goes 
 on neglecting her home policy on the 
 chance of widening her borders and annexing 
 me, she will find herself liberally endowed 
 with a step-mother before she has time for 
 protest or resistance." 
 
 "• The governor can never say that I have 
 kept Ethel's being here dark," Kenmare tells 
 himself boldly, as he finishes writing this 
 letter, which carries the happy conviction 
 to his father's mind that " the boy is safe 
 enough with the St. Just set." 
 
 But though Kenmare tells himself that he 
 is putting himself beyond the reach of re- 
 proach by writing thus, his conscience tells 
 him that he is acting disingenuously to say 
 the least of it, if not deceitfully, in throwing 
 his father off the right track by his mention 
 of the Bisliop's daughter, and mere cursory 
 allusion to Miss Heatherley. It is in vain he 
 tells himself that he has written nothing: but 
 the truth. He knows that he has suppressed 
 the only part of it which holds vital interest 
 for his father.
 
 120 Allerton Towers. 
 
 The hotel at which they have temporarily 
 established themselves in Weybridge is down 
 close by the ferry. You have only to saunter 
 a few yards along the road, turn a corner 
 round a hedge, and you find yourself on a 
 slope of grass, with the broad shining river 
 running along at your feet. 
 
 The silence and the beauty of the scene are 
 very conducive to sentiment, especially by 
 moonlight ; and by moonlight- Lord Ken- 
 mare strives to teach the full beauty of it, 
 and of all the possibilities it suggests, to 
 Ethel. 
 
 They are come to the very last August 
 days now, and the harvest moon is nearly 
 full. Dinner is over, and the elders of the 
 party have settled themselves to the work 
 that so speedily brings its OAvn sweet reward, 
 of peeling peaches and pouring out the wines 
 that best assimilate with the subtle flavour of 
 the fruit. The young people have strolled 
 out, nominally to look at the effect of the 
 moon over the extreme tip of the highest 
 chimney-pot. When they have admired this 
 exhaustively, a suggestion floats in the air
 
 Fanny Yearns for '? Izl 
 
 as to their going down to the river, and 
 Ethel and Miss Tempieton act on it at 
 once. 
 
 " We ought to follow the ladies and see 
 that they come to no harm," Lord Kenmare 
 says to Mr. Grove, and the latter immediately 
 assenting (though at the same time he prac- 
 tically remarks that " the ladies are safe 
 enough"), the quartette presently stand on 
 the bank looking out at the ferry. 
 
 iSuddenly the boat glides close up to them, 
 and without giving a thought to the con- 
 sequences, Ethel slips her liand out from 
 Miss Templeton's restraining arm, and reach- 
 ing a ste]) forward, cries : 
 
 " Let us cross over to the other side, 
 do? Who will come with me?" 
 
 "You must not think of it, Ethel," Fanny 
 says, assuming the duenna demeanour far too 
 naturally to be in keeping with the youthful 
 rule she desires to play. " Papa won't like it, 
 and Em sure Lady St. Just " 
 
 "Motlier won't mind my going, I know 
 that," Ethel laughs. "You had better all 
 three of you go back and proclaim that
 
 122 Allerton Tov-ers. 
 
 you have no part Avith disobedient me. I 
 mean to go over." 
 
 " And I mean to come with you," Kenmare 
 cries, jumping into the boat, and drawing 
 Ethel after him, and in an instant the ferry- 
 man pushes off. Perhaps he feels that the 
 young pair in the boat are not dependent 
 for their current happiness upon the other 
 pair on the bank. 
 
 Miss Templeton's delicate pink cheeks grew 
 rosier even in the cold moonlight. 
 
 " Did you ever see such an audacious girl 
 as Ethel Heatherley?" she exclaims; "drag- 
 ging Lord Kenmare away alone with her in 
 this way ; her conduct would be bold and 
 disgusting even if she were not engaged, as 
 it is it's disgraceful beyond everything." 
 
 " It was not Miss Heatherley's doings that 
 the boat pushed off without us," Mr. Grove 
 laughs ; " she wanted us all to go, if you 
 remember ; it is Lord Kenmare who has 
 seized the opportunity." 
 
 "The opportunity! for what?" 
 
 " For being alone with the girl he loves." 
 
 " Nonsense ! she compels him to pay
 
 Fanny Yearns for ? 123 
 
 her attention by flirting at him abominably, 
 but I am sure he's not serious," Fanny says, 
 sharply ; " I could tell by the way he looked 
 at me as he 2:ot in that he wanted me to 2:0 
 too ; but I am not in the habit of doing such 
 things," she winds up, lamely. 
 
 " I think you're mistaken about his having 
 wished you to go with them," Grove says, 
 simply ; and then, without having the 
 slightest desire to mortify her, but just be- 
 cause it is the case and he knows it, he adds : 
 
 " I saw him slip a coin into the ferry-man's 
 hand, and heard him whisper ' Shove off.' 
 I wish him success with Miss Heath erley, with 
 all my heart ; she'll make a splendid little 
 marchioness and an equally good wife." 
 
 Miss Templeton shivers as she hears her 
 own fears and suspicions confirmed in this 
 way, and a gnawing desire to put herself 
 beyond Lord Kenmare's reach should he even 
 yet repent him of his evil ways and want to 
 reach her, takes possession of her. She has 
 resolved that she will not return to Allerton 
 Towers a free and fetterless thing. As the 
 Bishop's daughter she knows that she is
 
 124 Allerton Towers. 
 
 pretty nearly played out. But as the ambi- 
 tious, gracious, patrouising, powerful wife of 
 a risuig mau, she may still play a distin- 
 guished part m the secular element of clerical 
 life in the diocese. 
 
 And who so fitted to rise as the man 
 standing by her side? Her father's chap- 
 lain, the one who steers the Bishop over 
 stormy seas with such safety and discretion. 
 There hangs about him, too, a halo of 
 romance, for he has loved her long and well, 
 she firmly believes, and nothing less than 
 the prospect of a coronet would have made 
 her waver from him. As it is, she con- 
 gratulates herself on tlie wavering having 
 all been done cautiously and decently, on 
 having been all done " inwardly," in fact, 
 and so being invisible to the naked eye. 
 
 In the course of the few minutes that 
 elapse between the ferry-boat leaving the 
 Weybridge bank and gaining the Shepper- 
 ton side, Miss Templeton, though she watches 
 it with all she has of heart in her eyes, has 
 come to the conclusion that " Mr. Grove 
 deserves to be rewarded by her for his touch-
 
 Fanny Yearns for ? 125 
 
 ing devotion and fidelity, and that slie will 
 reward him." It will be doubly his duty 
 after this to preserve papa from all those 
 perils to which bishops, who must talk (and 
 can't talk) in convocation and elsewhere, are 
 liable. And it will be doubly pleasant for 
 her to lay this honourable onus upon him 
 now on this evening, when Lord Kenmare 
 may be conceited enough to suppose that 
 she is suffering: from his desertion. 
 
 It does not occur to her for a moment 
 that, having herself loosened Mr, Grove's 
 shackles, he may be unwilling and unready 
 to tio'hten them ag^ain. He has been so con- 
 sistently kind, courteous, cheerful, affable, 
 and Avell satisfied during these last few weeks 
 in which she has been considerately letting 
 him down from the giddy eminence of her 
 flattering regard, that she feels safe in the 
 conviction that he has not observed the 
 change. And though it is mortifying to feel 
 that he has been so unobservant of aught 
 that concerns her, still the law of compensa- 
 tion works, and she admits that in this case 
 it is better so.
 
 126 Allerton Towers. 
 
 It is difficult to begin again with him after 
 being out of practice so long ; but mere 
 difficulty is not sufficient to deter Fanny. 
 As soon as she can command her voice, 
 and feel sure of speaking in soft, kindly 
 tones, she replies to his remarks about 
 Ethel making a splendid marchioness and 
 an equally good wife by saying: 
 
 " If you really think there is a probability 
 of such a happy ending to this thoughtless 
 freak of theirs, they will be just as well 
 pleased to find us gone when they come 
 back as waiting for them." 
 
 " Unquestionably they will ; are you feel- 
 ing cold? Shall we go in? " he asks, with 
 amiable, ready, obtuse acquiescence. 
 
 " Not in the least cold, and not at all 
 inclined to go in," she says, lowering her 
 voice so that he has to bend his head to- 
 wards her in order to catch the meaning of 
 her words. Then she turns and abstractedly 
 paces along very slowly in the opposite direc- 
 tion to the homeward one, and, as in duty 
 bound, he courteously paces along by her 
 side.
 
 Fanny Yearns for ? 127 
 
 The moon is making a silver pathway up 
 the river, and the silence around them is 
 unbroken. Now or never is the time for her 
 to indicate to him that she considers their 
 relations to one another are unaltered. 
 
 " This is very sweet," she begins, looking 
 up at him, and her face, rising out of the 
 soft masses of a white Shetland shawl, is 
 very young and innocent in the moonlight. 
 
 " Very jolly, indeed," he says, heartily. 
 And she replies, " Yet I'm sure we both long 
 to get back to the dear old Palace gardens, 
 where we've spent so many, many happy 
 hours together ; this travelling about is very 
 nice, but we always seem to be with other 
 people, and I am getting tired of it ; do let 
 us persuade papa to give up Boyne Gate 
 and go home, when the others leave Wey- 
 bridge." 
 
 " I thought you were enjoying it, and 
 looking forward to the time at Boyne Gate 
 as much as any of us ? " he says, in some 
 surprise ; and then he is conscious that 
 Fanny is appealing to him with all the 
 mute power of appeal there is in woman.
 
 128 Allerton Towers. 
 
 Her eyes are raised with timid tenderness to 
 his, her hand sUps into his arm in order that 
 she may steady herself in crossing a rugged 
 bit of turf, and the Avords she murmurs 
 tremble on her lips. 
 
 " Happy ! Yes, I am ' happy,' because 
 after all, little as we have been seeing of 
 each other in the old way lately, still we 
 have been together. But / am very faithful 
 to my love of the old order of things at the 
 Palace ; yow never read to me here as you 
 used to do in the garden at home ; these 
 people come between us and make us seem 
 to drift apart ; and — well ! altogether, I shall 
 be happier when we are home again." 
 
 He cannot help understanding that she is 
 ready to love once again ; but he knows that 
 not only is he not ready, but that he never 
 will be able to make himself ready any more. 
 The coldness that he knows has not been 
 caprice nor uncertainty, but nothing better 
 than cool calculation on her part, has chilled 
 and nipped his budding regard for her. 
 Nothing will ever make it spring forth and 
 bloom again. But he is a gentleman and he
 
 Fanny Yearns for ? 129 
 
 likes her, and is sorry both for the mistake 
 she has made in leaving him, and for the 
 mistake she is now making in coming back 
 to him. 
 
 "You're very fond of the old Palace, are 
 you not ? " he says, kindly ; and then he goes 
 on, " I don't wonder at it either, for I'm 
 sure if it had been my home as long as it 
 has been yours, I should be fond of it too." 
 
 "Are you not fond of it as it is?" she 
 asks, with tender reproach, and he thinks 
 it better for them both that he should be 
 very matter-of-fact about it. 
 
 "I think the Palace a very jolly place to 
 tent in for a time, but, to tell the truth, I 
 fear a cathedral-town sphere of work is not 
 a congenial one to me ; it's stasfnatinoj ; the 
 chaplaincy is too much of a sinecure for a 
 strong young fellow like me; I ought to be 
 in the heat of the battle, and some poor 
 fellow, who has nearly worn himself out in 
 his work, ought to have my easy berth." 
 
 " Do you mean-^you can't mean that you 
 think of leaving?" she gasps. 
 
 " Indeed I do, Miss Templeton ; I can stand 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 AUerton Tower.<^. 
 
 contact with tlie rough edges of hfe, and 
 many of my brethren are physically unable 
 to do that, who yet would fill my present 
 comfortable niche quite as well as I do." 
 
 " It will break papa's heart if you leave," 
 she says, vehemently ; and then with a sob, 
 she adds in a whisper, " and mine, too." 
 
 " I'm sure the Bishop will feel I'm right,'" 
 Mr. Grove says, discreetly ignoring the whis- 
 per. " Look ! they're crossing over again. 
 Shall we go ba^k and meet them ? " 
 
 Fanny's clasp on his arm grows tighter. 
 Shall she, the Bishop's daughter, meekly sub- 
 mit to being conquered and discomfited by 
 her father's chaplain. It is not love, but a 
 wild craving desire to carry her point which 
 prompts her now. 
 
 " Stop ! " she says, passionately ; " forgive 
 me. I know you have fancied me cold, or 
 not observant of your affection for me, but 
 your threat to go has shown me the state of 
 my own heart. I cannot let you go without 
 telling you that you have^ entirely won me 
 now — for I cannot part with 3'ou."
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 k'EEHAPS the Bishop's daughter would 
 '^^ not pursue her own course with such 
 remorseless zeal were she endowed 
 with the useful gift of prescience, which 
 would enable her to see the way in Avhich 
 her father is improving the shining hour of 
 her absence. 
 
 All the romance of the party has not gone 
 out into the moonlight by the river with the 
 young people ; in fact, Mrs. Heatherley, whose 
 grace and tact, and happy art of making the 
 best and most of any situation in which she 
 may find herself, has passed into a proverb 
 in her circle, has given the Bishop a glimpse 
 of a blissful domestic picture ! And the 
 Bishop has regarded it with affectionately 
 approving eyes. 
 
 Practically the mature pair are as much 
 alone as either of the young couples down by 
 
 K 2
 
 132 Allerton Towers. 
 
 the river. For Lady St. Just sleeps well after 
 a generous dinner, taken at the close of a 
 long open-air day ; and under cover of her 
 reassuringly deep and slumberous breathing, 
 Mrs. Heath erley shows the Bishop how easy a 
 thing it is to cross the delicate neutral line 
 between friendship and love. 
 
 " We may not either of us look forward to 
 keeping our dear girls with us much longer," 
 she murmurs, as, from the window which is 
 farthest from Lady St. Just, the Bishop and 
 herself watch the four young people turn the 
 corner to the river. 
 
 " And we must prepare to part with them 
 cheerfully, if it is for their happiness that 
 they should go," the Bishop says, heartily. 
 To do him justice he has been quite ready to 
 part with his Fanny any day during the last 
 ten years. At some periods, when her yoke is 
 heavy, it occurs to him to feel that the time is 
 long in getting ripe for her flight from the 
 paternal roof. 
 
 " Ah ! yes ! our love for them will make 
 us seem cheerfully resigned," the fair, bright 
 little widow says, with a mixture of sparkle
 
 Mother and Daughter. 
 
 and pathos, that calls his attention to the 
 sweet blue of her eyes, and the exquisite 
 tenderness of her heart at the same moment ; 
 " but we shall both be very dull and desolate 
 in our respective homes. When Fanny goes, 
 and I'm sure it will not be Mr. Grove's fault 
 if she does not go soon, yours will be a very 
 solitary life, though you will live it in a 
 Palace, my friend ! " 
 
 "Do you think that Grove thinks of this 
 still ? At one time I fancied that affection 
 was springing up between them, but lately I 
 have thouo-ht there was a certain stiffness and 
 
 o 
 
 want of cordiality towards him on Fanny's 
 part." 
 
 Mrs Heatherley's eyes sparkle more than 
 ever, as she reflects, that the real cause of 
 the change in Fanny has been the latter's 
 presumptuous desire to dispute the " big- 
 game" — Lord Kenmare — with Ethel. But 
 she merely says — 
 
 " Trust me for reading these riddles aright. 
 I am almost as sure that your daughter 
 will be Mrs. Grove as I am that mine will 
 be Lady Kenmare."
 
