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 -X I B HAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 02 3 j 
 
 v. I
 
 JOHN 
 
 A LOVE STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS OLIPHANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' CHRONICLES OF CARI.TNGFORD,' ETC. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 MDCCCLXX
 
 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE
 
 3 
 
 
 JOHN 
 
 5 
 
 s 
 
 CO 
 
 <*> CHAPTEE I. 
 
 CNJ 
 
 
 I do not know how to begin this story other- 
 wise than by a confession that I cannot de- 
 scribe its very first scene. It was a scene such 
 as happens very often in romance, and which 
 a great many writers could describe to the life. 
 I know who could do it so well that you 
 would think you saw the accident — the plunge 
 of the frightened horse, the sudden change in 
 the sensations of the rider from voluntary pro- 
 gress on her own part to a gradual confused 
 wild mad rush past of trees and houses and 
 hedgerows, and all the whirling level green of 
 the country round — the flash before her eyes 
 — the jar — the stillness of insensibility. Many 
 
 VOL. I. A 

 
 2 JOHN 
 
 writers whom I know could make a great 
 point of it ; but I never was run away with 
 by my horse, and I do not know how it feels. 
 Therefore I will begin where the excitement 
 ends, and take up my story from the moment 
 when Kate Crediton opened her eyes, without 
 any notion where she was, with a thousand 
 bells ringing in her ears, and awful shadows of 
 something that had happened or was going to 
 happen flitting about her brain — and by de- 
 grees found that she was not on her horse, as 
 she had been when last she had any acquaint- 
 ance with herse]f, but lying on a sofa with a 
 sense of wetness and coolness about her head, 
 and the strangest incapacity to move or speak 
 or exercise any energy of her own. She began 
 to hear the voices and to feel the things that 
 were being done to her before she was capable 
 of opening her eyes, or indeed had come to 
 herself. There was a soft plash of water, and 
 sensation as if a sudden shower had come over 
 her face, and then consciousness struggled 
 back, and she began to divine what it was. 
 
 " Where am I?" she said, faintly, in her 
 great wonder ; and then her father came for-
 
 JOHN 3 
 
 ward, and with tears in his eyes implored her 
 not to stir or speak. And there was another 
 man who was dimly apparent to her, holding 
 her hand or her pulse or something ; and at 
 her feet a pair of anxious, astonished eyes gaz- 
 ing at her, and somebody behind who was 
 sprinkling something fragrant over her head, 
 and shedding the heavy hair off her forehead. 
 She had fainted, and yet somehow had escaped 
 being dead, as she ought to have been. Or 
 was she dead, and were these phantoms that 
 were round her, moving so ghostly, speaking 
 with their voices miles off through the plain- 
 tive air \ But she could not put the question, 
 though she was so curious. She could not 
 move, though she was the most active, restless 
 little creature possible. All the bells of all 
 the country round were booming dully in her 
 ears ; or was it rather a hive of bees that had 
 clustered round her with dull, small, murmur- 
 ous trumpeting 1 The mist went and came 
 across her eyes like clouds on the sky, and 
 every time it blew aside there was visible that 
 pair of eyes. Whom did they belong to \ or 
 were they only floating there in space, with
 
 4 JOHN 
 
 perhaps a pair of wings attached \ — a hypo- 
 thesis not inconsistent with Kate's sense that 
 after all she might have died, for anything she 
 could say to the contrary. But the eyes were 
 anxious, puckered up at the corners, with a 
 very intent, disturbed, eager look in them, 
 such as eyes could scarcely have in heaven. 
 
 " She will do now," Kate heard some one 
 say beside her ; " let her be kept quite quiet, 
 and not allowed to speak — and you may con- 
 tinue the cold compress on the head. I think 
 it will be best to leave her quite alone with 
 Mrs Mitford. Quiet is of the first consequence. 
 I shall come back again in an hour and see 
 how she is." 
 
 "But, doctor," said the anxious voice of 
 Mr Crediton, " you' don't think " 
 
 " My dear sir, there is no use in thinking 
 anything just now. I hope she will be all 
 right again this evening ; but pray come with 
 me, and leave her quiet. At present we can 
 do no good." 
 
 I do not mean to say that this connected 
 conversation penetrated to the poor little brain 
 which had just received such a shock ; but she
 
 JOHN 5 
 
 heard it, and caught the name, Mrs Mitford, 
 out of the mist, and her mind began vaguely 
 to revolve round the new idea so oddly thrown 
 into it. Mrs Mitford \ — who was she ? The 
 name seemed to get into the murmurs of the 
 bees somehow, and buzz and buzz about her. 
 The big eyes disappeared ; the sense of other 
 moving living creatures about her died off 
 into the general hum. But for that, every- 
 thing now was still, except just one rustle 
 behind her at her head. And sometimes a 
 hand came out of the stillness, and dropped 
 new freshness on her forehead ; and once it 
 lingered with a soft half caress, and shed back 
 the hair once more, and there came to her the 
 soft coo of a voice as the buzzing became less 
 loud. Yes ; the bees began to hum away to 
 their hives, farther and farther off into the 
 slumberous distance. And this ? — was it the 
 wood-pigeons among the bees ? 
 
 Thus it will be seen that poor Kate had 
 received a considerable shock ; but yet, as she 
 was young, and had unfathomable fountains 
 of life and energy to draw from, she had quite 
 come to herself by the evening, as the doctor
 
 6 JOHN 
 
 hoped. Her father was allowed to come in 
 for ten minutes to see her, and almost wept 
 over his child, though that was not by any 
 means his usual frame of mind ; and Mrs 
 Mitford emerged from the darkness at the 
 end of the sofa and sat by the side of her 
 charge, and even talked to her sometimes in 
 that voice which was like the wood-pigeon's 
 coo. But who was she 1 and whose were 
 those two eyes which had floated in the curi- 
 ous cloudy darkness \ Perhaps it was because 
 of the general state of confusion in which she 
 found herself that Kate's mind was so occu- 
 pied with those eyes, thinking whom they 
 could belong to, and who Mrs Mitford could 
 be, who was taking charge of her so simply, 
 as if it was the most natural thing in the 
 world. As the evening darkened, an uncom- 
 fortable sense that she ought to get up and 
 get ready to go home came over her. And 
 she did not want to go home. To lie there 
 quite still, full of dreamy wonderings, which 
 were half pleasant, half confusing, seemed all 
 she was fit for. The very idea of raising 
 herself, of putting her foot on the ground,
 
 JOHN 7 
 
 seemed to bring back all those buzzing bees 
 — and yet night was coming on, and that of 
 course would be the necessary thing to do. 
 
 It was almost dark when, for the second 
 time, her father came to the side of her sofa. 
 He came very softly, and hushed her when 
 she first attempted to speak. " Not a word, 
 my darling," he said — " not a word ; you must 
 not talk." 
 
 "But I must," said Kate, though even her 
 own voice sounded at least five miles off. 
 " Papa, must not I get up and go home ? " 
 
 " You are not able," he said, stooping over 
 and kissing her. "Don't trouble yourself 
 about that. Mrs Mitford has promised to 
 take charge of you till you are better. You 
 must lie quite quiet, and not think of any- 
 thing till you get well." 
 
 " I am — pretty well," said Kate, " and who 
 
 is Mrs \ " She stopped, for there was a 
 
 shadow behind Mr Crediton, who could only 
 be Mrs Mitford herself, and Kate's sense of 
 courtesy was not gone, though she was so 
 strangely confused. Then she gave a little 
 exclamation of surprise. " I am still in my
 
 8 JOHN 
 
 habit," she said, with vague wonder, " though 
 it is almost night ! " 
 
 " We are going to get you out of your habit 
 presently, my dear," said Mrs Mitford. " Say 
 good-night to your father, for we must send 
 him away. You will soon know who I am, and 
 all about it ; but you must not talk to-night." 
 
 And then, before she knew how, she was 
 released from her warm clinging dress, and 
 laid, all white and fresh and cool, in a cool, 
 soft, shaded bed, where the confusion grad- 
 ually deepened round her. Kate could have 
 vowed she had never slept at all, but had 
 been all the while sensible of the strangeness 
 and stillness of the place — of now and then a 
 sound and touch that felt like the embodiment 
 of the silence — of a faint glimmer of light in 
 the darkness — of sometimes a wandering 
 breath of air, as if the window had been 
 opened ; and the sense of some one by her all 
 the while. But yet, no doubt, she must have 
 slept ; for it became apparent to her all at 
 once that day had returned — that the morning 
 air was coming in, and the whole dim cham- 
 ber was flooded through and through with
 
 JOHN y 
 
 light, — light which was not sunshine, and yet 
 looked like the essence of sunshine. She 
 seemed to herself to look up all at once out 
 of the soft darkness which had prevented her 
 from identifying anything, to see this daylight 
 room all bright and clear, with its pictures 
 and its furniture, and a bright-faced soft-eyed 
 woman who stood by her bed-side, no longer 
 a shadow among the shadows. Such soft 
 eyes, though they were no longer young, a 
 complexion so softly, sweetly tinted, a look 
 that caressed every young creature it rested 
 upon : — If this was Mrs Mitford, it was very 
 pleasant to be left in her charge. She had a 
 little tray in her hands, white-covered, with 
 fragrant tea and delicate bits of dry toast. 
 Kate, not knowing how it was that she had 
 woke so suddenly to this pleasant spectacle, 
 tried to start up, with her usual impetuosity, 
 but fell back again immediately, with her head 
 all buzzing and confused, as it had been on 
 the previous night. 
 
 " Oh dear ! what is the matter with me 1 " 
 cried Kate, so much overwhelmed by her 
 sensations that she forgot civility.
 
 10 JOHN 
 
 "Nothing very much, I hope, my dear," 
 said Mrs Mitford; "but you are not well 
 enough to jump up like that. You had a 
 bad fall yesterday ; but you have slept so well 
 all night " 
 
 " Oh no — I think not," protested Kate ; and 
 then it suddenly occurred to her how ungrate- 
 ful she was. " I am sure you were sitting up 
 with me," she said. " It is so very good of 
 you ; and I don't even know — my head is so 
 strange." 
 
 " You shall hear all about it in time," said 
 her cheerful nurse. " You have only to keep 
 quiet, that is all, and take some tea, and be 
 content to be an invalid. Is that hard % But 
 it might have been so much worse ; and oh ! 
 we have such reason to be thankful, my 
 dear ! " 
 
 Kate did not say anything, but she gazed 
 so, throwing all her awe-stricken thoughts 
 into her eyes, that the kind woman answered 
 the thought as if it had been spoken. 
 
 " Yes, you might have been killed — and my 
 John too. Thank God, you are both safe ! 
 But you must not ask any more questions.
 
 JOHN 11 
 
 You must let me settle your pillows for you, 
 and try to take some tea." 
 
 " My John ! " who was that ? another mys- 
 terious new being in this world of darkness. 
 Kate gazed imploringly at her new friend, 
 whom she had identified and made out. But 
 Mrs Mitford's attention was fixed on the pil- 
 lows, which she piled up cunningly behind 
 the patient to support her. " Is that comfort- 
 able ? " she asked. " It does not make you 
 giddy to sit up like that? and here is your 
 breakfast, and a rose with the dew on it from 
 my — from the garden," she added, after a 
 little momentary pause. Kate's mind was 
 very much confused, it is true, but still her 
 woman's wit had not so much deserted her 
 but that she could make out that broken sen- 
 tence. It was " my John," no doubt, that her 
 friend had been about to say, and why then 
 could not she say it without hesitation ? An 
 involuntary smile stole over Kate's face ; she 
 put up the rose to hide this smile, taking in 
 all its freshness and dewiness and perfume 
 into her young being. Evidently John was 
 not without discrimination — and Kate, we are
 
 12 JOHN 
 
 obliged to confess, was the kind of girl to like 
 the rose all the better coming to her in this 
 half-mysterious way, than if Mrs Mitford had 
 but gathered it in the garden as she took her 
 morning walk. 
 
 "It is very sweet ; and it is so kind of — 
 you, to bring it me," said Kate, with a little 
 gleam of habitual mischief waking in her 
 pretty eyes. " But oh ! my head feels so 
 strange, I can't make it out." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not talk any more, 
 but lie down again as soon as you have had 
 your tea," said Mrs Mitford ; and she only 
 smiled upon Kate's further attempts to enter 
 into conversation, and shook her head. When 
 the little tray had been removed, and the 
 pillows lowered, Kate was left with her rose, 
 in a not unwilling quiet. After all, curious 
 though she was, she did not feel able to talk : 
 her head still felt, as she said, very strange. 
 The bees were not so far off but what they 
 were ready to come back when she stirred. 
 On the whole, it was best to lie back and keep 
 quite still, and watch her nurse moving about 
 the room. She had a grey alpaca gown,
 
 JOHN 13 
 
 which shone with pretty reflets like silk, but 
 did not rustle to vex the invalid's nerves ; and 
 a little white cap that set off her soft rose- 
 tints. Kate lay and wondered how she had 
 managed to keep that lovely soft complexion 
 — and then why she wore a cap, which so 
 few people do nowadays. Certainly Mrs 
 Mitford had no need to wear it ; she had 
 plenty of hair, though it was beginning to be 
 touched by grey, and Kate was sufficiently a 
 young woman of her time to know that no 
 hair now needs to grow grey unless its owner 
 chooses. And then she wondered how old 
 Mrs Mitford was. She might not have been 
 any more than forty, and yet she might be ten 
 years older than that — it was hard to say. 
 She went about softly, not quite noiselessly, 
 which is as hurtful to the nerves as boisterous- 
 ness, but with just sound enough to make you 
 aware she was there. And it was so nice, 
 Kate thought, to have her there. Her pretty 
 rose ribbons, which brightened the grey dress, 
 were not so pretty as the softer roses on her 
 cheeks. Kate was all lilies and roses herself, 
 and she could not but gaze with a sympathetic
 
 14 JOHN 
 
 admiration at the woman so much older than 
 herself, who still retained this special loveli- 
 ness. She looked like Methuselah to Kate, 
 and yet she was so pretty. " Shall I be as 
 pretty, I wonder, when I am as old ? " the girl 
 asked herself; and once more was surprised 
 by a smile at the quaint, strange, incompre- 
 hensible thought. Kate Crediton fifty, but 
 still possessed of a pretty complexion, and 
 considered a nice-looking woman of her age ! 
 The idea was so odd that into the quietness 
 there bubbled up a little sudden fountain of 
 laughter, of which, as soon as she heard it, 
 Kate was so infinitely ashamed, that even her 
 rose did not suffice to hide the colour which 
 blazed up into her cheeks. 
 
 " Laughing, my dear ! " said Mrs Mitford, 
 though not without a little anxiety, drawing 
 near the bed. "What has amused you?" 
 And she came quite close, and touched Kate's 
 forehead softly with her hand, and gazed at her, 
 with just a touch of dread lest her mind was 
 wandering, which the girl guessed somehow, 
 and which instantly sobered her thoughts. 
 
 " I was thinking how funny it is to be lying
 
 JOHN 15 
 
 here so comfortable, and you taking care of 
 me as if I belonged to you, and not to know 
 where I am, nor — anything about it. It is all 
 so queer." 
 
 " It is not half so queer as you think," said 
 Mrs Mitford, smiling ; " you will find it is 
 quite natural when you are a little better. 
 But we must not talk till the doctor comes. 
 He gave orders you were to be kept per- 
 fectly quiet. Perhaps he will relax when he 
 sees how well you are, if you keep quite quiet 
 now." 
 
 "When will he come!" said Kate, with a 
 sigh of impatience ; and then in her hasty 
 way she put up her face, as well as she was 
 able, to her kind nurse. " I wonder if mamma 
 was like you," cried the motherless creature, 
 with a few tears which came as suddenly as 
 the laughter. It was Kate's way ; but Mrs 
 Mitford did not know that, and was wonder- 
 fully touched, and kissed her, and bathed her 
 face, and smoothed her hair, and did a hun- 
 dred little tender offices for her, making her 
 " nice," as an invalid should look. 
 
 " My hair was much the same colour when
 
 16 JOHN 
 
 I was your age, and I had just such heaps of 
 it," the kind woman said, combing out and 
 caressing those great shining coils. 
 
 " I shall be just the same-looking woman 
 when I am old," was the comment Kate made 
 to herself; and the thought almost made her 
 laugh again. But this time she had warning 
 of the inclination, and restrained herself ; and 
 thus the morning wore away. 
 
 When the doctor came he pronounced her a 
 great deal better, and Kate lay wondering, and 
 listened with all her ears to the conversation 
 that went on in hushed tones near her bed- 
 side. " Not light-headed at all ? " said the 
 doctor ; " not talking nonsense \ " " And oh," 
 cried Kate to herself, " if I did not talk non- 
 sense, it is the first time in all my life !" " Oh 
 no, she has been quite rational — quite herself," 
 said Mrs Mitford; and Kate, exercising in- 
 tense self-control, did not laugh. If she had 
 ever been called rational before, it would not 
 have been so hard ; and how little they must 
 know about her ! " It is rather nice to be 
 considered sensible," she said within herself; 
 but she could not suppress the laughing mis-
 
 JOHN 17 
 
 chief in her eye, which the doctor perceived 
 when he turned round to feel her pulse again. 
 
 " She looks as if she were laughing at us 
 all," he said. " Miss Crediton, tell me do you 
 feel quite well \ able to get up this moment 
 and ride home % " 
 
 "I am very well when I lie still," said 
 Kate ; " but I don't want to go home, please. 
 She is not at home ; I am obliged to call her 
 she, which is very uncivil, because nobody will 
 tell me her name." 
 
 61 1 can do that much for you," said the 
 doctor. " This is Mrs Mitford of Fanshawe 
 Eegis ; and I can tell you you were in luck to 
 be run away with close to her door." 
 
 " You don't need to tell me that," said Kate. 
 " Please, Mrs Mitford, will you kiss me, now 
 we are introduced? I am Kate Crediton — 
 perhaps you know ; and I am sure I don't 
 know why I did not talk nonsense all last 
 night, for they say I always do at home." 
 
 " But you must not here," said the doctor, 
 who was an old man, and smiled at her kindly, 
 — " nor chatter at all, indeed, for several days. 
 See how it brings the blood to her face ! If 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 JOHN 
 
 you will be very good you may see your 
 father, and ask — let me see — six questions ; 
 but not one word more." 
 
 " Is papa still here % " cried Kate. 
 
 "That is one/' said the doctor; "be care- 
 ful, or you will come to the end of your list, 
 as the man in the fairy tale came to the end 
 of his wishes. He is waiting to come in." 
 
 " Have I only five left 1 " said Kate. " Please, 
 let him come in. I shall ask him how it all 
 happened ; and then I shall ask him where 
 we are — that is three ; and when he is going 
 home ; and what is the matter with me that 
 
 I must lie here — and then " She had 
 
 been counting on her fingers, and paused with 
 the forefinger of one hand resting on the little 
 finger of the other. Mrs Mitford had gone to 
 the door to admit Mr Crediton, and Kate was 
 alone with the old doctor, who looked at her 
 so kindly. She laid back her head among 
 the pillows, a little flushed by talking ; her 
 pretty hair, which Mrs Mitford had just 
 smoothed, had begun to ruffle up again in 
 light little puffs of curls. She lay back, looking 
 up at the doctor like a certain Greuze I know
 
 JOHN 19 
 
 of, with fingers like bits of creamy pink shells, 
 half transparent, doing their bit of calculation. 
 " And then," she added, with a long-drawn 
 breath, half of mischief, half of fatigue, "I 
 will ask him who is ' my John' ? " 
 
 " Has she been talking to you about my 
 John ? " said the doctor, amused ; and Kate 
 gave a little nod of her pretty head at him, 
 where she lay back like a rosebud upon the 
 pillows. It was too late to answer in words, 
 for Mrs Mitford was coming back from the 
 door, followed by Mr Crediton, who looked 
 excited and anxious, and had something like a 
 tear in the corner of his eyes. 
 
 " Well, my pet, so you are better !" he said. 
 " That is right, Kate. I have had a most 
 miserable night, doctor, thinking of her. But 
 now I hear it's going to be all right. It is 
 not, of course, for any special virtue in her," 
 he said, turning round to them with a strained 
 little laugh when he had kissed her, " but one 
 has all sorts of prejudices about one's only 
 child." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. I know very well what it is 
 to have an only child," said Mrs Mitford.
 
 20 JOHN 
 
 " You could not find more sympathy any- 
 where in that particular. When there is any- 
 thing the matter with my boy, the whole 
 world is turned upside down." 
 
 Kate looked at the doctor with an inquiring 
 glance, and he gave her a little confidential 
 nod. The eyes of the young girl and the old 
 man laughed and communicated while the two 
 foolish parents were making their mutual con- 
 fessions. " Is that my John she is speaking 
 of ? " asked Kate's eyes ; and the doctor re- 
 plied merrily, delighted with his observing 
 patient. To be sure there had been a grave 
 enough moment on the previous day, when 
 these two lives first crossed each other ; but 
 this was how the idea of him was formally 
 introduced to Kate Creditors mind. It was a 
 foolish, flighty, light, little mind, thinking of 
 nothing but fun and nonsense. Yet even now 
 it did cross the doctors mind, with a moment- 
 ary compunction, that the business might turn 
 out serious enough for poor John.
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 It was nearly a week before Kate was per- 
 mitted to leave her bed, and during that time 
 she had learned a great deal about the economy 
 of Fanshawe Eegis. She lay among the pil- 
 lows every day a little higher, with her natural 
 colour coming back, looking more and more 
 like the Greuze, and listened to all the domes- 
 tic revelations that flowed from Mrs Mitford's 
 lips. The kind woman was pleased with so 
 lively a listener, and thus there gradually un- 
 rolled itself before Kate a moving panorama 
 of another existence, which the girl, perhaps, 
 had not sufficient imagination or sympathy to 
 enter fully into, but which interested her much 
 in bits, and amused her, and to which she lent 
 a very willing ear. Sometimes the door of the 
 room would be opened, and Kate would hear
 
 22 JOHN 
 
 the footsteps in the house of which she was 
 now a recognised inmate, but which she knew 
 nothing of. There was one solemn step that 
 creaked and went slowly, gravely, up and down 
 stairs, as if life were a weighty ceremonial to 
 be accomplished very seriously, which was evi- 
 dently the step of Dr Mitford, the Hector of 
 Fanshawe Eegis, and rural dean ; and there 
 was a lighter springy masculine foot, which 
 came to the very door sometimes with flowers 
 and letters and books for the invalid, and 
 which Kate did not need to be told was " my 
 John." In the languor of her illness, and in 
 the absence of other objects of interest, this 
 step became quite important to Kate. She 
 was not, we are obliged to confess, by any 
 means a very good young woman. She was 
 a spoiled child, and she had been born a flirt, 
 which could scarcely be said to be her fault. 
 From three years old to nineteen, which was 
 her present age, it had been the occupation of 
 her existence to prey upon mankind. Whether 
 it was sugar-plums she played for or hearts had 
 not mattered very much to her. She had put 
 forth her wiles, her smiles, her thousand little
 
 JOHN 23 
 
 fascinations, with a spontaneous, almost uncon- 
 scious, instinct. It was necessary to her to be 
 pleasing somebody — to be first in some one's 
 regard, whoever that some one might be. Be- 
 fore she had been half a day under Mrs Mit- 
 ford's care, that good soul was her slave ; and 
 when that innocent little bit of captivation 
 was complete, and when the doctor, too, showed 
 symptoms of having put on her chains, Kate 
 felt her hands free, and longed for the hunt- 
 ing-grounds and the excitement of the sport. 
 John was the most likely victim, and yet she 
 could not get at him, being chained up here 
 out of reach. It filled her invalid existence 
 with a little touch of excitement. She sent 
 him pretty messages in return for his roses, 
 and listened to all his mother's stories of him. 
 Not that John in himself interested the girl. 
 He was her natural victim, that was all, and 
 she smiled with a vague satisfaction at thought 
 of the mischief which she knew she could do. 
 
 The life she lived in her room in this strange 
 house of which she knew nothing, yet with 
 which she was so familiar, was the strangest 
 amusing episode to Kate. After the first two.
 
 24 JOHN 
 
 days Mrs Mitford kept by her less closely, 
 and a fresh country housemaid, full of wonder 
 and sympathy and admiration for the pretty 
 young lady, came into the room as soon as 
 she was awake to put it in order for the day. 
 Lizzie had a round fresh apple-blossom face 
 which pleased Kate's eye, and was full of that 
 wondering worship for the creature so like 
 herself in age and nature, so infinitely above 
 her in other matters, possessed of so many in- 
 comprehensible fascinations and refinements, 
 which one young woman so often entertains 
 for another. There had been great calcula- 
 tions in the kitchen about Kate's probable 
 age and her beauty, the colour of her hair, 
 the shape of her hat, her father's wealth, and 
 everything about her. The cook at Fanshawe 
 Kegis came from Camelford, where Mr Credi- 
 ton lived, and knew that his bank was the 
 Bank of England to all the country round, 
 and that he was rolling in money, and spared 
 nothing on his only child. Lizzie had listened 
 with open eyes to all the details her fellow- 
 servant knew, or could recollect or invent, of 
 the fairy existence of this wonderful young
 
 JOHN 25 
 
 lady. About twenty, cook concluded Miss 
 Crediton was — and Lizzie was just over 
 twenty. And she too had blue eyes like 
 Kate, and apple-blossom cheeks, and was 
 about the same height — but yet what a differ- 
 ence ! "You've seen Miss Parsons as was 
 her maid — a stuck-up thing with her fine 
 bonnets ; her mother keeps a millinery shop 
 down Thistle-field way, leading out o' Camel- 
 ford," said cook. " She was lady's-maid to 
 this Miss Crediton, and a fine thing for her 
 too. She might take a fancy to you, Liz, if 
 you were to flatter her a bit." " Laws, I 
 never dare open my lips," said Lizzie ; " she'll 
 lie there a-noticing everything with them 
 eyes, as looks you through and through. 
 Them as is no skolards has no chance." But 
 Lizzie's heart beat as the morning came, and 
 she went softly into Miss Crediton's room, and 
 set the windows open, and dusted and settled 
 and put everything to rights. Kate watched 
 her, saying nothing at first, not without a 
 little natural interest on her side in the young 
 woman of her own age, in all the roundness, 
 and softness, and whiteness, and rosiness of
 
 26 JOHN 
 
 youth. She saw the girl's awe -stricken looks 
 at herself, and was amused, and even a little 
 nattered, by Lizzie's admiration, — and being 
 weary of silence, began to draw her out. It 
 was chiefly from Lizzie's account that Kate 
 identified all the movements of the house, and 
 found out the hours at which Mrs Mitford 
 visited the schools, and when she went to see 
 her poor people. " When she leaves you, 
 miss, to have a little rest after your dinner, 
 it's time for the school," said Lizzie. " Missis 
 never misses a day, not so long as I can re- 
 member, except now and again, when Mr 
 John's been ill." 
 