 134 AUerton Towers. 
 
 The Bishop pricks up his ears. Good man 
 as he is, he is ahve to the value of a good 
 worldly connection, and if Mrs. Heatherley is 
 to be the mother of Lady Kenmare, and by- 
 and-bye, of the Marchioness of Monkstown, 
 who so well fitted as the attractive little 
 widow to be the Bishop's wife, and the 
 enhvener of his solitude. 
 
 " I shall give Fanny to Grove with great 
 satisfaction ; he will rise on his own merits, 
 for, quite independently of his having any 
 family claim upon me, I shall feel it my duty 
 to give him good preferment ; but as you say 
 I shall be a very solitary man when I lose my 
 daughter, and you ! " 
 
 He pauses, and his silence is so eloquent 
 that Mrs. Heatherley turns her face coyly 
 away as she rej^lies — 
 
 " I suppose rigid Mrs. Grundy will de- 
 nounce me if 1 venture to go to the Palace 
 to talk over these hapjjy days that we are 
 spending together ! Days that unfortunately 
 are only too short, and too nearly at an end." 
 
 " Mrs Grundy will never dare to asperse 
 you while I live, dear lady."
 
 Mother and Daughter. 135 
 
 " All! my dear lord, you forget that I am 
 not so very old a woman that you, an attrac- 
 tive man, may dare to be kmd to me without 
 calling forth comment— and ' malignity : yet 
 though I shall be too cowardl}^ ever to do it, 
 I will dare to paint a picture of cosy hours 
 spent with you in that grand library — of 
 sunny hours in your lovely grounds — of long 
 delightful readings. I take such a deep, 
 unceasing interest in politics, that when you 
 have the gout I muM come and read the de- 
 bates to you " 
 
 " I will not have you contemplate that 
 contingency only," the Bishop says, feeling 
 almost young and debonair, as Mrs. Heath- 
 eriey's facile mental brush puts in the lights 
 and shades of these pleasantly-pictured possi- 
 bihties. But, though he says this, a vision 
 of himself prostrate and in pain, without the 
 presence of this most soothing woman, rises 
 before him and pleads for her ! 
 
 She lias precise!}- the voice for reading 
 aloud —clear, sweet, and not too rapid. 
 She is well off, too, and will not limit the 
 hospitalities of the Palace severel}', as liis
 
 136 Allerton Towers. 
 
 daughter has done at times. If he must 
 lose Fanny for Fanny's good, -^ho can 
 blame him for seeking the constant com- 
 panionship of a mind and heart-stirring 
 woman, in the most unexceptionable way ? 
 It is not good for bishops to live alone, 
 more than any other man ! She will be 
 essentially the right woman in the right 
 place — averse to frivolous gaiety, and ad- 
 mirably contented with cosy hours with 
 him in the library, and political readings 
 by his couch of pain. 
 
 " I will not have you contemplate the 
 contingency of my illness only ; with you 
 by my side, constantly, I should be happier 
 and, therefore, healthier probably, than I 
 have been since the death of my — I mean 
 since I have lived a sedentary and secluded 
 life. The responsibilities of the position I 
 venture to offer you are many," the Bishop 
 goes on, with unconscious pomposity. " Its 
 worldly gaieties are of necessity few ; but 
 your place will be a high one ; a fierce 
 light will shine upon you, and I feel sure 
 you will bear it bravely."
 
 Mother and Dauyhter. 137 
 
 He pauses, his eloquence checked by an 
 unUmely remembrance of his daughter, and 
 of the wrath that young lady will feel and 
 display when she hears of what he has been 
 about in her absence. But Mrs. Heatherley 
 fills the pause graciously. 
 
 "I won't aflect to misunderstand you," she 
 says, with an amount of womanly self- 
 possession and frankness that is rather 
 embarrassing to him for a moment, for Lady 
 ISt. Just is giving signs of waking, and he 
 feels that this vital matter is to be clinched 
 in her presence. 
 
 " 1 won't aflect to misunderstand you, my 
 lord, and I accept the honour you have done 
 me with the more readiness, because I feel 
 that I shall fill the position of your wife in a 
 way that will redound to yoivr credit, as it 
 shall redound to my own." 
 
 " kShe strikes the key-note of the tune to 
 which she means to set our altered lives in 
 that speech," the Bishop says to himself, in a 
 little spasm of alarm at the boldness and 
 irretrievabihty of the step he has taken. 
 And he is right ; Mrs. Heatherley has taken
 
 138 Allerton Towers. 
 
 the reins into her own fair, firm little 
 hands, and will drive the episcopal chariot 
 where and how she pleases from this day 
 forth. 
 
 The matter is all settled, and he is receiving- 
 Lady St, Just's congratulations before he has 
 quite decided in his own mind w^hether or not 
 he has asked this woman to be his wife ! 
 Then, in a few minutes, his daughter and his 
 chaplain come in, and he is observing with 
 alarm that Fanny's brow is ominously 
 clouded, and her lips pressed alarmingly 
 together. Mrs. Heatherley burns his boats 
 behind him by saying, playfully- — 
 
 " Tell my new daughter that I am going 
 to try and fill the place she has adorned so 
 long, and to share her care of you.''' 
 
 To which Miss Templeton replies, unpro- 
 pitiously, " Papa will never waste his time 
 in trying to make me believe such an 
 utterly incredible thing, Mrs. Heatherley." 
 At which display of temper the pretty widow, 
 who has won the game, and who can, 
 therefore, afibrd to be affable and forgiv- 
 ing, smiles her sunniest smile, and putting
 
 Mother and Daughter. 139 
 
 her gentle powerful little paw on her al- 
 ready-tamed Bishop, says : 
 
 "I hope, dear, that my child will accord 
 you a warmer welcome into her family 
 than your daughter accords me into yours. 
 If you can't give me a daughter's affection, 
 Fanny, I hope at least you will t^ive me a 
 sister's sympathy," she continues, so sweetly, 
 that Fanny feels it will be impolitic to ex- 
 hibit resentment at the allusion to her 
 having passed girlhood. 
 
 " Papa's wife will not stand in need of 
 sympathy from me,"' she says, brusquely, 
 and Mrs. Heatherley passes by the obser- 
 vation with magnanimous unconcern, feel- 
 ing sure that she is not the only bitter 
 drop in Fanny's cup at present. 
 
 " Allow me to offer you my heartiest 
 congratulations and warmest hopes for 
 your happiness," Mr. Grove says, with a 
 bold acceptance of the situation that en- 
 ables the Bishop to hold up his head. 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley rewards the speaker at 
 once. 
 
 " And allow me to say tliat I hope you will
 
 140 Allerton Towers. 
 
 be very, very often at the Palace to witness 
 that happiness, Mr. Grove, when you can 
 spare the time from the prettiest rectory 
 and parish in the Bishop's gift " 
 
 " Livings are in papas gift, not yours 
 yet^'' Miss Templeton interrupts. 
 
 " But he shall not stray about among the 
 vacant ones in solitude and uncertainty as to 
 whom he shall bestow them on any longer," 
 Mrs. Heatherley says, caressingly. " I mean 
 to take the greatest interest in everything you 
 do and think of doing, dear," she continues, 
 and the Bishop smiles feebly, but withal 
 sullenly. To be called " dear," and openly 
 comforted, was not in the agreement he 
 made with himself about the terms he would 
 make with Mrs. Heatherley. However, he 
 keeps silence, for to protest or rebuke, and 
 fail to subdue, would be fatal, indeed, just 
 now. 
 
 " I'm afraid I shall not be in the way of 
 benefiting by your patronage," Mr. Grove 
 says, blithely and frankly. He is not dis- 
 pleased with Mrs. Heatherley for the tone 
 she has taken — he will be out of the diocese
 
 Mother and Daughter. 141 
 
 soon ; this, for one thing, and, for another, 
 her rule is, or will be, a more graceful one 
 than Fanny's has been. Nevertheless, he is 
 sorry for Fanny, and, if it were possible, he 
 would go back to his old ground with her, 
 and remove her from the humiliations to 
 come. 
 
 But it is not possible ! He had never been 
 " in love " with her, and now he was quite out 
 of the habit of her ; and this he had given 
 her to understand fully and clearly during 
 the last ten minutes which they spent alone 
 together in walking; up from the river. 
 
 But he had done this with courtesy and 
 consideration ; allowing her to suppose that 
 the change in him had been wrought by her- 
 self, sparing her all the mortification that is 
 possible, by his manner of suggesting that he 
 has believed it to be her desire to alienate 
 him. 
 
 Thus, on the surface, her pride is spared, 
 though in her heart she knows well that his 
 regard for her could never have been as 
 strong as she thought it, since it has been 
 so easily killed.
 
 142 Allerton Towers. 
 
 Nevertheless, this tone, which he has 
 chivalrously taken, will make the task which 
 is before her — -of accounting for its being all 
 over between them — a far easier one than it 
 would have been had Mr. Grove simply 
 backed out of the semi-entanglement without 
 this flattering explanation. 
 
 Fanny has a keen recollection of having 
 given all and sundry of her lady friends and 
 acquaintances to understand that it rests 
 with herself to convert the bachelor chaplain 
 into the Bishop's son-in-law, any day she 
 pleases. She has even gone so far, in 
 moments of elation, as to hint that his 
 pertinacity and jealousy have been the 
 winning powers that have moved her, and 
 to imply that he had to fight hard and 
 humbly for the victory which he has finally 
 attained over her virgin heart. She knows 
 well that these hints and su^o-estions will be 
 remembered against her when Mr. Grove 
 openly resigns her and the chaplaincy, and 
 goes off without any visible mark of having 
 suffered in the conflict, upon him. There will 
 be many to say tliat she has deluded herself
 
 Mother and Daughter. 148 
 
 all along, and that the love-passages which 
 she has prettily confessed, have been purely 
 imaginary. 
 
 By-and-bye Ethel and Lord Kenmare come 
 in, and Mrs. Heatherley is disappointed at the 
 first glance. Kenmare looks dispirited, and 
 Ethel is flushed and distressed in appearance. 
 The girl's first words, too, prove that golden 
 as the opportunity by the moonlighted river 
 has been, the young people have not made the 
 most of it, as Nature and Providence seemed 
 to design, by getting engaged. 
 
 " Mother, I want to go home to-morrow 
 instead of going to Boyne Gate ; no. Lady 
 St. Just, don't say that I'm tired of you, and 
 don't be angry with me ; I can't be happy 
 until I know why Walter GifFord seems to 
 have foro'otten me." 
 
 " You're not weak enough to waste a 
 thous^ht about a man who even seems to 
 have forgotten you, I hope," her mother 
 says, coldly, and the flush deepens on Ethel's 
 brilliant face as she answers: 
 
 " Yes, I am ; for I know it's only seeming." 
 
 " Mr. Giflbrd must be unlike any other
 
 144 Allerton Towers. 
 
 fellow in the world if he could forget 
 Miss Heatherley," Lord Kenmare says, with a 
 gallant effort, "though I wish, with all my 
 heart, you could forget him," he adds, in a 
 low tone, to Ethel. 
 
 " Perhaps I wish it, too," she murmurs, for 
 the pertinacious young lover who is present 
 does contrast favourably just now with the 
 apparently negligent one who is absent. And 
 on the strength of these words, uttered partly 
 in pique and partly in idleness. Lord Kenmare 
 determines to persist in his suit, and to finally 
 win both Ethel and his father to regard it 
 favourably. 
 
 " I want to speak to you in my room to- 
 night, Ethel," Mrs. Heatherley says, rising up 
 and silently extending her hand to the Bishop, 
 who takes it and retains it lonof enough to 
 give Ethel time to see that something has hap- 
 pened between her mother and the Bishop. 
 Then the newly-betrothed pair separate, and 
 the Bishop says good-night to Ethel in a pater- 
 nal and benedictory way that informs her of 
 the truth, before her mother can word it 
 touchingly and gracefully.
 
 Mother and Daughter. 145 
 
 "Mother," the girl begins, as soon as she 
 gets into her mother's room, " what is it ? 
 what does it mean ? The Bishop patted my 
 head as if I had been a little child, and 
 Fanny glared at me as if I had wanted him 
 to do it — what does it mean ? " 
 
 " Before I tell you that, tell me ichat you 
 mean by making a scene about Mr. Gifford," 
 Mrs. Heatherley says, reproachfully. 
 
 Ethel's arms are round her mother's 
 neck in a moment. The girl wants to be 
 strengthened and supported in her inten- 
 tion of being leal to her absent lover. 
 She is made of the stuff to hate herself if 
 she does eventually fall away from her freely 
 given promise to marry Walter Gifford by- 
 and-bye. Yet, all the while she feels that 
 Lord Kenmare, with his warmly-proffered 
 love, his great personal beauty, and his win- 
 ning way, is a great temptation to her. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! say something kind of 
 Walter; help me to keep on loving him 
 best," she pleads, with her arms clinging 
 closely round her mother's neck. 
 
 "My dear Ethel, nonsense! Mr. Gifford
 
 146 Allerton Towers. 
 
 is showing plainly that he can resign you, 
 and it is your duty to me and to yourself 
 to recrard your eno-acfement with him as at 
 an end. I am not going to say anything 
 to you about Lord Kenmare more than 
 this : that his preference for you demands 
 this return — that you do nothing hastily ; 
 it would grieve the Bishop — to say nothing 
 of myself — if you raise any objection to 
 going to Boyne Gate. 
 
 " The Bishop has nothing to do with me, 
 and if I do what I think right I don't 
 care whether he's grieved or not." 
 
 "The Bishop's wishes are paramount with 
 me ; in running counter to his desire for 
 your welfare, you will be directly opposing 
 me — your mother ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mother ! dont bring him in between 
 us," Ethel says, tempestuously. "What can 
 it be to him whether I go to Boyne Gate, 
 or, for the matter of that, whether I ever 
 speak to Lord Kenmare again?" 
 
 "The Bishop does me honour in proposing 
 to become my husband, and he does you 
 honour, Ethel, in proposing to treat you as
 
 Mother and Daughter. 147 
 
 his own daughter,"' Mrs. Heatherley says, 
 ■with the air of patient sweetness that she 
 has invariably found useful in the subjuga- 
 tion of Ethel. 
 
 " Mother, dear, let him do you all the 
 honour he can — he can't shoAv you too much 
 homage for your goodness in giving your 
 darling, pretty self to his service ; but don't 
 let him try to ' befather ' me ; if he wants 
 Lord Kenmare in the family for his own 
 honour and glory's sake, let him marry 
 Kenmare to Fanny." 
 
 " You were never a silly child, Ethel, 
 always my brightest and best companion ; 
 don't be a silly girl ! " and with these words 
 Mrs. Heatherley dismisses her daughter with 
 a kiss, and proceeds to write an autumn 
 programme for herself. 
 
 " Let me see ! " she says, meditatively 
 pausing, pen in hand, for a minute or two ; 
 " a fortnight at Boyne Gate will bring us 
 to the middle of September ; by that time 
 Ethel will be settled — the child is too 
 sensible to continue contumacious, and 
 Kenmare is too fascinating to be resisted 
 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 AUert(?n Towers. 
 
 long. Then home for a month of prepara- 
 tion ! The weddings shall be the third 
 week in October, and before I sleep I'll 
 write to Worth about the dresses."
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 SISTERLY ZEAL. 
 
 ■■■^^(LL the place is talking about it, so 
 
 0m^ it must be true," Miss Gifford 
 says, angrily and conclusively, to her brother, 
 when he disputes her assertion that there is to 
 be a double wedding at the cottage soon, 
 wdien Mrs. Heatherley will take the Bishop to 
 honour and obey her, and her daughter 
 will marry Lord Kenmare. 
 
 " Lily and I have been in at Turner's," 
 Miss Giiford continues, animatedly, " and 
 they showed us the order for the costumes, 
 eight for Mrs. Heatherley, and eight for 
 Miss Heatherley. The bridal dresses are 
 coming from Paris, Mrs. Turner says, but 
 there is no doubt about these eight a-piece 
 being trousseau dresses, and so, naturally, 
 there is no doubt about Miss Heatherley 
 going to marry Lord Kenmare." 
 
 "I will, not believe it j^et," Mr. Gifibrd
 
 150 Allerton Towers. 
 
 says, stoutly ; but it vexes him to* see that 
 his sister and her friend exchange smiles 
 that seem fraught with pity for his con- 
 temptible blindness. 
 
 " I would not believe it — yet," Lily Somer- 
 set says, quietly. " I would wait on in patient 
 endurance until the wedding-day, and all 
 doubt is over, if I were a man and in your 
 place. I would give the woman I loved all 
 the satisfaction and honour and glory I could. 
 I would not give her indifference for indif- 
 ference, scorn for scorn ; I would show her 
 that I was the real ' gentle tassel,' ready to 
 be whistled back again at any moment. 
 But when I had done all this, and been re- 
 quited by her according to my deserts, I 
 would never dare to ask another woman to 
 love me." 
 
 Walter Gifford strokes his moustache, 
 meditatively, as he listens to this harangue, 
 which Miss Somerset delivers with the most 
 absolute composure, in silvery, unruffled 
 accents. 
 
 " I am never likely to ask another woman 
 to love me," he says, presently, and Lily
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 151 
 
 nods her head at him in an approving way 
 that provokes rather than soothes him. 
 
 " Of course, you are not likely to do it ; 
 it wiU be only due to Lady Kenmare to show 
 her that where she has ruthlessly wounded 
 no other can heal. And what an amusing 
 story Mrs. Templeton will make out of your 
 fidelity to her beautiful daughter ; you'll be 
 the topic at the Bishop's dinners and the 
 Bishopess's garden-parties for a time ; and I 
 shouldn't wonder if the fact of your wearing 
 the willow publicly increased your practice 
 considerably. I hope it will, I am sure, for 
 the law of compensation ought to work in 
 some way." 
 
 " It is working already," he says, trying 
 to speak gaily ; " it is making you think 
 about me, and talk to me more than you 
 have for years." 
 
 They are sitting in the rafter-roofed, old- 
 world sitting-room at the Uplands ; it is easy 
 for Miss Gifford to slip out of the room at 
 this juncture without distracting their atten- 
 tion, or in any way disturbing them. The 
 daylight is waning, and the moon has not
 
 152 Allerton Towers. 
 
 risen yet. From their seats in the wide 
 window-recess, the old-fashioned garden, in 
 which pear and apple trees are mixed up in 
 picturesque confusion with tall hollyhocks 
 and sun-flowers, and feathery plants of 
 waving asparagus that has gone luxuriantly 
 to seed, looks quaint and attractive. Just 
 under the window a mass of lemon-thyme 
 and mint surrounds a few sweet-scented 
 bushes of late-flowering; roses. Altogether 
 there is a softening, subduing influence in the 
 beauty and the perfume that permeates the 
 atmosphere. And Walter Giffbrd, wearied 
 as he is by a hard day's work, and many 
 conflicting emotions about his absent Ethel, 
 feels that it is pleasant to look upon so fair 
 a scene with such a sympathetic companion. 
 
 Pleasant but dangerous, as Lily droops 
 the face that is as fair as her name with 
 languid tenderness towards him, and murmurs 
 in reply — 
 
 " Does it please you that I should show the 
 interest I have never ceased to feel in you by 
 saying bitter things of the girl who has won 
 your love only to throw it away like an old
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 1 53 
 
 glove ? Oh ! I am vexed with myself for 
 having been so weak as to give you such an 
 occasion for triumphing over me." 
 
 " Heaven knows I have never felt trium- 
 phant where you have been concerned," he 
 says, moodily ; " and even now I know that 
 you only portray interest in me as you gather 
 flowers — to please yourself for the moment." 
 
 " Walter, you wrong me, indeed you do, in 
 thinking so of me now ; there was a time 
 when I did not appreciate you, a time when 
 in my egotism I told you so for granted that 
 1 did not think it possible to wear out your 
 regard by my caprices ; but you taught me a 
 sharp lesson, and I have learnt it well ; you 
 can't forgive, any more than I can forget." 
 
 " I forgave you all the pain you made me 
 suffer long ago," he says, frankly; "but you 
 are right in hinting that I can't reconstruct 
 the old romance; you wouldn't be happy if I 
 attempted to do it ; you would feel naturally 
 that you deserved more than grateful friend- 
 ship, which is all that I can ever offer you." 
 
 " If Ethel Heatherley had never existed 
 
 you would be more forgiving to me I "
 
 I 54 Alter ton Towers. 
 
 " You shall not speak of forgiveness ; you 
 broke the chain of feeling which once bound 
 us together, yourself; I haven't the power 
 of re-uniting the links, that is all. Perhaps if 
 Ethel Heatherley had never existed I should 
 have carried ray end of the chain up to this 
 present day ; as it is " 
 
 " She will cease to exist for you when she 
 becomes Lady Kenmare ? " 
 
 " She will — God bless her ! but she is not 
 Lady Kenmare yet, nor will she ever be," he 
 says, heartily, gathering fresh faith in Ethel 
 from the force of his own words. 
 
 Lily leans through the open window and 
 gathers a sprig of something at random. It 
 happens to be mint, and as she presses it and 
 smells it, and then hands it to him, she says, 
 prosaically, and as if the preceding conversa- 
 tion had not been one of vital interest to 
 her, " We shall always think of each other 
 and of what we have been saying in future 
 Avhen we see roast lamb and mint sauce, 
 shan't we? shockingly commonplace, isn't 
 it ? but so true^ and we both like truth." 
 
 Then she rises from the window, and iroes
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 155 
 
 back to a corner in the room where an old 
 piano stands, and, sitting down to it, she 
 begins to sini^ " In the Gloamino-."' 
 
 As her soul-fraiight voice gives power and- 
 pathos to the song, which in itself is mere 
 prettiness, Mr. GilTord, who has borne him- 
 self bravely in the battle up to this point, 
 feels that he is vulnerable after all. Why, 
 if Ethel is false, should " what has been " 
 with Lily " never be again ? " 
 
 " To love is best, but to be loved is good," 
 he tells himself, and there is something of 
 this sentiment expressed in the way he holds 
 Lily Somerset's hand when he says good- 
 night to her, 
 
 "Well!" Mabel, the over-anxious sister, asks 
 eagerly, as she comes back to the room after 
 accompanying her brother to the garden gate, 
 " Well, how are you and Walter getting on ? " 
 
 " We shall get on better when Miss 
 Heatherley is married.'" 
 
 " It's tame of Walter to wait till all the 
 world has seen that she has thrown him 
 over," Miss Gifford says, indignantly, and 
 forthwith she determines to do something
 
 156 Allerton Tower.'^^ 
 
 rather desperate, for the sake of what she 
 deems the honour, and dignity, and happi- 
 ness of her brother. 
 
 Miss Gifford does not hold the pen of 
 a ready writer, therefore her self-appointed 
 task is a laborious one, and occupies her 
 well-nigh through all the hours of the night. 
 Weariness and sleepiness is her portion in 
 the morning, but she gets up bravely and 
 waits upon Lily Somerset as assiduously as 
 ever, for she has upon her the pleasing con- 
 sciousness of having done a good work 
 for her brother. 
 
 This " good work " goes forth by the mid- 
 day post from Allerton Towers in the guise 
 of a letter to Miss Heatherley, whose address 
 the devoted sister has procured, at the 
 cost of a considerable amount of speciously 
 worded enquiry, from the head milliner at 
 Turner's shop, and Ethel receives it three or 
 four days after her arrival at Boyne Gate. 
 
 It is as follows : — 
 " Dear Madam, — 
 
 " I must begin by offering you a pro- 
 found apology for the liberty which 1, a
 
 Sisterly Zeal 157 
 
 stranger, take in addressing you at all. 
 Xothini:^ but the earnest desire I have to see 
 the welfare and happiness of my dear brother 
 secured could excuse this conduct, even in 
 my own eyes. 
 
 "A rumour has reached us that you are 
 about to make a brilliant marriage very 
 shortly, but my brother refuses to accept the 
 release from his engagement to you until he 
 hears from you that he may take his freedom 
 honourably. My reason for hoping that you 
 will act thus generously is, that I have good 
 reason to know that my brother would find 
 happiness with another, if it were not for his 
 scruples concerning you ; and I am sure, 
 from what I have heard of your nobility of 
 character, you would not wish to stand in 
 his way now that you have preferred another 
 to him. 
 
 " My brother is not aware of my intention 
 of writing to you, nor do I wish him to 
 know it, as, unless he feels that your action 
 is spontaneous, and not the result of inter- 
 ference, he may refuse to be influenced by it. 
 
 " In conclusion, my dear young lady, let
 
 158 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 me j)ray you again to pardon this bold act 
 of mine, and to believe that I am actuated 
 solely by my affection for my brother, and 
 my heartfelt belief that what I ask you to 
 do will enable him to become a happy and 
 wealthy man. 
 
 " I am, dear Madam, 
 
 " Eespectfully yours, 
 
 "Mabel Gifford." 
 
 Happily for herself, Ethel is alone when 
 she receives this extraordinary epistle. Her 
 first indignant impulse upon reading it, is 
 to enclose it to Walter, without a word. Her 
 next is to write to him, asking, " if it can be 
 true that he is not only willing to let her go, 
 but ready to console himself with ' another,' 
 as his sister puts it ? " This is the reasonable 
 and right impulse ! Unfortunately, however, 
 Ethel does not act upon it, but reads the 
 letter over again and again, until her whole 
 soul is filled with anger and mortification, and 
 while this last and worst mood is upon her 
 she writes to Walter — 
 
 " Do not let any further thought of me 
 weigh with you for a moment longer. I
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 159 
 
 have gone out of your life for ever ! and 
 I can only hope that you Avill seek happi- 
 ness where you can find it, and as soon as 
 possible forget that Ethel Heatherley ever 
 existed." ' 
 
 "Mother," she says, an hour or two after- 
 wards, coming upon that lady and the Bishop 
 in one of the many sequestered walks that 
 intersect the Boyne Gate grounds, " I have 
 something to tell you." 
 
 The girl turns into a side path, and looks 
 as if she expected her mother to follow her. 
 But Mrs. Heatherley is indisposed to do any- 
 thing that may look like independent action 
 in the eyes of the Bishop. 
 
 "You may feel sure that the Bishop will 
 listen with glad interest to anythino- that con- 
 cerns you, dear," she says, witli her freshest, 
 youngest air of innocent reliance on the 
 Bishop's affections ; but Ethel is in the 
 wrong mood to return her mother's fascin- 
 ating lead. 
 
 "If you won't come and hear my news, 
 mother, I will keep it for a more convenient 
 season," the disappointed daughter says, with
 
 160 Allerton Towers. 
 
 a catch in her voice that appeals to so much 
 as is motherly in the vain little widow's heart. 
 
 " Spare me for a few moments, will you ? " 
 she says, coquettishly ; " my child is a little 
 tiny bit jealous of the time I give to you, I'm 
 afraid ; " then she adds in a whisper, " she 
 reveres you too much to speak familiarly 
 before you yet, but love will soon cast out 
 fear when you are her father." 
 
 " Very proper, nice feeling on her part, I 
 am sure," the Bishop says, benignly. To 
 tell the truth, reverence is not precisely 
 the sentiment with which he himself fancies 
 he has inspired his pretty widow's handsome 
 daughter. Nor, indeed, to do him justice, 
 does he desire to insist upon a display of 
 filial feeling from the young lady. But, 
 for the future, his ways and wishes will be 
 moulded and guided by a stronger hand 
 than his own, and, like a man, he prepares 
 to bow to the inevitable. 
 
 So Mrs. Heatherley trips along after 
 Ethel, who walks rapidly to a recess in 
 the high laurel hedge, where she stops, and 
 begins at once —
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 161 
 
 " I have broken off my engagement with 
 Walter Gilford to-day, mother ; don't ask 
 me why I have done it, and don't build 
 any fallacious hopes upon it. I have done 
 it! and I'm more unhappy than I ever 
 thought it possible I could be ; but I don't 
 want to go back to AUerton Towers. I 
 would rather go away where no one will 
 over speculate about me and my lost hap- 
 piness." 
 
 " My darling, you will be rewarded for 
 this obedience to my wishes, and to the 
 dictates of common sense, by meeting with 
 one who will make yOur lot a far hap- 
 pier one than it could ever have been as 
 Mr. Gifford's wife," Mrs. Heatherley says, 
 rapturously ; but Ethel sliakes her head 
 and says — 
 
 "No, mother, you will be burdened with 
 me all my life, or rather the Bishop will be ; 
 I won't let myself fancy anything so evil 
 as that you will ever wish me away from 
 you." 
 
 Again the maternal instinct is aroused, 
 and tears of genuine feeling for her daughter 
 
 VOL. 1. M
 
 Ifi2 Allerton Towers. 
 
 well up into Mrs. Heatherley's bright blue 
 eyes. But when she speaks there is a 
 nervous quiver in her voice that sounds 
 more like fear than love. 
 
 " I shall never know a moment's peace, 
 Ethel, my darling, till you are well married, 
 and removed from the possibility of any 
 change in my fortunes affecting you." 
 Ethel smiles sadly. 
 
 " My dear little mother, for your sake the 
 Bishop won't grudge me a corner in the 
 Palace, and, if he does, why shouldn't I 
 live on at the cottage ? " 
 
 " There are many reasons why ; but it's 
 ridiculous to talk seriously in this strain," 
 Mrs. Heatherley says, sharply ; and for a few 
 moments she looks quite middle-aged and 
 haggard. Then with an effort she resumes 
 her youth and gaiety, and runs back to the 
 Bishop as if her feet were not shackled, 
 and her brow burdened with a weight of 
 secret care. 
 
 " I must tell you the good news at once ; 
 my dear child has made me quite happy by 
 freeing herself from that foolish entanglement
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 163 
 
 with the young surgeon," she says, sliding 
 her hand under the Bishop's arm. 
 
 " It was not a regular engagement, I un- 
 derstand?" he asks, and she tells him — 
 
 " Oh, no ! a foolish arrangement between 
 two thoughtless young people, of which I 
 never could approve ; his connections are 
 not in our class of life at all, I should say, 
 from the little I saw of his sister." 
 
 " I can never bring myself to countenance 
 a breacli of such a solemn thincr as a 
 regular, authorised, sensible engagement," 
 his lordship says, sternly. Then, having 
 asserted his prerogative to judge and con- 
 demn, he relapses into affability, and ex- 
 presses a hope that Lord Kenmare will 
 now catch Ethel's heart in the rebound. 
 
 "I shall certainly advise him to seize this 
 golden opportunity," he says ; and Mrs. 
 Heatherley, who dreads the effect of any- 
 thing like interference on his part, is obliged 
 to entreat him to observe the golden rule 
 of silence when Ethel's heart affairs are 
 concerned. 
 
 " In £TOod time it will all arranije itself,
 
 164 Allerton Towers. 
 
 I am sure," she says, confidently, for she 
 does not dare to allow herself to doubt 
 and fear about Ethel's future. If her 
 daughter does not make a wealthy marriage, 
 with a man who will for love of Ethel be 
 both liberal and discreet, the blithe little 
 widow, who has always passed for a 
 wealthy one in Allerton Towers society, 
 will be poor indeed. 
 