 " Is Mr John often ill \ " said Kate. 
 
 " Oh no, miss ; never, so to speak ; but 
 missis makes an idol of him. Mother thinks 
 as she makes too much an idol on him. He's 
 her only son, like — it aint like having nine or 
 ten, as most folks have," said Lizzie, apologeti- 
 cally, as she arranged the little table by Kate's 
 bedside, where there was, as usual, a bouquet 
 of John's roses, freshly gathered. • 
 
 "That is true," said Kate, with a laugh 
 which Lizzie could not understand.
 
 JOHN 27 
 
 "But I'd rather have one like Mr John, 
 than a dozen like most folks," Lizzie added, 
 with energy ; " most of 'em in the village is 
 nought but trouble to them they belongs to. 
 It's hard to tell of 'em what they're made for, 
 them big lads. Onell go poaching and idling, 
 till ye don't know what to do with 'um ; and 
 another '11 list, and break his folks's hearts. 
 Mother says they're a cross, but I think as 
 they're worse than a cross — drinking, and 
 fighting, and quarrelling, and never good for 
 nought. And them as is steady goes away, 
 and you don't get no good o' them. You may 
 laugh, miss, as don't know no better — but 
 there are folks as can't laugh." 
 
 " I did not laugh, Lizzie," said Kate. "I 
 am very sorry — but why are you so serious 
 about it ? I hope the girls are better than the 
 lads." 
 
 " Mother says we've haven't got the same 
 temptations," said Lizzie, dubiously ; " but 
 she's old, you know, miss, and I dare to say 
 she don't think on. I've got four brothers, 
 all idler the one nor the other. And if I don't 
 know, I don' know who should. Mother she's
 
 28 JOHN 
 
 a good woman, and I hope we'll all pass for 
 her sake — but missis, she never hears a cross 
 word from Mr John." 
 
 " A cross word, indeed ! " said Kate ; " that 
 would be unpardonable — and she such a 
 darling. He ought to be proud of having a 
 mother like that. I am very fond of her 
 myself." 
 
 " He's as proud as Punch, miss," said 
 Lizzie, " and missis she's proud of him. When 
 he's at home he's always by to walk wi' her 
 and talk with her. Master, he's that learned 
 ye never know what to make of him. They 
 say as he's the biggest scholard in all Hunting- 
 shire. It aint to be expected as he would just 
 take his little walks, and make it pleasant like 
 a common man." 
 
 " And what does Mrs Mitford do when Mr 
 John is away ? " said Kate, a little doubtful of 
 the propriety of asking so many questions, but 
 too curious to let the opportunity slip. 
 
 " Oh, miss ! it's dreadful, that is," cried 
 Lizzie. " It's enough to make you cry just to 
 look at her face. Some days she'll go across 
 to the school as many as three times — and
 
 JOHN 29 
 
 down to the village among all the poor folks. 
 Mother aint Church like me, miss/' the girl 
 continued, with a little apologetic curtsy ; 
 " she was born like in Zion, she says, and she 
 can t make up her mind not to leave it ; and 
 it aint to be expected as poor missis should be 
 fond of Zion folks. But when any of the lads 
 are in trouble she never minds church nor 
 chapel. Mother says she's a bit proud as her 
 own lad is one as never gets into no trouble — 
 and the like of him haven't got the same 
 temptations, mother says. But I always say 
 as it's kind of missis, all the same." 
 
 " I should think so, indeed," cried Kate, 
 
 " and I think your mother must be " she 
 
 was going to say a disagreeable old woman, 
 but stopped in time — " rather hard upon 
 other people," she went on, diplomatically ; 
 " but then if Mr John goes away altogether, 
 I am afraid Mrs Mitford will break her heart." 
 
 "Oh, miss, don't you be afeared," cried 
 Lizzie, with bright confidence — " he aint going 
 away. It sounds funny, but he's going to be 
 the new curate, is Mr John." 
 
 " Oh ! ! " Kate gave a little cry of disap-
 
 30 JOHN 
 
 pointment and dismay. " Is he a clergyman ? 
 I never thought of that." 
 
 " Not yet, miss," said Lizzie, " but they say 
 as he's going up to the bishop at Michaelmas 
 or thereabouts, and then well have him here 
 for curate, and missis will be as glad as glad." 
 
 " I am sure I am not glad," said Kate to 
 herself, pouting over this unlooked-for piece of 
 news. Not that she cared for John. She had 
 never seen him, how could she care 1 He had 
 saved her life, people said, but then that was 
 the most fantastic beginning of an acquaint- 
 ance, like a thing in a novel, and she would 
 rather have seen no more of him ever after, 
 had that been all. But Kate had become 
 interested in my John by dint of hearing his 
 step, and receiving his roses, and knowing him 
 to be her natural victim. And that he should 
 be a clergyman spoilt all. Curates, of course, 
 are always fair game — but then an effective 
 young sportswoman like Kate Crediton can bag 
 curates with so little trouble. Facility, let us 
 say, after the fashion of the copybooks, breeds 
 contempt. And, on the other hand, light- 
 minded as she was, she felt that a clergyman,
 
 JOHN 31 
 
 as distinct from a curate, was a thing that 
 called for respect — and felt herself suddenly 
 pulled up and brought to a pause in all her 
 projects for amusement. How provoking it 
 was ! if he had been going to be a soldier, or 
 a barrister, or an — anything except a clergy- 
 man ! She could not, for Mrs Mitford's sake, 
 treat him on the ground of simple curatedom ; 
 nor would she beguile him from his serious in- 
 tentions, and wound his mother, who had been 
 so good to her. A clergyman ! a being either 
 ready to fall a too ready victim, or a martyr, 
 whom to interfere with would be sacrilege. 
 * Kate was thoroughly contrariee. She felt 
 that fortune was against her, and that this 
 was a climax to the misfortunes which hitherto 
 had sat so very lightly upon her. To be 
 thrown from her horse and half-killed — to 
 find herself an inmate of a strange house 
 which she had never heard of before — to be 
 introduced into a new world altogether, with 
 the most delicious sense of novelty and strange- 
 ness — and all to find herself at last face to face 
 with a clergyman ! Kate could not understand 
 what could be meant by such a waste of
 
 32 JOHN 
 
 means for so miserable an end. " I might 
 have been killed," she said to herself, " and he 
 only a clergyman all the time ! " She was, in 
 short, disgusted at once with her ill fortune 
 and her foolish dreams. She talked no more 
 to Lizzie, but fell back on her pillows, and 
 pushed the roses away with her hand. Mrs 
 Mitford had deceived her, John had deceived 
 her. To think she should really have been 
 getting up a little romance on the subject, and 
 he to turn out only a clergyman after all ! 
 When John's mother returned to the room, 
 after giving him a full account of her patient, 
 along with his breakfast, and reanimating by 
 her son's interest her own warm glow of sym- 
 pathy for the invalid, she was quite disturbed 
 by the pucker on Kate's brow. " Dear me ! I 
 am afraid you have been doing too much," she 
 said, anxiously, bending over the bed. "I 
 have a little headache, that is all," said Kate, 
 whose temper was affected. And Mrs Mit- 
 ford shook her head, and took immediate 
 action. She had the blinds all drawn down 
 again which Lizzie had drawn up, and 
 sprinkled eau-de-Cologne all over Kate, and
 
 JOHN 33 
 
 laid aside her own work, which required light, 
 and with her knitting in her hand instead, 
 placed herself in the shade, and said " hush " 
 to every word her patient addressed to her. 
 " Quiet and darkness," she said, softly ; " hush, 
 my dear — there is nothing like darkness and 
 quiet — I always find them effectual/' Poor 
 Kate had to make the best of it. Instead of 
 going on with her new novel, and chattering 
 to her heart's content, she had to lie silent and 
 shut her eyes, and be content with the eau- 
 de-Cologne ; which, after all, though he was 
 but a clergyman, was less interesting than 
 John. 
 
 It was a great event to Kate, and also to 
 the kitchen at Fanshawe Eegis, when "Miss 
 Parsons " came from Camelford with her young 
 mistress's " things." Kate had never been ill 
 in her life before, and she had not been very 
 ill or suffering much even now, so that the 
 feeling of state and dignity and superiority to 
 the rest of the world was unmixed by any 
 severe reminiscence of pain. It gave her 
 quite a thrill of pleasure to see her pretty 
 dresses again. She had been allowed to get 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 34 JOHN 
 
 up to lie on the sofa by the window, and look 
 out at the roses, but only in her dressing-gown, 
 which was very pretty, no doubt, and very 
 cool, but not so pleasant as all those fresh sum- 
 mer costumes with their floating ribbons. 
 She lay on her sofa, and watched Parsons un- 
 pack them with lively interest. " But I should 
 like to know what you mean me to do with 
 them all," she said. " Here are enough for all 
 the summer ; and how long do you suppose I 
 am going to stay? Perhaps a week — there 
 are a dozen gowns at least." 
 
 " I did not know which you would like, 
 miss," said Parsons ; " nor if you might be 
 tempted to stay. It's so pretty all about, and 
 they're all so fond of you " 
 
 " Fond of me ! " said Kate, with a sudden 
 blush, which surprised herself intensely. "You 
 goose ! nobody has seen me but Mrs Mitford 
 — and. she will be very glad to get rid of so 
 much trouble, I should think." 
 
 " Ah, miss ! as if some folks didn't know 
 better than that," said Parsons ; which con- 
 founded Kate so that she made no answer, but 
 paused to reflect whether the girl was mad, or
 
 JOHN o5 
 
 if she could mean anything. John had seen 
 her, it was true, though she had not seen him. j 
 He had saved her life ; he had kept sending 
 her roses all the time. And, no doubt, it is 
 quite possible that a man (poor creature !) might 
 be struck at first sight, and never get the better 
 of it all his life after. The suggestion made 
 her smile for one moment, and then filled her 
 with a certain contempt for John. 
 
 "Please finish your unpacking as soon as 
 you can," she said, with severe politeness, to 
 Parsons. " Take out half — that will do. I 
 stay here a week only. And make haste, 
 please, for I am tired of all this fuss." 
 
 "Now they've come," said Parsons, doggedly, 
 " they'd best be unpacked ; and if you was to 
 change your mind " 
 
 "Be quiet, please, and get done and go 
 away," cried Kate. "You will make me ill 
 again, if you don't mind." 
 
 And then, considerably ruffled and put out, 
 she turned her head to the window. Mrs 
 Mitford had scrupulously kept "the gentle- 
 men " — her husband and her son — out of the 
 flower-garden, on which Kate's windows looked.
 
 36 JOHN 
 
 She did not think a young lady in a dressing- 
 gown a fit spectacle for any eyes but her own ; 
 1but Kate was almost well, and her hostess had 
 relaxed a little. As she looked out now she 
 saw through the Venetian blinds two figures in 
 the distance walking slowly along a sheltered 
 walk. It could only be John whom his mother 
 was leading on in that way. Her head was 
 almost resting against his arm as she looked up 
 and talked to him. She leant upon him with 
 that pleasant sense of support and help which 
 makes weakness sweet ; there was even in her 
 attitude a something which Kate perceived 
 'dimly by instinct, but could not have put in 
 words ; that delicious sense of * surprise, and 
 secret, sacred, humorous consciousness of the 
 wonder there was in it — the sweet jest of 
 being thus supported by her baby, her child, 
 he whom she had carried in her arms — was it 
 yesterday 1 — which a man's mother enjoys pri- 
 vately all to herself. Somehow a little envy 
 stole over Kate as she looked at them. She 
 was very fond of her father ; but yet it was not 
 such happiness to be with him as it was for this 
 other woman to be with her boy. The young
 
 JOHN 37 
 
 creature thirsting for everything that was 
 sweetest in life would have liked to have that 
 too. To be sure she could not be John's 
 mother, or anybody's mother, and would have 
 laughed with inextinguishable laughter at her- 
 self for the thought, had she realised it. But 
 still she envied Mrs Mitford, feeling that kind 
 woman to have thus appropriated a joy beyond 
 her reach — and what do women want with 
 joys at that age 1 Should not all be concen- 
 trated in one sweetest draught for the rose lips, 
 so dewy and soft with youth ? Kate would 
 have repudiated such a sentiment, of course ; 
 and yet this was what breathed unconsciously 
 in her heart. She went to bed with a little 
 spiteful feeling against Mrs Mitford. Had not 
 she made a clergyman of her boy on purpose 
 to spite Kate ? If he had been a gravedigger 
 his mother would loved him just the same ; it 
 would have made no difference to her. If he 
 had been ugly, and weakly, and half his size, 
 his mother would have liked him quite as 
 well ; which were all so many offences against 
 Kate, and evidences of her inferiority. She 
 wanted to have her own delights and the other
 
 38 JOHN 
 
 woman's delights too. She wanted to be 
 young and to be old ; to have a lover s adora- 
 tion and a son's worship, and every other 
 variety that love can take. It so spited her 
 that she cried when she went to bed, and then 
 burst out laughing at her own folly, and was 
 as silly as you can conceive it possible to be — 
 perhaps more silly than after nineteen any one 
 could conceive. 
 
 Next day, after Lizzie had put the room in 
 order, and Mrs Mitford had paid her after- 
 breakfast visit, and gone off to the village to 
 see some of her poor people, it occurred to 
 Kate to try her own strength. Her father was 
 coming to dinner at the Rectory that day, and 
 it had been arranged that she was to be up in 
 the evening to see him. But when all was 
 quiet in the house, Mrs Mitford out, the doctor 
 not expected, and Parsons at hand, who was 
 not likely to thwart her mistress, Kate formed 
 a different plan for herself. She had her 
 dresses taken out, just to look at them. After 
 being in a dressing-gown for a week, the 
 charms of a real dress, something that fits, is 
 wonderful. Kate gave a contemptuous glance
 
 JOHN 39 
 
 at her white wrapper, as she gazed at all those 
 pretty garments, and then she glanced at herself 
 in the glass opposite, with her hair all loosely 
 bundled up under her net. "What a guy she 
 looked, lying there so long, as if she had had a 
 fever ! " A good thing they did not bethink 
 themselves of cutting off my hair/' she said, 
 under her breath ; and could not but ask her- 
 self with horror whether all the eau-de-Cologne 
 that had been lavished on her head, and all the 
 showers of water, would affect her hair disad- 
 vantageously. She might as well take it out 
 of the net at least, and let Parsons dress it. 
 When this was done, Kate felt her courage 
 rise. She sprang up from her sofa, frightening 
 the maid. " I am going to dress — I must dress 
 — I can't bear tffls thing five minutes longer ! " 
 she cried. 
 
 " Oh, miss ! youll catch your death," cried 
 Parsons, not indeed knowing why, but deliver- 
 ing the first missile of offence that came to her 
 hand. But Parsons was far from being a 
 person of spirit, or able to cope with her young 
 mistress. She stood helplessly by, protesting, 
 but making no effort to resist, except the pas-
 
 40 JOHN 
 
 sive one of giving no assistance. Kate flew at 
 her dress with a sense of novelty which gave 
 it an additional charm. She buttoned herself 
 into it with a certain delight. " Oh, how nice 
 it is to feel one has something on ! " she cried, 
 tossing her wrapper to the other side of the 
 room ; and she fastened her belt, and tied her 
 ribbons, and did everything for herself with a 
 sweep of enthusiasm. The reader has only 
 seen her as an invalid, and Kate was very well 
 worth looking at. She was a little over the 
 middle height ; her figure was very slender 
 and pliant and graceful — upright, yet bending 
 as if with every breeze. Her hair was warm 
 sunny brown hair ; her eyes were dark-violet 
 blue, large, and limpid, and full of a startled 
 sweetness, like the eyes of a fawn. They had 
 the child's look of surprise at the fair world 
 and wonderful beings among which it finds 
 itself, which has always so great a charm ; and 
 with that blue ribbon in her pretty hair, and 
 the clear blue muslin dress, she was like a 
 flower. And then she had that glory of com- 
 plexion which we are so fond of claiming as 
 specially English. Nothing could be more
 
 JOHN 41 
 
 delicate or more lovely than the gradations of 
 colour in her face — her lips a rich rose, her 
 cheeks a little paler — a soft rose-reflection 
 upon her delicate features and white throat. 
 It was not " the perfect woman nobly plan- 
 ned " which came to your mind at sight of so 
 pretty a creature. She was a Greuze — an 
 article of luxury, worth quantities of money, 
 and always delightful to look at — an ornament 
 to any chamber, the stateliest or the simplest. 
 She might have been placed in a palace or in 
 a cottage, and would not have looked out of 
 place in either ; and there was enough beauty 
 in her to decorate the place at once, and make 
 up for all lack of colour or loveliness besides. 
 But what she might have beyond the qualities 
 of the Greuze the spectator could not tell. 
 What harm or good she might have it in her 
 to do — what might be the result even of this 
 first unexpected appearance of hers in the 
 house which she had taken by storm — it was 
 impossible to predict. It could not but be 
 either for good or evil ; but, looking into the 
 lovely, flower-like face, into her surprised 
 sweet eyes, the most keen observer would have
 
 42 JOHN 
 
 been baffled. ' She was full of childish delight 
 in the novelty — a half - mischievous, half- 
 innocent pleasure in the anticipation of pro- 
 ducing some effect in the quiet unsuspicious 
 house ; but that was all that could be made 
 out. She stood before the glass for a minute 
 contemplating her perfected toilette with the 
 highest satisfaction. She looked like a wreath 
 of that lovely evanescent convolvulus, which 
 is blue and white and rose all at once. " Am 
 I nice ? " she said to the bewildered Parsons ; 
 who replied only by a bewildered exclamation 
 of " Oh, miss ! " and then Kate turned, poising 
 herself for one moment on her heel in uncer- 
 tainty. She took one of John's roses and 
 placed it in her belt ; and then, with a little 
 wave of her handkerchief, and, as it were, 
 flourish of trumpets, she opened her door and 
 stepped forth into the unknown. 
 
 Here let us pause for a moment. To step 
 for the first time into a new country is thrill- 
 ing to the inexperienced traveller ; but to put 
 your foot into a new house, — a place which is 
 utterly strange to you, and yet which you are 
 free to penetrate through as if it were your
 
 JOHN 43 
 
 own — to take your chance of stumbling against 
 people whom you know intimately and yet 
 have no acquaintance with — to set out on a 
 voyage of discovery into the most intimate 
 domestic shrines, with no light but that of 
 your own genius to guide you, — is more thril- 
 ling still. Kate stepped briskly over the 
 threshold of her own room, and then she 
 paused aghast at her own audacity. The cold 
 silence of the unknown hushed her back as if 
 she had been on an expedition into the arctic 
 regions. She paused, and her heart gave a 
 loud beat. Should she retire into the ascer- 
 tained and lawful place from which Parsons 
 was watching with a face of consternation, or 
 should she go on ? But no ! never ! — put it in 
 Parson s power to taunt her with a retreat — 
 that could not be ! She gave another little 
 wave of her handkerchief, as if it had been her 
 banner, and went on. 
 
 But it must be avowed that when she was 
 out of sight of Parsons and her own room, 
 Kate paused again and panted, and clung to 
 the banisters, looking down the broad, hand- 
 some staircase. She could see down into the
 
 44 JOHN 
 
 hall, with all its closed doors, looking so silent, 
 so strange, so suggestive. She did not know 
 what she would find there ; and nobody knew 
 her or expected her. A distant sound from 
 the kitchen, Lizzie's hearty, youthful laugh, 
 struck with a consolatory sound upon her ear. 
 But alas ! she was not bound to the kitchen, 
 where she had friends, but to investigate those 
 closed doors, with such wonders as might be 
 within. She clung to the great polished oak 
 banister for a moment, feeling her heart beat ; 
 and then, " courage ! " cried Kate, and launched 
 herself into the unknown world below stairs.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Bectory at Fanshawe Eegis was a very 
 good house. Indeed it was the old manor- 
 house of the Fanshawes, which had been thus 
 appropriated at the time when the great castle 
 was built, which had eventually ruined the 
 race. Dr Mitford and his son were both in 
 the library on th° morning of Kate's descent. 
 It was the most picturesque room in the house. 
 It was, indeed, a kind of double room, one 
 end of it being smaller than the other, and 
 contracted by two pillars which stood out at a 
 little distance from the walls, and looked al- 
 most like a doorway to the larger end, which 
 was the Doctor's especial domain. It was 
 clothed with books from ceiling to floor, and 
 the contraction made by the pillars framed in 
 the apartment behind, giving a certain aspect
 
 46 JOHN 
 
 of distance to the fine interior. There was 
 a great old-fashioned fireplace at the very 
 end, with a projecting oak canopy, also sup- 
 ported by pillars, and to the right of that a 
 broad, deeply recessed Elizabethan window, 
 throwing a full side light upon the Doctor's 
 writing-table, at which he sat absorbed, with 
 his fine white head shining as in a picture. 
 When Kate opened the door cautiously and 
 looked in at this picture, she was so moved by 
 a sense of her own temerity, and by involun- 
 tary, half- childish fright lest she should be 
 scolded or punished for it, that it was at least 
 a minute before she took in the scene before 
 her ; and even then she did not take it all in. 
 She never even glanced at the foreground — at 
 the other Elizabethan window, with coloured 
 shields of painted glass obscuring the sun- 
 shine, in which sat another reader, who raised 
 his eyes at the sound of the opening door 
 with a surprise which it would be difficult to 
 describe. There were three of them all in 
 the same room, and none was aware of the 
 scrutiny with which each was severally re- 
 garded. It was like a scene in a comedy.
 
 JOHN 47 
 
 Kate peeping frightened at the door, growing 
 a little bolder as she perceived herself un- 
 noticed, gazing at Dr Mitford's white head 
 over his books and papers, and gradually 
 getting to see the fun of it, and calculate on 
 his start of amazement when he should look 
 up and see her. And opposite to her, in the 
 anteroom, John Mitford at his table, with eyes 
 in which a kindred laughter began to gleam, 
 one hand resting upon his open book, arrested 
 in his work, his looks bent upon the pretty 
 spy, who was as unconscious of his presence as 
 his father was of hers. When John stirred in 
 his seat and suddenly directed Kate's atten- 
 tion to him, she gave a little jump and a cry, 
 and turned round and fled in her amazement. 
 She did not even take time to look and recog- 
 nise him, but flew from the door, letting it 
 swing after her in a sudden panic. She had 
 found the position very amusing when she 
 was peeping at his unsuspecting father — but 
 to be spied upon in her turn ! Kate burst 
 away and fled, taking the first passage she 
 saw. "What's that, eh?" cried Dr Mitford. 
 "Ill go and see, sir," said John, dutifully; and
 
 48 JOHN 
 
 he got up with beautiful promptitude, and 
 followed the runaway. He saw the gleam of 
 her blue dress down the passage, and followed 
 her before she could draw breath. It was 
 the most curious meeting, for two well-bred 
 persons who did not know each other, and yet 
 were already so deeply connected with each 
 other. Kate, all one desperate blush, turned 
 round when she heard his step and faced him, 
 trembling with shame and fear, and a little 
 weakness — for this violent exercise was not 
 quite in accordance with her weak condition. 
 She scorned to run- away farther, and clutched 
 at such remnants of dignity as she could 
 muster. " Mr John Mitford, I am sure," she 
 said, making him a stately little curtsy, and 
 swallowing at once her fright and her laughter 
 as best she could. 
 
 " I am so glad to see you down-stairs, " said 
 John. The mirth went out of his face when 
 he saw her embarrassment. " Come into the 
 drawing-room and rest — it is the coolest room 
 in the house/' he added, opening the door. It 
 was very good of him, Kate felt ; but she 
 burst into a peal of nervous laughter as soon
 
 JOHN 49 
 
 as she had got into the shelter of the shaded 
 room ; and then had to exert all her strength 
 to keep from tears. 
 
 " I am sure I beg your pardon," she said, 
 " for laughing. I am so ashamed of myself; 
 but it was so nice to be out of my room, and 
 it was so funny to be in a strange house, and 
 there was something so tempting in the closed 
 door " 
 
 " I only wish you had stayed/' said John, 
 who would himself have felt very awkward 
 but for her confusion ; " but my mother will 
 be back presently from the village, and then 
 we can show you the house. I am afraid you 
 are tired. Can I get you anything \ I am so 
 sorry my mother is out." 
 
 Kate looked at him, recovering herself, 
 while he stammered through these expressions 
 of solicitude. Now she saw him close at hand, 
 he was a new kind of man. Her scrutiny was 
 not demonstrative, and yet it was exhaustive 
 and penetrating. He was not a foeman 
 worthy of her steel. He was one whom it 
 would be but little credit to subjugate, reckon- 
 ing by his powers of resistance. He would be 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 JOHN 
 
 an easy, even a willing victim. But it was 
 something else in John which startled the 
 young manslayer. She had seen various 
 specimens of the fashionable young man, such 
 as Providence throws now and then in the 
 way of country girls ; and she knew the genus 
 squire, and all that can be produced in the 
 way of professional in such a place as Camel- 
 ford. It was the county town, and twice 
 a-year there were assizes and barristers within 
 reach ; and there were county balls and hunt 
 balls, and various other possibilities which 
 brought the world as represented by the 
 county families and their visitors within reach 
 of the banker's daughter. Mr Crediton was 
 not a common banker. He was well con- 
 nected, to begin with, and he was the Eoths- 
 child of the neighbourhood. Even to the 
 large red-brick house in the High Street, to 
 which he had been always faithful, very fine 
 people would now and then condescend to 
 come. And Fernwood, his country "place," 
 was always as full as he liked to make it of 
 autumn guests, so that Kate's knowledge of 
 men was not inconsiderable. But John Mit-
 
 JOHN 51 
 
 ford did not belong to any of the types she 
 knew. He was not the ordinary university 
 man, with which she was so well acquainted. 
 He was not the budding curate — mellifluous 
 and deferential. He was not handsome, nor 
 graceful, nor so much as self-possessed. He 
 did not look even as if he were endowed with, 
 that ordinary chatter of society which gets 
 people over the difficulty of an eccentric intro- 
 duction. If she talked the usual nonsense 
 to him, Kate felt doubtful whether he would 
 understand her. " But if one wanted any- 
 thing done for one ! " she said to herself, 
 
 with more surprise than ever in her pretty 
 ingenuous - looking eyes. His face was not 
 beautiful, was even a little heavy when in 
 repose, and apt to cloud over with embarrass- 
 ment, and lose all the light it had when 
 driven into self-consciousness ; and yet there 
 was something in it she had never identified, 
 never realised, before. All this passed through 
 her mind while poor John was standing very 
 awkwardly before her, begging her to tell him 
 if he could not get her something, and regret- 
 ting over and over again tha^t his mother 
 
 U. OF ILL LIB.
 
 52 JOHN 
 
 should be out. Goose ! Kate thought to 
 herself; and yet felt the influence of that 
 something, which was beyond her reckoning, 
 and which she had never made acquaintance 
 with before. 
 