 Lord Kenmare has not accompanied them 
 to Boyne Gate. A letter from his father, 
 peremptorily demanding his son's immediate 
 presence at Sir John Hawtrey's house hard 
 by, has relieved Ethel from the embarrassing 
 daily intercourse with the young man whom 
 she has refused to marry, but whom slie 
 likes with a warmer liking than she has for 
 anyone else on earth, excepting Walter 
 Gilford ! 
 
 She must not be thou2:ht either inconsistent 
 or fickle, when it is said of her that there has 
 been so much sweetness in this daily inter- 
 course that she misses it very sadly now that it 
 is over. There are moments when she longs 
 for his presence again, longs to hear his ardent
 
 Sisterly Zeal. . 165 
 
 adoriiior words, that will not be silenced ; 
 longs to see his boyishly frank displayal of 
 desperate regard for her ; longs, in fact, for 
 the sight of " the only one who is true 
 and loyal and staunch to her," as she tells 
 herself, thinking sorrowfully of Walter. 
 
 It must be admitted that life is not very 
 lively at Boyne Gate. Lady St. Just having 
 failed in bringing matters to a successful issue 
 between Lord Kenmare and Ethel, and being 
 rather annoyed than otherwise at her old 
 friend, the Bishop, having suffered himself to 
 fall captive to Mrs. Heatherley's bow and 
 spear, is rather tired of this family party 
 which she has brought upon herself. If 
 Ethel would only be sensible, and accept the 
 love that is offered to her, Lady St. Just 
 would take the credit of making the match to 
 herself next season, and feel pride and plea- 
 sure. But as Ethel is contumacious, there is 
 a flatness about the group, which falls upon 
 Lady St. Just, who revenges herself by being 
 so depressing that even the Bishop feels that 
 the atmosphere of his Palace is exhilarating 
 by comparison.
 
 166 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " I can't help thinking that our friend is 
 expecting a fresh relay of guests ; possibly it 
 may not suit her arrangements to have us 
 here any longer," he hints to his bride-elect. 
 But she, having her own reasons for staying 
 away from Allerton Towers until her wedding- 
 day is near at hand, tells him that " for her 
 child's sake she has resolved to stay and 
 meet and conquer Lord Monkstown." 
 
 It is a little thing to Mrs. Heatherley, who 
 has large things at stake, that her august 
 hostess should be obviously tired of her and 
 her future spouse. 
 
 " He is heavy, deadly heavy, when he 
 emerges from the cloudy splendour of bishop- 
 hood, and becomes a mere man, affecting 
 harmless sprightliness," Mrs. Heatherley says 
 to herself, with a laugh and a shrug of the 
 pretty supple shoulders — whose undulations 
 the Bishop is observing at the moment w-ith 
 admiring eyes — " but I shall have to endure 
 the burden of being bored by him so long as 
 we both do live. Why shouldn't Ladj^ St. 
 Just have a sensation of what I shall have to 
 bear ? Ethel and I compensate her amply for
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 167 
 
 Fanny's cautious insipidity, and her father's 
 excellent uninterestingness," So for the sake 
 of a certain something, which she does not 
 confide either to her child Ethel, or her 
 captive Bishop, Mrs. Heatherley puts her 
 pride aside, and stays on where she is 
 obviously not wanted. 
 
 Success appears about to crown her in one 
 direction, at least, when she hears that on the 
 following day " six guns," chosen for their 
 well-known prowess over turnip fields and 
 against partridges, are going out from Boyne 
 Gate for a hard day's work, and that their 
 arduous labours are to be relieved by the 
 ladies and luncheon at Bale Coppice at half- 
 past one. For among these six are the 
 Marquis of Monkstown and his son, Lord 
 Kenmare. 
 
 "I hear that Lord Monkstown is a sweet 
 old man," Mrs. Heatherley says to the Bis- 
 hop ; " and [I am sure when he sees Ethel, 
 and finds how perfectly she behaves, never 
 giving Kenmare the slightest encouragement 
 to make love to her, and yet showing her 
 liking for him in such a pretty, frank way,
 
 16S J,','r "7.:, T:'/rfr&, 
 
 I an surf^ quite, quite sure iLai he "vril] 
 ?^:Tip:>r: his son's suit, and thai our darHng 
 Ziiiel will be made happy almost airainsT 
 her wilL^ 
 
 ~ A Higier Power than ours directs these 
 tim^ps," the Bishop sars. vith the impressiTe 
 tcaae that is pronounced to be ** venr teOing " 
 by his admirers when he is sivin^ a Charse 
 ful] of flawless commonplaces. Bat at tlie 
 same time, despite tliis rerbal expresskm of 
 pious rdiance, be is crlad that Mrs, Heatberiey 
 will have such an excellent opportunitr of 
 loi^ng a mundaue hand towards the fcH"- 
 mjUicm of so gratiiying a connectioa. 
 
 Tbere is a sort of tacit agreem^Qit between 
 Ladj Jst. Just and Mrs. Heatherley to the 
 efect that Ethel shall not be told that Lcw^d 
 Kemnare and his fath^- will loeet them at 
 B«le Cloppice this day. AoeordiQgly, Ethel 
 aDoviB hersdf to be bent and mooMed to 
 thfor widies and wHls without a murmur. 
 There is a good deal of the managing faculty 
 required in order to tran^KHt the home 
 party to the trystii^-fJace oomlbitafafy and 
 consistentlT. It is clear to the most; <^nqae
 
 Sisterly Zeal 169 
 
 secular mind that the gaiters and hat of a 
 bishop must not be shown to the eye of 
 dissent (which prevails in these parts) des- 
 cending Irom a httle Xorfolk cart. Therefore 
 ^Irs. Heatherley is compelled to accompany 
 the wearer of these honourable but oppressive 
 insignia in the landau with Lady St. Just, 
 instead of going, as her taste would dictate, 
 in the Norfolk cart drawn by the sporting- 
 looking Httle cob which is driven by Ethel. 
 
 And to make matters worse, it seems, fate 
 decrees that, for the greater convenience of 
 the greater number, Fanny Templeton shall 
 be Ethels companion. Eanny Templeton, 
 who will squeeze herself into every little 
 crevice of an opportunity which judicious 
 management may make for Kenmare to have 
 uninterrupted intercourse with Ethel. Mrs. 
 Heatherley's brow darkens and her eyes glare 
 at her future step-daughter, as Fanny takes 
 her place — and Fanny's intuition tells her the 
 reason why. 
 
 " Your mamma is' afraid I shall be in your 
 way. dear." she says, at once, and Ethel, 
 taking her literally, repUes —
 
 170 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense ; there's plenty of room— - 
 room for one behmd as far as that goes ; Mr. 
 Grove, why don't you come with us ? " 
 she cries out, as the chaplain is preparing 
 to step into the landau, and without hesi- 
 tation Mr. Grove turns and accepts the 
 invitation. 
 
 For a few minutes Fanny is silenced by this 
 move on the board, but as they dash out into 
 the lane which leads to Bale Coppice she 
 recovers her wonted equanimity, and power 
 of uttering that which is most likely to 
 discompose her audience. 
 
 "I am feeling quite anxious to see Lord 
 Monkstown, are not you, Ethel? They 
 say he's such a fascinating, courtly old gentle- 
 man, and as handsome, even now, as Lord 
 Kenmare.'' 
 
 The cob bends his nose in half an inch 
 more, and steps out a thought quicker, thus 
 indicating that he has felt a sudden pressure 
 on his bit. This is the only sign given that 
 the name so lightly mentioned has gone home 
 to the heart of the hearer. 
 
 "Is Lord Monkstown one of the party?"
 
 Sisterly Zeal. 171 
 
 Ethel asks, holding her face well round for 
 Miss Templeton's inspection. 
 
 " Why ; yes, of course, you know that both 
 he and Kenmare are here," Fanny rejoins, and 
 at the same moment the cob swerves sharply 
 round a corner close to the coppice.
 
 CHAPTEE X, 
 
 BALE COPPICE. 
 
 [[jSpHE cob has distanced his more ma- 
 jestic stable brethren in tlie landau, 
 and the consequence is, Ethel finds 
 herself dashing up to the group of six ex- 
 pectant, hungry men, with the air of being 
 so eager to join them that she has outstripped 
 conventionality, and left her chaperone be- 
 hind her. 
 
 The clear, bright, dark face lights up 
 radiantly, and the soft, dark velvet eyes are 
 lustrous with a variety of deeply-stirred 
 feelings, as, foremost among the group of 
 men, the girl recognises Lord Kenmare. 
 She cannot help feeling pleased at the warm 
 pleasure with which he comes to greet her. 
 She cannot help feeling flattered at the flat- 
 tering heart-and-lip-homage he renders her. 
 She cannot help being proud of the pride 
 he takes in showintj all those who care to
 
 Bale Coppice. 1 7. '5 
 
 see it, that his devotion to Ethel Heath erley 
 is unaltered. 
 
 He is by the side of the Norfolk cart the 
 moment; the cob stops, doffing his hat low 
 to the young lady, whose pretty blushes 
 might pass for the red flag of love in the 
 eyes of one less keen to detect the truth 
 than he is. 
 
 " May I introduce my father to you ? " he 
 asks, and presently Ethel feels her hand taken 
 very kindly by a handsome old gentleman, 
 who is merely a splendidly-matured edition 
 of Kenmare. 
 
 " This is the obstacle to my wishes with 
 regard to Caroline," Lord Monkstown thinks, 
 and he resolves to ignore Kenmare's infatua- 
 tion altogether, since the latter has never 
 confided the name of the object of it to the 
 paternal ear. 
 
 " The boy wears his heart upon his sleeve," 
 the father says to himself, as Ethel springs 
 out of the trap, and Kenmare at once en- 
 deavours to draw her away from the others 
 " to look at a view of Boyne Gate from the 
 other end of the coppice." But Lord Monks-
 
 174 Allerton Towers. 
 
 town does not think this angrily, by any 
 means. He is not displeased that his son's 
 iirst serious heart-affection should have been 
 given him by a girl who would so gracefully 
 wear the title and coronet of a marchioness 
 as Ethel. " It must never be with Kenmare, 
 but she amply justifies the boy's admiration 
 for her, and desire to have her," the old 
 nobleman — who prides himself upon estimat- 
 ing women correctly, and specially plumes 
 himself on the aptitude of his power of dis- 
 cerning whether or not they are fitted by 
 nature and habit to hold high places — thinks. 
 
 " It must never be with Kenmare ; but 
 
 if he gets over it, or rather when he gets 
 over it" — Lord Monkstown checks even his 
 thoughts at this juncture, but they have 
 run away with him far enough for it to be 
 nearly a certainty that if Ethel is ambitious 
 only, her ambition may be gratified by 
 another than Kenmare ! 
 
 That something of this is shadowed forth 
 in the long, admiring gaze which the old 
 gentleman sends after the supple, erect figure 
 which is stepping along so lightly in the
 
 Bale Coppice. 175 
 
 distance by the side of his son, may be 
 gathered from the fact that Fanny Templeton 
 feels impelled to say as soon as an introduc- 
 tion enables her to address Lord Monkstown : 
 
 " Have you never seen my pretty friend 
 before ? " 
 
 " I have never had the pleasure of meeting 
 Miss Heatherley until to day," he replies. 
 
 " Ah ! your son has the advantage of you 
 in that respect at least," Fanny says, putting 
 on a look of tender regard for the young girl, 
 whom she would willingly obliterate from the 
 face of the earth at the present moment, were 
 such a course feasible without unpleasant 
 results to herself. Then, as Lord Monkstown 
 acquiesces in her statement that his own son 
 has the advantage of him, Fanny goes on — 
 
 " Lord Kenmare and Miss Heatherley are 
 quite old friends, and would have been some- 
 thing more, I have heard, if it had not been 
 for the prior claims of Mr. Walter Gifford." 
 
 " Indeed ! " — Lord Monkstown startled a 
 little, not as Fanny supposes by the sugges- 
 tion that his son has been in love with Ethel, 
 but by the idea of any other man being for-
 
 176 Allerton Towers. 
 
 tunate enough to have a prior claim to her — 
 "indeed! and who is Mr. Walter GifFord?" 
 
 " A surgeon in practice in Allerton Towers, 
 a good sort of young man, I believe, not that 
 I know anything of him, for, of course, he's 
 not in our set.'' 
 
 " At the same time you are so intimate 
 with his fiancee. "" 
 
 Lord Monkstown put it in this way, hoping 
 that he may be told immediately that Ethel 
 is not a fiancee, but the feline Fanny has no 
 intention of putting the noble mover out 
 of pain or suspense quickly. 
 
 " I am so intimate with his fiancee, because 
 her mother and the Bishop, my father, are 
 going to be foolish enough to marry one 
 another in their old age. Then she remem- 
 bers that Lord Monkstown must be the 
 Bishop's senior by many a long year, and 
 adds an amendment : 
 
 "Xot that my father's age is against the 
 wisdom of the intention, I don't think that 
 for a moment ; but Mrs. Heatherley is 
 certainly long past the age at which it might 
 have been easy to tear her from the habits
 
 Bale Coppice. Ill 
 
 to which she is wedded, and mould her to 
 a new manner of hfe." 
 
 " There is nothins^ that can be said against 
 Mrs. Heatherley's prudence ; she has shown it 
 in accepting the Bishop," the Marquis says, 
 smihng, and, as he speaks, the landau with its 
 highly esteemed cargo comes lumbering up 
 respectably, and kind little Fanny is unable 
 to put any more pins into the noble pin- 
 cushion for the time. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Heatherley comes into 
 collision with Lord Monkstown, she under- 
 stands that she must renounce her intention 
 of creating a paternal regard for Ethel in his 
 heart. He is no " heavy father " to hold out 
 against the projected union of the young 
 people, for whom she is scheming, for a 
 time, and then to endow them with countless 
 thousands and his blessing. He is, on the 
 contrary, a fine, handsome, rather vain; 
 attractive, rather selfish man, who banishes 
 his age as much from his own mind, and 
 from the sight of other people, as possible. 
 A man in whom the pride of life is still 
 strong enough for it to be extremely pro- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 178 Allerton Tower. 
 
 bable that lie will prefer having a beautiful, 
 penniless young wife for himself, to permitting 
 his son to enjoy the luxury. 
 
 All this is so patent to Mrs. Heatherley, 
 that she, being in her own eyes a still young 
 and remarkably pretty woman, is almost dis- 
 posed to regret that the proclamation of her 
 victory over the Bishop has gone forth. Her 
 unfailing instinct for the fitness of things tells 
 her that she would have made a better mar- 
 chioness than she will a bishop-ess. But as 
 this is not in the alterable order of things, 
 Mrs. Heatherley makes up her mind to 
 succumb to the inevitable, graciously and 
 gracefully. 
 
 She still has a trump card in her hand! 
 "Ethel is the most marriageable girl I ever 
 saw in my life, if she can only be induced to 
 marry," she tells herself; and then she looks 
 at the Marquis and makes plans ! 
 
 " Dear old man ! — so distin2:uished-lookinii ! 
 After all, there's nothing finer on the face of 
 the earth than a real Irish gentleman. And 
 the Marquis of Monkstown may safely chah 
 lenge criticism. An old man's darling.
 
 Bale Coppice. 179 
 
 What better fortune for a fortuneless girl can 
 be desired? An old man's darling ! And that 
 old man a venerable Adonis and a marquis ! " 
 
 "My daughter is such a perfect child of 
 nature, that she forgets other people may- 
 animadvert upon her conduct ; she treats 
 Lord Kenmare with the simple familiarity 
 she would show towards a younger brother ; 
 forgetting that unkind eyes may see more 
 in her manner than she means, and unkind 
 tongues mention it." 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley says this in plaintively 
 apologetic accents to Lord Monkstown, in a 
 brief interval — during which she has him 'en- 
 tirely to herself — while the luncheon is being 
 spread. It is not through neglecting the 
 Bishop that this opportunity arises, but rather 
 that he is allowing himself to be absorbed by 
 a communication his daughter has just made 
 to him, 
 
 "Papa," Fanny says, as she sees Mrs. 
 Heatherley preparing to melt Lord Monks- 
 town, " I want to show you a fern that we 
 ought to have for our grates, it spreads so 
 beautifully." Then, while the Bishop is look- 
 
 n2
 
 180 Allerton Towers. 
 
 ing in blind confidence for the fern, in the 
 direction his daughter indicates, she stabs him 
 ruthlessly : 
 
 " Papa, do you know that woman is 
 hopelessly, irretrievably, scandalously in 
 debt ? " 
 
 " I don't believe — I mean what woman are 
 you speaking about ? " he says, wincing piti- 
 fully under the pain, but struggling still to 
 preserve an air of composure. 
 
 " You know I can only mean Mrs. Hea- 
 therley." 
 
 " And you know Mrs. Heatherley is to be 
 my wife, Fanny ; I can't listen to gossip 
 about her, even from you." 
 
 " But the gossip is true, papa ; I have 
 heard to-day, on excellent authority, that 
 Mrs. H. civherley is only marrying you 
 because she has wasted her daughter's sub- 
 stance and her own ; she is nothing better 
 than an extravagant pauper." 
 
 " It would be treason to myself were I to 
 listen to such an evil report," the Bishop 
 says, strengthening himself in his determina- 
 tion to be staunch by the reflection that he
 
 Bale Coppice. Ibl 
 
 is too firmly in Mrs. Heatlierley's clutclies 
 ever to hope to- get out of them. 
 
 " It is worse treason to yourself to turn 
 a deaf ear to what I tell you, papa," Fanny 
 persists, and to do her justice, she has good 
 grounds for what she says, and is not 
 actuated by an unkindly spirit towards Mrs. 
 Heatherley only. It is gall and wormwood 
 to her to think of the widow as the pre- 
 siding genius of the Palace, but there is 
 worse bitterness in the thought that the 
 widow will bring no grist to the mill. 
 
 " At any rate, enquire into her affairs 
 before you take the fatal step, papa," she 
 urges, and the Bishop, who has a quiet 
 conviction that he is going to his doom in 
 making this marriage, promises her that he 
 will " be cautious." 
 
 "At the same time, understand that I 
 have every confidence — every confidence in 
 Mrs. Heatherley," he says, emphatically — 
 so emphatically, in fact, that he almost 
 beheves himself. But his daughter knows 
 better, and in the unconvinced toss her 
 head gives there is another dagger-thrust.
 
 182 Allerton Towers. 
 
 Meanwhile Ethel and Lord Kenmare are 
 looking at the view on the sheltered side 
 
 o 
 
 of Bale Coppice. 
 
 " Did you think I should be here to-day ? " 
 he asks, when they have rounded a corner 
 and found a bank thickly-cushioned with 
 moss, to sit down upon. 
 
 " I didn't think about you before I 
 started." 
 
 " But, after you had started, did I come 
 into your head at all ? Give me that much 
 pleasure at least — say you thought I should 
 be here, and still you came." 
 
 " You were put into my head by Fanny 
 Temple ton ; she told me just as we drove 
 up to you, that ' of course I knew both your 
 father and you were here ! I didn't know, 
 but that was her way of putting it." 
 
 " I hope you'll like my father." 
 
 " I hope I shall," Ethel says, politely. It 
 does not seem a matter of vital consequence 
 whether she likes his father or not, but, as 
 he wishes it, she does not feel disposed to 
 cavil at the expression of his desire. 
 
 "Yes," the young man goes on, I hope
 
 Bale Coppice. ISo 
 
 with all my heart you'll like my father, 
 because if you do he'll soon think all the 
 world of you, and the other will be no- 
 where." 
 
 " I don't want him to think all the world 
 of me,'' Ethel says, anxiously ; " it would be 
 such a pity, such a waste you know, if he 
 did ! And who's the other one ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot you didn't know about 
 my cousin, Caroline Hawtrej' ; she's the 
 governor's craze ; she's an heiress, and she's 
 his niece, and she's destined by both her own 
 father and mine to be Lady Kenmare ; and, 
 look here, Ethel, whether you will in time, 
 or not, I don't mean to have it." 
 
 "To have what?" 
 
 "You know what — Caroline for my wife; 
 she's a good little thing, meek, and gentle, 
 and nice-looking ; but, after seeing you, and 
 seeing what I do in you, I cannot see any- 
 thinof in her stronii^ enouirh to blot you 
 out." 
 
 " I think most men fall in love two or 
 three times, in a fanciful way, before they 
 meet the women they marry,"
 
 J 84 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " I think I've heard that remark made 
 before," he laughs. "Miss Heatherley, even 
 when you try to be tame and trite you're 
 more interesting than any other girL" 
 
 " I have not been sufficiently interesting 
 to Mr. Gifford to keep him true to me," 
 she says, sorrowfully. " Just think ; I'm 
 as fond of him as you are of— anybody, 
 and I've had to give him up because he 
 has seen a girl he likes better than me." 
 
 " I don't believe it." 
 
 "Do you mean you don't believe he's 
 tired of me ? " she asks, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, that's what I do mean ; I wish I 
 could run him down with all my heart ; I 
 wish I could dare to say that I think him 
 a hound. But I don't, you see ; if any 
 one has told you that he's tired of you 
 and that he likes someone else better, that 
 someone must have lied, because he 
 couldnt, you know ! — tlie thing isn't in 
 man ' to do.' " 
 
 " I think you're better than anyone else, 
 you're nobler ; you can't imagine low, false 
 things ; oh ! you are so true, and you are
 
 Bale Coppice. 185 
 
 ?o generous ! " Ethel says, vigorously, and, 
 instantly, she wishes she had not said it, 
 for Lord Kenmare takes heart of grace 
 from her encouragement to say : 
 
 " You never say a thing you don't mean, 
 I've found that out ' about you ; and so, as 
 you mean you think all these good things of 
 me — can't you, ccmt you love me, dear ? " 
 
 " I wish I could — I am an unfortunate girl, 
 I think, Lord Kenmare," she says, with a 
 sweet seriousness that appeals to all that is 
 noblest in his noble nature. "' At least," she 
 adds, hurriedly, as if she fears she were doing 
 injustice to someone, '• I seem to be unfortu- 
 nate just now, but, perhaj)s, it's only seem- 
 ing ; the two people I think most of in the 
 world — the two I love the best and want to 
 trust the most, 'seem' to be getting away 
 from me." 
 
 "And one of these is this Mr. Gifibrd?" 
 he asks, with kindly curiosity. 
 
 " Yes, one of them is ' this Mr. Gifibrd,' as 
 you choose to call him," Ethel says, perking 
 her head up in proud deprecation of the 
 depreciation which is implied in that word
 
 186 Allerton Towers. 
 
 *' only ; " " and that he should fall off, or 
 seem weak and wanting, is a trouble heavy- 
 enough to embitter my life, for I thought 
 him higher than myself, you know, and — " 
 
 She pauses suddenly, and a light, as of a 
 new revelation, springs up into her face. 
 
 " I forgot," she whispers, bending her 
 pretty head, with pretty modesty, " I for- 
 got ! the one who has taken him from me 
 may be so much better than me, that it 
 was only right of him to go." 
 
 This is a view of the case w^hicli Kenmare 
 cannot combat. When Ethel is lowly, she is 
 a beloved but still an overwhelming burden. 
 
 "But it can never be made to look right 
 that mother should marry the Bishop," Ethel 
 goes on, looking him direct in the face, in a 
 way that makes him feel that it will be idle 
 on his part to utter a mere platitude. " It 
 will always look a strained and incongruous 
 arrangement — and it will be worse than it 
 looks. And I can't bear it, for I love my 
 mother." 
 
 " She is a free agent," Lord Kenmare 
 remarks, suggestively. He is afraid to assert
 
 Bale Coppice. 187 
 
 anything, yet he wishes to show that he has 
 a healthy yearning for information on all 
 points that concern Miss Heatherley. 
 
 " Yes — mother's a free agent, as far as 
 being well-off and quite independent of every 
 one goes ; but mother has a very gentle and 
 reliant nature — oh ! she's ever so much more 
 inclined to yield and to lean upon people 
 than I am." 
 
 "And the Bishop is a good, massive 
 leaning-post ! " 
 
 " That's just it ; dear mother has lived her 
 graceful, unprotected life long enough for her 
 to have gained reliance on herself; but, some- 
 how or other, she hasn't got it ; she's afraid 
 of what people may say of her and of 
 me ! as if it mattered ! and she fancies when 
 she is the Bishop's wife that we shall both 
 be founded on a rock." 
 
 " If I were you I wouldn't fret myself 
 about my mother's marriage. The Bishop's 
 worst fault, as far as I can see, is that he's 
 a deuced nuisance to talk to; and, if your 
 mother can stand that, you needn't worry 
 yourself about it, need you ? "
 
 188 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " I often wonder what people go on talk- 
 ing about all through the long years — for 
 ever so long — for so long as they both do 
 live — as, when they're married, and all the 
 furniture is got, and they know who's going 
 to call and who isn't, there can't be much 
 more to say ; " and he replies, with the 
 decision that is an attribute of his age — 
 
 "They don't talk to each other, you know." 
 
 " Do you mean that husbands and wives 
 don't talk to each other ? " 
 
 " Not as a rule — but — you and your 
 husband will be an exception ; I could go 
 on talking with you for ever without feeling 
 tired, or thinking that a change would be 
 pleasant." 
 
 " Ah ! but you're not my husband," she 
 says, lightly ; " and if you were we should 
 soon wear the topics we have in common, 
 threadbare ; now, with a man who had a pro- 
 fession, it would be different. I should take 
 an interest in his cases, and speak about 
 them " 
 
 " Is there any path in life that I can 
 
 tread that will awake interest enough in j-ou
 
 Bale Copince. 189 
 
 to make me follow it," he interrupts, eagerly ; 
 " I'll go in for politics with my whole heart 
 if you'll put a bit of heart into my doing 
 so.'' 
 
 " If I weighed with you for a moment — 
 if you thought of me when you went into 
 the strife, your whole heart wouldn't be in 
 your work, therefore you'd do it badly." 
 
 " May I not hope to touch a noble aim, and 
 then lay fondly at your feet the fulness of my 
 fame?" he asks, and then Ethel gives him 
 a sharp thrust with the sword of common- 
 sense. 
 
 " If your father knew the way in which 
 you are misusing your privileges, how angry 
 he would be with you and with me ; and 
 don't make him angry with me — I want him 
 to like me." 
 
 " For my sake ? " he mutters. 
 
 " No, not for your sake at all ; but because 
 he's a grander gentleman than I've ever seen 
 before, and so I should like him to like me, 
 and make much of me, for my own sake." 
 
 The girl is very much in earnest, and only 
 a little in jest, in saying this. Nevertheless,
 
 190 AUerton Towers. 
 
 it startles and almost hurts her when he 
 answers, gravely : 
 
 " I hope and trust that it may be for your 
 'own sake,' for your sake will be mine." 
 
 Even as he says this, the old Marquis 
 rounds the corner of the coppice, escorted by 
 Mrs. Heatherley and Fanny Templeton. The 
 Bishop would not come " because the wasps 
 worry him," they explain ; and Lady St. Just 
 wishes the elaborately-prepared luncheon to 
 be eaten without further delay. But Ethel 
 cannot help feeling that neither the impor- 
 tunity of the wasps assailing, as they do, the 
 current comfort of a Bishop, nor the urgency 
 of the case as regards the luncheon, would 
 have brought Lord Monkstown round the 
 coppice corner in search of her. 
 
 " For whose sake, and in whose interest, 
 then has he come?" 
 
 Mrs. Heatherley nurtures a hope, and Ethel 
 strives to banish a thought, that both tend 
 to the same point. 
 
 " He is more struck with my child than I 
 could have believed a man would be, accus- 
 tomed to the society of the most loveliest
 
 Bale Coppice. 191 
 
 women in London," Mrs. Heatlierley thinks, 
 exultantly, and at the same time Ethel, struck 
 by the expression of her mother's face, is 
 tellinsf herself — 
 
 " Mother is putting the father in the place 
 she wanted the son to fill the other day ! I 
 hope he won't make an old goose of himself 
 and meet her views, and make my hard lot 
 harder than it is already. Oh, Walter ! if 
 other men are ready to love me, why couldn't 
 you go on doing it?" 
 
 But while she is saying this to herself, she 
 is listening very attractively to the informa- 
 tion Lord Monkstown is giving her about Boyne 
 Gate. He is telling her how it came into the 
 family generations ago, when a Baron Monks- 
 town (this was before they were prompted 
 marquises) had fallen in love with a pretty 
 Ene^lish o^irl, who turned out the heiress of 
 " Place," as the estate was called then, and 
 who returned her Irish lover's affection with 
 such romantic fervour, that she insisted on 
 chanc^inc: the name of the estate of her 
 fathers to Boyne Gate. 
 
 " This is the first time it has ever been let,'*
 
 192 Allerton Towers. 
 
 he goes on to explain; "hitherto it has always 
 been used as a dower-house ; but, as I am 
 unfortunate enough to have survived my wife, 
 I have let St. Just have it for two or three 
 shooting seasons." 
 
 " It's the only place you have in England, 
 isn't it ? " Ethel asks, for the sake of saying 
 something. To her embarrassment, Lord 
 Monkstown has succeeded in lagging behind 
 the others, and courtesy has compelled her to 
 stay and listen to his explanation ; therefore 
 she seems to be lagging, too. 
 
 " Yes ; the only place I have in England, 
 with the exception of a little house in Norfolk 
 Street, that is scarcely worth speaking of, as 
 it is only fit for bachelor's quarters." 
 
 " Mother has a house in Norfolk Street, 
 too," Ethel says. 
 
 "Has she? Do you go to it for the season? 
 Perhaps I shall be fortunate enough to have 
 you for neighbours, if you go up for the 
 winter gaiety ! "What is your number ? " 
 
 Ethel tells him, and he exclaims — " Are 
 you sure? that is very strange, for it's my 
 number ! "
 
 Bale Coppice. 193 
 
 " Yes, I am quite sure. We haven't been 
 up for three years, but I can't be stupid 
 enough to have forgotten the number." 
 
 "I bought it three years ago," he says, 
 quietly ; " perhaps your mamma may have 
 sold it to me." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I'm sure she hasn't, because she 
 was speaking of her London house property 
 the other day to the Bishop," Ethel says, with 
 an air of conviction. Still, the subject seems 
 to dwell in her mind with undue weight ; for, 
 when they are all settled into place around 
 the luncheon-cloth, she says to Mrs. Heather- 
 ley, who is opposite — 
 
 "Mother, isn't it odd? Lord Monkstown 
 has a house in Norfolk Street, and its num- 
 ber is the same as ours ? " 
 
 In a moment each pair of eyes present are 
 bent questioningly on Mrs. Heatherley, into 
 whose pretty, fair face, a deeper tint comes 
 for a moment, but there is not a touch of 
 confusion in the way in which she answers 
 promptly : 
 
 " It would ' be odd,' dear, if our house had 
 not a distinguishing letter added to the num- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 Allerton Towers. 
 
 ber." Then with the easiest grace she turns 
 the conversation into another channel, along 
 which, with ready courtesy, Lord Monkstown 
 aids her to glide, and helpfully accompanies 
 her. But all the while he is thinkino- — 
 " That woman has parted with her property, 
 and has her own reasons for keeping quiet 
 about it." 
 