 " Oh, never mind/' she said ; "I am quite 
 comfortable, now I am here. I don't want 
 anything, thanks. Never mind me. If you 
 are busy, don t take the trouble to stay. You 
 know I am at home, though I never was here 
 before." 
 
 " I hope so," said John, standing before her, 
 not knowing what to do or say. He took it 
 for granted, in his innocence, that she wished 
 him to go away. And he had something to 
 do ; but yet did not think it quite civil to 
 leave her, and felt that his mother would not 
 like it — and, to tell the truth, did not like it 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, pray don't wait," said Kate ; " I shall 
 be quite comfortable. There are plenty of 
 books here, and I can go to the garden if I 
 get tired." Then there was a little pause. 
 John never budged, standing thus in the 
 height of awkwardness before her — wishing
 
 JOHN 53 
 
 for his mother — wishing for anything to 
 happen to deliver him, and yet feeling a 
 charm in the position, which was very amaz- 
 ing to him. Kate, for her part, began to 
 recover. She forgot the impression which had 
 been made upon her by that unknown some- 
 thing in his face, and gradually came back to 
 herself. She sat on the sofa playing with the 
 picture - books on the table beside it, very 
 demure; with cast-down eyes; and he balanc- 
 ing himself on one foot, not knowing what 
 to make of himself, watching her anxiously 
 for guidance. Kate resisted as long as she 
 could, and then burst into a peal of unsteady 
 laughter, in which John, very much surprised, 
 did not find himself able to share. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon," she cried, when 
 she could command her voice, " for being silly. 
 I don't know, I am sure, why I should laugh, 
 only it is all so funny. I don't know you 
 in the least, and yet I know you quite well ; 
 and I have been living in the house ever so 
 long, and yet go about like a thief, peeping 
 in at the doors. It is all so very odd. I 
 can't tell what to make of it. And you who
 
 54 JOHN 
 
 are looking at me so puzzled — you saved my 
 life ! " cried Kate, with another burst of 
 laughter. She had never been so ashamed of 
 herself before, but she could not help it. The 
 whole business was so droll. He kept stand- 
 ing, balancing himself in the funniest way, 
 looking clown upon her with the strangest 
 incomprehension — and he had saved her life ! 
 Though she was ashamed, she could not re- 
 strain herself. She laughed til] the tears came 
 into her eyes, more and more stimulated 
 thereto by the gravity and astonishment with 
 which he regarded her. As for John, he tried 
 to laugh at first, but finally settled into quiet, 
 and looked at her with an amazed and won- 
 dering observation, as if it was a new species 
 that had thus come suddenly under his eyes. 
 
 " I am very glad you are so much amused," 
 he said at last, quite seriously, poor fellow, 
 without the slightest ironical meaning. Was 
 she by any possibility a little fool, giggling 
 like a baby at the gravest matters ? or was 
 it some deeper sense in her of the phantas- 
 magoria of life which had called forth this 
 curious outburst of incomprehensible laughter %
 
 JOHN 55 
 
 Laughter (John reflected in his perplexity — 
 being, as will be perceived, a young intellec- 
 tualist, and fond of such questions) is one of 
 the most subtle and least comprehensible of 
 things. It may express folly, levity, mere 
 amusement — or it may express that deep sense 
 of the humour which lies at the bottom of 
 most earthly transactions, which is possible 
 only to very rare spirits. Gazing at Kate 
 with his eyes full of romance, he could not tell 
 which it was, but felt it most probable that it 
 was the latter, the depths being more natural 
 to him than the shallows " I don't wonder 
 that you laugh*," he added, after a pause, in 
 the grave way which was so quaint to Kate. 
 "It is like a thing that happened in a dream." 
 At this strange comment she looked up at 
 him, puzzled in her turn. Did he mean some- 
 thing \ or was he laughing as she had been ? 
 But there was no laugh on John's face ; and 
 suddenly it occurred to her that the eyes with 
 which he was looking at her were those same 
 eyes which she had seen, as in a vision, at 
 the foot of the sofa, on the day of her accident. 
 They were full of wonder, and anxiety, and
 
 56 JOHN 
 
 alarm then ; they were only serious and per- 
 plexed, and anxious to understand her now : 
 but yet they were the same eyes ; and the 
 whole scene flashed back upon Kate's impa- 
 tient mind, and changed her mood in a 
 moment. A sudden cloud, almost like that 
 which comes over a child's face when it is 
 about to cry, enveloped her. " Ah ! " she 
 cried, suddenly, " I remember you now. I 
 remember your eyes ! " 
 
 "My eyes!" cried John, growing scarlet 
 with amazement. 
 
 " Yes, your eyes. The day it all happened, 
 you know — though I am sure I don't know 
 even now what did happen. When I came to 
 myself, I suppose — the first thing I was con- 
 scious of was a pair of eyes looking at me. 
 They had no body to them," said Kate, with a 
 sudden moisture coming into her own — " they 
 looked so anxious, so unhappy, about me. I 
 see now it was you. How awfully good of 
 you to care ! " 
 
 " Good of me ! " said John, feeling this 
 sudden praise steal all over him with a melt- 
 ing weakening softness of delight. " I was
 
 JOHN 57 
 
 very anxious, and very much alarmed. I 
 think — they thought — you would never come 
 to yourself." 
 
 " Was it so long 1 " said Kate, with that in- 
 tense wistful interest which youth feels in itself. 
 
 " It was long to us — please don't speak of 
 it ; it felt like an age/' said John, with a 
 shudder. He turned half away from her in 
 the pain of the recollection, and then turned 
 back to find those moist surprised child eyes 
 of hers fixed upon him with an incipient tear 
 in each of them, and a look of — what was it ? 
 — tenderness, gratitude, admiration — yes, ad- 
 miration — from her to him ! It took away his 
 breath, and took the strength out of him. He 
 gave a low sort of chuckle of laughter, most 
 bizarre expression of his feelings, and dropped 
 into the first chair he could find in such 
 agonies of bashfulness and pleasure as would 
 have better beseemed a charity boy than a 
 man trained to encounter with the world. " It 
 is very funny, as you say/' he gasped ; and 
 then saw how ridiculous his speech was, and 
 put his hands in his pockets, and blushed all 
 over a violent painful red.
 
 58 JOHN 
 
 "I don't think it is the least funny," said 
 Kate, now altogether in a different humour. 
 " I might have been killed, and you might 
 have been killed, your mother told me ; and 
 we are both only children, and what would 
 they have done ? I don't mind so much about 
 us, for we should but have died, and there 
 would have been an end of it ; but only think 
 — what would they have done \ " cried Kate, 
 turning upon him eyes which were full of the 
 suggested woe. 
 
 " Ah ! " he cried, despising himself, " there 
 you go above me, as is natural. It is like you 
 to think it would not have mattered for your- 
 self — only for those who loved you, and the 
 desolate world it would have left them. It is 
 like you to think of that." 
 
 " How can you tell it is like me," said Kate, 
 " when you don't know me ? I was thinking 
 of papa, and of your mother, not of anything 
 so fine as a desolate world." 
 
 " You were thinking like a true woman," 
 said the young man, gazing at her with all 
 the romance of a mother's only son in his un- 
 sophisticated eyes.
 
 JOHN 59 
 
 This was all very well for the moment, but 
 Kate had dispersed the real impression which 
 she had actually felt by uttering it, and it was 
 too early in their acquaintance to plunge into 
 romance • so she changed the subject skilfully. 
 " Please don't abuse women/' she said. " I 
 know it is the fashion — and most girls rather 
 like to give in to it, and think it is clever 
 to like men s society best. But I am fond of 
 women, though, perhaps, you will think it 
 weak of me. If I had to choose, I should 
 rather have all women than all men — though, 
 of course, one likes a mixture best." 
 
 " Abuse women ! " cried John ; " I should 
 as soon think of blaspheming heaven. It 
 would be blasphemy. They are heaven to our 
 earth — they are " 
 
 "Hush," said Kate, holding up her little 
 white rose-tipped hand with a certain maternal 
 superiority. " Don't be extravagant. When 
 you are in love, you know, it is quite proper 
 to say all that sort of thing to one girl ; but 
 I don't think it ought to be wasted upon any- 
 body. Please tell me, did your father see 
 me ? and did you think it very dreadful
 
 60 JOHN 
 
 when I came like that, peeping in at the 
 door?" 
 
 John was not accustomed to be driven like 
 this from one subject to another. By the time 
 he had got himself to the vein of laughter she 
 had become solemn ; and now when his natu- 
 ral enthusiasm had been roused, she tossed him 
 back again like a shuttlecock to the fun of the 
 situation. Transitions so quick startled his 
 unaccustomed mind. " I — was surprised," he 
 faltered, looking at her, wondering what kind 
 of creature this was that could jump from one 
 mood to another in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 " I never saw you sitting there in the cor- 
 ner," cried Kate. " I thought I had it all my 
 own way. It was so stupid of me. You must 
 have thought what a stupid she is, peeping, 
 and never perceiving that she is found out. I 
 can t tell you how ashamed I was when I saw 
 you. Did you think I was a thief, or a mad 
 woman, or what did you think V 
 
 " I thought " said John, and then in his 
 
 embarrassment paused, not knowing how to 
 make the compliment which rose to his lips. 
 It was no compliment, so far as his conscious-
 
 JOHN Gl 
 
 ness went. Had she been able to see into his 
 mind, she would have seen an imagination 
 too high-flown to be put into words. He could 
 not give it any expression, having no experi- 
 ence as yet in the art of insinuated meanings. 
 " Of course I knew it must be Miss Crediton," 
 he said, with a blush, after that pause; and he 
 had not even ventured with his eyes to say 
 the rest, but looked down, confused, afraid to 
 meet her glance, and played with his watch- 
 chain, and felt himself a fool — which, indeed, 
 Kate won Id scarcely have hesitated to say he 
 was. 
 
 " After all it did not require a very close 
 application of your mind to guess that," she 
 said, half piqued ; and then yawned softly, and 
 then opened a book, and looked at two of the 
 pitures, — and then added, " How long Mrs 
 Mitford is of coming home ! " 
 
 " Shall I go and look for her ? " cried be- 
 wildered John, rising up with an alacrity which 
 confirmed Kate in her low opinion of him. 
 And he actually went away to the hall-door and 
 took his hat, and went off down the avenue to 
 quicken his mother's return, leaving Kate in
 
 62 JOHN 
 
 a state of consternation, which, after a few 
 minutes, bubbled back into laughter. " Oh 
 what a goose he is ! " she said to herself, and 
 yet was a little angry as well as annoyed that 
 he should have gone away voluntarily, leaving 
 her thus unamused and alone. It awoke a 
 momentary question in her mind as to whether 
 he was worth the trouble — a question which 
 she summarily answered in the negative. Cer- 
 tainly not ; he was a very good son, no doubt, 
 and a handy man to have close by when your 
 horse ran away with you — but as for anything 
 else ! Thus Kate resolved, making up her mind 
 to leave him tranquil in his usual peace — a con- 
 clusion which had not the least practical effect 
 upon her after-proceedings, as may be supposed. 
 Meanwhile John strode down the avenue in 
 a very different frame of mind. The bees that 
 had buzzed in Kate's ears when she saw him 
 first had come into his now, and hummed and 
 hummed about him, confusing his mind hope- 
 lessly. He had held her once for one moment 
 in his arms, fighting a desperate battle for her 
 with death and destruction. Such a thing 
 might have been as that they should have
 
 JOHN 63 
 
 perished together, and been thus associated 
 for evermore in an icy virginal union of death. 
 If it had been so ! the romance and the pathos 
 charmed the foolish young fellow. And now 
 here she was by his side, this creature whose 
 life he had saved — who was his, as it were, by 
 that very act, and belonged to him, whatever 
 any one might say against it. All the same, 
 she was nothing to him. She laughed when 
 she mentioned lightly that strange bond. He 
 had given her her life over again when she 
 had lost it. It was his life, notwithstanding 
 her laughter; and yet he did not know her, 
 and she might pass away and leave no trace. 
 But no — that was impossible. The trace 
 was ineffaceable, he said to himself, and all 
 that might come hereafter would never oblit- 
 erate the fact that he had given her back 
 her life, and that therefore that life belonged to 
 him. It was not love at first sight, nor indeed 
 any kind of love, which had smitten John ; 
 but he felt as if his claims were being ignored 
 and laughed at, and yet were so real. She be- 
 longed to him, and yet she was nothing to 
 him. " We are such stuff as dreams are made
 
 64 JOHN 
 
 of." This was the favourite principle of John 
 MitforcTs thoughts, , and he let it take such 
 possession of him on the strength of the curi- 
 ous connection and non- connection between 
 himself and Kate, that he went along under 
 the trees, crossing the sunshine, with the fumes 
 of that talk in his head, like a man walking 
 in his sleep. Mrs Mitford was coming up the 
 avenue in her grey gown and white shawl, a 
 point of brightness in the long green vista. 
 She had a basket on her arm, and looked like 
 the fairy godmother with miraculous gifts for 
 the house. The way in which her white shawl 
 blazed out and toned down as she passed 
 from the light to the shade, and from the shade 
 to the light, was wonderful. Half of the trees 
 were lime-trees, and threw such silken dainty 
 greennesses and softened tones of shadow upon 
 that pretty apparition; and perhaps the bees 
 in John's ears were only those which made the 
 entire atmosphere harmonious, with that ming- 
 ling of scent and sound which is the very 
 crown of summer and June. There is no tell- 
 ing how pleased he was to see that white 
 figure. There are moments, though perhaps
 
 JOHN 65 
 
 few sons would confess it, in which a man's 
 mother is more shield to him than she even is 
 to a girl. He could stay in the room without 
 embarrassment if she were there. He would 
 know what to say, or at least she would know 
 what to lead him to say. She would save him 
 from being thrust into the front of the conver- 
 sation, and left to bear the brunt of it, which 
 he was not equal to in his present state. The 
 unknown heroine was her guest, and became 
 at once natural and a matter of course in her 
 presence. After-times, perhaps, might bring 
 other necessities, but this was the most im- 
 portant now. 
 
 " Mother, we want you/' said John ; " give 
 me your basket, and make haste. Miss Credi- 
 ton has come down-stairs." 
 
 "Miss Crediton !" cried his mother, with a 
 gasp. " Oh, the impatient naughty child ! to 
 take advantage as soon as I was out of the 
 way. And have you made acquaintance with 
 her, John ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, succinctly, taking the basket 
 from his mother s hand. 
 
 " Yes — is that all ? But how did you in- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 JOHN 
 
 troduce yourself, and what did she say, and 
 what do you think of her ? Oh dear, dear ! I 
 am afraid you must have been looking very 
 forbidding, and frightened poor Kate — why 
 was I away ? " 
 
 " I don't think I frightened her," said John ; 
 " at least she laughed. I know I never laugh 
 when I am frightened. She is all by herself 
 in the big drawing-room. Take my arm, and 
 come as quick as you can ; she ought not to be 
 left alone." 
 
 " I don t think she can come to any harm 
 for five minutes/' said Mrs Mitford, and looked 
 anxiously in her son s face. She was a very 
 good woman — as good a woman as ever was. 
 But John was her only child, and Kate Credi- 
 ton would be very rich, and was very nice and 
 pretty and unexceptionable, and he had saved 
 her life. Could it be wondered at if his mother 
 was a little anxious about their first meeting ? 
 If she had not liked Kate, Mrs Mitford said to 
 herself, of course she would never have thought 
 of it. But she was very fond of Kate, and 
 they were quite suitable in point of age ; and 
 John was so good — worthy a princess ! "What
 
 JOHN 67 
 
 a husband he would make ! his mother thought, 
 looking up at him fondly. If Kate Crediton 
 had such a companion as that, instead of some 
 man of the world who would think less of her 
 than of her money, what a happy thing it 
 would be for her ! But " Don't you think she 
 is very charming, John V was all the designing 
 woman said. 
 
 " Pretty, certainly," said the young man, as 
 if he had been speaking of a cabbage-rose, and 
 with looks as steady as if his heart had not 
 been working like a steam-engine, pumping 
 warmth and life and waves of wild fancy 
 through all his veins. 
 
 "Pretty!" cried Mrs Mitford, and drew 
 her arm out of his in her impetuosity; "I 
 don't know what you young men are made 
 of nowadays. Why, / was thought pretty 
 once ; and not in that calm manner neither," 
 she exclaimed, with a pretty blush, and a 
 laugh at herself. 
 
 " Mamma mia, I never see anybody so 
 pretty now," said John, caressingly. "Per- 
 haps if Miss Crediton lives thirty years longer, 
 and keeps on improving every day, she may
 
 68 JOHN 
 
 get somewhere near you at last. She has the 
 roses and lilies, but not the same sweet eyes." 
 
 "Foolish boy," said Mrs Mitford; "her 
 eyes are far nicer than ever mine were. Mine 
 were only brown, like most other people's — 
 and Kate's are the loveliest blue, and that 
 expression in them ! I thought my son would 
 know better, if nobody else did." 
 
 " But perhaps if your son did know better, 
 it would be the worse for him," said John, 
 without looking at her. He put his hands 
 into his pockets again, and stared straight 
 before him, and attempted a little weak dis- 
 tracted sort of whistle as he went on; and 
 then a strange thrill ran all over the little 
 woman by his side. She had been dreaming 
 of it — planning it secretly in her mind for all 
 these days - — thinking how nice a thing it 
 would be for John, who was not one to get 
 riches for himself, or acquire gain in this self- 
 ish world. And now, what if it had come 
 true ? What if her son, who was all hers, had 
 at this moment, in this innocent June morn- 
 ing, while she, all unsuspecting, was comfort- 
 ing the village people — strayed off from her
 
 JOHN 69 
 
 side for ever — taken the first step in that 
 awful divergence which should lead him more 
 and ever more apart into his own life, and his 
 own house, and the arms of the wife who 
 should supersede his mother? She bore it 
 bravely, standing up, with a gasp in her throat 
 and a momentary quiver of her lips and eye- 
 lids, to receive the blow. And he never knew 
 anything about it, stalking on there with his 
 shadow creeping sideways behind him, and 
 his hands buried deep in his pockets ; not a 
 handsome figure, take him at his best, but yet 
 all the world to the mother who bore him — 
 and perhaps not much less, should she be such 
 a woman as his mother was, to the coming 
 wife. But surely that could never be Kate !
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr Crediton came to dinner that evening, 
 and met his daughter with suppressed but 
 evident emotion, such as made Kate muse and 
 wonder. " I knew he liked me, to be sure," 
 she said afterwards to Mrs Mitford ; " I knew 
 he would miss me horribly ; but I never ex- 
 pected him, you know, to look like that." 
 
 " Like what, my dear ? " 
 
 " Like crying," said Kate, with a half-sob. 
 They had left the gentlemen in the dining- 
 room, and were straying round the garden in 
 the twilight. Mr Crediton had been late, and 
 had delayed dinner, and even the long June 
 day had come to a close, and darkness was 
 falling. The garden was full of the scent of 
 roses, though all except the light ones were 
 invisible in the darkness ; tall pyramids of
 
 JOHN 71 
 
 white lilies stood up here and there like ghosts 
 in the gloom, glimmering and odorous ; and 
 the soft perfume of the grateful earth, re- 
 freshed by "watering and by softer dew, rose 
 up from all the wide darkling space around. 
 " I think it must be because it is a rectory 
 garden that it is so sweet," said Kate, with 
 a quick transition. By reason of being an 
 invalid, she was leaning on Mrs Mitford's 
 arm. 
 
 " Are you fond of rectories ? " said her kind 
 companion. " But you might see a great many 
 without seeing such a spot as Fanshawe Eegis. 
 It is a pretty house, and a good house ; and, 
 my dear, you can't think what a pleasure it is 
 to me to think that when we go, it will pass 
 to my John." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Kate ; and then, after a pause, 
 " Has he quite made up his mind to be a 
 clergyman \ " she said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I hope so/' said his unsus- 
 pecting mother. " He is so well qualified for 
 it. Not all the convenience in the world 
 would have made me urge him to it, had I 
 not seen he was worthy. But he was made
 
 72 JOHN 
 
 to be a clergyman — even the little you have 
 seen of him, my dear " 
 
 " You forget I have only seen him to-day," 
 said Kate ; " and then I don't know much 
 about clergymen," she went on, demurely. 
 " I have always thought, you know, they were 
 people to be very respectful of — one can't 
 laugh with a clergyman as one does with any 
 other man ; indeed I have never cared for 
 clergymen — please don't be angry — they have 
 always seemed so much above me." 
 
 " But a good man does not think himself 
 above any one," said Mrs Mitford, falling into 
 the snare. "The doctor might stand upon 
 his dignity, if any one should ; but yet, Kate, 
 my dear, he was quite content to marry an 
 ignorant little woman like me." 
 
 "Do you think clergymen ought to marry'?" 
 said Kate, with great solemnity, looking up in 
 her face. 
 
 Mrs Mitford gave a great start, and fell back 
 from her young companion's side. " Kate ! " 
 she cried, " you never told me you were High 
 Church ! " 
 
 " Am I High Church \ I don't think so ;
 
 JOHN 73 
 
 but one has such an idea of a clergyman," 
 said Kate, "that he should be so superior to 
 all that. I can't understand him thinking of 
 — a girl, or any such nonsense. I feel as if he 
 ought to be above such things." 
 
 " But, my dear, after all, a clergyman is but 
 a man," said Mrs Mitford, suddenly driven to 
 confusion, and not knowing what plea to em- 
 ploy. 
 
 " Should he be just a man ? " asked Kate, 
 with profound gravity. "Shouldn't they be 
 examples to all of us ? I think they should 
 be kept apart from other people, and even look 
 different. I should not like to be intimate — 
 not very intimate, you know — with a clergy- 
 man. I should feel as if it was wrong — when 
 they have to teach us, and pray for us, and all 
 that. Your son is not a clergyman yet, or I 
 should never have ventured to speak to him 
 as I did to-day." 
 
 " But, you dear simple - minded child," 
 cried Mrs Mitford, half delighted with such 
 an evidence of goodness, half confused by the 
 thought of how this theory might affect her 
 boy, " that is all very true ; but unless they
 
 74 JOHN 
 
 became monks at once, I don't see how your 
 notion could be carried out ; and the experi- 
 ence of the Eoman Catholics, dear, has shown 
 us what a dreadful thing it is to make men 
 monks. So that, you see, clergymen must 
 mix in the world ; and I am quite sure it is 
 best for them to marry. When you consider 
 how much a woman can do in a parish, Kate, 
 and what a help she is, especially if her hus- 
 band is very superior " 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure/' said Kate ; "per- 
 haps, in that case, you know, women should 
 be the clergymen. But I do think they should 
 be put up upon pedestals, and one should not 
 be too familiar with them. Marrying a clergy- 
 man would be dreadful. I don't know how 
 any one could have the courage to do it. I 
 suppose people did not look at things in that 
 light when you were young % " 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mrs Mitford, with a little 
 warmth ; " there were no High Church notions 
 in my days. One thought one was doing the 
 best one could for God, and that one had one's 
 work to do as well as one's husband. And, 
 my dear," said the good woman, dropping into
 
 JOHN 75 
 
 her usual soft humility, " I think you would 
 think so, too, if you knew what the parish 
 was when I came into it. Not that I have 
 done much — not near so much, not half so 
 much, as I ought to have done — but still, I 
 think " 
 
 " As if I ever doubted that ! " cried Kate ; 
 " but then — not many are like you." 
 
 " Oh yes, my dear ! a great many," said 
 Mrs Mitford, with a smile of pleasure. " Even 
 Mr Crediton's pretty Kate, though he says she 
 is a wilful little puss — if it came to be her fate 
 to marry a clergyman " 
 
 " That it never can be," said Kate ; " oh, 
 dear, no ! In the first place, papa would hate 
 it ; and, in the next place, I should — hate it 
 myself." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear," said Mrs Mitford, feeling, 
 nevertheless, as if she had received a down- 
 right blow, " that all depends upon the man." 
 
 They had come round in their walk to the 
 path which led past the dining-room windows, 
 where the blinds were but half dropped and 
 the lights shining, and sounds of voices were 
 audible as the gentlemen sat over their wine.
 
 76 JOHN 
 
 It was the two elder men only who were talk- 
 ing — Dr Mitford's precise tones, and those of 
 Mr Crecliton, which sounded, Kate thought, 
 more "worldly." John was taking no part 
 in the conversation. Some time before, while 
 they had still been at a little distance, Kate 
 had seen him under the blind fidgeting in his 
 chair, and listening to the sound of the foot- 
 steps outside. She knew as well that he was 
 longing to join his mother and herself as if he 
 had said it, and looked at him with an inward 
 smile and philosophical reflection, whether a 
 man who gave in so easily could be worth tak- 
 ing any trouble about. And yet, perhaps, it 
 was not to Kate he had given in, but to the 
 first idea of woman, the first enchantress whom 
 he could make an idol of. " He shall not make 
 an idol of me," she said to herself ; " if he cares 
 for me, it must be as me, and not as a fairy 
 princess." This thought had just passed 
 through her mind when she answered Mrs 
 Mitford, which she did with a little nod of 
 obstinacy and elevation of her drooping head. 
 
 "I am sure everything would not depend 
 on the man, so far as I am concerned," she
 
 JOHN 77 
 
 said. " Men are all very well, but you must 
 take everything into account before you go 
 and sacrifice yourself to them. One man is 
 very much like another, so far as I can see. 
 One doesn't expect to meet a Bayard nowa- 
 days." 
 