 The same thought enters into Miss Temple- 
 ton's mind, and the Bishop groans in spirit as 
 he skives a furtive o-lance at her, and sees the 
 expression of malignant meekness which is 
 lighting up her face. " I shall hear of this 
 most unfortunate coincidence from Fanny," 
 he says to himself, and mentally he resolves 
 to " keep Grove close to him all the day." 
 
 But his precaution, though he fully carries 
 it out, is of no avail. For the remainder of 
 the day he is protected from the assault of 
 daughterly-devotion, by his chaplain and the 
 home circle generally ; but as soon as he is 
 left alone on his defenceless pillow at night, 
 his loved, but dreaded Fanny, takes him 
 unawares, and reduces him to a state of 
 abject misery :
 
 Bale Coppice. 195 
 
 " Papa," she whispers, creeping in with a 
 little lamp in her hand, and her dressing- 
 gown on, " I waited till I heard Perkins go 
 away to the servants' wing, and then, as 1 
 couldn't sleep, I crept down. Did you hear 
 that at luncheon ? " 
 
 " Did I hear what ? " he says, in a spirit of 
 feeble prevarication, 
 
 " Why, about the house in Norfolk Street ? 
 Don't you think that if it had been hers still, 
 she would have said more than she did about 
 the coincidence of the numbers being the 
 same ? Of course she would ! Isn't she just 
 the person to have twisted it into a link 
 between herself and that old Marquis ! Oh ! 
 papa, don't be weak ; do inquire into the 
 state of her affairs ! In justice to me, don't 
 hamper yourself with Mrs. Heatherley and 
 her daughter, till you find that they can pay 
 their own way." 
 
 The Bishop is frightened, undoubtedly 
 frightened, by this fierce appeal to his pater- 
 nal sense of justice, and his commonsense 
 and honourable spirit of detestation of mone- 
 tary entanglements. At the same time, 
 
 o2
 
 196 Allerton Towers. 
 
 frightened as he is about her, he is resolved 
 to be very loyal to the best-looking, and most 
 fascinating woman who has ever taken the 
 trouble to show herself at her best before, 
 and exercise her fascination to the utmost 
 upon him. 
 
 '' A pledge to marry is a very solemn thing, 
 and the consideration of mere dross must 
 not be permitted to interfere with its fufil- 
 ment," he says, with as reverential, and at the 
 same time august an air as he can manage, 
 prostrate beneath the bed-clothes, with some- 
 thing suspiciously like a night-cap on. 
 
 But Fanny is inexorable. The attempt at 
 being reverential and august does not strike 
 awe into her heart for a moment : 
 
 " Nonsense, papa," she says, with emphasis, 
 " it may be ' mere dross,' but you know how 
 it upsets you to be short of it."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A PLOT. 
 
 jiALTEE GIFFOED has not confided 
 
 ^ ^ the contents or nature of that 
 
 fatal httle note of Ethel's . to a 
 
 single human being. It is always in his 
 
 pocket and his thoughts ; but he speaks 
 
 of it to no one. 
 
 Nevertheless his sister knows as well as he 
 does himself, that her shot has told, and that 
 he has received his dismissal from Ethel 
 Heatherley. And still, though she knows 
 this, she is not happy! 
 
 Honestly and truly the disingenuous and 
 cruel course she has taken, has been taken 
 solely in what she mistakenly believes to 
 be her brother's best interests. Therefore, 
 it is disappointing and disheartening to her 
 to see him glooming so terribly, now that 
 she has won freedom for him, instead of 
 making the highest use of that freedom,
 
 198 Allerton Towers. 
 
 and seeking the love which Lily Somerset 
 is willing to give him. 
 
 To do Lily Somerset justice, there has 
 never been a moment during which she has 
 displayed unmaidenly zeal to win him, since 
 that interview between them which has been 
 already recorded. On the contrary, she has 
 rather stood aloof from him, being very 
 kind and cordial when they are together, 
 but never taking the turning's in the di- 
 rection in which he may come, and never 
 asking him when " he will come again," as 
 the manner is of women, when the yearning 
 for the society of the beloved object has 
 overcome all reticence. 
 
 " Now this, in Miss Gifford's simple 
 and unsuspicious eyes, looks too much 
 indifference for her to let it pass uncom- 
 mented upon long. Just as everything else 
 seems to be en train for success, it is a 
 little too trying to worthy Mabel that Lily 
 should suddenly become careless and dis- 
 encouraging. 
 
 " It seems to me that Walter may go or 
 come, or stay away, so far as you're con-
 
 .4 Plot. 199 
 
 cerned," she says, plucking up heart of 
 grace to speak her mind for the cause that 
 is so dear to her, even at the risk of 
 offending her resplendent young tyrant. 
 
 " He certainly may go and come as he 
 likes, without let or hindrance from me," 
 Lily laughs. 
 
 " You don't tell me that you're tired of — 
 of thinking of him ? " Mabel asks, aghast. 
 
 '• Well, not that, certainly ; but I am tired 
 of plodding on in my way, and of seeing him 
 plod on in his. I want to see some startling 
 change come to one of us. If I got suddenly 
 poor, and he got suddenly rich, your brother 
 would be so charged with pity and old asso- 
 ciations about unworthy me, that — I don't 
 know what might not happen ; now, I am not 
 likely to get suddenly poor, but I am con- 
 sidering in my own mind how it would be 
 possible to put him in such a position, as 
 would compel him to put forth all his powers; 
 at present his practice is not engrossing 
 enough, or important enough. He moves 
 by inches ; he thinks he is working hard, 
 whereas he is nearly exhausting his energies
 
 200 Allerton Towers. 
 
 in rolling a heavy ball filled with littleness 
 up a steep hill." 
 
 As well as she can, Mabel follows the drift 
 of these remarks, and as clearly as she can, 
 extracts the meaning from them. Still, being 
 human, she is liable to error, and she errs 
 now in the deduction she draws. 
 
 "You mean that poor Walter ought to 
 work harder, and make more money than he 
 does " — she is beginning, when Lily interrupts 
 her, sharply — 
 
 " I mean nothing of the kind. I mean 
 that working chiefly as he does among a 
 class who are not deemed of sufficient im- 
 portance by their generous-minded fellow- 
 creatures to have their well or ill-doing 
 chronicled, and published, and wondered 
 about — is like burrowing in the earth. I 
 want him to come out into open places, and 
 exercise his noble art upon those who are 
 able to make him celebrated ! I would not 
 wish him to be anything more than he is 
 — a good man, working well by stealth. 
 But, for his own sake, for the sake of the 
 restoration to health of his broken, weakened
 
 A Plot. 2U1 
 
 ambition, I would wish to see him a great 
 man, Mab, and, if I tell you how he can 
 become one, will you keep the secret ? " 
 
 Of course Mabel promises, but she does 
 it with a misgiving heart. It may be in 
 irresistible Lily's mind to carry Walter off 
 to. the altar, and marry him by force, the 
 alarmed sister fears, and, if so ! — how about 
 the penalties which will befall those who 
 are accessory to the deed ? 
 
 Still the force of habit is upon her, and 
 she promises ! — hoping for the best. 
 
 Then for the first time in their intercourse, 
 she sees Lily timid, and uncertain of herself. 
 
 " My plan is this — if you think it wise — " 
 
 Mabel starts so violently at this unwonted 
 recognition of, and appeal to her wisdom, 
 that Lily pauses to say, with a brief relapse 
 into imperiousness — "Don't jump, and be 
 absurd. If you think it wise, an oppor- 
 tunity offers itself, which, if taken, will put 
 your brother in such a position that he will 
 be compelled to be famous, and forced to 
 blot out all the undermining memories and 
 disappointments he nourishes and broods
 
 202 Allerton Towers. 
 
 upon now. If you think it wise — that 
 is, if you'll only say you're glad about 
 it — I don't want any opinion from you, 
 you know, Mab — Walter will have Dr. 
 Laughton's practice, and with it he will 
 take the onus upon himself of maintaining 
 Dr. Laughton's magnificent reputation, and 
 of justifying Dr. Laughton's acceptance of 
 him as a successor." 
 
 " But, Lily, what can make Dr. Laugh- 
 ton give it up to Walter?" Mabel gasps, 
 for Dr. Laughton is a prince among prac- 
 titioners, the nodding of whose head, 
 and the uplifting of whose eyebrows, puts 
 fifty guineas in his own purse. 
 
 " Money, you goose, money ! " Lily says, 
 with a great assumption of superior worldly- 
 wisdom, "and that's just the part of it that 
 you are to keep quite secret ; the money 
 has been found, and the matter has been 
 arranged ; and now all that remains to 
 be done is for Dr. Laughton to introduce 
 Walter to his most important patients." 
 
 " Walter will never agree to it," Mabel 
 cries, startled out of her customary awe
 
 A Plot. 203 
 
 of, and implicit, unquestioning obedience 
 to aught that Lily decrees. " Walter will 
 feel that he hasn't worked his way to it, 
 and that it's your money has bought it, 
 and, feeling that ! — no Lily ! I couldn't wish 
 my brother to have so little spirit as to take 
 it, grand as it would be." 
 
 Lily tries to fly into a passion, and fails 
 in doing so for once in her life. Li place 
 of passion, scalding tears, the offspring of 
 baflSed, really good feeling, run down 
 unbecomingly. 
 
 "How can you tell, how can you be so 
 silly as to think, or to say that it is my 
 money that has done it? How do yon 
 know that Walter hasn't other friends as 
 willing to spend money upon him as I am, 
 or, rather, as I would be if he needed it? 
 Besides, how do you know that there's 
 any money passed in the business at all? 
 Dr. Laughton thinks an enormous deal of 
 Walter's abilities ; how can you say that, as 
 Dr. Laughton is an old man, he hasn't been 
 glad to give the good-will, or whatever they 
 call it, to a worthy young successor ? "
 
 204 Allerton Towers. 
 
 "I should like to think it," Mabel medi- 
 tates aloud ; then she reminds herself -and 
 Lily that — 
 
 " You told me it was ' money ' made 
 Dr. Laughton give it up yourself, Lily, 
 and oh ! what shall I do when Walter taxes 
 me with having deceived him, and reproaches 
 me with not having thought of his dignity 
 a little more. He will think it shocking, 
 and quite a thing that it would be impos- 
 sible for a man of honour to do, to take 
 money for his own advantage from a 
 woman ; it would be different if you were 
 old and ugly, my dear, indeed, it would ! 
 But, I could never look my brother in the 
 face again, if I pretended to think he 
 would take such a great benefit from you." 
 
 " I can't be old and ugly all at once, can 
 I ? " Lily says, trying to speak in a petulant 
 way, that she has frequently found efficacious 
 in bringing Mabel into prompt acquiescence 
 with her view of things. But to-day the 
 petulance fails her! The "reality" of 
 something higher and better than gratified 
 ambition or rewarded love, is forced upon
 
 A Plot. 205 
 
 her. Faint and uncertain as these outHnes, 
 drawn by his faltering, frightened sister's 
 hand, are, Lily sees something of the grand 
 " unhasting, unresting " nature which she 
 has been selfishly seeking to shackle with 
 her little chains of gold. 
 
 "I can't be old and ugly all at once," 
 she repeats, sorrowfully ; " but it will wither 
 me if what I have done lowers him in his 
 own eyes — it can't in the eyes of anyone 
 else." Then, with a quick change to indig- 
 nation, at being misunderstood and trapped 
 into making disclosures, she adds : 
 
 "And, how can you dare to say that it 
 has been done in a way that could hurt 
 the feelings of the proudest and most sen- 
 sitively honourable man in the world ? — and, 
 even admitting that it has been done, who can 
 say — who can tell him — that / did it ? " 
 
 "Oh, Lily! your conscience accuses you, 
 and your face betrays you," Mabel says, 
 pushing her victory over filthy lucre to the 
 utmost ; " it would have been too terrible if 
 my brother had fallen into such a trap for 
 want of a word in season from me."
 
 206 Allerton Towers. 
 
 The supreme moment is over ! and Lily is 
 disgusted at the aspect of the generous action 
 she has contemplated performing, when held 
 up in this cold, rather coarse light. 
 
 " Don't waste any more seasonable words 
 on me, Mabel ; I know you're half right, and 
 I am more than half wrong ; still ! what I've 
 done, or wanted to do, won't be altogether 
 so bad as to make me take the whole of the 
 consequences to myself; get Dr. Laughton 
 to be off his bargain — if you can ; but, if 
 ever you wish to speak to me after to-day, 
 don't breathe a word of this to your brother 
 — or, to me after now, when I close the 
 subject, and fan it away!" 
 
 The way in which Lily wafts a huge, 
 black, Spanish fan backwards and forwards, 
 in a royally-fatigued, lanquishing way, as she 
 says this, brings Mabel back into subjection, 
 promptly. 
 
 " That you should be upset about either 
 Walter or me — not but that Walter's worth a 
 dozen of any other man / ever met Avith — " 
 
 "You've not met many" — this from the 
 fairy tyrant.
 
 A Plot. 207 
 
 " No, perhaps not, and the fewer the better 
 for me and all other women, I say ; but that's 
 neither here nor there, and what I want to 
 say shortly is — if you think of Walter rightly 
 you'll think that he is too high already in 
 the right way for either of us to help him 
 with mere money and good introductions ; a 
 peer's case will never be more to him than a 
 pauper's, my dear ! — and, I do think, when 
 Dr. Laughton sees how really honest and 
 straightforward Walter is, that Dr. Laughton 
 will think twice." 
 
 " I'll never take the curb off good 
 intentions again, without seeing what the 
 road is before me," Lily says to herself, 
 remorsefully. Then she looks at Mabel, and 
 half-laughingly quotes — " A Daniel come to 
 judgment ! Oh, wise young man ! Oh, 
 good young judge!" 
 
 " I'm not a Daniel, neither am I wise or 
 good, but I know what's what, my dear," 
 says Mabel, triumphantly, seeing she has 
 made an impression, and then Lily gets it 
 heavily for a few moments presently, in the 
 way of meek, soul-subduing, friendly casti-
 
 208 Allerton Towers. 
 
 gation, in a manner that is not to be f^on- 
 templated in the ordinary manner of things. 
 
 And Lily has to admit that " What's what " 
 in this dehcate minor kej?", is a knowledge 
 that is withholden from her. So she has 
 to possess her soul in unwonted patience, 
 and wait for the outcome of the best reso- 
 lution she has ever formed. 
 
 Will Walter take it ? Will the man who 
 has fjiven himself ung-rudsfincfly to the most 
 irksome and unremunerative side of his pro- 
 fessional labours yield suddenly, and consent 
 to be well-placed without sufficient labour 
 on his own part? Will he honourably — but 
 tamely — take a place he has not won ? Will 
 he let a woman's hand carve his fortunes for 
 him while his own is strong ? 
 
 These questions can only be answered by 
 Walter GifFord hin^iself. And Walter Gifford 
 does not have an opportunity of answering 
 them until he is tongue-tied by considera- 
 tions which are forced upon him by other 
 people. 
 