 " But why not, my dear ? " said Mrs Mitford. 
 " There are Bayards in the world as much as 
 there ever were. I am sure I know one. If 
 it had been the time for knights, he would 
 have been a Bayard ; and as it is not the time 
 for knights, he is the very best, the truest, and 
 tenderest ! No one ever knew him to think of 
 himself. Oh, my dear ! there are some men 
 whose circumstances you never would think of 
 — not even you." 
 
 " But I am very worldly," said Kate, shaking 
 her head ; " that is how I have been brought 
 up. If I cared for anybody who was poor, I 
 should give him no rest till he got rich. If I 
 did not like his profession, or anything, I should 
 make him change it. I don't mean to say I 
 approve of myself, and, of course, you can't 
 approve of me, but I know that is what I 
 should do."
 
 78 JOHN 
 
 " I think we had better go in and have some 
 tea," said Mrs Mitford, with a half-sigh. There 
 was some regret in it for the heiress whom 
 John had manifestly lost, for it was certain 
 that a girl with such ideas would never touch 
 John's heart ; and there was some satisfaction, 
 too, for she should have her boy to herself. 
 
 "It is so sweet out here," said Kate, with 
 gentle passive opposition, "and there are the 
 gentlemen coming out to join us — at least, there 
 is your son." 
 
 "John is so fond of the garden," said Mrs 
 Mitford, with another little sigh. She felt 
 disposed to detach Kate's arm from her own, 
 and run to her boy and warn him. But po- 
 liteness forbade such a step, and his mother's 
 wistful eyes watched his tall figure approach- 
 ing in the darkness — approaching unconscious 
 to his fate. 
 
 " We were talking of you," said Kate, with 
 a composure which filled Mrs Mitford with 
 dismay, " and about clergymen generally. I 
 should be frightened if I were you — one would 
 have to be so very, very good. Don't you ever 
 feel frightened when you think that you will
 
 JOHN 79 
 
 have to teach everybody, and set everybody a 
 good example ? I think the very thought would 
 make me wicked, if it were me." 
 
 " Should it 1 " said John, — and his mother 
 thought with a little dread that he looked 
 more ready to enter into the talk than she had 
 ever seen him before ; "but then I don't under- 
 stand how you could be wicked if you were to 
 try." 
 
 "Ah! but I do/' said Kate, "and I could 
 not bear it. Do you really like being a clergy- 
 man? you who are so young and — different. 
 I can fancy it of an old gentleman like Dr 
 Mitford ; but you " 
 
 " I am not a clergyman yet," said John, with 
 a half-audible sigh. 
 
 "And Dr Mitford is not so old," said his 
 mother, " though I suppose everybody who is 
 over twenty looks old to you ; but Miss Credi- 
 ton means that you must feel like a clergyman, 
 my dear boy, already. I am sure you do ! " 
 
 " I don't see how you can be so sure," said 
 John ; and perhaps for the first time in his 
 life he felt angry with his mother. Why should 
 she answer for him in this way when he was
 
 80 JOHN 
 
 certainly old enough and had sense enough to 
 answer for himself % He was a little piqued 
 with her, and turned from her towards the 
 young stranger, whom he had spoken to for 
 the first time that day. " I am secular enough 
 at present," he said ; " you need not be sorry 
 for me. There is still time to reflect." 
 
 "It is never any good reflecting," said Kate; 
 " if you are going in for anything, I think you 
 should do it and never mind. The more one 
 thinks the less one knows what to do." 
 
 "And oh, my dear, don't jest about such 
 subjects ! " said Mrs Mitford. " Don't you re- 
 collect what we are told about him that puts 
 his hand to the plough and looks back ? " 
 
 "And is turned into a pillar of salt? " said 
 Kate, demurely. " Mr John, that would never 
 do. I should not like to see you turned into 
 a pillar of salt. Let us think of something 
 else. How sweet it is out here in the dark ! 
 The air is just raving about those roses. If 
 you could not see them, you would still know 
 they were there. I like an old-fashioned gar- 
 den. Is that a ghost up against the buttress 
 there, or is it another great sheaf of lilies \ If
 
 JOHN 81 
 
 I had such a garden as this, I should never 
 care to go anywhere else." 
 
 "My dear, I hope you will come here as 
 often as you like," said Mrs Mitford, with hos- 
 pitable warmth ; and then she thought of the 
 danger to John, and stopped short and felt a 
 little confused. " The Huntley s are friends of 
 yours, are not they 1 " she went on, faltering, 
 " When you are with them, it will be so easy 
 to run over here." 
 
 " Oh, indeed, I should much rather come 
 here at first hand, if you will have me," said 
 Kate, frankly. " I don't think I am fond of 
 
 the Huntleys. They are nice enough, but 
 
 And, dear Mrs Mitford, I would rather go 
 to you than to any one, you have been so 
 good to me — that is, if you like me to come 
 here." 
 
 "My dear!" exclaimed Mrs Mitford, half 
 touched, half troubled, " if I could think there 
 was any amusement for you " 
 
 " Whether there may be amusement or not, 
 there must always be a welcome. I am sure, 
 mother, that is what you meant to say," 
 said John, with a certain suppressed indigna- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 JOHN 
 
 tion in his tone, which went to his mother's 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said, more and more confused; 
 " Miss Crediton knows that. If she can put 
 up with our quietness — if she does not mind 
 the seclusion. We have not seen so much of 
 the Huntleys as we ought to have seen lately, 
 but when they are here " 
 
 "I had much rather come when you were 
 quite quiet. I love quiet," said deceitful Kate, 
 putting her face so close to her friend's shoul- 
 der as almost to touch it in a caressing way she 
 had. Mrs Mitford trembled with a presenti- 
 ment of terror, and yet she could not resist the 
 soft half-caress. 
 
 " My dear child ! " she cried, pressing 
 Kate's arm to her side. And John loomed 
 over them both, a tall shadow, with a face 
 which beamed through the darkness; they 
 looked both so little beside him — soft crea- 
 tures, shadowy, with wavy uncertain outlines, 
 melting into the dark, not clear and black and 
 well defined like himself — moving softly, with 
 a faint rustle in the air, which might almost 
 have been wings. His mother and what
 
 JOHN 83 
 
 was Kate to him \ Nothing — a stranger — a 
 being from a different sphere ; yet, at the 
 same time, the one creature in all the world 
 upon whom he had a supreme claim, whose 
 life he had fought for, and rescued out of the 
 very jaws of death. 
 
 After this they went in with eyes a little 
 dazzled by the sudden change into the draw- 
 ing-room, where the lamps were lighted, and 
 the moths came sweeping in at the open 
 window, strange optimists, seeking the light 
 at all costs. Kate threw herself down in a 
 great chair, in the shadiest corner, her white 
 dress giving forth (poor John thought) a kind 
 of reflected radiance, moon-like and subdued. 
 She sank down in the large wide seat, and 
 gave a little yawn. " I'm so tired," she said ; 
 " I think I shall make papa carry me up- 
 stairs." 
 
 " Not your papa, my dear," said Mrs Mit- 
 ford, who, to tell the truth, was a little matter- 
 of-fact ; " not your papa. He does not look 
 very strong, and it would be too much for 
 him. The servants can do it ; or perhaps 
 John- "
 
 84 JOHN 
 
 John started up, and came forward with his 
 eyes lit up, half with eagerness, half with 
 fun. He had held her in his arms before, but 
 she had not been conscious of that. " Oh, 
 please ! " cried Kate, in alarm, " I did not 
 mean it; I only said it in fun — for want of 
 something else to say." 
 
 " That is Kate's general motive for her 
 observations," said Mr Crediton, who had just 
 then come in with Dr Mitford ; " and heaven 
 knows it is apparent in them ! but if I don't 
 carry her up-stairs, I must carry her home. 
 She must have been no end of a trouble to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh no — not yet, I hope," said Mrs Mit- 
 ford, still with some confusion. She cast a 
 rapid glance over the situation. In less than 
 three months John was going up for ordina- 
 tion. After that, she reflected, his mind 
 would be settled, and such an interruption 
 would do him less harm. " But I feel it is 
 very selfish trying to keep her when, I daresay, 
 you have a great many pleasant engagements," 
 she went on, with diplomatic suavity ; " and 
 we are so quiet here. Only you must bring
 
 john 85 
 
 her back again, Mr Crediton — that you must 
 promise me — in autumn, or at Christmas the 
 very latest " 
 
 She caught John's eye, and faltered and 
 stopped short ; and then, of all people in the 
 world, it was Dr Mitford who interposed. 
 
 " I should say it was the doctor who had 
 to be consulted first," he said. " After an 
 illness I make it a principle never to move till 
 I have consulted my medical man. This is a 
 rule which I never transgress, my dear, as you 
 know — and we must do the same by our 
 young friend. You can decide after he has 
 been here." 
 
 " But the fact is, Kate, if you don't come at 
 once you will come to an empty house," said 
 her father. "I have to go up to town on 
 election business, and I should like to be here 
 to take my girl home." 
 
 " Then she shall wait till you come back," 
 said Dr Mitford ; " and now that is settled, if 
 you will come with me to my library I will 
 show you the old charter I was speaking of. 
 It is the earliest of the kind I have ever seen. 
 You will find it very curious. It grants the
 
 86 JOHN 
 
 privilege of sanctuary to all the Abbey pre- 
 cincts" — lie went on, as lie opened the door 
 for his guest, talking all the way. They could 
 hear the sound of his voice going along the 
 oak passage which led to the library, though 
 they could not make out the words ; and 
 somehow it seemed to have a kind of soporific 
 effect upon the party left behind, who sat and 
 gazed at each other, and listened as if anxious 
 to catch the last word. 
 
 "What is all settled?" cried Kate, who 
 was the first to break the silence. " Oh, 
 please, am I to take sanctuary in the Abbey 
 precincts, or what is to be done with me ? I 
 should so like to know ! " 
 
 "Mr Crediton has consented that you 
 should stay," cried John, eagerly. Kate took 
 no more notice of him than if he had been 
 a cabbage, but bent forward to Mrs Mitford, 
 ignoring all other authority. And what could 
 that good woman do, who was not capable of 
 hurting the feelings of a fly ? 
 
 " My dear," she said, faltering, " what would 
 be the use of going home when your papa is 
 going away ? Much better stay with me, if
 
 JOHN 87 
 
 you can make up your mind to the quiet. 
 We are so very quiet here.'' 
 
 " But you said Christmas/' said Kate, who 
 was a little mortified, and did not choose to 
 be unavenged. 
 
 " I said — I was thinking — I meant you to 
 
 understand Oh ! what is it, Lizzie ? " 
 
 cried Mrs Mitford, eagerly, as the maid came 
 to the door. "Widow Blake ?— oh yes, I am 
 coming ; " and she went away but too gladly 
 to escape the explanation. Then there was 
 nobody left in the drawing-room but Kate 
 alone with John. 
 
 The girl turned her eyes upon him with 
 their surprised ingenuous look, and then with 
 profound gravity addressed him : " Mr John, 
 tell me — you know what is best for her better 
 than I do. Is it not convenient to have me 
 now ? " 
 
 " Convenient ! " cried the young man ; " how 
 is such a word to be applied to you 1 It could 
 never be but a delight to all of us " 
 
 " Oh, hush, hush," said Kate ; " don t pay 
 me any compliments. You know I am only 
 a stranger, though somehow I feel as if you
 
 88 JOHN 
 
 all belonged to me. It is because your 
 mother has been so kind ; and then — you 
 saved my life." 
 
 " That was nothing," cried John ; " I wish 
 it had cost me something, then I might have 
 felt as if I deserved " 
 
 " What ? my thanks ? " she said, softly, 
 playing with him. 
 
 " No, but to have saved you — for I did 
 save you ; though it did not cost me any- 
 thing," he said, regretfully ; " and that is what 
 I shall grudge all my life." 
 
 " How very droll you are ! " said Kate, 
 after a long look at him, in which she tried to 
 fathom what he meant without succeeding ; 
 " but never mind what it cost you. My opin- 
 ion is, that, after such a thing as that, people 
 become a sort of relations — don't you think 
 so ? and you are bound to tell me when I ask 
 you. Please, Mr John, is it convenient for 
 your mother to have me now ? — should I stay 
 now % I shall be guided by what you say." 
 
 He gave an abrupt idiotic laugh, and got 
 up and walked about the room. " Of course 
 you must stay," he said ; " of course it is con-
 
 JOHN 89 
 
 venient. What could it be else ? It would be 
 cruel to leave us so abruptly, after all." 
 
 " Well, I am very comfortable," said Kate ; 
 " I shall like it. The only thing was for your 
 mother. If she should not want me to stay — 
 but anyhow, the responsibility is upon you 
 now ; and so, as Dr Mitford says, as we 
 have settled that, tell me what we are going 
 to do." 
 
 "To do ?" said John, with open eyes. 
 " To amuse ourselves," said Kate ; "for I 
 am a stranger, you know. How can I tell 
 how you amuse yourselves in this house ? " 
 
 " We don't amuse ourselves at all," said 
 John ; and as he had been coming nearer and 
 nearer, now he drew a chair close to her sofa, 
 and sat down and gazed at her with a new 
 light in his face. He laughed, and yet his 
 eyes glowed with a serious fire. He was 
 amused and surprised, and yet the serious 
 nature underneath gave a certain meaning to 
 everything. He took the remark not as the 
 natural expression of a frivolous, amusement- 
 loving creature, but as a sudden, sweet sug- 
 gestion which turned to him all at once the
 
 90 JOHN 
 
 brighter side of life. " I think we have rather 
 supposed that amusement was unnecessary — 
 that it was better, perhaps, not to be happy. 
 I don't know. In England, I suspect, many 
 people think that." 
 
 " But you are happy — you must be happy/' 
 said Kate. " What ! with this nice house, 
 and such a nice dear mother — and Dr Mitford 
 too, I mean, of course — and just come from 
 the university, which all the men pretend to 
 like so much. I do not believe you have not 
 been happy, Mr John." 
 
 " I am very happy now," said John Mitford, 
 with a dawning faculty for saying pretty 
 things of which he had been himself totally 
 unconscious. He did not mean it as a com- 
 pliment ; and when Kate gave the faintest 
 little shrug of her pretty shoulders, he was 
 bewildered and discouraged. The words were 
 commonplace enough to her, and they were 
 not commonplace but utterly original to him. 
 He was happy, and it was she who had made 
 him so. It never occurred to the young man 
 that any fool could say as much, it was so 
 simply, fully true in his case. And he sat
 
 JOHN 91 
 
 and glowed upon her with his new-kindled 
 eyes. Yes, it was true what she said — she 
 was a stranger, and yet she belonged to them ; 
 or rather, she belonged to him. He might not 
 be worthy of it. He had done nothing to 
 deserve it, and yet through him her life had 
 come back to her. He had saved her. He 
 was related to her as no man else in the world 
 was. Her life had been lost, and he had given 
 it back. His mind was so full of this exult- 
 ing thought that he forgot to say anything ; 
 and as for Kate, she had to let him gaze at 
 her, with amusement at first, then with a 
 blush, and with a movement of impatience 
 at the last. 
 
 " Mr John," she said, turning her head away, 
 and taking up a book to screen her, " I am 
 sure you don't mean to be disagreeable ; but 
 — did you never — see — a girl before % " 
 
 " Good heavens ! what a brute I am ! " 
 cried poor John ; and then he added humbly, 
 " no, Miss Crediton, I never saw — any one — 
 before." 
 
 Upon which Kate laughed, and he, taking 
 courage, laughed too, withdrawing his guilty
 
 92 JOHN 
 
 eyes, and blazing red to his very hair. And 
 when Mrs Mitford came back, she could not 
 but think that on the whole they had made a 
 great deal of progress. The two fathers were 
 in the library for a long time over that charter, 
 and Kate's merry talk soon beguiled the yield- 
 ing mother. When the tea came, she sat 
 apart and made it, and watched the young 
 ones with her tender eyes. It seemed to her 
 that she had never seen her boy so happy. 
 " She must have been making fun of me with 
 all that about the clergymen," Mrs Mitford 
 said to herself ; " and but for that, what could 
 I desire more \ " And she thought of John's 
 happiness with such a wife, and of Kate's 
 fortune, and of what a blessing it would be 
 if it could be brought about ; and sighed — 
 as indeed most people do when it appears to 
 them as if their prayers were about to be 
 granted, and nothing left to them more to 
 desire.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Well, Kate, I will leave you here since you 
 wish it," Mr Crediton said next morning before 
 he went away ; " but first I must warn you to 
 mind what you are about. They are very nice 
 people, and have been very good to you — but 
 I think I had rather have left you at home all 
 the same. See that you don't repay good with 
 evil— that's all." 
 
 " You must have a very poor opinion of me, 
 papa," said Kate, demurely ; " but how could 
 I do that if I were to try V 
 
 Mr Crediton shook his head. " I have a great 
 mind to carry you off still," he said. " I don't 
 feel at all sure that you have not begun it 
 already. Kate, there is that young man to 
 whom I owe your life " 
 
 This expression touched her deeply. It
 
 94 JOHN 
 
 was not, to whom you owe your life ; — that 
 would have been commonplace. " Dear papa," 
 said Kate, embracing his arm with both hands, 
 and putting down her head upon it, "I always 
 wonder why you took the trouble to care for 
 me so much." 
 
 " I suppose it's for your mother's sake," he 
 answered, looking down upon his child with 
 eyes which were liquid and tender with love ; 
 but such a little episode was only for a mo- 
 ment. " Let us come back to our subject," he 
 said. " Don't make that boy unhappy, Kate. 
 That would be a very poor return. He looks 
 something of a cub, but I hear he is a very 
 good fellow, and he saved your life. Let him 
 alone. He deserves it at your hands." 
 
 " What ! to be let alone ! "What a curious 
 way of showing one's gratitude ! " cried Kate. 
 " No, papa, I know a way worth two of that. 
 He shall be my friend. There shall be no 
 nonsense — that I can promise you ; but to 
 pay no attention to him would be horribly 
 ungrateful. I could not do it. Besides, he is 
 very nice — not the sort of man you would ever 
 fall in love with, but very nice — for a friend."
 
 JOHN 95 
 
 " All ! I put no faith in your friends," said 
 Mr Crediton, shaking his head. " I have a 
 great mind to take you home after all." 
 
 " But that would be breaking faith with Mrs 
 Mitford," said Kate. Her father turned upon 
 her one of those strange, doubtful looks, with 
 which men often compliment women — as 
 much as to say, You wonderful, incomprehen- 
 sible creature, I don't know what you would 
 be at. I can't understand you ; but as I must 
 
 trust you all the same " Well," he said, 
 
 aloud, with a shake of his head, " I suppose 
 you must have your way ; but I won't have 
 this young fellow made game of, Kate." 
 
 "As if I could ever think of such a thing ! " 
 she said, indignantly ; and thus he had to go 
 at last, not without a qualm of conscience, 
 leaving Kate and her dresses and her maid in 
 possession of the house. She stayed most of 
 the morning in her own room after he had 
 gone, that nobody might say she was too im- 
 petuous in her rush upon the prey, but came 
 down to luncheon with all the charming fami- 
 liarity yet restraint of a young lady staying in 
 the house, ready to be amused, and yet de-
 
 96 JOHN 
 
 manding nothing. The first thing she met 
 when she entered the room was John's eyes 
 watching the door, looking for her. Poor 
 fellow ! — those same eyes which had struck 
 her first when she opened her own in this 
 strange yet so familiar house. 
 
 " I do not know that we have ever had a 
 young lady here before. Have we ever had 
 a young lady here before, my dear ? " said Dr 
 Mitford. "As it is an opportunity which 
 does not occur every day, we must make the 
 most of it. Miss Crediton, Mrs Mitford, of 
 course, has her own occupations, but, so far as 
 the men of the house are concerned, command 
 us — you must let us know what you like best." 
 
 " Oh, please, Doctor Mitford ! fancy my 
 dragging you out to go places with me/' cried 
 Kate. " I should be so dreadfully ashamed 
 of myself ! I don't want to do anything, 
 please. I want you to let me be just as if I 
 were at home. I want to go to the schools, 
 and the poor people, and take walks, and play 
 croquet, as if I belonged to you ; " and then 
 she recollected herself, and caught a curious 
 ardent look from John, and a still more
 
 JOHN 97 
 
 curious inquiring one from his mother, and 
 blushed violently, and stopped short all at once. 
 
 "But that cannot be," said Dr Mitford, 
 who noticed neither the blush nor the sudden 
 pause, and, indeed, did not understand why 
 conversation should be interrupted by such 
 foolish unforeseen accidents. " I hope we are 
 not so regardless of the duties of hospitality 
 as that. Let me think what there is to see in 
 the neighbourhood. What is there to see, 
 John \ There is a very interesting Eoman 
 camp at Dulchester, and there are some 
 curious remains of the old Abbey at St Bid- 
 dulph's, about which there has been a great 
 deal of controversy : if you are at all inter- 
 ested in archaeology " 
 
 " Oh, please ! " cried Kate, and then she 
 gave Mrs Mitford a piteous look, "don't let 
 me be a nuisance to any one — pray don't. I 
 shall be quite happy in the garden, and taking 
 walks about. If I had thought I should be a 
 nuisance to any one I should have gone 
 home." 
 
 " On the contrary," Dr Mitford went on in 
 his old-fashioned way, " John and I will feel 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 98 JOHN 
 
 ourselves only too fortunate. Mrs Mitford is 
 always busy in the parish — that is her way ; 
 but if you will accept my escort, Miss Credi- 
 
 ton " 
 
 And the old gentleman waved his hand 
 with old-fashioned gallantry. He was a little 
 old gentleman, with beautiful snow-white hair 
 and a charming complexion, and the blackest 
 of coats and the whitest of linen. He was so 
 clean that it was almost painful to look at 
 him. He was like a Dutch house, all scrubbed 
 and polished, and whitened and blackened to 
 absolute perfection. He was not a man who 
 thought it wrong theoretically to be happy, 
 though his son had almost hinted as much ; 
 but it never occurred to him to take any 
 trouble about the matter. In short, his 
 nature made no special demands upon him 
 for happiness. If things went well it was so 
 much the better; if not, why, there was no 
 great harm done. He was above the reach of 
 any particular strain of evil fortune. Nothing 
 could be more unlikely than that he should 
 ever have to change his dinner-hour, or any o'f 
 his favourite habits ; and if his wife or his
 
 JOHN 99 
 
 son had been very ill, or had died, or any 
 calamity of that sort had happened, the Doctor 
 hoped he had Christian fortitude to bear it; 
 and anything less than this he could scarcely 
 have realised as unhappiness. Why, then, 
 with the dinner-hour immovable, and every- 
 thing else comfortably settled, should people 
 trouble themselves searching for amusement % 
 The worst of this principle was, that when it 
 came to be a right and necessary thing to 
 seek amusement — when, for instance, a young 
 lady was staying in the house — Dr Mitford 
 was a little embarrassed. Amusement had 
 become a duty in such a case, but how was it 
 to be found? So he thought of the Eoman 
 camp and the ruins of St Biddulph's, and 
 that was all the length his invention could 
 reach. 
 
 " She is not strong enough yet for these 
 long expeditions," said Mrs Mitford, coming 
 to Kate's aid ; " she must be left quite quiet 
 with me, I think. I am sure that will be the 
 doctors opinion. Yes, my dear, I will take 
 you to the schools ; there are some such nice 
 little things that it is a pleasure to teach, and
 
 100 JOHN 
 
 there are some of my poor people that I know 
 you would like " 
 
 "Mother, mother, do you think that is 
 what interests Miss Crediton % " said John, 
 with that quick sense of his parents' imper- 
 fections which is so common to the young. 
 A Eoman camp on the one side, and the old 
 women in the village on the other, proposed 
 as amusement for this bright-eyed fairy crea- 
 ture, to whom every joy and rapture that the 
 world possessed must come natural ! Did not 
 music seem to come up about her out of the 
 very earth as she walked, and everything to 
 dance before her, and the flowers to give out 
 sweeter odours, and the very sun to shine 
 more warmly ? John was not learned in de- 
 lights, any more than his father and mother, 
 but yet nothing less than the superlative was 
 good enough for her — to preside over tourna- 
 ments, and give prizes of love and beauty ; to 
 be the queen of the great festivals of poetry ; 
 to have everything indefinite and sweet and 
 splendid laid at her feet. It was so strange 
 that they should not understand ! 
 
 " I shall delight in seeing the old women,"
 
 JOHN 101 
 
 said Kate, with a laugh, which he thought 
 was addressed to him ; " but, indeed, I don't 
 think I can teach anything — I am so dread- 
 fully ignorant. You can't think how ignorant 
 I am. We have a school at Fernwood, and I 
 went once and they gave me sums to look 
 over — sums, Mrs Mitford — only fancy ! and I 
 was to tell if they were right or wrong. It 
 was little chits of eight or nine that had done 
 them, and I could not have done one for my 
 life ; so, please, I cant pretend to teach." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs Mitford, beaming 
 upon her with maternal eyes, " you are not a 
 clergyman's wife." 
 
 " Tha,nk heaven ! " said Kate ; and then it 
 occurred to her that she had been rude, and 
 the colour stole to her cheek. " Oh, T beg 
 your pardon ; I did not mean to be imperti- 
 nent." 
 
 " You were not impertinent, my dear," said 
 Mrs Mitford, with a sigh. "I daresay you 
 are quite right. One likes one's own lot best, 
 you know; but unless you took to it, there 
 could not be much pleasure in being a clergy- 
 man's wife."
 
 102 JOHN 
 
 " Oh, please, don't think I was rude/' cried 
 Kate, "to you, dear Mrs Mitford, that have 
 been so very, very good to me ! All I thought 
 was, that perhaps — nowadays, — but never 
 mind what nonsense came into my head. 
 May I go to see Lizzie's mother ? I have 
 been hearing so much about her, and about 
 the trouble they have with the big lads." 
 
 "My dear, that is not amusement for a 
 young lady," said Dr Mitford. "If you will 
 come with me, Miss Crediton, I assure you, 
 you will like it better. I will drive you to 
 the Eoman camp. There are some measure- 
 ments I want to verify. I am writing a 
 paper for the Archaeological Society, and they 
 are sad fellows to pick holes in one's coat. 
 You must tell them, John, to have the phae- 
 ton out, and I will drive Miss Crediton over 
 to Dulchester this afternoon. We could not 
 have a more charming day." 
 
 " And you can call at the Huntley s, and 
 have some tea, Doctor," said Mrs Mitford; 
 "it is a long drive. Miss Crediton is a friend 
 of theirs. It will be more amusing for her; 
 and if you would ask the girls to come over
 
 JOHN 103 
 
 to-morrow, perhaps we might get up a croquet- 
 party. Frederick Huntley has come home, 
 so that would be another man. There are no 
 young men in the parish, that is the sad 
 thing, when one wants to get up a little 
 party," said Mrs Mitford, with depression. 
 She was looking quite weary and miserable, 
 and did not know what to do with herself. 
 Amusement for the young lady staying in the 
 house ! How was she to procure it ? You 
 feed caterpillars, when you collect them, with 
 green leaves, and birds have their appropriate 
 seed, and even sea-anemones in an aquarium ; 
 but when there are no young men in a parish, 
 how are you to feed a stray young lady % 
 This was the frightful problem which clouded 
 over Mrs Mitford's soul. And this was com- 
 plicated by the harder difficulty still, which 
 continually returned upon her — a girl who 
 thanked heaven she was not a clergyman's 
 wife ! Was it right to leave such a creature 
 in unfettered intercourse with John % 
 
 Kate made one or two ineffectual struggles 
 to deliver herself from her fate, but when she 
 saw the phaeton drive up — an ancient spidery-
 
 104 JOHN 
 
 looking vehicle, with room only for two — her 
 spirit was cowed within her. There was no 
 way of escape short of being taken sud- 
 denly ill, and she could not be so unkind as 
 that. She reserved the card in her hand for 
 future use, should this persecution be con- 
 tinued. "I hope I shan't get ill when Dr 
 Mitford is so kind," she said, as she was helped 
 into the shabby little carriage. It was the only 
 one they had at Fanshawe, and they thought 
 a great deal of it. It was high, and the 
 wheels were large, and the hood toppled about 
 so, it looked as if it must tumble down on 
 their noses every minute — and Kate had car- 
 riages of her own, and knew what was what 
 in this respect ; and she did not care in the 
 least about the Eoman camp, and the roads 
 were very dusty, and would spoil her clean 
 pretty dress. Nevertheless she had to yield 
 like a martyr, and indeed felt herself very like 
 one as she drove away by Dr Mitfords side, 
 leaving John standing looking very blank on 
 the lawn. " "Why could not he come too ? " 
 Kate said to herself ; and called him faineant 
 and sluggard in her heart. But, after all, there
 
 JOHN 105 
 
 was no room for John. He watched, feeling 
 much more blank even than she did, as the 
 carriage rattled away, and by-and-by was 
 joined by his mother, who, for her part, was 
 rather pleased to get rid of her visitor for half 
 a day at least. Mrs Mitford laid her hand on 
 her son's shoulder as she came to him, but 
 John took no notice, and only gazed the more 
 at the carriage rattling and grinding and 
 wheezing away. 
 
 " My dear boy ! " she said, looking at him 
 with tender admiring eyes, and smoothing his 
 sleeve with her soft hand as if she loved it, 
 " don't look after them like that. You have 
 seen the camp at Dulchester before now." 
 
 " Oh yes — fifty times at least," said John, 
 turning away with a derisive grin. "You 
 don't think I care for that 1 " 
 
 " Then why should you look so blank ? " 
 said his mother. " Miss Crediton is very nice, 
 but, do you know, I am afraid it will be very 
 hard work entertaining her. I am sure I 
 don't know what to do. If the Huntleys 
 come to-morrow, that will be enough (I hope) 
 for one day. And then we might have a
 
 106 JOHN 
 
 dinner - party ; but I can't think she would 
 care for a dinner-party. I am sure I should 
 not at her age. Your papa thinks that is the 
 proper thing ; but fancy one of our ordinary 
 parties, with the Fanshawes and the Lancas- 
 ter and the doctor, and some curate to fill up 
 — what would that be to her ? " 
 
 " Mamma," said John, " I am sure you are 
 taking a great deal too much trouble. Why 
 not leave Miss Crediton alone ? She has gone 
 to-day only to please my father. She does not 
 care for Eoman camps any more than I do, 
 nor for a drive in a shabby old phaeton with 
 defective springs." 
 
 " My dear, you are doing her injustice," 
 said Mrs Mitford, with severe loftiness. " She 
 is rather frivolous, I fear ; but still, you may 
 be sure Kate understands that to have the 
 Doctor to drive her, and tell her all about the 
 country, is what very few people attain." 
 
 To this speech John made no reply. The 
 carriage was out of sight, and even the dust it 
 had raised had dropped peacefully to earth 
 again * but still the young man stood with a 
 dissatisfied face. " I could have taken her for
 
 JOHN 107 
 
 a walk, and she would have liked it better," 
 he said — " at least / should have liked it bet- 
 ter ; and I am sure she does not want such a 
 fuss made over her, mamma." 
 
 " You would have liked it better ! " said 
 Mrs Mitford. " Oh, my dear, dear boy ! did 
 you hear what she said this morning, John, 
 about a clergyman's wife ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And yesterday what a tirade about clergy- 
 men ! She made me half angry. As if your 
 papa would have been a better man had he 
 not married me ! " 
 
 " I don't think that was what she meant," 
 said John. " My father — is — different. One 
 does not think of him, nor of what is. One 
 thinks of what is to be." 
 
 "Then, perhaps, you agree with her, and 
 think clergymen should not marry ? " said Mrs 
 Mitford, with a little heat. "Oh John! if 
 you were to turn out a Ritualist, I think it 
 would break my heart." 
 
 " I don't intend to turn out an anythingist," 
 said John, shutting his face up into an 
 obstinate blank which his mother knew. She
 
 108 JOHN 
 
 gave a sigh, and shook her head, and once 
 more softly stroked his arm. 
 
 " And since we are speaking of this," she 
 said, sinking her voice, and smoothing down 
 his sleeve more and more tenderly, with her 
 eyes fixed on it, as if that was the object of 
 her thoughts, " I have one little word to say to 
 you, John — just one word. My dear boy ! 
 you are very young, and you don't know the 
 world, nor the ways of girls. She is very 
 pretty, and winning, and all that ; but I 
 would not put myself too much at her service, 
 if I were you. It might not be good for your- 
 self — and it might put things in her head/' 
 
 " Put things in her head," echoed poor 
 John. " mother, mother ! as if she would 
 care twopence if she never saw me again ! 
 But I know what you mean, and I don't mean 
 to lose my head or my senses. She is out of my 
 reach. I am not so simple but I can see that." 
 
 " And that is just what I can't see," said his 
 mother, sharply. " She is not a duchess ; but, 
 my dear, the prudent way is to have no more 
 to do with her than just friendliness and 
 civility. I am so glad you see that."
 
 JOHN 109 
 
 "Oh yes, I see it," John replied, with a 
 shrug of his shoulders. " 111 go and see to 
 the mowing of the lawn, since there's to be 
 croquet to-morrow — a thing I detest," he 
 added, with irritation, as he moved away. 
 Poor John ! His mother looked after him, 
 wondering was he really so wise as he said, or 
 was this mere pride and disappointment — or 
 what was it ? There had never been a young 
 lady before at Fanshawe Eegis since the boy 
 had grown up ; for Miss Lancaster at the Pri- 
 ory was nearly old enough to be his mother, 
 and the young Fanshawes were very delicate, 
 and always travelling about in search of 
 health, and the Doctor's little girls were in the 
 nursery. And as for the Huntleys, though 
 they were so rich, they were comparatively 
 new people in the country, and the girls were 
 plain ; so that pretty Kate Crediton was 
 doubly dangerous. Ah ! if she had only been 
 a good girl — one of those girls who are so 
 common — or at least everybody says so — who 
 adore clergymen, and work slippers for them ! 
 Few such young ladies had fallen in Mrs Mit- 
 ford's way : but she believed in them, on the
 
 110 JOHN 
 
 authority of the newspapers, as most people 
 do. If Kate had been but one of those, with 
 her nice fortune and her nice position, and her 
 pretty manners and looks, what a thing for 
 John ! Mrs Mitford heaved a sigh over this 
 dream, which, alas ! it seemed but too clear 
 she must relinquish ; and with the sigh 
 breathed a prayer that her boy might be pro- 
 tected from all snares, and not led into temp- 
 tation more than he could bear. 
 
 John himself went off peremptorily to the 
 gardener, and disturbed him among his vege- 
 tables. He was busy with the cucumbers, and 
 considered the lawn at that moment worse 
 than vanity. But John's temper was up, 
 thanks to his father who had thus carried her 
 off from him under his very nose, and poor 
 Eoots had no chance against him. When he 
 had effectually spoiled that poor man's mor- 
 ning's work, the young fellow went off sullenly 
 enough with his fishing-rod. She was out of 
 his reach, no doubt. She thanked heaven she 
 
 was no clergyman's wife ; but yet The 
 
 only man in the world, so far as John knew, 
 who had any right to her was himself — more
 
 JOHN 111 
 
 right than her father. Her life was his, for 
 he had given it back to her. Of all ties on 
 earth, could there be one more binding ? not 
 that he meant to make any ungenerous use of 
 his claim, or even to breathe it in words ; but 
 yet he knew it, and she knew it. He had 
 given her back her life.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 As for Kate and Dr Mitford, they did not 
 know very well what to say to each other. 
 " What a charming day ! " the girl said at in- 
 tervals ; " and what a pretty country ! I never 
 knew it until I took that unfortunate ride." 
 
 " Don't speak of that," said the old gentle- 
 man ; " at least don't speak of it so. It was a 
 most fortunate ride, I am sure, for us." 
 
 " It makes me giddy when I think of it," 
 said Kate, shutting her eyes. 
 
 " You are very fond of riding, I suppose ? 
 I am always rather nervous when I see a lady 
 on a spirited horse. You are very charming 
 riders, and very full of courage, and all that," 
 said the Doctor, who was himself considerably 
 bothered by the mild animal he was driving ; 
 " but it requires a man's hand, my dear Miss
 
 JOHN 113 
 
 Crediton. There are some things, believe me, 
 that require a man's hand." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt," said Kate, politely, long- 
 ing all the time to take the reins into her own 
 small nervous fingers. Dr Mitford had a nice 
 little white soft hand — a clergyman's hand — 
 without any bone or fibre in it. " We made 
 up our minds quite suddenly," she went on, 
 " that we would go back from Humbledon to 
 Camelford, riding. I had often heard of Fan- 
 shawe Eegis, but I never saw it before." 
 
 " Most people have heard of Fanshawe 
 Eegis," said the Doctor. " I consider my 
 library one of the lions of the country — not 
 that it is so very old, only Elizabethan, or, at 
 the farthest, Henry the Seventh ; but house- 
 hold architecture is a thing by itself. We 
 expect the Archaeological Society to hold its 
 next meeting at Camelford, and then I hope 
 much light may be thrown upon our anti- 
 quities. We shall make an excursion to Dul- 
 chester, Miss Crediton, and you must come 
 with us there." 
 
 "Oh, I am sure I am much obliged," said 
 Kate. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 JOHN 
 
 " You would enjoy that," said Dr Mitford. 
 " Downy is sure to be there from Oxford, and 
 I should not wonder if he gave a lecture on it. 
 He is one of the very great guns. He under- 
 stands more about it than almost any man in 
 England, I must say, to do him justice. But 
 almost is not all, my dear Miss Crediton ; and 
 when you see a man setting himself Vp for an 
 
 authority in presence of others who " 
 
 Here the Doctor stopped, and laughed a 
 conscious complacent laugh ; by which Kate 
 perceived that Dr Mitford himself was a 
 greater authority still, or at least thought he 
 was. 
 
 "It is very funny," said Kate, "but I shall 
 be better off going with you than if I had 
 half-a-dozen archaeological societies. I feel 
 quite sure of that." 
 
 " Well, well, we must not brag," said Dr 
 Mitford, waving his white hand softly. " This 
 camp, you must know, was one of the camps 
 of Agricola, which he made on his journey 
 northwards. It is constructed " 
 
 And so the narrative went on. Kate kept 
 looking up at him with her bright eyes, and
 
 JOHN 115 
 
 said yes, and said no, and made herself very- 
 agreeable ; but I cannot undertake to say that 
 she was much the better for it. In the first 
 place, she took no interest whatever in Eoman 
 camps, and then she had a good deal on her 
 mind. What was John about all this time 1 
 Why did not he manage to get into the phae- 
 ton in his father's place, and drive her 1 If 
 the horse had not been the meekest and most 
 long-suffering of animals, Kate felt that there 
 must have been another running away, and 
 another accident. And her recent experience 
 had made her nervous. When she had 
 received an immense deal of information about 
 the castrum which she was going with so little 
 enthusiasm to visit, she suddenly caught a 
 glimpse of a group of turrets among the trees, 
 and gave a start, which made Dr Mitford and 
 his horse swerve aside, and shook the hood of 
 the phaeton so that it nearly descended upon 
 the party, burying them alive. 
 
 " Oh, there is Westbrook, where the Hunt- 
 leys live!" cried Kate. "I beg your pardon, 
 Dr Mitford, I am sure. Mrs Mitford said we 
 were to call. Don't you think we had better
 
 116 JOHN 
 
 go now, in case they should be out ? There 
 was a message, you know, that you were to 
 give." 
 
 " Oh, about croquet," said the Doctor, and 
 his brow was slightly ruffled. He would not 
 allow, even to himself, that his instruction was 
 slighted ; but still he felt that she had been 
 able to see the towers of Westbrook at the 
 very moment when he was affording her every 
 information. But he was too polite to make 
 any objection. Westbrook was a very fine 
 house, but its turrets were new, and its wealth 
 had been made, not inherited, for which half 
 the country said, "So much the more credit 
 to the Huntleys;" and all the country, even 
 the poor clergymen and the country doctors, 
 looked down upon them, though not upon 
 their parties, which were unexceptionable. Mr 
 Crediton being himself only a banker, had not 
 much indulged in this universal condescen- 
 sion ; and Kate was very glad to bethink 
 herself of the Huntleys at this special moment. 
 They were better than Dulchester, and the 
 phaeton with the unsteady hood. There were 
 two sons and two daughters. The girls were
 
 JOHN 117 
 
 plain, and no way remarkable ; neither was 
 Willie, the second son; but Fred was very- 
 clever — so clever that nobody knew what was 
 to be done with him. He had taken a first- 
 class at Oxford, and done everything else a 
 young man can do that is gratifying and 
 honourable. He was fellow of his college, and 
 was understood to be able to do anything he 
 pleased in the way of scholarship or literature. 
 If he had but taken the trouble to write, a 
 great many people were of opinion that he 
 would have beaten Tennyson hollow ; but he 
 was indolent, and satisfied with his position, 
 and had as much as ever he could desire with- 
 out doing anything for it. And consequently, 
 his great gifts were unexercised. The country, 
 however, which had been cold to his family, 
 and patronised them, acknowledged that such 
 condescension would be out of character to a 
 man who had taken a first-class. And thus 
 the Huntleys had risen in popular estimation. 
 Kate recalled Mrs Mitford's words to her mind 
 as they drove unwillingly up to the great 
 door. " Frederick is at home." She had 
 known Frederick for years, but he was too
 
 118 JOHN 
 
 much self-absorbed, Kate thought, ever to care 
 for any girl ; and so it happened that not 
 even flirtation had ever passed between them. 
 (i That prig to play croquet ! " she said to her- 
 self, with a shrug of her shoulders ; and then 
 she sprang down, and received a farewell blow 
 from the hood of the phaeton upon her pretty 
 bonnet. Poor Kate ! It was all she could do 
 to restrain herself from shaking her little fist 
 at it. The tears almost came to her eyes as 
 she straightened the injured bonnet with her 
 hands. Was it an evil omen ? for the Hunt- 
 leys were out, all but Mrs Huntley — and the 
 girls were engaged for next day ; and Willie 
 
 had gone to town; and Fred "My dear, 
 
 you know I never can answer for Fred," his 
 mother said, with pride. " He has his own 
 engagements, and all sorts of things to do." 
 
 " Oh yes, to be sure ; it is not likely he 
 would stoop so far as to play croquet," said 
 Kate ; " but I am only giving Mrs Mitford's 
 message. You know it is not me that asks. 
 I will tell her what you say." 
 
 " Tell her I am so sorry," said Mrs Huntley. 
 " I know what it is to be disappointed when
 
 JOHN 119 
 
 one tries to get up any little thing impromptu, 
 and the girls would have been so glad, and so 
 would Willie — but she knows I cannot answer 
 for Fred. Dr Mitford, I am so sorry Mr Huntley 
 is not at home, nor my son. If they had 
 known there was the least chance of seeing 
 you ! But now you have come, you must 
 have some tea." 
 
 "I thank you, my dear madam," said the 
 Doctor, " but we have still a good way to go. 
 I am taking Miss Crediton to see the Eoman 
 camp at Dulchester. It is not often I go so 
 far, but you know I pretend to a little anti- 
 quarian knowledge " 
 
 " Oh, a little indeed ! " said Mrs Huntley ; 
 " we all know what that means. You may be 
 very proud, Kate, to have such a cicerone. I 
 can't tell you how I sigh for you, Doctor, when 
 we have people down from town, and they go 
 to see the camp. Oh, don't ask me, I always 
 beg of them — you should hear all about it if 
 Dr Mitford were here." 
 
 " Well, one has one's little bits of infor- 
 mation, of course," said Dr Mitford, with a 
 deprecating wave of the hand ; " one's hobby,
 
 120 JOHN 
 
 I suppose the young people would call it. I 
 am very glad that Frederick has got his fel- 
 lowship. It must be a great satisfaction to 
 his father and you." 
 
 " Well, we were pleased, of course," said the 
 lady ; " though, but for the honour of the 
 thing, it did not matter to Fred. I often say 
 how odd it is that such things should fall to 
 him who don't want them, when so many poor 
 fellows, to whom it would be a real blessing, 
 fail. He has no business to have the money 
 and the brains too." 
 
 " That must make it all the more agreeable," 
 said the Doctor, with a stiff bow; and the 
 looks of the two parents made Kate wonder 
 suddenly whether John had been successful in 
 his university career. Poor fellow ! he did 
 not look remarkably bright. There was no 
 analogy between his looks and Fred Huntley's 
 sharp clever face — but then he was some years 
 younger than Fred. 
 
 " Won't you be persuaded to stay to dinner'?" 
 said Mrs Huntley ; " you never can get back 
 in time for your own. We have not seen Kate 
 for ages, nor you either, Dr Mitford. Do stay
 
 JOHN 121 
 
 — my husband and all of them will be back 
 before dinner. Mr Huntley will be so vexed 
 and disappointed if I let you go." 
 
 "But Dulchester, my dear lady/' said the 
 Doctor, rising and making her a bow. 
 
 "Oh, Dulchester! — is your heart so much 
 set upon it, Kate?" 
 
 Fortunately Kate glanced at her guide 
 before she replied, and saw that he was red 
 with mortification, anticipating her answer. 
 " Oh dear, yes ! my heart is set upon it," she 
 cried. " Dr Mitford has come all the way to 
 make me understand ; and, indeed, it is get- 
 ting late, and we must not stop, even for 
 tea." 
 
 " I will go and see that the carriage is 
 brought round," said her old cavalier, with 
 alacrity ; and he shook hands with Mrs Hunt- 
 ley, who mimicked him as soon as his back 
 was turned with a sweep of her hand and 
 smirk of affability which tried Kate's gravity 
 much. " Oh, my dear, you don't know what 
 you are going to encounter," she said, in a 
 rapid undertone, as soon as he was gone. " I 
 tried to save you from it, but you would not
 
 122 JOHN 
 
 back me up. He is the most dreadful old 
 bore " 
 
 " Hush ! I am staying in his house, and 
 they have been very, very kind," said Kate, 
 with a sudden blush. 
 
 " Staying in their house ! I must speak to 
 your papa about that, who never will let you 
 come to us. But I did not know you knew 
 the Mitfords, Kate." 
 
 " We did not know them — but — my horse 
 ran away with me — and Dr Mitford's — son — 
 saved my life." 
 
 This Kate gave forth very slowly, with eyes 
 that glittered with sudden excitement ; and 
 Mrs Huntley, for her part, received the news 
 with the most eager interest. 
 
 " Oh, was it you ? " she cried. " We heard 
 something of it. They say it was quite a 
 wonder that he didn't lose his own life. But, 
 dear me, Kate ! after anything so interesting, 
 how was it that he didn't drive you himself 
 instead of his papa? " 
 
 " I suppose, because he was never consulted," 
 said Kate, with some indignation ; " and now 
 I must not keep Dr Mitford waiting. Mrs
 
 JOHN 123 
 
 Mitford has been so good to me — oh, so kind ! 
 She has nursed me as if I had been her own 
 child ; and papa let me stay, he was so grate- 
 ful to them. I don't know, I am sure, what 
 the son did for me, but I know what the 
 mother has done. She was as kind as if I 
 had been her own child." 
 
 " Her own child ! " Mrs Huntley repeated to 
 herself, with bewilderment, when Kate ran 
 down-stairs ; " oh yes, indeed ! that one can 
 easily understand. What a nice thing for 
 John ! But I am sure I should never think of 
 such a little flirt for one of my sons, however 
 rich she was — a spoiled child ! " 
 
 This would have hurt Kate's feelings if she 
 had heard it, for she thought she was a favour- 
 ite of Mrs Huntley's — and so indeed she was ; 
 but it is hard upon a woman to hear unmoved 
 that somebody else's son has been braver, 
 abler, more successful than her son, even 
 though, as she reminded herself with a toss of 
 her head, her boys had no need for that sort of 
 thing, thank heaven ! " Fred shall go, if I 
 can persuade him," she said within herself, 
 "and spoil that John's game, though they
 
 124 JOHN 
 
 think so much of him ; * and yet there was 
 not a shadow of a reason why Mrs Huntley 
 should wish to thwart that John. 
 
 After this Kate had to do the camp, and 
 did it with a heroic show of interest. She got 
 through it, looking up into Dr Mitford's face 
 with such bright and vivid looks that the good 
 man felt he had at last found a congenial soul. 
 Kate bore this, and she bore the assaults of the 
 unsteady hood, though it gave her yet another 
 thump upon her bonnet, which nearly made an 
 end of that ornament. But there are limits to 
 human nature, and she was very glad when 
 she found herself approaching home. She 
 called the Eectory home with the frankest 
 satisfaction, such as would have awakened 
 many thoughts in Mrs Mitford's mind. It was 
 sweet to see the pretty irregular house in the 
 evening light, with its shadow turned to the 
 east and all its windows open, and the great 
 sheaves of lilies sending forth their fragrance. 
 John suddenly appeared to open the gate as 
 they drove up, as if he had sprung from the 
 earth ; and his mother was standing on the 
 lawn with her white shawl thrown over her,
 
 JOHN 125 
 
 like another flower ; and the expedition was 
 over, and the castrum done with, and Dr Mit- 
 ford pleased, and the bonnet, perhaps, not 
 spoiled for ever. Kate was so glad that she 
 gave Mrs Mitford an unexpected kiss as she 
 jumped lightly down. " How nice it is to have 
 some one waiting for us ! " she said, with al- 
 most tearful earnestness — the poor motherless 
 girl ! Mrs Mitford was touched by the accent, 
 and Kate was touched herself, though of course 
 she must have known how much of her emo- 
 tion was delight at being free of what she 
 considered a bore. But it was not entirely 
 relief either, and there was some real feeling 
 in the girl's perverse little heart. 
 
 " I am so grieved they cannot come," said 
 Mrs Mitford, when they were all seated at 
 dinner, which had been delayed. "I am so 
 sorry, my dear, for you ; but perhaps you 
 might try a game with John — and the party 
 could be asked for another day." 
 
 " I am so glad," said Kate. " It is so nice 
 to escape the croquet-parties, and all the stuff 
 one has to think about at home." 
 
 " But, my dear, you must miss your amuse-
 
 126 JOHN 
 
 merits," said Mrs Mitford. "I should not 
 think a quiet life was the kind of life for 
 
 you." 
 
 " Changes are what I like," said Kate, 
 bravely. "I could not live always in a tur- 
 moil, and I could not live always in a hermit- 
 age. I should like sometimes the one and 
 sometimes the other. The dreadful thing 
 would be, to be always the same." 
 
 Mrs Mitford gave her son a piteous look, 
 and then cast an instinctive glance round the 
 room. She did not herself feel the full mean- 
 ing that was in her eyes. She glanced at all 
 the signs of her own changeless existence. 
 For years and years she had visited the same 
 places at the same hours, sat down to the 
 same work, made the same engagements, dis- 
 charged the same duties. The dinner-party, 
 which, contrary to her own lights, she was 
 going to give in honour of Kate, would have 
 the same people at it as had been at her first 
 dinner-party after her wedding. She said to 
 herself that if John were rich he could give his 
 wife a great deal more change ; but still there 
 remained the fact that John's wife would have
 
 JOHN 127 
 
 the parish to think of, and the schools, and 
 the old women. It would not do, alas ! it 
 could not do, Mrs Mitford concluded, as she 
 rose from dinner with a sigh. And yet it 
 would be such a thing for John. 
 
 And to see poor John's miserable look when 
 he came into the drawing-room, and found 
 that Kate had a headache and had gone to 
 bed. " It must have been that confounded 
 camp," he said, through his teeth, which 
 grieved his mother more. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, don't swear," she said ; 
 "things are bad enough without that." 
 
 " What things 1 and what do you mean, 
 mother \ " growled John. 
 
 " It is — that girl. I am so sorry she came 
 here — so sorry you saved her, John ; that she 
 should come where no one wanted her, disturb- 
 ing my boy ! " 
 
 " Sorry I saved her ! Are you mad, 
 mother ? " cried her son. 
 