 For example, Dr. Laughton calls on him, 
 and tells him in suave, courtly phrase, that
 
 .4 Plot. 209 
 
 he does not desire to see himself succeeded 
 by an abler man than Walter Gifford. Nor 
 does the great practitioner, whose fiat has 
 been fate in this neighbourhood for years, 
 give his decision with a sordid motive. It 
 matters little to him whether Walter Gifford 
 succeeds him or not. He retires ! — that is 
 all ! His retirement is the event, and no one 
 knows better than himself that his successor 
 must rely upon himself solely, just as much 
 as though the " good- will " of Dr. Laughton 
 had never been bought and paid for. But 
 Dr. Laughton is a mere man, and is afflicted 
 with a desire to stand well with pretty 
 women ; and Miss Somerset is the prettiest 
 and most charming woman Avhom it has ever 
 been in his power to serve ! If selling his 
 practice — which he wants to get rid of — Avill 
 please her ! well, he will sell it, and butter up 
 young Gifford into the bargain, for young 
 Gifford has it in him to make a bigger name 
 than himself. It is in vain that Walter 
 Gifford asks straightforward questions. Dr. 
 Laughton evades them with the easy grace 
 for which he is so justly celebrated, and
 
 210 Allerton Towers. 
 
 without uttering a word that can accurately 
 be called " untrue," he succeeds in giving 
 Mr. Gifford the impression that he has been 
 selected on his own merits to be the suc- 
 cessor of the mighty medicine-man. 
 
 " From the day you came into the town I 
 have watched your career with the greatest 
 interest, and I give my unqualified approval 
 to the course pursued in every case that 
 has come under my notice," the courteous 
 physician says ; and when Walter remarks 
 that, to the best of his knowledge, not one 
 of his cases has come under the great man's 
 notice, he is made to feel that he has raised a 
 petty quibble, and that there is something 
 puerile in going thus into details. 
 
 " You young men are very properly so 
 entirely absorbed in your own work, that 
 you have no perception of the cognizance 
 that is being taken of that work by older, 
 more experienced, and consequently less 
 absorbed men," Dr. Laughton explains, 
 quellingly. 
 
 " Still, I cannot comprehend the motive 
 which makes you select me, a stranger, when
 
 A Plot. 211 
 
 there inust be so many men equally deserving 
 as myself, who have worked with you, and 
 been taught by you," Walter urges. 
 
 " Put it down to an old man's caprice, if 
 you refuse to think it a matter of sound 
 judgment," Dr. Laughton says, for he is 
 resolved to be loyal to pretty Miss Somerset, 
 and to keep her secret to the end. 
 
 So the honour of succeeding Dr. Laughton 
 on his own merits is thrust upon Walter 
 almost against his will, and with reluctance 
 he consents to the next move, which it is 
 absolutely essential he should make, namely 
 to t)'() round under Dr. Lauo-hton's winof, and 
 be introduced to the more august patients. 
 
 He has few friends in Allerton Towers, 
 none of whom he can take counsel now 
 Ethel has cast him off, and he does shrink 
 from taking this final step, which will seal 
 the bond irrevocably, before he has ex- 
 pressed his doubts, and perhaps had them 
 dispelled. 
 
 It will be more than useless to consult 
 Mabel, he feels. That affectionate sister, and 
 anything but profound woman, will see no- 
 
 !• 2
 
 212 Allerton Towers. 
 
 thingr out of the wav in the transaction, but 
 will probably regard it as merely a just and 
 natural tribute to the extraordinary merits of 
 her brother ! Still, thouo-h he feels that she 
 will be valueless as a counsellor, he must go 
 to her for sympathy in this dilemma in which 
 he finds himself placed. And, by going to 
 her for Sympathy, he knows that he will get 
 it from some one else from whom he can 
 scarcely ask for it direct. 
 
 Mabel is alone, rather to his dis- 
 appointment, when he goes into the old- 
 fashioned room at the Uplands, which is 
 gradually getting the impress of Lily Somer- 
 set upon it. Out of the simplest materials 
 Lily has brought grace and beauty. 
 
 A long, fisli hamper seems an unpromising 
 subject to deal with in the decorative 
 way, at the first blush, but, treated by 
 Lily, it seems as if no more fitting receptacle 
 for ferns and heaths could be found. He 
 recognises her hand, too, in the way in 
 which a common, round, deal table has had 
 its top covered with a cloth of velvety 
 green moss, upon whicli wild flowers are
 
 A Plot. 213 
 
 studded artistically. The sight of these 
 things bring the thought of her so vividly 
 before him, that he exclaims at once, before 
 even he gives his sister the customary 
 salutation — 
 
 " Where's Lily ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Walter, she ran up to her room 
 the moment she saw you coming ; — don't 
 be angry with her, my dear, she did it 
 thoughtlessly, but she did it for the best," 
 the poor lady blunders out, her mind 
 so charged with the one subject, that she 
 does not even notice her brother's look of 
 supreme bewilderment. 
 
 " Angry with her ! — did it for the best ! 
 — what in the world are you talking about, 
 Mab ? " he asks. 
 
 "Don't you know it yet?" she questions 
 in return. 
 
 " KnoAv what ! — pray don't be enigmatical, 
 Mab." 
 
 " Why, know about Dr. Laughton's 
 practice ? " 
 
 " I know that he has offered it to me — 
 what has that to do with Lily ? " Then
 
 214 Allerton Towers. 
 
 he pauses suddenly, as the whole truth 
 flashes upon him, and though his brow 
 burns, and his blood gallops through his 
 veins, there is no anger in his heart 
 against Lily.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AND ITS CONSEQUENCES ! 
 
 ^l^pRESENTLY, after a pause, the solemn 
 ^^^ stillness of which frightens Miss 
 Gifford into the vivid remembrances 
 of the sacred promise as to secresy, which she 
 has just— well! nearly broken, Walter says: 
 
 " Let me see Lily ; she can't be silly 
 enough to think that I can be annoyed 
 with her ! " 
 
 " You'll take it, then ? Oh ! Walter, my 
 dear boy, I am so glad, though I never 
 thought for a moment that you'd con- 
 descend so far as to take such a hand- 
 some offer, I mean favour, from any 
 young lady — least of all from Lily Somer- 
 set, because of what has been, you know, 
 and what you seem to have made up 
 your mind never shall be again ; and so 
 I told her when she consulted me — I 
 mean when she told me what she had
 
 216 Allerton Towers. 
 
 done, and desired me to hold my tongue 
 about it ; ' No, Lily,' I said, quite firmly, ' hard 
 as it is to gainsay any of your wishes, 
 my duty to my brother compels me to tell 
 you that this can not be ;' and now I 
 am so delighted to find that I was wrong, 
 and that you are going to make Lily happy 
 by letting her make you prosperous." 
 
 "My dear Mabel, you always think kindly 
 on every subject, and wish for every- 
 body's happiness," he says, gently, and his 
 sister is nearly melted to tears by this 
 recognition of her amiability, which, she 
 instinctively feels, is a little tedious in its 
 mode of expression at times. 
 
 " And now, will you let me see Lily ? Ask 
 her to come and speak to me," he says, 
 taking advantage of the arrested flow of 
 sisterly eloquence. 
 
 For the first time in her life, Lily Somer- 
 set's heart is beating rapidly from sheer 
 nervousness. For the first time in her hfe, 
 the spoilt child of fortune doubts the wisdom 
 of one of her own acts, and fears what 
 the consequences of it may be.
 
 A7id its Consequences I 217 
 
 " If he would only have accepted the 
 position without enquiry, and became famous 
 and rich, I could have borne that he should 
 never speak to me, or think of me again," 
 the girl says to herself, as she stands 
 clasping her trembling hands, longing, yet 
 dreading, to be summoned to hear his fiat. 
 
 She has to lean against the dressing-table 
 in order to support herself, when Mabel 
 comes in, and she can hardly constrain her 
 trembling to say — 
 
 " Well, Mabel ! do you bring me the 
 verdict? Does your brother think me an 
 impertinent fool, for I see in your face you 
 have told him." 
 
 '' No, my dear Lily, that he does not, 
 and that I did not ; that is, you can't call it 
 my telling him, when he jumped at it himself, 
 in a way that looked like divination ; and 
 you would have been the last in the world, 
 I'm sure, to wish me to perjure myself, and 
 say I knew nothing about it, when all the 
 time I knew everything; and he wants 
 to speak to you, and he's so grateful and 
 touched, that I believe thinsfs will end in
 
 218 Allerton Towers. 
 
 a different way to what I feared ; and — why, 
 Lily!— what's this?" 
 
 "Only — only — " Lily tries vainly to stutter 
 out an explanation, through the convulsively- 
 repressed sobs, and the hot, rushing tears. 
 
 " I am not like myself," she goes on, 
 struggling gallantly to regain composure. 
 " I have made myself nervous staying up 
 here alone, picturing Mr. Gifford's contempt 
 for my impotent attempt to mould his career ; 
 and it has given me such a revulsion to 
 hear that he is going to be friendly and 
 kind." 
 
 Her words sound strangely in her own ears. 
 Can she be the same spoilt, capricious, 
 imperious Lily, whose own selfish will and 
 pleasure have been of paramount importance 
 to herself all her previous life. Can it be 
 possible that the mere thought of having 
 wounded or offended him can be causino- 
 her this exquisitely painful anxiety? She 
 feels that her limbs tremble under her, and 
 that her lips are quivering, as she goes 
 down the stairs and into the room where 
 he is waiting to judge and condemn her.
 
 And its Consequences ! 219 
 
 And something in the pleading, pale face, 
 that is bent so wistfully towards him, makes 
 him spring to meet her, in a sudden 
 access of such pitying regard that she may 
 be forgiven for mistaking it for love. 
 
 " Lily, your beautiful generosity, exercised 
 so delicately, too, as it has been, touches me 
 more than I can say," he says, warmly taking 
 her hand ; and she draws her perfectly- 
 balanced figure up proudly and happily, and 
 her forget-me-not eyes beam gratitude and 
 love upon him. 
 
 " You forgive me for daring to do some- 
 thing for you, and accept the poor service I 
 can render, Walter ? " she asked. 
 
 He shakes his head, and all her unselfish 
 hopes and aspirations for him fall down dead. 
 
 " I am more than strongly tempted to go into 
 the groove, merely because you wish it and 
 would put me there," he says, kindly ; " but 
 look here, Lily, you'd be sorry yourself when 
 you thought of it coolly, if I deserted the 
 post I have gained for myself, and the people 
 to whom I am useful. A man fills the niche 
 into which he has fitted for himself, better
 
 220 AUerton Towers. 
 
 than he can ever fill one into which he is 
 pressed. The work I do in my own sphere is 
 the work that has come in my way to do; it is 
 ready to my hand ; perhaps — Avho can tell — 
 it might get neglected, or even not done at 
 all — if I went away from it — " 
 
 " There is sickness, and suffering, and need 
 of medical skill in the upper classes as well as 
 in the middle and lower," she says, briefly, 
 triumphing in the thought that she is using 
 an unassailable argument. 
 
 " There is, Lily, and no man would more 
 gladly strive to relieve that sickness and 
 suffering than I would, if it came in my way 
 in the course of things, and if I hadn't to 
 neglect my plain and obvious duty in order 
 to do it ; but to gain, by purchase, a fresh 
 field of labour, when the one that has been 
 given to me needs all my care and skill, 
 ■would be to leave undone my God- given work 
 for my own worldly gain. Your own good 
 heart will feel the truth of this, and teach 
 you to pardon what, at first sight, looks like 
 a churlish rejection of a sweet, gracious piece 
 of womanlv-kindness."
 
 Ami its Consequences ! 221 
 
 " And I was fool enough to fancy I could 
 raise a man like you," Lily says, with such 
 heart-felt admiration for what is best in him, 
 in her tone, and look, that Walter admits to 
 himself that his heart would go back to Lily, 
 if Ethel Heatherle}^ had never existed for 
 him ; — " forgive my presumption, and — ask 
 Dr. Laufjhton to find another successor." 
 
 "Do you mean?" — Walter is beginning,, 
 when she interrupts him hastily — 
 
 "Yes, yes, I mean that exactly; let the 
 arrangement stand, don't hurt me by having 
 anything returned ; you must know some 
 clever doctor, and good man, who has a large 
 family and no practice ; turn my feeble efforts 
 to good account, Walter ; give me the joy of 
 feeling that it has resulted in the welfare of 
 some one better, and nobler, and more deser- 
 ving than myself — will you ? " 
 
 " That I will, right heartily," he cries, and 
 Lily tells herself, humbly, that she is scarcely 
 worthy to be associated with this loyal, un- 
 selfish nature, even in good works. 
 
 That Miss Gifford's disappointment, when 
 she comes to hear the real state of the case,
 
 222 Allerton Towers. 
 
 is not bitter, it is impossible to deny. For a 
 few wild moments she has permitted herself 
 to nurse the delusive hope that her brother 
 would acquiescently slide into the position of 
 local medical potentate, and be the wealthy 
 and important person she always yearned to 
 see him become, at the cost of the sacrifice 
 of some of the loftiest conscientious scruples 
 entirely ! But still ! " if Walter could do 
 it, it would be right ! " as she tells herself. 
 And, now, to hear that all this anticipated 
 honour and glory, and gold galore, is to be 
 placed at the disposal of some unknown 
 person, of unacknowledged worth and poor 
 fortunes — 
 
 " It is trying, my dear, very trying," Miss 
 Gifford says, mournfully, to Lily, and Lily's 
 face beams brightly, as she answers, cheer- 
 fully- 
 
 "It is right." 
 
 A few days after this the Bishop returns to 
 the Palace and Mrs. Heatherley to the cot- 
 tage. The wedding day is fixed for an early 
 date, and an extraordinary report gains cre- 
 dence in the neighbourhood, to the effect that
 
 A7id its Consequences ! 223 
 
 " a marriage is arranged betAveen the Marquis 
 of Monkstown and Miss Heatherley." 
 
 "My poor Ethel," Walter Gifford says to 
 himself, when he hears this, " my Ethel, still, I 
 know. Whose influence is it? No man but 
 myself has any over her — it must be her 
 mother ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT LAMINGTON HALL. 
 
 UmINGTON Hall, the seat of Sir 
 John Hawtrey, Baronet, is one of 
 the show places of the county. Local 
 guidebooks go into ecstacies of enthusiasm 
 over it ; and after avowing that language can- 
 not adequately describe its charms, generally 
 wind up by declaring that it " almost rivals 
 far-famed Chatsworth." 
 
 This, however, may be ascribed to local 
 partiality, since those who know both places 
 will fail to discern the faintest resemblance 
 between them. Nevertheless, Lamington Hall 
 is a very spacious and a very fine mansion, 
 well anointed with that golden ointment 
 which puts all things in the fairest light, 
 and preserves all things in the most perfect 
 order. 
 
 Its terraces are exquisitely arranged ; 
 mosaics, formed of flowers and foliage,
 
 ^4^ Lamington Ball. 225 
 
 master-pieces of carpet-gardening all the 
 season through. ^Estheticism finds no con- 
 irenial corner at Lamino-ton. Xo thine tall 
 and ungainly in the way of sun-flowers or 
 white lilies, or hollyhocks are permitted to 
 mar the effect of the flat, low growth of 
 symmetrically-arranged beds. Somewhere, 
 away at the rear of the house, sheltering 
 the wing of the palatial stables, there is a 
 well kept " wilderness," in which nothing 
 is allowed to run wild, and where every 
 leaf seems to know and keep its proper 
 place. 
 
 The interior arrangements are quite as 
 admirably devised, and as effectually carried 
 out as the outdoor ones. Old Willesdon's 
 money is put to a good purpose, in so far 
 as keeping " Heaven's first law " — " Order " 
 — goes. Smoothly and noiselessly works all 
 the machinery of domestic management, 
 guided by the firm, strong hand, and the 
 great, good sense of the mistress of the 
 house, the baronet's only child, Caroline. 
 