 " Oh, you know I did not mean that. I am 
 glad she is saved, poor thing — very glad ; but 
 oh, John, my dear, why should she come dis- 
 turbing you % You must not think anything
 
 128 JOHN 
 
 more about her, my own boy. See what pains 
 she takes to show you it is no use. She could 
 not live where it is always the same ! Oh, 
 John, after so many warnings, if you fall into 
 her wiles at last ! " 
 
 " What folly ! " he said, leaving her, and 
 throwing himself on a sofa in a dark corner, 
 where the light of the lamp did not reach him. 
 The anxious mother could no longer see his 
 face. It was not with her as in days past, 
 when he would poke into the light, under the 
 shade of the lamp, and put his book on the 
 top of her work, getting many a tender scold 
 for it, or read aloud to her, which was her 
 greatest pleasure. The Doctor was in his 
 study, busy with his paper for the Archaeo- 
 logical Society, and as indifferent to his wife's 
 loneliness as if she had been his housekeeper. 
 Mrs Mitford had long ago got over that. She 
 had accepted it as the natural course of affairs 
 that your husband should go back to his study 
 after dinner. Perhaps it would have plagued 
 more than pleased her now had he suddenly 
 made his appearance in the drawing-room. 
 What she liked was to get her work or her
 
 JOHN 129 
 
 knitting (John's socks, which she always made 
 with her own hands), and listen, in a soft rap- 
 ture of ineffable content, as he read to her. It 
 did not matter much what he read ; his voice, 
 and the work in her hand, and the conscious- 
 ness that her boy was there, wrapt her in a 
 silent atmosphere of happiness. But now how 
 different it was ! The Doctor by himself in 
 his study, and Kate by herself in her chamber, 
 and the mother and son, with almost the whole 
 breadth of the room between them, each in a 
 corner, he in the dark, she in the light, alone 
 too. And it was all that girl's fault. It was 
 she who was making him unhappy. 
 
 "John, won't you read to me a little, dear?" 
 said his mother from the table. 
 
 " I can't to-night," he answered from the 
 sofa, glad that his face was not visible. He 
 was so vexed and disappointed and mortified, 
 coming in full of the expectation of a long 
 evening in Kate's society, and finding her 
 gone. A year or two ago it would have 
 brought tears to John's eyes. He was a man 
 now, and it was not possible to cry, but he 
 was so disappointed that he - could scarcely 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 JOHN 
 
 endure himself. Mrs Mitford bore his silence 
 and abstraction as long as she could. It went 
 to her heart — but she was all mother, down 
 to the tips of her fingers ; and though it gave 
 her a deep wound to think her boy had thus 
 given her over, she could not bear to see him 
 unhappy. She laid down her work at last, 
 and stole out of the room, wondering if he 
 noticed her going, and went and knocked at 
 Kate's door. "My dear, I have just made the 
 tea, and it smells so refreshing. I thought, if 
 you had not gone to bed, a cup would do you 
 good," she said, coming in and taking Kate's 
 hand. Her eyes were so wistful, such an un- 
 spoken prayer was in her face, that a glimmer- 
 ing of what she must mean just flashed upon 
 Kate. 
 
 " How good of you to come and tell me ! 
 May Parsons go down and bring me a cup \ " 
 said the girl. She had been seated by the 
 open window, with the breath of the lilies 
 stealing up from the dark garden, and a 
 reverie had stolen over her, about nothing in 
 particular ; only the soft night was in it, and 
 the lilies, and the vague delights of youth. I
 
 JOHN 131 
 
 almost think she had felt John Mitford's in- 
 cipient undeveloped sentiment breathing up 
 to her in the vagueness and darkness, with an 
 indefinite perfume, like the flowers. And Kate 
 had no mind to leave this sweet confusion of 
 dreams and odours and far-off suggestion, for 
 actual talk and commonplace intercourse ; and 
 her first impulse was to get gently rid of her 
 visitor, if that might be. 
 
 " It would lose all its fragrance coming up- 
 stairs," said Mrs Mitford. "You have not 
 begun to undress, or even taken down your 
 pretty hair ; come down, my dear, for half an 
 hour, — I know it will do your head good. 
 You know, everybody says ours is such good 
 tea." 
 
 " Don't I know it ! " said Kate ; " but " 
 
 "But I can't take any refusal," said Mrs 
 Mitford, drawing the girl's arm within her 
 own. Oh, how little she wanted her at that 
 moment, had the truth been known ! and yet 
 she coaxed and wooed her as if it were a per- 
 sonal grace. And the girl yielded, thinking 
 more a great deal of the sweetness of being 
 thus sought and coaxed by the mother, than
 
 132 JOHN 
 
 of the son who was sitting in the dumps on 
 the sofa in the dark corner down-stairs. 
 
 "If you want me," she said, with a faint 
 accent of inquiry, and gave Mrs Mitford a soft 
 little kiss. " I think mamma must have been 
 like you," she said in apology, a remark which 
 confused John's mother, and made her feel 
 guilty. For it was not kindness to this mother- 
 less creature that moved her, but the maternal 
 passion which paused at nothing which could 
 give pleasure to her boy. 
 
 John was standing in the open window 
 hesitating whether he should plunge out into 
 the darkness, when he heard the voices of the 
 two ladies coming down-stairs, and all the room 
 immediately filled with radiance and splendour. 
 In a moment he was back again, standing, hover- 
 ing over Kate, who sank into an easy-chair close 
 to the light, and gave herself up to the delights 
 of the promised cup of tea. He did not say a 
 dozen words to her all the rest of the evening, 
 but he was happy ; and she lying back at her 
 ease, with the consciousness of an admiring 
 audience, chattered and sipped, and was happy 
 too. It did not occur to Kate that every word
 
 JOHN 133 
 
 she said was being closely criticised by the 
 woman who had gone to seek her, who was 
 basking in the pleasant rays of her youth, and 
 smiling at all her nonsense and chatter, and 
 looking so wistfully at her by times. She 
 thought she had made a conquest of Mrs Mit- 
 ford too, and was pleased and proud. u I can- 
 not be just a little flirt and a stupid," Kate 
 was saying to herself, "for Mrs Mitford is 
 fond of me too" And with this pleasant sense 
 of having an utterly indulgent audience, she 
 rattled on more freely than she had ever before 
 found it possible to do at Fanshawe. And 
 Mrs Mitford made secret notes of all the non- 
 sense, and laid up in her memory everything 
 that was said. And then the Doctor came in 
 from his study, and the bell was rung, and the 
 servants appeared dimly, and sat down in a 
 row against the further wall where it was 
 dark; and they had prayers. Mrs Mitford 
 was scrupulous about having a shade over the 
 lamp — she thought it was good for the eyes — 
 so that there was one brilliant spot round the 
 table, and all the rest was dim and vague, 
 darkness deepening into the corners, and in-
 
 134 JOHN 
 
 tensifying to a centre in the great window full 
 of night, the open abyss into the garden all 
 sweet with roses and lilies, through which 
 there puffed by times a breath of summer wind. 
 Now that the tea-things were removed, it was 
 Dr Mitford's white head, and his open book, 
 and the whiter hand which was laid upon it, 
 that were the foremost objects in the room ; 
 and in the middle distance among the shadows 
 was Mrs Mitford ; and at the back, like ghosts, 
 the maids and the man. Kate joined very 
 devoutly in the prayers, and felt glad she 
 had come down-stairs. " How good they are, 
 how quiet it is, how nice to have prayers ! and 
 oh, what sweetness in the air ! " she said to 
 herself, when she ought to have been praying. 
 It was novel to her, and the composition of the 
 picture was so pretty. And they were all so 
 kind — fond of her, indeed. Kate went back 
 to her room, when all was over, with a soft 
 complacency and satisfaction with herself pos- 
 sessing her heart.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The next afternoon John and Kate were on 
 the lawn, with Mrs Mitford sitting by, when 
 Fred Huntley suddenly rode in at the gate. 
 The two young people had no particular in- 
 clination for croquet, but the lawn had been 
 mowed, and Mrs Mitford had given up her 
 schools for one day, and seated herself outside 
 the drawing-room window to countenance their 
 intercourse. She did not take any part in 
 their talk, but knitted with as much placidity 
 as she could command, having reasoned with 
 herself all the night through, and finally made 
 up her mind that it would be better for her to 
 take no part, but let things take their course. 
 "If I try to influence her, she will think I 
 have interested motives ; and if I try to in- 
 fluence him, my boy will turn against me,"
 
 136 JOHN 
 
 she had said to herself piteously, shedding a 
 few silent tears under cover of the night ; and 
 her decision had been, that she would only 
 stand by and look on, that was all. For the 
 first time in his life John's mother felt herself 
 incapable of helping, or guiding, or being of 
 any service to her boy. She had to see him 
 face the danger, and say nothing — the danger 
 on one hand of being secularised, and his heart 
 turned to frivolity ; and on the other, of hav- 
 ing that heart broken. Which was the worse 
 his mother could scarcely tell. 
 
 So these two were trifling, each with a mal- 
 let, and talking, and getting more and more 
 interested in each other, when Fred Huntley, 
 as I have said, rode suddenly in upon them. 
 He gave a very keen knowing glance at the 
 two on the lawn, as he passed them to pay his 
 respects to Mrs Mitford. Was it her doing \ 
 was it their own doing? Fred caught the secret 
 of the situation as a well-trained man of the 
 world would naturally do. He had first a 
 natural impulse to interfere ; and then he 
 paused and stopped himself, and declared to 
 himself that he would not spoil sport. He was
 
 JOHN 137 
 
 a man to whom generous thoughts came not, 
 as is natural, by impulse, but upon thought. 
 And after all, why should he meddle with 
 them ? If she married John, it would be a 
 good thing for John, and, most likely, for her 
 too — and why should I interfere? said Fred, 
 without a doubt of his capability to do so ; so 
 he went and talked to Mrs Mitford, while the 
 two on the lawn pursued their languid sport. 
 " I hate him/' Kate had said on his arrival ; 
 " let us pretend we have begun a game ; " and 
 John was but too happy — too much delighted, 
 by the suggestion. So they kept the lawn to 
 themselves, and trifled and talked, while Fred 
 chatted with the chaperone over her knitting. 
 He had come to make the apologies of his 
 family, expecting to find an assemblage of 
 ladies with John in the midst, the one island 
 of black among clouds of muslin. The ladies 
 in Fanshawe Eegis were not even young, and 
 consequently it was a relief to him to see one 
 pretty figure only, and the mother sitting by ; 
 and he did his best to make himself agreeable, 
 having, as it happened, a more interesting sub- 
 ject than " le beau temps et la pluie."
 
 138 JOHN 
 
 " I hear John has been distinguishing him- 
 self," he said ; and though he did not in the 
 least intend it, there was something in his tone 
 which made Mrs Mitford flush red to the 
 edge of her hair, and raise herself stiffly on 
 her seat. The truth was, John had been in 
 competition with Fred more than once at col- 
 lege, and had not been held to have distin- 
 guished himself — which naturally drove his 
 mother to arms at the first word. 
 
 " Not anything particular that I am aware 
 of," she said, drawing herself up stiffly ; "he 
 always is the best son and the kindest heart in 
 the world." 
 
 " But about Miss Crediton," said Fred. 
 
 " Oh, that was a mere accident," said John's 
 mother. "You see he can't help having a 
 warm heart, and being so big and strong." 
 
 Fred was fully three inches shorter than 
 John, and in this way at least he had never 
 distinguished himself. " To be sure, that is an 
 easy way of accounting for it," he said, with 
 much command of temper. " It must be very 
 nice to be big and strong, especially when pretty 
 girls and heiresses are in danger in one's way."
 
 JOHN 139 
 
 " Is she an heiress V said Mrs Mitford, with 
 the most innocent face in the world. 
 
 " Well, rather/' said Fred ; and here the 
 little passage of arms came to a close. "My 
 sisters were very sorry they could not come," 
 he went on after an interval, during which he 
 had been intently watching the two figures on 
 the lawn. " They sent all kinds of messages, 
 but I fear I have lost them on the way. They 
 could scarcely have been more sorry had it 
 been a dance — and what could a young lady 
 say more ? " 
 
 " I wish they could have come," said Mrs 
 Mitford ; and just then Lizzie came and 
 whispered something in her ear. " Will you 
 excuse me for two minutes, Mr Huntley ? It 
 is one of my poor people. I am so sorry to 
 be rude, and go away." 
 
 Fred said something that was very polite, 
 and went slowly towards the croquet-players 
 as she left him. He thought Kate was very 
 pretty — he had never seen her look so pretty. 
 She was dressed in fresh muslin all but white, 
 with her favourite blue ribbons, and looked so 
 dainty, so refined, such a little princess beside
 
 140 JOHN 
 
 John's somewhat heavy large figure. Not 
 but what he looked a gentleman too — but a 
 rural gentleman, a heavy weight, and standing 
 side by side with a creature made of sunshine 
 and light. Fred Huntley had never admired 
 Kate particularly heretofore, but he did that 
 day, and wondered at himself. He sauntered 
 up to them, watching their looks and move- 
 ments, and stood by and criticised their play. 
 " Miss Crediton, you have it all in your own 
 hands," he said. "He has not the heart to 
 hit your ball. You have nothing to do but 
 go in and win. My good fellow, I never saw 
 such bad play ! " 
 
 "As if one cared for winning ! " said Kate, 
 dragging her mallet along the grass. " What 
 do we all play croquet for, I w r onder % " And 
 she gave vent to her feelings in a delicate 
 yawn, and sank into the chair which John had 
 brought out for her. He had placed it under 
 the shadow of a graceful acacia, which kept 
 dropping its white blossoms at her feet, and 
 the two young men drew near and looked at 
 her. Fred was much the more ready of the 
 two, so far as talk was concerned.
 
 JOHN 141 
 
 "That is a tremendous question," he said. 
 " It is as bad as if you had invited us to clear 
 up the origin of evil. But there is nobody 
 like women for going to the bottom of things. 
 We do it because somebody once considered it 
 pleasant, I suppose." 
 
 " Or because we are believed to have nothing 
 else to do," said John. 
 
 "Then why can't we be permitted to do 
 nothing ? It tires me to death standing about 
 in the sun," said Kate, in a plaintive voice. 
 " I'd rather lean back and be comfortable, and 
 listen to the leaves. I'd rather even have 
 you two sit down here in the shade," and she 
 waved her hand like a little princess towards 
 the turf on each side of her, " and quarrel about 
 something — so long as you did not come to 
 blows. Talk — oh, please, talk about something 
 women are not supposed to understand ! " 
 
 " By all means," said Fred, throwing him- 
 self down at her feet ; " what shall it be ? 
 Sophocles, or steam-engines, or the Darwinian 
 theory \ Mitford is up in everything, I know, 
 and one has a few vague ideas on general sub- 
 jects — which shall it be?"
 
 142 JOHN 
 
 But John said nothing. He stood bending 
 towards her with that great, tall, somewhat 
 heavy figure of his. He had been talking 
 not unagreeably so long as the two were 
 alone, but Fred's interposition quenched him. 
 He stood with an inexpressible something in 
 his look and attitude, which said, " I am here 
 to watch over you, to serve you, not to take 
 my ease and talk nonsense in your presence," 
 which brought a little colour to Kate's cheeks. 
 She looked at the young men in her turn, 
 involuntarily contrasting the ease of the man 
 of the world with the almost awkwardness of 
 the other. Under such circumstances one 
 knows what the verdict of a frivolous girl 
 would naturally be. One of them could enter 
 into all her habitual chatter, and give her all 
 her nonsense back. He was handsomer than 
 John Mitford, though neither was an Adonis. 
 He was more successful ; he had the prestige 
 about him of a man of intellect, and yet he was 
 just like other people. Whereas John, without 
 the prestige, was unlike other people. Kate 
 looked at them with a curious impression on 
 her mind, as if she were making that grand
 
 JOHN 143 
 
 decision which the heroes of olden time used 
 to be called upon to make between the true 
 and the false — between Pleasure and Good- 
 ness. A slight shiver went over her, she could 
 not tell why. Neither of them was asking 
 anything of her at that moment. As for Fred 
 Huntley, he had never shown the slightest 
 inclination to ask anything of her, and yet 
 in some mysterious way she felt as if she 
 were deciding her fate. 
 
 " You are cold — let me go and bring you a 
 shawl," said John. 
 
 " Oh, it is nothing. It is because I have 
 been ill. 1 never was so stupid in all my life 
 before. Thanks, Mr Mitford, that is so nice/' 
 said Kate. But she was not cold, though she 
 accepted the shawl he brought her. She was 
 trembling before her fate. And it was John 
 to whom some unseen counsellor seemed to 
 direct her. It was John she liked best, she 
 said to herself. His was the good face, the 
 tender eyes, the loyal soul. Why such a 
 crisis should come upon her in the middle 
 of a game at croquet, Kate could not ima- 
 gine ; nor why her innocent intention of
 
 144 JOHN 
 
 bewildering poor John's being for him, and 
 giving a sharp tug at his heart-strings by way 
 of diversion, should have changed all at once 
 into this sudden compulsion of fate upon herself 
 to choose or to reject. Such nonsense ! when 
 nobody was asking her — nobody thinking of 
 such a thing ! She got out of it precipitately, 
 with the haste of fear, not knowing or caring 
 what nonsense she spoke. " You make me so 
 uncomfortable when you stand like that," she 
 cried. " Sit down, as Mr Huntley has done. 
 There are only us three, and why should we 
 make martyrs of ourselves ? and when Mrs 
 Mitford comes back, you can go and bring her 
 chair under this tree. Mr Huntley, are you 
 going to the ball at the Castle when the young 
 Earl comes of age V 
 
 " I had not heard anything about it," said 
 Fred. " I don't care for balls in a general 
 way; but if you are to be there, Miss Cre- 
 diton " 
 
 " Of course you will go/' said Kate ; " oh, I 
 understand that. I wish you gentlemen would 
 now and then say something a little original. 
 Mr Mitford, I suppose I must not ask if you
 
 JOHN 145 
 
 are going, or you will answer me the 
 same \ " 
 
 " No, I don't think there is any chance that 
 I shall go," he said, with a smile, " not even 
 if you are there." 
 
 " That is not original," said Fred, " it is only 
 ringing the changes. But I suppose you will 
 be going up to the bishop then, Mitford, eh ? 
 When is it ? You ought not to speak to him 
 about balls, and tempt him, Miss Crediton, at 
 this moment of his life." 
 
 Kate started a little in spite of herself. " Is it 
 so near as that % Oh, Mr Mitford, is it true ? " 
 
 " Quite true," John answered, facing her, 
 with a certain faltering steadiness which she 
 found it hard to understand ; " but I don't 
 think the temptation of balls, so far as that 
 goes, is likely to do me much harm." 
 
 " And I hope you are all right in other 
 respects, old fellow," said Fred Huntley, sud- 
 denly, in an undertone. You are not going to 
 do anything that will make you uncomfort- 
 able, I hope. You are not going to make any 
 
 sacrifice of — of opinion — of I remember 
 
 the talks we used to have long ago." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 JOHN 
 
 " I am not going to sacrifice my conscience, 
 if that is what you mean," said John, shortly, 
 growing very red ; " but this is not the moment 
 for such a discussion." 
 
 " I wonder where Mrs Mitford can be for so 
 long/' cried Kate, rushing into the conversa- 
 tion ; " it must be some of her poor people. I 
 think, as the croquet has been a failure, I shall 
 go and see ; but in the mean time, Mr Huntley, 
 tell me what the girls are about, and where 
 they are going. Are they to pay as many visits 
 this year as they did last ? or are you going to 
 have your house full of people 1 Papa has asked 
 some hundreds to Fernwood, I believe. I hate 
 autumn and the shooting, and all the people 
 that come from town. Why should the poor 
 partridges lose their lives and we our tempers 
 every year, as soon as September comes \ It is 
 very hard upon us both. Or else you all go off 
 to the grouse, and then there is not a man left 
 in the place to fill a corner at dinner. What 
 harm have those poor birds ever done to you?" 
 
 " They are very nice to eat," said Fred, " and 
 I suppose if we did not kill them they'd kill us 
 in time. But, Miss Crediton, you are too philo-
 
 JOHN 147 
 
 sophical. May not a man play croquet or shoot 
 partridges without rendering a reason ? One 
 does so many things without any reason at all." 
 
 " Well," said Kate, smothering another yawn, 
 " if you will not say anything that is amusing, 
 or argue, or do anything I tell you, I shall go 
 and look for Mrs Mitford. I don't think it is 
 quite proper to sit here by myself and talk to 
 two gentlemen, especially as you let me do 
 almost all the talking. And it is hot out of 
 doors. I will go in till tea is ready ; but, Mr 
 John, you do not need to trouble yourself. 
 There is not even a door to open. I shall go 
 in at the window. Pray don't come," she 
 added, in a lower tone, as he followed her 
 across the lawn ; "go and talk to Jmn." 
 
 "I would much rather attend upon you, 
 even though you don't want me," said John, 
 with a half-audible sigh. 
 
 "But I do want you," said Kate, touched 
 by his tone, " you are always so good to me ; 
 and I can't bear him, with his chatter and talk. 
 Do keep him away as long as you can — until 
 we call you in to tea." 
 
 And then she gave the poor fellow a little
 
 148 JOHN 
 
 nod of friendship, and a smile which dazzled 
 him. He went away strengthened in his soul 
 to be more than civil to Fred Huntley — poor 
 Fred, upon whom this sunshine had not fallen 
 — whom, indeed, she was inclined to avert her 
 countenance from. He strolled about the gar- 
 den with that unfortunate but unconscious 
 being for half an hour, and then took him to 
 see the church, which was a fine one, wonder- 
 ing in himself all the time when that summons 
 would come to tea. Huntley seemed abstracted 
 too, and it came natural to John to think that 
 everybody must be moved as he himself was, 
 and that it was absence from her which made 
 a cloud over his visitor. Their conversation 
 strayed to a hundred other subjects as they 
 strolled gravely up and down. They talked of 
 the doings in Parliament, of the newspapers, of 
 the county member, of the nature of the county 
 architecture, of the difference in point of age 
 between the chancel and the nave of Fanshawe 
 Eegis church, which was a question much dis- 
 cussed in antiquarian circles ; but it was not 
 until a full hour had elapsed that anything 
 was said of Kate. At last, —
 
 JOHN 149 
 
 " By the by," said Huntley, " what was that 
 accident that happened to Miss Crediton ? One 
 hears different accounts of it all over the coun- 
 try, and she does not seem to know very well 
 herself." 
 
 " It was not much," said John, with rising 
 colour. " Her horse ran away with her — he 
 was making for the cliff, you know, at Winton, 
 that overhangs the river — I beg your pardon, 
 but the thought makes me sick — and I stopped 
 him— that's all." 
 
 " But how did you stop him \ " 
 
 " It does not greatly matter," said John; "I 
 did somehow. I don't know much more about 
 it than she does. And don't speak of it to her, 
 for heaven's sake ! She does not know what 
 an awful danger she escaped." 
 
 "But surely she knows what happened?" 
 said Fred. 
 
 " Oh yes — she knows, and she does not 
 know. I tell you I don't know myself. Don't 
 say anything more about it, please." 
 
 " That is all very well, my dear fellow," said 
 Huntley ; " but Kate Crediton is an heiress, 
 and a very nice girl ; and if you were to go in
 
 150 JOHN 
 
 for her, I can tell you it would be a very good 
 thing for you." 
 
 This time John grew pale — so pale that the 
 keen observer by his side was filled with sud- 
 den consternation, and could not make it out. 
 " Suppose, in the mean time, we go in to tea," 
 he said, with a curious sternness. Not another 
 word was said, for Huntley was too much a 
 man of the world to repeat an unpalatable 
 piece of advice ; but he was rather relieved, on 
 the whole, when the ceremonial was over, the 
 tea swallowed, and half an hour of talk in the 
 drawing-room added on to the talk on the 
 lawn. " I should like to know what she means 
 by it," Fred said to himself, indignantly, as he 
 rode home to dinner. John Mitford was a 
 simpleton, an innocent, an ass, if you please ; 
 but Kate knew what was what, and must have 
 some idea where she was drifting. And what 
 could she mean, did anybody know ? 
 
 She herself did not know, at least. She was 
 very good to John all that evening, asking him 
 questions about his Oxford life, and humouring 
 him in a hundred little ways, of which he him- 
 self was but half conscious. And after dinner
 
 JOHN 151 
 
 it so happened that they were left in the garden 
 together, for Mrs Mitford had relaxed a little 
 in the sternness of the chaperone's duties, which 
 were new to her, and began to forget that the 
 boy and the girl were each other's natural ene- 
 mies. It was a lovely night, and Kate lingered 
 and walked round and round the old house till 
 she was compelled at last to acknowledge her- 
 self tired. And John, well pleased, gave her 
 his arm ; and it was only when she had ac- 
 cepted that support, and had him at a vantage, 
 that she put the question she had been jnedi- 
 tating. The soft air enclosed them round and 
 round, and the soft darkness, and all the deli- 
 cate odours and insensible sounds of night. He 
 could scarcely see her, and yet she was leaning 
 on him with her face raised and his bent, each 
 toward the other. Then it was, with just a 
 little pressure of his arm to give emphasis to 
 her question, that she opened her batteries 
 upon him at one coup. 
 
 " Is it really true," she said, with a certain 
 supplication in her voice, " that you are deter- 
 mined to be a clergyman, Mr John ? " 
 
 " True ! " he said, staggering under it as he
 
 152 JOHN 
 
 received the blow, and in his confusion not 
 knowing what to say. 
 
 " Yes, true. Will you tell me ? I should so 
 very much like to know." 
 
 And then John's heart stood still for one 
 painful moment. The question was so easy to 
 ask, and the answer was not so easy. He drew 
 his breath like a man drowning, before he could 
 muster strength to reply.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 c ' Miss Crediton," said John Mitford, drawing 
 a long breath, " you don't know what a very 
 serious question that is ; it has been my 
 burden for half my life. I have never spoken 
 of it to any one, and you have taken me a 
 little by surprise. I should like to tell you all 
 about it, but you — would not care to hear." 
 
 " Indeed I should," said Kate, eagerly. 
 " Oh, I do so hope you have not quite made 
 up your mind. It would be such a sacrifice. 
 Fanshawe Kegis is very nice — but to be buried 
 here all your life, and never to take part in 
 anything, nor to have any way of rising in the 
 world, or improving your position ! If I were 
 a man, I would rather be anything than a 
 clergyman. It is like making a ghost of your- 
 self at the beginning of your life."
 
 154 J H N 
 
 " A ghost of myself ? " said John. 
 
 "Yes — of course it just comes to that; 
 other men will go on and on while you remain 
 behind/' cried Kate. " I could not bear it. 
 That Fred Huntley, for example — he is read- 
 ing for the bar, I believe, and he is clever, and 
 he will be Lord Chancellor, or something, 
 while you are only Eector of Fanshawe Eegis. 
 That* is what I could not bear." 
 