 There is no doubt about Miss Hawtrey's 
 being a very wise dispensation. The great
 
 226 Allerton Towers. 
 
 heiress, who has fifty thousand a year in her 
 own right by her grandfather's will, is un- 
 swerving in the vigour and the zeal with 
 which she seeks out lurking extravagancies 
 and puts them down. There are moments 
 when the housekeeper and the butler loathe 
 their master's daughter, for she is not above 
 chronicling the flow of the very smallest beer. 
 And even the hens at the home-farm seem to 
 have an uneasy sense of duty undone on their 
 parts in the matter of egg-laying, when her 
 penetrating, cool eyes look them over as she 
 passes through, on the occasions of her 
 weekly visit of inspection. 
 
 This excellent gift of cautious prudence, in 
 every case in which money is concerned, is 
 not an inheritance from her lowborn mother, 
 the daughter of the Manchester Croesus, but 
 is handed down to her in unimpaired integrity 
 by her well-descended, ostentatious, money- 
 loving, money-grudging father ; who contends 
 that he has not an atom of penuriousness in 
 his disposition because he cannot remember 
 the day on which he denied himself aught 
 which miofht tend to his own individual
 
 At Lamington Hall. 227 
 
 comfort, or to the glorification of himself in 
 the e3'es of others. 
 
 And Caroline resembles him in most re- 
 spects, but not in the matter of ostentation. 
 She has not an atom of love of display in her 
 nature. She cannot alter the order of things 
 at Lamington because she is overruled by her 
 father, who will have it said that his vineries 
 and conservatories are the finest, and his 
 carriages and horses the best-appointed in 
 the county. But it pleases her better to 
 drive about in a little unpretentious pony- 
 carriage, than to sit in state in the huge family 
 coach, or lounge in the elegant landau. 
 
 Then again in the matter of dress her tastes 
 are plain almost to ugliness, her cousin. Lord 
 Kenmare, thinks, when day after day he sees 
 her come down to breakfast in a dull-hued, 
 dowdily-made, gray dress, that gives her an 
 air of quakerish simplicity. She lias not a 
 girl's natural love for flowers or jewellery, 
 and never brightens herself up with a deftly- 
 placed rose, or gathers lace about her throat 
 gracefully, with a gold brooch. Magnificent 
 diamonds and other gems repose in her 
 
 q2
 
 228 Alterton Towers. 
 
 massive jewel boxes, but Caroline can rarely 
 be induced to deck herself in any of them. 
 
 " They suit me no better than a peacock's 
 tail would a little Jenny Wren," she says, 
 when her father signifies his desire that she 
 should array herself sumptuously, and shine 
 forth in the borrowed light of gems; "beauti- 
 ful dress and brilliant jewels ought only to 
 be worn by beautiful and brilhant women — 
 they make me look smaller and more in- 
 significant than I am naturally." 
 
 Her humble opinion of her own personal 
 appearance is quite a genuine thing. In her 
 early childhood, when she was supposed to 
 be sleeping, an injudicious nurse remarked to 
 a nursery visitor that "• Miss Caroline was an 
 ugly little thing sure enough, but that 
 wouldn't matter ! — there would be plenty to 
 see beauty in her money." The remark sunk 
 into the childish heart, wounding it deeply at 
 the time, and leaving an impression that has 
 never been erased. Her money is the only 
 thinor that man or woman finds attractive 
 about lier, she believes. And so she goes on 
 her way, a self-contained, undemonstrative.
 
 At LamiJii/km Hall. 229 
 
 quiet little creature, whose one object in life 
 is to exercise a wise control over the riches 
 which have fallen to her share. 
 
 As may be imagined, there is little in com- 
 mon between this quiet, prudent, thoughtful 
 little lady, and her bright, rather reckless, 
 Irish cousin. He finds her dull and un- 
 interesting, especially now that he knows 
 Ethel Heatherley, and she regards him as 
 one of the stars above her. But neither by 
 word, look, or sign will she let him discover 
 the secret of her heart. 
 
 Neither her father, nor her uncle, Lord 
 Monkstown, have said a word to her of 
 their wishes about Kenmare and lierself. 
 But she has divined their wishes, and the 
 reason why Kenmare is made to stay at 
 Lamington, and the old, sore feeling comes 
 back to her heart as she sees that not even 
 the money which the old nurse prophesied 
 would make her beautiful, can win his 
 careless eyes to rest upon her for a moment, 
 approvingly. " He thinks ,me a dull, ])lain 
 little thing, and he's too honest to pretend 
 to think anvtliinir else, and I like liim for
 
 230 AUerton Towers. 
 
 his honesty," she tells herself. But though 
 she approves of the honesty, her heart aches 
 for the cause of its being so displayed, and 
 she goes on her daily round of duty with 
 a feelino- of bitterness that not all her sense 
 of justice and reasonableness can enable her 
 to cast out. 
 
 Instinctively she arrives at the truth, when, 
 after that shooting-luncheon at Bojaie Gate, 
 Lord Monkstown comes home, and makes 
 Ethel Heatherley his theme. As the father 
 expresses his admiration, her eyes are quick 
 to see the flush on Kenmare's brow, and she 
 discerns that the son is righteously indignant 
 at the possibility of having his father for a 
 rival. 
 
 " Poor Kenmare ! " she thinks ; " if she only 
 had half my money, how happy you might 
 be ; how crossly things go in this world ! 
 Poor Kenmare ! " 
 
 Little observant as Kenmare is of her, he 
 cannot but admit that his cousin does not lay 
 herself out to attract him, or seek in any way 
 to forward their fathers' plan. And so, after 
 a time, feeling that he is safe witli her, he
 
 At Lamington Hall. 231 
 
 gives her a little more of his time and atten- 
 tion, and is rewarded by finding out that 
 the dull, uninteresting, unattractive little girl 
 whom he has been barely regarding as com- 
 panionable, even though he is a'guest in her 
 father's house, is well informed on many sub- 
 jects that have an interest for him, and can 
 talk about them sensibly. 
 
 One morning he stops her just as she is 
 about to step into her little pony-carriage, 
 and drive herself down to the home-farm to 
 receive the weekly amount of the dairy and 
 poultry-yard produce. The pleasure she feels 
 in the fact of his coming to her thus volun- 
 tarily, iinds no expression in either face or 
 manner. Unconsciously she fears that any 
 exhibition of liking on her part may check his 
 friendly feeling, and drive him from her, and 
 she is beginning to dearly love the intercourse 
 with him, prosaic and void of sentiment as 
 it is. 
 
 "Where are you going?" he asks, coming 
 up to her swiftly, " I want you for a few 
 minutes, to tell you something that has 
 disgusted me awfully ! "'
 
 232 Allerton Towers. 
 
 " Can you wait till I come back from the 
 farm ? " she asks, indifFerently, though her 
 heart leaps with pleasure when he says — 
 
 " Why can't I go to the farm with you ? 
 Yes ! let me come, and send your groom 
 away ; I can open the gates and hold the 
 pony while you're pottering about down 
 there." 
 
 " You can come if you please ; and I shall 
 not want you, William," she says, placidly, 
 but if Kenmare had eyes for her, he would 
 see a colour on her face and a light in her 
 eyes that only the painter. Love, can put 
 into a woman's face. 
 
 " You heard my father speak of tliose 
 people who have been staying at Boyne 
 Place?" 
 
 ^' Do you mean the Bishop and his daugh- 
 ter, or the widow who is going to marry the 
 Bishop and her daughter?" she asks. 
 
 " I mean the widow, Mrs. Heatherley and 
 — Ethel — that's her daughter's name. Ethel 
 Heatherley is the only girl I've ever cared 
 for, and I love her more than a fellow . ever 
 loved a fjirl before, I believe, and I've told
 
 At Lamington Hall.' 233 
 
 her so, and she wouldn't have anything to 
 say to me, because she was engaged to a 
 man — a doctor at AUerton Towers. And, 
 now, tliis morning, my father shows me a 
 letter from her mother ' accepting the offer 
 of his lordship's hand for her daughter ! ' 
 Carry, it's monstrous, when I love her so ; 
 my own father, too ! it's horrible." 
 
 "Did Lord Monkstown know of your — 
 your love for her ? " 
 
 " I never told him it was Ethel ; but once, 
 when the question of my marrying somebody 
 else arose, I told him that I cared too much 
 for a girl already ever to think of marrying 
 another one ; but it's not that. Carry. I'm 
 not unreasonable enough to blame my father ; 
 he has a right to ask her to be his wife, 
 knowing nothing of my affair ; but how can 
 she have brought herself to accept him ? " 
 
 " How, indeed ! " Caroline murmurs ; then 
 half-fearing that she may have partially be- 
 trayed herself by those two words, slie goes 
 on, collectedly — 
 
 " I understand it is her mother who has ac- 
 cepted him for her daughter ; from the little
 
 234 ' Allerton Towers. 
 
 I have heard of Mrs. Heatherley I should 
 think she is a scheming, ambitious woman, 
 just the one to accept my uncle's offer, with- 
 out her daughter's knowledge, and then work 
 on the girl to redeem her mother's promise ; 
 don't condemn Miss Heatherley, till you know 
 more about it, Kenmare." 
 
 He looks at her more wistfully, and with 
 more interest than he has ever shown in her 
 before, and says : 
 
 " 'Pon my word, you're a kind little thing, 
 Carry ! I felt I must speak to someone about 
 it. When my father spoke to me just now, 
 and showed me Mrs. Heatherley 's letter, I felt 
 stunned, and it was all I could do to keep 
 myself from bursting out with the truth ; but 
 I reminded myself that it would be a frightful 
 thing, if this great calamity does come to 
 pass, for him to know that I had wanted her 
 myself; so I pulled myself together, and got 
 away as quickly as I could." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry," she says, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 '' That's very good of you," he responds, 
 heartily ; " someway or other, I didn't expect
 
 At Lamington Hall. 
 
 Zo^ 
 
 much sympathy from you. I thought you'd 
 regard anything of the nature of love as bosh 
 and nonsense, and only thmk me a fool for 
 being unable to get over my disappointment." 
 
 "Oh, no! I can quite understand a man 
 loving a beautiful girl, like Miss Heatherley ; 
 beauty is a great gift! the most precious 
 possession a woman can have, I think, for 
 it wins the only thing worth winning in life — 
 real love." 
 
 The girl speaks with an intensity and 
 fervour tliat astonishes her companion, and 
 covers herself with confusion, as soon as she 
 ceases speaking. 
 
 " I shouldn't have thought you felt like 
 that," he says, Avonderingly. " You give me 
 the idea of being so very full of commonsense, 
 that I fancied you had never given a thouglit 
 to the trivial matter of love in your life." 
 
 "■Perhaps I haven't for myself; but I have 
 thought a great deal about it for other 
 people." 
 
 " But you're wrong about the beauty, you 
 know; it isn't only beauty fellows care .for; 
 there is sometliing else, and every wonum,
 
 236 Allerton Toicers. 
 
 who's anything at all, has that something else, 
 I believe, for some fellow, if he only happens 
 to meet her." 
 
 She shakes her head solemnly. 
 
 " Not every woman ; I haven't it," she says, 
 and she is innocent of all wish to extract a 
 compliment from him. 
 
 *'You don't know that," he says, en- 
 couragingly, but there is no strong air of 
 conviction about his manner of sayinij dt. 
 
 " You don't know that ! it's only that you 
 haven't met the man with the right, clear 
 sight to see it: I daresay you have had any 
 number of professed worshippers after you, 
 now haven't you ? Girls with such fortunes 
 as yours always have." 
 
 She winces ; and the same look of mortified 
 pain which swept over her little face when 
 she heard her nurse's words long ago, sweeps 
 over it now. But she forces herself to say 
 quite calmly : 
 
 " Yes, my money has had many worship- 
 pers ; there are many men who M'ould cumber 
 themselves even with me, for the sake of my 
 fortune."
 
 At Lamington Hall. 237 
 
 It is a difficult speech to answer. The 
 speaker's humble opinion of her own per- 
 sonnel is so evidently unfeigned, that he, half- 
 sharing it as he does, does not think it worth 
 his while to deprecate or combat it. Accord- 
 ingly, he diverges abruptly from the subject 
 of her lack of charms, and returns to the 
 one that is absorbing all his thoughts. 
 
 "Though 1 can't have her myself, I 
 should never have been utterly wretched 
 if Ethel had stood to her guns, and married 
 her doctor ; but if this thing is true I shall 
 go away, and I shan't very much care where 
 I go, or Avhat becomes of me ; to think of 
 her as my father's wife ! To think of her 
 selling herself in such a way will be 
 maddening ! " 
 
 " Hope still that it is merely her mother's 
 consent which has been given ; I don't 
 believe the girl lives who could take your 
 father after refusing you ; it would be im- 
 possible, unnatural ! " 
 
 She speaks so fervently that he cannot 
 doubt any longer that she will prove a real 
 true friend to him. A friend to whom he
 
 238 Allerton Towers. 
 
 may^ with safety and assurance turn in an}' 
 time of trouble or distress. A good, sensible 
 girl, who will give him a sister's quiet love, 
 listen patiently to the story of any diffi- 
 culties which may assail him, and, if needful, 
 give him advice and sympathy ! All this 
 her tone seems to promise him, and it never 
 occurs to him, that such a sensible, plain girl 
 as she is, can be actuated by any warmer 
 feeling than this " friendship," on which he 
 is so confidently relying. 
 
 " It does me good to hear you speak m 
 that way, Caroline," he says, cheerily. His 
 sanguine spirit has revived under the influence 
 of her sympathetic words, and he almost 
 fancies that her instinct against the possibility 
 of Ethel committing the enormity of marry- 
 ing his father, must be a correct one, " I wish 
 I could get you to know Ethel ! You'd plead 
 my cause for me like a little brick, I know," 
 he says, enthusiastically. 
 
 "No one can do that for you. This is the 
 dairy ; shall we stop here or drive up to the 
 house ? " 
 
 "Up to the house I tliink ; anything to
 
 At Lamington Hall. 239 
 
 prolong the pleasure of driving witli you, 
 Carry," he says, so up to the house they 
 go, and Mrs. Hocking, the farmer's wife, 
 stabs Caroline right through the heart, by 
 whispering, meaningly — 
 
 " Pleased to see the gentleman, and more 
 than pleased, Miss Hawtrey! I've heard two 
 or three words, but didn't like to take any 
 notice, till I saw you driving up together, 
 so cosy and happy, just now ; I s'pose it 
 won't be long before we lose you now, Miss ? " 
 
 These words a're half-whispered, but still 
 they are designed for the gentleman's ears as 
 Avell ; and feeling sure that he hears every 
 one of them, Caroline is too proud to attempt 
 to arrest the torrent of j\[rs. Hocking's elo- 
 quence. 
 
 "This gentleman, is only my cousin. Lord 
 Kenmare, Mrs. Hocking ; you are quite mis- 
 taken in supposing that he will ever be 
 anything else to me," she says, with cold 
 dignity, and Kenmare thinks " she really 
 needn't be quite so serious about sucli an 
 utterly absurd mistake." 
 
 The rest of the visit to the farm is very
 
 240 AUerton Towers. 
 
 pleasant — to Kenmare. Now that he has 
 broken the ice, and discoursed of his love to 
 Caroline, his spirits have risen considerably, 
 and he is quite happy and at ease. It amuses 
 him to see her gravely going through the 
 business of auditing the accounts which are 
 submitted to her, and it interests him to see 
 her eight perfectly-matched Jersey cows, and 
 her various runs of rare poultry. 
 
 " Cut out for an old maid," he says to him- 
 self, as he marks the orderly way in which 
 she has everything kept, and the thorough 
 precision with which she contrives to have all 
 her directions carried out. " Cut out for an 
 old maid ! but a dear, sensible little piece of 
 ice for a friend for all that ; how she would 
 laugh at the governor's suggestion, that I 
 should make up to her. Awful joke it would 
 be to tell her." 
 
 END OF VOL. I.