 John shook his head with a feeling that she 
 did not understand him ; and yet' was at- 
 tracted, not repelled. " That is not my feel- 
 ing," he said. " I don't think you would think 
 so either if you looked into it more. Huntley 
 has more brains than I have ; he will always 
 rise higher if he takes the trouble — but I 
 don't care for that. The thing is — but, Miss 
 Crediton, it would bore you to listen to such a 
 long story ; suppose we go in to my mother — 
 she knows nothing about my vain thoughts, 
 thank heaven ! " 
 
 " Oh no, no," said Kate, clinging still closer 
 to his arm ; " tell me everything — I shall not 
 be bored. That is, if you will — if you don't 
 mind trusting me."
 
 JOHN 155 
 
 " Trusting you ! " It was curious how much 
 more impressive his voice was, coming out of 
 the darkness. His awkwardness, his diffidence, 
 everything that made him look commonplace 
 in the daylight, had disappeared. Kate felt a 
 little thrill, half of excitement, half of pride. 
 Yes, he would trust her, though nobody else 
 (he said) in all the world. It was not John 
 that thus moved her ; it was the sense of being 
 the one selected and chosen — one out of a 
 hundred — one out of the world — which is the 
 sweetest flattery which can be addressed to 
 man or woman. She looked up to him, though 
 he could not see her, raising that face which 
 John already felt was the sweetest in the world. 
 And he bent over her, and her little hand 
 trembled on his arm, and the darkness wrapped 
 them round and round, so that they could not 
 see each other's faces — the very moment and 
 the very circumstances which make it sweet to 
 confide and to be confided in. It was not yet 
 ten days since he had seen her first, and she had 
 not as yet shown the least trace of a character 
 likely to understand his, and yet he was ready to 
 trust her with the deepest secrets of his heart.
 
 156 JOHN 
 
 " It is not that," said John. " I am sure 
 you are not the one to bid a man forsake his 
 duty that he might rise in the world. If I 
 were as sure about everything I ought to be- 
 lieve as — as my father is, I should go into the 
 Church joyfully to-morrow." 
 
 " Should you 1 " said Kate, feeling chilled 
 in spite of herself. 
 
 " I should ; and you would approve me for 
 doing so, I know," he said, earnestly. " But 
 don t think me worse than I am, Miss Credi- 
 ton. I am not a sceptic nor an infidel, that 
 you should draw away from me. Yes, you 
 did, ever so little — but if it had only been a 
 hair-breadth, I should have felt it. It is not 
 so much that I doubt — but I can't feel sure of 
 things. My father is sure of everything ; that 
 is the superiority of the older generations. 
 They knew what they believed, and so they 
 were ready to go to the stake for it " 
 
 " Or send other people to the stake," said 
 Kate. The conversation was getting so dread- 
 fully serious that she turned it where she could 
 to the side of laughter ; but it was not possible 
 in this case.
 
 JOHN 157 
 
 " Yes, I know," he said, softly, altogether 
 ignoring her lighter tone; "the one thing 
 implies the other. I acknowledge it does ; we 
 are such confused creatures. But as for me, I 
 could neither die for my belief nor make any 
 one else die. I don't feel sure. I say to my- 
 self, how do you know he is wrong and you 
 are right ? How do I know 1 But you see 
 my father knows ; and most of the old people 
 in the village are just as certain as he. Is it 
 because we are young, I wonder \ " said John. 
 
 " Oh, don't speak like that — pray don't. 
 Why should it be because we are young ? " 
 
 " That I can't tell," said John, in the dark- 
 ness. " It might be out of opposition, perhaps, 
 because they are so sure — so sure — cruelly 
 sure, I often think. But when a man has to 
 teach others, I suppose that is how he ought 
 to be ; and my very soul shrinks, Miss Credi- 
 ton " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " You will not say anything to my mother ? 
 She has brought me up for it, and set her heart 
 on it, and I would not fail her for the world." 
 
 " But, Mr John," said Kate, " I don't under-
 
 158 JOHN 
 
 stand ; if you are not a — I mean, if you don't 
 believe — the Bible — should you be a clergy- 
 man for any other reason ? Indeed I don't 
 understand." 
 
 " No," he said, vehemently ; " you are right 
 and I am wrong. I ought not, I know. But 
 then I am not sure that I don't believe. I 
 think I do. I believe men must be taught to 
 serve God. I believe that He comforts them in 
 their distress. You are too true, too straight- 
 forward, too innocent to know. I believe and 
 I don't believe. But the thing is, how can I 
 teach, how can I pronounce with authority, 
 not being sure 1 — that is what stops me." 
 
 Kate stopped too, being perplexed. "I 
 don't like the thought of your being a clergy- 
 man," she said, with what would have been, 
 could he have seen it, a pleading look up into 
 his face. 
 
 And then a long sigh came from John's 
 breast. She heard that, but she did not know 
 that he shook his head as well ; and in her 
 ignorance she went on. 
 
 " It would be so much better for you to do 
 anything else. Of course, if you had had a
 
 JOHN 159 
 
 very strong disposition for it — but when you 
 have not. And you would do so very much 
 better for yourself. If you were to give it 
 
 " Give it up ! " cried John ; " the only work 
 that is worth doing on earth ! " 
 
 " But, good heavens ! Mr Mitford, what do 
 you mean ? for I don't understand you. If it 
 is the only work worth doing on earth, why 
 do you persuade people you don t mean to do 
 it % I don't understand." 
 
 "Where is there any other work worth 
 doing?" said John. "I don't want to be a 
 soldier, which might mean something. Could 
 I be a doctor, pretending to know how to cure 
 people of their illnesses — or a lawyer, taking 
 any side he is paid for ? No, that is the only 
 work worth doing : to devote one's whole life 
 to the service of men — to save them, mend 
 them, bring them from the devil to God. 
 Where is there any such work \ And yet I 
 pause here on the threshold, all for a defect of 
 nature. I know you are despising me in your 
 heart." 
 
 " No, no," said Kate, quite bewildered. She
 
 160 JOHN' 
 
 did not despise him ; on the contrary, it just 
 gleamed across her mind that here was some- 
 thing she had no comprehension of — some- 
 thing she had never met with before. "Mr 
 John, it is you who will think me very stupid. 
 But I don't understand you," she said, with a 
 certain humility. The answer he made was 
 involuntary. He had no right to do it on 
 such short acquaintance — a mere stranger, 
 you might say. He pressed to his side with 
 unconscious tenderness the hand that rested 
 on his arm. 
 
 "You don't understand such pitiful weak- 
 ness," he said. "You would see what was 
 right and do it, without lingering and hesitat- 
 ing. I know you would. Don't be angry 
 with me. We two are nearer each other than 
 anybody else can be — are not we ? We were 
 very near for one moment, like one life ; and 
 we might have died so — together. That 
 should make us very close — very close — 
 friends." 
 
 " Oh, Mr John ! " 
 
 "Don't cry. I should not have reminded 
 you," he said, with sudden compunction. " I
 
 JOHN 161 
 
 am so selfish ; but you said you felt as if — 
 I belonged to you. So I do — to be your ser- 
 vant — your — anything you please. And that 
 is why I tell you all this weakness of mine, 
 because it was just a chance that we did not 
 die in a moment — together. Oh, hush, hush ! 
 I said it to rouse myself, and because it was 
 so sweet. I forgot it must be terrible to 
 you." 
 
 " I — I understand," said Kate, with a sob. 
 " It makes us like — brother and sister. But I 
 never can do anything like that for you. I 
 can only help you with — a little sympathy ; 
 but you shall always have that — as if you 
 were — my brother. Oh, never doubt it. I 
 am glad you have told me — I shall know you 
 better now." 
 
 " And here I have gone and made her cry 
 like a selfish beast," said John. "Just one 
 more walk round — and lean heavier on me : 
 and I will not say another word to vex you — 
 not one." 
 
 " I am not vexed," said Kate, with a soft 
 little smile among her tears, which somehow 
 diffused itself into the darkness, one could not 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 JOHN 
 
 tell how. He felt it warm him and brighten 
 him, though he could not see it ; and thus 
 they made one silent round, pausing for a 
 moment where the lilies stood up in that tall 
 pillar, glimmering through the night and 
 breathing out sweetness. John, whose heart 
 was full of all unspeakable things, came to a 
 moment's pause before them, though he was 
 faithful to his promise, and did not speak. 
 Some angel seemed to be by, saying Ave, as 
 in that scene which the old painters always 
 adorn with the stately flower of Mary. John 
 believed all the poets had said of women at 
 that moment, in the sweetness of the summer 
 dark. Hail, woman, full of grace ! The whole 
 air was full of angelic salutation. But it was 
 he, the man, who had the privilege of support- 
 ing her, of protecting her, of saving her in 
 danger. Thus the young man raved, with his 
 heart full. And Kate in the silence, leaning 
 on his arm, dried her tears, and trembled with 
 a strange mixture of courage and perplexity 
 and emotion. And then she wondered what 
 Mrs Mitford would say. 
 
 Mrs Mitford said nothing when the two
 
 JOHN 163 
 
 came in by the open window, with eyes 
 dazzled by the sudden entrance into the light. 
 Kate's eyes were more dazzling than the lamp, 
 if anybody had looked at them. The tears 
 were dry, but they had left a humid radiance 
 behind, and the fresh night air had ruffled the 
 gold in her hair, and heightened the colour 
 on her cheeks, which betrayed the commotion 
 within. Mrs Mitford made no special remark, 
 except that she feared the tea was cold, and 
 that she had just been about to ring to have 
 it taken away. "You must have tired her 
 wandering so long about the garden. You 
 should not be thoughtless, John," said his 
 mother ; " and it is almost time for prayers." 
 
 " It was my fault," said Kate ; "it was so 
 pleasant out of doors, and quiet, and sweet. 
 I am sorry we have kept you waiting. I did 
 not know it was so late." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, I do not mind," said Mrs 
 Mitford, smothering a half -sigh; for, to be 
 sure, she had been alone all the time while 
 they were wandering among the lilies ; and 
 she was not used to it — yet. " But Dr Mit- 
 ford is very particular about the hour for
 
 164 J H N 
 
 prayers, and you must make haste, like a good 
 child, with your tea. I never like to put him 
 out." 
 
 "Oh, not for the world!" cried Kate; and 
 she swallowed the cold tea very hurriedly, and 
 went for Dr Mitford's books, and arranged 
 them on the table with her own hands ; and 
 then she came softly behind John's mother, 
 and gave her a kiss, as light as if a rose-leaf 
 had blown against her cheek. She did not 
 offer any explanation of this sudden caress, 
 but seated herself close by Mrs Mitford, and 
 clasped her hands in her lap like a young lady 
 in a picture of family devotion ; and then Dr 
 Mitford's boots were heard to creak along the 
 long passage which led from his study, and 
 the bell was rung for prayers. 
 
 This conversation gave Kate a great deal to 
 think about when she went up-stairs. John's 
 appeal to her had gone honestly to her heart. 
 She was touched by it in quite a different way 
 from what she would have been had he been 
 making love. " Yes, indeed, we do belong to 
 each other — he saved my life," she said to her- 
 self; "we ought always to be like — brother —
 
 JOHN 165 
 
 and sister." When she said it, she felt in her 
 heart of hearts that this did not quite state 
 the case ; but let it be, to save trouble. And 
 then she tried to reflect upon the confession he 
 had made to her. But that was more difficult. 
 Kate was far better acquainted with ordinary 
 life than John. She would have behaved like 
 an accomplished woman of the world in an 
 emergency which would have turned him at 
 once into a heavy student or awkward country 
 lad ; but in other matters she was a baby 
 beside him. She had never thought at all on 
 the subjects which had occupied his mind for 
 years. And she was thunder-struck by his 
 hesitation. Could it be that people out of 
 books really thought and felt so ? Could it 
 be ? She was so perplexed that she could not 
 draw herself out of the maze. She reflected 
 with all her might upon what she ought to do 
 and say to him ; but could not by any means 
 master his difficulty. He must either decide 
 to be a clergyman or not to be a clergyman — 
 that was the distinct issue ; and if he could, 
 by any sort of pressure put upon him, be 
 made to give up the notion, that would be
 
 166 JOHN 
 
 so much the better. Going into the Church 
 because he had been brought up to it, and 
 because his friends desired it, was a motive 
 perfectly comprehensible to Kate. But then 
 had not she, whatever might come of it, stolen 
 into his confidence closer than any of his 
 friends ? and it was his own life he had to 
 decide upon ; and, in the course of nature, he 
 must after a while detach himself from his 
 father and mother, and live according to his 
 own judgment, not by theirs. If she could 
 move him (being, as he said, so close to him) 
 to choose a manner of life which would be far 
 better for him than the Church, would not 
 that be exercising her influence in the most 
 satisfactory way \ As for the deeper question, 
 it puzzled her so much, that after one or 
 two efforts she gave it up. The progress of 
 advanced opinions has been sufficiently great 
 to render it impossible even for a fashionable 
 young lady not to be aware of the existence of 
 " doubts ; " but what did he meau by turning- 
 round upon her in that incomprehensible way, 
 and talking of " the only work worth doing," 
 just after he had taken refuge in that sane-
 
 JOHN 167 
 
 tuary of uncertainty which, every man, if he 
 likes, has a right to shelter himself in ? To 
 have doubts was comprehensible, too ; but to 
 have doubts and yet to think a clergyman's 
 work the only work worth doing ! Kate's 
 only refuge was to allow to herself that he 
 was a strange, a very strange fellow; was he a 
 little — cracked? — was he trying to bewilder 
 her I " Anyhow, he is nice," Kate said to 
 herself; and that covered a multitude of sins. 
 . Meanwhile John, poor fellow, went out after 
 they had all gone up-stairs, and had a long walk 
 by himself in the night, to tone himself down 
 a little from the exaltation of the moment in 
 which he had told her that he and she had 
 almost died together. There was the strangest 
 subtle sweetness to himself in the thought. 
 To have actually died with her, and for her, 
 seemed to him, in his foolishness, as if it 
 would have been so sweet. And then he felt 
 that he had opened his heart to her, and that 
 she knew all his thoughts. He had told them 
 to her in all their inconsistency, in all their 
 confusion, and she had understood. So he 
 thought. He went out in the fervour of his
 
 168 JOHN 
 
 youth through the darkling paths, and brushed 
 along the hedges, all crisp with dew, and said 
 to himself that henceforth one creature at least 
 in the world knew what he meant. His 
 feelings were such as have not been rare in 
 England for half a century back. He had 
 been trained, as it were, in the bosom of the 
 Church, and natural filial reverence, and use 
 and wont, had blinded him to the very com- 
 monplace character of its labours as fulfilled 
 by his father. His father was — his father ; a 
 privileged being, whose actions had not yet 
 come within the range of things to be dis- 
 cussed. And the young man's mind was full 
 of the vague enthusiasm and exaltation which 
 belong to his age. Ideally, was not the work 
 of a Christian priest the only work in the 
 world 1 A life devoted to the help and salva- 
 tion of one's fellow-creatures for here and for 
 hereafter — no enterprise could be so noble, 
 none so important. And must he relinquish 
 that, because he felt it difficult to pronounce 
 with authority, " without doubt he shall perish 
 everlastingly"? Must he give up the only 
 purely disinterested labour which man can
 
 JOHN 169 
 
 perform for man — the art of winning souls, of 
 ameliorating the earth, of cleansing its hidden 
 corners, and brightening its melancholy face % 
 No, he could not give it up ; and yet, on the 
 other hand, how could he utter certain words, 
 how make certain confessions, how take up 
 that for his faith which was not his faith ? 
 John s heart had been wrung in many a 
 melancholy hour of musing with this struggle, 
 which was so very different from Kate's con- 
 ception of his difficulties. But now there stole 
 into the conflict a certain sweetness — it was, 
 that he was understood. Some one stood by 
 him now, silently backing him, silently follow- 
 ing him up, — perhaps with a shy hand on his 
 arm; perhaps — who could tell? — with a shy 
 hand in his, ere long. It did not give him 
 any help in resolving his grand problem, but 
 it was astonishing how it sweetened it. He 
 walked on and on, not knowing how far he 
 went, with a strange sense that life was 
 changed — that he was another man. It 
 seemed as if new light must come to him 
 after this sudden enhancement of life and 
 vigour. Was it true that there were two now
 
 170 JOHN 
 
 to struggle instead of one ? John was not far 
 enough gone to put such a question definitely 
 in words to himself, but it lingered about the 
 avenues of his mind, and sweet whispers of 
 response seemed to breathe over him. Two, 
 and not one ! and he was understood, and his 
 difficulties appreciated ; and surely now the 
 guiding light at last must come. 
 
 His mother heard him come in, as she lay 
 awake thinking of him, and wondered why he 
 should go out so late, and whether he had 
 shut the door, and thanked heaven his father 
 was fast asleep, and did not hear him ; for Dr 
 Mitford would have become alarmed had he 
 heard of such nocturnal walks — first, for 
 John s morals, lest he should have found some 
 unlawful attraction in the village ; and, 
 second, for the plate, if the house was known 
 to be deprived of one of its defenders. His 
 anxious mother, though she had thought of 
 little else since his birth except John's ways 
 and thoughts, had yet no inkling of anything 
 deeper that might be in his mind. That he 
 might love Kate, and that Kate might play 
 with him as a cat plays with a mouse — en-
 
 JOHN 171 
 
 courage him for her own amusement while 
 she stayed at Fanshawe Begis, and throw him 
 off as soon as she left — that was Mrs Mitford's 
 only fear respecting him. It was so painful 
 that it kept her from sleeping. She could not 
 bear to think of any one so wounding, so mis- 
 appreciating, her boy. If she but knew him 
 as I know him, she would go down on her 
 knees and thank God for such a man's love, 
 she said to herself in the darkness, drying her 
 soft eyes. But how was his mother — a wit- 
 ness whose impartiality nobody would believe 
 in — to persuade the girl of this \ And Mrs 
 Mitford was a true woman, and ranked a 
 " disappointment " at a very high rate among 
 the afflictions of men. And it was very, very 
 grievous to her to think of this little coquette 
 trifling with her son, and giving the poor 
 boy a heartbreak. She was nearly tempted 
 half-a-dozen times to get up and throw her 
 dressing-gown about her, and make her way 
 through the slumbering house, and through 
 the ghostly moonlight which fell broadly in 
 from the staircase-window upon the corridor, 
 to Kate's room, to rouse her out of her sleep,
 
 172 JOHN 
 
 and shake her, and say, " Oh you careless, 
 foolish, naughty little Kate ! You will never 
 get the chance of such another, if you break my 
 boy's heart." It would have been very, very 
 foolish of her had she done so ; and yet that 
 was the impulse in her mind. But it never 
 occurred to Mrs Mitford that when he took 
 that long, silent, dreary walk, he might be 
 thinking of something else of even more im- 
 portance than Kate's acceptance or refusal. 
 She had watched him all his life, day by day 
 and hour by hour, and yet she had never 
 realised such a possibility. So she lay think- 
 ing of him, and wondering when he would 
 come back, and heard afar off the first faint 
 touch of his foot on the path, and felt her 
 heart beat with satisfaction, and hoped he 
 would lock the door ; but never dreamed that 
 his long wandering out in the dark could have 
 any motive or object except the first love 
 which filled his heart with restlessness, and all 
 a young man's passionate fears and hopes. 
 Thank heaven ! his father slept always as 
 sound as a top, and could not hear. 
 
 Poor Mrs Mitford ! how bitter it would
 
 JOHN 173 
 
 have been to her could she have realised that 
 Kate was lying awake also, and heard him 
 come in, and knew what he was thinking of 
 better than his mother did ! " Poor boy ! " 
 Kate murmured to herself, between asleep and 
 awake, as she heard his step ; "I must speak 
 to him seriously to-morrow." There was a 
 certain self-importance in the thought ; for it 
 is pleasant to be the depositary of such con- 
 fidences, and to know you have been chosen 
 out of* all the world to have the secret of a 
 life confided to you. The difference was that 
 Kate, after this little speech to herself, fell 
 very fast asleep, and remembered very little 
 about it when she woke in the morning. But 
 Mrs Mitford's mind was so full that she could 
 neither give up the subject nor go to sleep. 
 As for the Doctor, good man, he heard nothing 
 and thought of nothing, and had never 
 awakened to the fact that John was likely 
 to bring any disturbance whatever into his 
 life. Why should anything happen to 
 him more than to other people ? Dr Mitford 
 would have said ; and even the love-story 
 would not have excited him. Thus the son of
 
 174 JOHN 
 
 the house stole in, in the darkness, with his 
 candle in his hand, through the shut-up silent 
 dwelling, passing softly by his mother s door 
 not to wake her, with the fresh air still blowing 
 in his face, and the whirl of feeling within, 
 uncalmed even by fatigue and the exertion 
 he had been making. And the two women 
 waked and listened, opening their eyes in the 
 dark that they might hear the better : — a very, 
 very usual domestic scene ; but the men who 
 are thus watched and listened for are seldom 
 such innocent men as John.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Some time passed after this eventful even- 
 ing before Kate had any opportunity of 
 making the assault upon John's principles 
 which she proposed to herself. There were 
 some days of tranquil peaceful country life, 
 spent in doing nothing particular — in little 
 walks taken under the mother's eye — in an 
 expedition to St Biddulph's, the whole little 
 party together, in which, though Dr Mitford 
 took the office of cicerone for Kate's benefit, 
 there was more of John than of his father. 
 This kind of intercourse which threw them 
 continually together, yet never left them alone 
 to undergo the temptation of saying too much, 
 promoted the intimacy of the two young 
 people in the most wonderful way. They 
 were each other's natural companions, each
 
 176 JOHiN 
 
 other's most lively sympathisers. The father 
 and the mother stood on a different altitude, 
 were looked up to, respected perhaps, perhaps 
 softly smiled at in the expression of their anti- 
 quated opinions ; but the young man and the 
 young woman were on the same level, and 
 understood each other. As for poor John, he 
 gave himself up absolutely to the spell. He had 
 never been so long in the society of any young 
 woman before ; his imagination had not been 
 frittered away by any preludes of fancy. He 
 fell in love all at once, with all his heart and 
 strength and mind. It was his first great 
 emotion, and it took him not at the callow 
 age, but when his mind (he thought) was 
 matured, and his being had reached its full 
 strength. He was in reality four-and-twenty, 
 but he had felt fifty in the gravity of his 
 thoughts ; and, with all the force of his serious 
 nature, he plunged into the extraordinary new 
 life which opened like a garden of Paradise 
 before him. It was all a blaze of light and 
 splendour to his eyes. The world he had 
 thought a sombre place enough before, full of 
 painful demands upon his patience, his powers
 
 JOHN 177 
 
 of self-renunciation, and capacity of self-con- 
 trol. But now all at once it had changed to 
 Eden. And Kate, of whom he knew so little, 
 was the cause. 
 
 She, too, was falling under this natural 
 fascination. She was very much interested in 
 him, she said to herself. It was so sad to see 
 such a man, so full of talent and capability, 
 immolate himself like this. Kate felt as if 
 she would have done a great deal to save him. 
 She represented to herself that, if he had felt 
 a special vocation for the Church, she would 
 have passed on her way and said nothing, as 
 became a recent acquaintance ; but when he 
 was not happy ! Was it not her duty, in 
 gratitude to her preserver, to interfere accord- 
 ing to her ability, and deliver him from 
 temptation ? Yes ! she concluded it was her 
 duty with a certain enthusiasm ; and even, if 
 that was necessary, that she would be willing 
 to do something to save him. She would 
 make an exertion in his behalf, if there was 
 anything she could do. She did not, even to 
 herself explain what was the anything she 
 could do to influence John one way or 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 178 JOHN 
 
 another. Such details it is perhaps better to 
 leave in darkness. But she felt herself ready 
 to exert herself in her turn — to make an effort 
 — what, indeed, if it were a sacrifice ? — to pre- 
 serve him as he had preserved her. 
 
 It was only on what was to be the day 
 before her departure that Kate found the 
 necessary opportunity. About a mile from 
 Fanshawe Eegis was a river which had been 
 John's joy all his life ; and on Kate's last day, 
 he was to be permitted the delight of introduc- 
 ing her to its pleasures. Mrs Mitford was to 
 have accompanied them, but she had slackened 
 much in her ferocity of chaperonage, and had 
 grown used to Kate, and not so much alarmed 
 on her account. And it was a special day at 
 the schools, and her work was more than usual. 
 " My dear, if you wish it, of course I will go 
 with you," she said to her young guest ; " and 
 you must not think me unkind to hesitate — 
 but you are used to him now, and you will be 
 quite safe with John. You don't mind going 
 with John ? " 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind it at all," said Kate, 
 with a little blush, which would have excited
 
 JOHN 179 
 
 Johns mother wonderfully two days before. 
 But custom is a great power, and she had got 
 used to Kate. So Mrs Mitford went to her 
 parish work, and the two young people went 
 out on their expedition. They had nearly a 
 mile to walk across fields, and then through 
 the grateful shade of a little wood. It was a 
 pretty road, and from the moment they entered 
 the wood, the common world disappeared from 
 about the pair. They walked like a pair in 
 romance, often silent, sometimes with a touch 
 of soft embarrassment, in that silent world, full 
 of the flutter of leaves and the flitting of birds, 
 and the notes of, here and there, an inquiring 
 thrush or dramatic blackbird. Boughs would 
 crackle and swing suddenly about them, as if 
 some fairy had swung herself within the leafy 
 cover : unseen creatures — rabbits or squirrels 
 — would dart away under the brushwood. 
 Arrows of sunshine came down upon the 
 brown underground. The leaves waved green 
 above and black in shadow, strewing the 
 chequered path. They walked in an atmo- 
 sphere of their own, in dreamland, fairyland, 
 by the shores of old romance ; the young man
 
 180 JOHN 
 
 bending his head in that attitude of worship, 
 which is the attitude of protection too, towards 
 the lower, slighter, weaker creature, who raised 
 her eyes to his with soft supremacy. It was 
 hers to command and his to obey. She had 
 no more doubt of the loyalty of her vassal 
 than he had of her sweet superiority to every 
 other created thing. And thus they went 
 through the wood to the river, — two unde- 
 veloped lives approaching the critical point 
 of their existence, and going up to it in a 
 dream of happiness, without shadow or fear. 
 The river ran through the wood for about a 
 mile ; but as it is a law of English nature that 
 no stream shall have the charm of woodland 
 on both sides at once, the northern bank was a 
 bit of meadowland, round which ran, at some 
 distance, a belt of trees. Kate recovered a 
 little from the spell of silence as she took into 
 her hands the cords of the rudder, and looked 
 on at her companion's struggle against the 
 current. "It must be hard work," she said. 
 " How is it you are so fond of taking trouble, 
 you men \ They say it ruins your health row- 
 ing in all those boat-races and things — all for
 
 JOHN 181 
 
 the pleasure of beating the other colleges or 
 the other university ; and you kill yourselves 
 for that ! I should like to do it for something 
 better worth, if it were me." 
 
 " But if you don t get the habit of the 
 struggle, you will want training when you try 
 for what is better worth," said John. " How 
 one talks ! I say you, as if by any chance you 
 could want to struggle for anything. Pardon 
 the profanity — I did not mean that." 
 
 " Why shouldn't I want to struggle ? " said 
 Kate, opening her eyes very wide. "I do, 
 sometimes — that is, I don't like to be beaten ; 
 nobody does, I suppose. But hard work must 
 be a great bore. I sit and look at my maid 
 sometimes, and think, after all, how much 
 superior she is to me. There she sits, stitch- 
 ing, stitching the whole day through, and it 
 does not seem to do her any harm — whereas 
 it would kill one of us. And then I order this 
 superior being about — me, the most useless 
 wretch ! and she gets up from her work to do 
 a hundred things for me which I could quite 
 well do for myself. Life is very odd," said 
 the young moralist, pulling the wroug string,
 
 182 JOHN 
 
 and sending the boat high, and dry upon a 
 most visible bank of weeds and gravel. " Ob, 
 Mr John, I am sure I beg your pardon ! What 
 have I done?" 
 
 "Nothing of the least importance/' said 
 John ; and while Kate sat dismayed and 
 wondering, he had plunged into the sparkling 
 shallow stream, and pushed the fairy vessel 
 off into its necessary depth of water. " Only 
 pardon me for jumping in in this wild way and 
 sprinkling your dress," he said, as he took his 
 seat and his oars again. Kate was silent for 
 the moment. She gazed at him with her 
 pretty eyes, and her lips apart, wondering at the 
 water-god ; from which it will be clear to the 
 reader that Kate Crediton was unused to river 
 navigation, and the ways of boating men. 
 
 " But you will catch your death of cold, and 
 what will your mother say \ " said Kate ; and 
 this danger filled her with such vivid feminine 
 apprehensions, that it was some time before 
 she could be consoled. And then the talk ran 
 on about a multitude of things — about nothing 
 in particular — while the one interlocutor steered 
 wildly into all the difficulties possible, and the
 
 JOHN 183 
 
 other toiled steadily against the current. It 
 was a rapid, vehement little river, more like a 
 Scotch or Welsh stream than a placid English 
 one ; and sometimes there were snags to be 
 avoided, and sometimes shallows to be run 
 upon, so that the voyage was not without 
 excitement, with such a pilot at the helm. 
 
 But when John turned his little vessel, and 
 it began to float down stream, the dreamy 
 silence of the woodland walk began to steal 
 over the two once more. " Ah ! now the 
 work is over/' Kate said, with a little sigh ; 
 "yes, it is very nice to float — but then one 
 feels as if one's own will had nothing to do 
 with it. I begin to understand why the other 
 is the best." 
 
 " I suppose they are both best," said John — 
 which was not a very profound observation ; 
 and yet he sighed too. "And then it is so 
 much easier in everything to go with the 
 stream, and to do what you are expected to 
 do." 
 
 " But is it right \ " said Kate, with solemnity. 
 " Ah ! now I know what you are thinking 
 about. I have so wanted to speak to you ever
 
 184 JOHN 
 
 since that night. Don't you think that doing 
 what you are expected to do would be wrong ? 
 I have thought so much about it " 
 
 " Have you ? M said John ; and a delicious 
 tear came to the foolish fellow's eye. " It was 
 too good of you to think of me at all." 
 
 " Of course I could not help thinking of 
 you," said Kate, " after what you said. Per- 
 haps you will not think my advice of much 
 value ; but I don't think — I don't really think 
 you ought to do it. I feel that it would be 
 wrong." 
 
 " There is no one in the world whose advice 
 would be so much to me," cried foolish John. 
 "My sight is clouded by — by self-interest, 
 and habit, and a thousand things. I have 
 never opened my heart to any one but you — 
 and how I presumed to trouble you with it I 
 can't tell," he went on, gazing at her with 
 fond eyes, which Kate found it difficult to 
 meet. 
 
 "Oh, that is natural enough. Don't you 
 remember what you said 1 " she answered, 
 softly ; " what you did for me — and that 
 moment when you said we might have died ;
 
 JOHN 185 
 
 — we should be like — brother and sister — all 
 our lives." 
 
 " Not that," said John, with a little start ; 
 
 " but Yes, I hold by my claim. I wish 
 
 I had done something to deserve it, though. 
 If I had known it was you " 
 
 " How could you possibly know it was me 
 when you did not know there was such a 
 person as me in the world \ " said Kate. 
 "Don't talk such nonsense, please." 
 
 "No; was it possible that there was once a 
 time when I did not know that there was you 
 in the world? What a cold world it must 
 have been ! — how sombre and miserable ! " 
 cried the enthusiast. " I can't realise it now." 
 
 " Oh, please ! — what nonsense you do talk, 
 to be sure!" cried Kate; and then she gave 
 her pretty head a little shake to dissipate the 
 blush and the faint mist of some emotion that 
 had been stealing over her eyes, and took up 
 the interrupted strain. " Now that you do 
 know there is a me, you must pay attention 
 to me. I have thought over it a great deal. 
 You must not do it — indeed you must not. 
 A man who is not quite certain, how can he
 
 186 JOHN 
 
 teach others \ It would be like me steering — 
 now there ! Oh, I am sure, I beg your par- 
 don. Who was to know that nasty bank 
 would turn up again ? " 
 
 " Never mind," said John, when he had re- 
 peated the same little performance which had 
 signalised their upward course ; " that is no- 
 thing — except that it interrupted what you 
 were saying. Tell me again what you have 
 thought." 
 
 " But you never mean to be guided by me 
 all the same," said Kate, incautiously, though 
 she must have foreseen, if she had taken a 
 moment to think, that such a remark would 
 carry her subject too far. 
 
 " Ah ! how can you say so — how can you 
 think so V cried John, crossing his oars across 
 the boat, and leaning over them, with his eyes 
 fixed upon her, " when you must know I am 
 guided by your every look. Don't be angry 
 with me. It is so hard to look at you and not 
 say all that is in my heart. If you would let 
 me think that I might — identify myself alto- 
 gether — I mean, do only what pleased you — I 
 mean, think of you as caring a little "
 
 JOHN 187 
 
 " I care a great deal/' said Kate, with 
 sudden temerity, taking the words out of his 
 mouth, " or why should I take the trouble to 
 say so much about it? I consider that we 
 are — brother and sister ; and that gives me a 
 sort of right to speak. Stay till I have done, 
 Mr John. Don't you think you could be of 
 more use in the world, if you were in the 
 world and not out of it ? Now think ! Look- 
 ing at it in your way, no doubt, it is very 
 fine to be a clergyman ; but you can only 
 talk to people and persuade them, you know, 
 and don't have it in your power to do very 
 much for them. Now look at a rich man like 
 papa. He does not give his mind to that, 
 you know. I am very sorry, but neither he 
 nor I have had anybody to put it in our heads 
 what we ought to do — but still he does some 
 good in his way. If you were as rich as he 
 is, how much you could do ! You would be a 
 good angel to the poor people. You could 
 set right half of those dreadful things that 
 Mrs Mitford tells us of, even in the village. 
 You could give the lads work, and keep them 
 steady. You could build them proper cot-
 
 188 JOHN 
 
 tages, and have them taught what they ought 
 to know. Don't shake your head. I know you 
 would be the people's good angel, if you were 
 as rich as papa." 
 
 Poor John's countenance had changed many 
 times during this address. His intent gaze 
 fell from her, and returned and fell again. A 
 shade came over his face — he shook his head, 
 not in contradiction of what she said so much 
 as in despondency ; and when he spoke, his 
 voice had taken a chill, as it were, and lost 
 all the musical thrill of imagination and 
 passion that was in it. " Miss Crediton," he 
 said, mournfully, " you remind me of what I 
 had forgotten — the great gulf there is between 
 you and me. I had forgotten it, like an ass. 
 I had been thinking of you not as a rich man's 
 
 daughter, but as And I, a poor aimless 
 
 fool, not able to make up my mind as to how 
 I am to provide for my own life ! Forgive 
 me — you have brought me to myself." 
 
 " Now I should like to know what that has 
 to do with it," cried Kate, with a little air of 
 exasperation — exasperation more apparent than 
 real. " I tell you I want you to be rich like
 
 JOHN 189 
 
 papa, and you answer me that I remind you I 
 am a rich man's daughter ! "Well, what of 
 that ? I want you to be a rich man too. I 
 can't help whose daughter I am. I did not 
 choose my own papa — though I like him 
 better than any other all the same. But I 
 want you to be rich too, you understand ; for 
 many reasons." 
 
 " For what reasons ? " said John, lighting 
 up again. She had drooped her head a little 
 when she said these last words. A bright 
 blush had flushed all over her. Could it be 
 
 that she meant John was not vain, and 
 
 yet the inference was so natural ; he sat 
 gazing at her for one long minute in a sug- 
 gestive tremulous silence, and then he went 
 faltering, blundering on. "I would be any- 
 thing for your sake — that you know. I would 
 be content to labour for you from morning to 
 night. I would be a ploughman for your 
 sake. To be a rich man is not so easy ; but 
 if you were to tell me to do it — for you — I 
 would work my fingers to the bone ; I would 
 die, but I should do it — for you. Am I to be 
 rich for you V
 
 190 JOHN 
 
 " Oh, fancy ! here we are already ," cried 
 Kate, in a little tremor, feeling that she had 
 gone too far, and he had gone too far, and 
 thinking with a little panic, half of horror, 
 half of pleasure, of the walk that remained to 
 be taken through the enchanted wood. " How 
 fast the stream has carried us down ! and yet 
 I don't suppose it can have been very fast 
 either, for the shadows are lengthening. We 
 must make haste and get home." 
 
 " But you have not answered me," he 
 said, still leaning across his oars with a look 
 which she could not face. 
 
 "Oh, never mind just now," she cried; 
 " let us land, please, and not drift farther 
 down. You are paying no attention to where 
 the boat is going. There ! I knew an acci- 
 dent would happen," cried Kate, with half- 
 mischievous triumph, running the boat into 
 the bank. She thought nothing now of his 
 feet getting wet, as he stepped into the water 
 again to bring it to the side that she might 
 land. She even sprang out and ran on, tell- 
 ing him to follow her, while he had to wait to 
 secure the boat, and warn the people at the
 
 JOHN 191 
 
 forester's cottage that he had left it. Kate 
 ran on into the wood, up the broad road grad- 
 ually narrowing among the trees, where still 
 the sunshine penetrated like arrows of gold, 
 and the leaves danced double, leaf and 
 shadow, and the birds carried on their cease- 
 less interluding, and the living creatures 
 stirred. She ran on mischievously, with a 
 little laugh at her companion left behind. 
 But that mood did not long balance the influ- 
 ence of the place. Her steps slackened — her 
 heart began to beat. All at once she twined 
 her arms about a birch to support herself, 
 and, leaning her head against it, cried a little 
 in her confusion and excitement. " Oh, what 
 have I done ? what shall I say to him V s Kate 
 said to herself. Was she in love with John 
 that she had brought him to this declaration 
 of his sentiments ? She did not know — she 
 did not think she was — and yet she had done 
 it with her eyes open. And in a few minutes 
 he would be by her side insisting on an 
 answer. " And what shall I say to him V 
 within herself cried Kate. 
 
 But when John came up breathless, she was
 
 192 JOHN 
 
 going along the road very demurely, without 
 any signs of emotion, and glanced at him with 
 the same look of friendly sovereignty, though 
 her heart was quailing within her. He joined 
 her, breathless with haste and excitement, and 
 for a moment neither spoke. Then it was 
 Kate who, in desperation, resumed the talk. 
 
 " You must tell me what you think another 
 time," she said, with an air of royal calm. 
 " Perhaps what I have said has not been very 
 wise ; but I meant it for good. I meant, you 
 know, that the man of action can do most. I 
 
 meant But, please, let us get on quickly, 
 
 for I am so afraid we shall be too late for 
 dinner. Your father does not like to wait. 
 And you can tell me what you think another 
 time." 
 
 " What I think has very little to do with 
 it," said John. " It should be what you think 
 — what you ordain. For you I will do any- 
 thing — everything. Good heavens, what a 
 nuisance ! " cried the young man. 
 
 At this exclamation Kate looked up, and 
 saw, — was it Isaac's substitute — the ram 
 caught in the thicket ? — Fred Huntley riding
 
 JOHN 193 
 
 quietly towards them, coming down under the 
 trees, like somebody in romance. "It is Mr 
 Huntley," said Kate, with a mental thanks- 
 giving which she dared not have put into 
 words. " It is like an old ballad. Here is the 
 knight on the white horse appearing under the 
 trees just when he is wanted — that is, just 
 when you were beginning to tire of my society; 
 
 and here am I, the errant damosel What 
 
 a nice picture it would make if he were only 
 handsome, which he is not ! But all the same, 
 his horse is white." 
 
 " And I suppose I am the magician who is 
 to be discomfited and put to flight," said John, 
 with a grim attempt at a smile. 
 
 And here Kate's best qualities made her 
 cruel. " You are — whatever you please," she 
 said, turning upon him with the brightest 
 sudden smile. She could not bear, poor fellow, 
 that his feelings should be hurt, when she felt 
 herself so relieved and easy in mind ; and 
 John, out of his despondency, went up to daz- 
 zling heights of confidence and hope. Fred, 
 riding up, saw the smile, and said to himself, 
 " What ! gone so far already V with a curious 
 
 vol. I. n
 
 194 JOHN 
 
 sensation of pique. And yet he had no occa- 
 sion to be piqued. He had never set up any 
 pretensions to Kate's favour. He had foreseen 
 how it would be when he last saw them to- 
 gether. It was something too ridiculous to 
 feel as if he cared. Of course he did not care. 
 But still there was a little pique in his rapid 
 reflection as he came up to them. And they 
 were all three a little embarrassed, which, on 
 the whole, seemed uncalled for, considering the 
 perfectly innocent and ordinary circumstances, 
 which the boating-party immediately began 
 with volubility to explain. 
 
 "We have been on the river," said Kate. 
 "Mr Mitford so kindly offered to take me 
 before I went away. And we hoped to have 
 Mrs Mitford with us ; but at the last moment 
 she could not come." 
 
 I daresay not, indeed, Fred Huntley said in 
 his heart ; but he only looked politely indiffer- 
 ent, and made a little bow. 
 
 " Perhaps it was better she did not, for the 
 boat is very small," said John, carrying on the 
 explanation. Was it an apology they were 
 making for themselves ? And so all at once,
 
 JOHN 195 
 
 notwithstanding Kate's romance about the 
 knight on the white horse, all the enchant- 
 ment disappeared from the fairy wood. Birds 
 and rabbits and squirrels, creatures of natural 
 history, pursued their common occupations 
 about, without any fairy suggestions. It was 
 only the afternoon sun that slanted amoug the 
 trees, showing it was growing late, and not 
 showers of golden arrows. The wood became 
 as commonplace as a railroad, and Kate Credi- 
 ton related to Fred Huntley how she was going 
 home, and what was to happen, and how she 
 hoped to meet his sisters at the Camelford 
 ball. 
 
 Thus the crisis which John thought was to 
 decide everything for him passed off in bathos 
 and commonplace. He walked on beside the 
 other two, who did all the talking, eating his 
 heart. Had she been playing with him, mak- 
 ing a joke of his sudden passion % But then 
 she would give him a glance from time to time 
 which spoke otherwise. " There is still an 
 evening and a morning," John said to himself; 
 and he stood like a churl at the Eectory gate, 
 and suffered Huntley to ride on without the
 
 196 JOHN 
 
 slightest hint of a possibility that he should 
 stay to dinner. Such inhospitable behaviour 
 was not common at Fanshawe Regis. But 
 there are moments in which politeness, kind- 
 ness, neighbourly charities, must all give way 
 before a more potent feeling, and John Mitford 
 had arrived at one of these. And his heart 
 was beating, his head throbbing, all his pulses 
 going at the highest speed and out of tune — 
 or, at least, that was his sensation. Kate dis- 
 appeared while he stood at the gate, shutting 
 it carefully upon Fred, and heaven knows 
 what frightful interval might be before him ere 
 he could resume the interrupted conversation, 
 and demand the answer to which surely he 
 had a right ! 
 
 John's mind was in such a whirl of confu- 
 sion that he could not realise what he was 
 about to do. If he could have thought it over 
 calmly, and asked himself what right he had 
 to woo a rich man's daughter, or even to dream 
 of bringing her to his level, probably poor 
 John would not only have stopped short, but 
 he might have had resolution enough to turn 
 back and leave his father's door, and put him-
 
 JOHN 197 
 
 self out of the reach of temptation till she was 
 safe in her own father's keeping. He had 
 strength enough and resolution enough to have 
 made such a sacrifice, had there been any time 
 to think ; but sudden passion had swept him 
 up like a whirlwind, and conquered all his 
 faculties. He wanted to have an answer ; an 
 answer — nothing more. He wanted to know 
 what she meant — why it was that she was so 
 eager with him to bring his doubtfulness to a 
 conclusion. If he took her advice, what would 
 follow 1 There was a singing in his ears, and 
 a buzzing in his brain. He could not think, 
 nor pause to consider which was right. There 
 was but one thing to do — to get his answer 
 from her ; to know what she meant. And 
 then the Deluge or Paradise — one thing or the 
 other — would come after that, but were it 
 Paradise, or were it the Flood, John's anchors 
 were pulled up, and he had left the port. All 
 his old prospects and hopes and intentions had 
 vanished. He could no more go back to the 
 position in which he had stood when he first 
 opened his heart to Kate than he could fly. 
 Fanshawe Kegis, and his parents' hopes, and
 
 198 JOHN 
 
 the old placid existence to which he had been 
 trained, all melted away into thin air. He was 
 standing on the threshold of a new world, with 
 an unknown wind blowing in his face, and an 
 unknown career before him. If it might be 
 that she was about to put her little hand in 
 his, and go with him across the wilderness ! 
 But, anyhow, it was a wilderness that had to 
 be traversed ; not those quiet waters and green 
 pastures which had been destined for him at 
 home. 
 
 " How late you are, John ! " his mother 
 said, meeting him on the stair. She was 
 coming down dressed for dinner, with just a 
 little cloud over the brightness of her eyes. 
 " You must have stayed a long time on the 
 river. Was that Kate that has just gone 
 up-stairs ? " 
 
 " Miss Crediton went on before me. I had 
 to stop and speak to Huntley at the gate." 
 
 " You should have asked him to stay 
 dinner," said Mrs Mitford. " My dear, I am 
 sure you have a headache. You should not 
 have rowed so far, under that blazing sun. 
 But make haste now. Your papa cannot bear
 
 JOHN 199 
 
 to be kept waiting. I will tell Jervis to give 
 you five minutes. And, oh, make haste, my 
 dear boy ! " 
 
 " Of course I shall make haste," said John, 
 striding past — as if ten minutes more or less 
 could matter to anybody under the sun ! 
 
 "It is for your papa, John," said Mrs 
 Mitford, half apologetic, half reproachful ; and 
 she went down to the drawing-room and 
 surreptitiously moved the fingers of the clock 
 to gain a little time for her boy. "Jervis, 
 you need not be in such a hurry — there are 
 still ten minutes," she said, arresting the man- 
 of-all-work who was called the butler at 
 Fanshawe, as he put his hand on the dinner- 
 bell to ring it ; and she was having a little 
 discussion with him over their respective 
 watches, when the Doctor approached in his 
 fresh tie. " The drawing-room clock is never 
 wrong," said the deceitful woman. And no 
 doubt that was why the trout was spoiled and 
 the soup so cold. For Kate did not hurry 
 with her toilette, whatever John might do ; 
 and being a little agitated and excited, her 
 hair took one of those perverse fits peculiar
 
 200 JOHN 
 
 to ladies' hair, and would not permit itself to 
 be put up properly. Kate, too, was in a 
 wonderful commotion of mind, as well as her 
 lover. She was tingling all over with her 
 adventure, and the hairbreadth escape she had 
 made. But had she escaped ? There was a 
 long evening still before her, and it was 
 premature to believe that the danger was 
 over. When Kate went down- stairs, she had 
 more than one reason for being so very un- 
 comfortable. Dr Mitford was waiting for his 
 dinner, and John was waiting for his answer ; 
 she could not tell what might happen to her 
 before the evening was over, and she could 
 scarcely speak with composure because of the 
 frightened irregular beating of her heart.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Dinner falling in a time of excitement like 
 that which I have just described, with its 
 suggestions of perfect calm and regularity, the 
 unbroken routine of life, has a very curious 
 effect upon agitated minds. John Mitford 
 felt as if some catastrophe must have hap- 
 pened to him as he sat alone at his side of the 
 table, and looked across at Kate, who was a 
 little troubled too, and reflected how long a 
 time he must sit there eating and drinking, or 
 pretending to eat and drink ; obliged to keep 
 at that distance from her — to address common 
 conversation to her — to describe the boating, 
 and the wood, and all that had happened, as 
 if it had been the most ordinary expedition in 
 the world. Kate was very kind to him in
 
 202 JOHN 
 
 this respect, though perhaps he was too far 
 gone to think it kind. She took upon herself 
 the weight of the conversation. She told Mrs 
 Mitford quite fluently all about the boat and 
 her bad steering, and all the accidents that 
 had happened, and how John had jumped 
 into the water. "I know you will never 
 forgive me if he has caught cold/' Kate said, 
 glibly, with even a mischievous look in her 
 eye ; " but I must tell. And I do hope you 
 changed your stockings," she said, leaning 
 across the table to him with a smile. It was 
 a mocking smile, full of mischief, and yet 
 there was in it a certain softened look. It was 
 then that poor John felt as if some explosion 
 must take place, as he sat and restrained 
 himself, and tried to look like a man inter- 
 ested in his dinner. Nobody else took any 
 notice of his agitation, and probably even his 
 mother did not perceive it ; but Jervis the 
 butler did, as he stood by his side, and helped 
 Mr John to potatoes. He could not dissimu- 
 late the shaking of his hand. 
 
 " My dear, I should never blame yo u" said 
 Mrs Mitford, with a little tremor in her
 
 JOHN 203 
 
 voice ; " lie is always so very rash. Of course 
 you changed, John ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course/' he said, with a laugh, 
 which sounded cynical and Byronic to his 
 audience. And then he made a violent effort 
 to master himself. " Miss Crediton thought 
 the river was rather pretty," he added, with 
 a hard-drawn breath of agitation, which 
 sounded to his mother like the first appear- 
 ance of the threatened cold. 
 
 " Jervis," she said, mildly, " will you be 
 good enough to fetch me the camphor from 
 my cupboard, and two lumps of sugar ? My 
 dear boy, it is not nasty ; it is only as a 
 precaution. It will not interfere with your 
 dinner, and it is sure to stop a cold." 
 
 John gave his mother a look under which 
 she trembled. It said as plainly as possible, 
 you are making me ridiculous ; and it was 
 pointed by a glance at Kate, who certainly 
 was smiling. Mrs Mitford was quick enough 
 to understand, and she was cowed by her son's 
 gravity. " Perhaps, on second thoughts," she 
 said, faltering, "you need not mind, Jervis. 
 It will do when Mr John goes to bed."
 
 204 JOHN 
 
 " The only use of camphor is at the moment 
 when you take a cold," said Dr Mitford ; " iden- 
 tify that moment, and take your dose, and you 
 are all safe. But I have always found that the 
 great difficulty was to identify the moment. 
 Did you point out to Miss Crediton the curious 
 effect the current has had upon the rocks % I 
 am not geological myself, but still it is very 
 interesting. The constant friction of the water 
 has laid bare a most remarkable stratification. 
 Ah ! I see he did not point it out, from your 
 look." 
 
 " Indeed I don't think Mr John showed me 
 anything that was instructive/' said Kate, with 
 a demure glance at him. At present she was 
 having it all her own way. 
 
 " Ah ! youth, youth," said Dr Mitford, shak- 
 ing his head. " He was much more likely to 
 tell you about his boating exploits, I fear. If 
 you really wish to understand the history and 
 structure of the district, you must take me 
 with you, Miss Crediton. Young men are so 
 foolish as to think these things slow." 
 
 "But then I am going away to-morrow," 
 said Kate, with a little pathetic inflection of
 
 JOHN 205 
 
 her voice. "And perhaps Mrs Mitford will 
 never ask me to come back a^ain. And I shall 
 have to give up the hope of knowing the dis- 
 trict. But anybody that steers so badly as I 
 do/' — Kate continued, with much humility, but 
 doubtful grammar, " it is not to be wondered at 
 if the gentleman who is rowing them should 
 think they were too ignorant to learn." 
 
 " Then the gentleman who was rowing you 
 was a stupid fellow," said the Doctor. " I 
 never had a more intelligent listener in my 
 life ; but, my dear young lady, you must 
 come back when the Society is here. Their 
 meeting is at Camelford, and they must make 
 an excursion to the Camp." 
 
 " And you will come and stay with us, Dr 
 Mitford," said Kate, coaxingly ; " now, pro- 
 mise. It will be something to look forward 
 to. You shall have the room next the library, 
 that papa always keeps for his learned friends, 
 he says. And if Mrs Mitford would be good, 
 and let the parish take care of itself, and come 
 too " 
 
 " Oh hush ! my dear ; we must not look 
 forward so far," said Mrs Mitford, with a little
 
 206 JOHN 
 
 cloud upon her face. She had found out by 
 this time that John was in trouble, and she 
 had no heart to enter into any discussion till 
 she knew what it was. And then she opened 
 out suddenly into a long account of the Fan- 
 shawe fami] y, apropos de rien. Mrs Fanshawe 
 had been calling that afternoon, and they had 
 heard from their granddaughter, Cicely, who 
 was abroad for her health — for all that family 
 was unfortunately very delicate. And poor 
 Cicely would have to spend the winter at 
 Nice, the doctor said. Kate bent her head 
 over her plate, and ate her grapes (the very 
 first of the season, which Mr Crediton s gar- 
 dener had forced for his young mistress, and 
 sent to Fanshawe Eegis to aid her cure), and 
 listened without paying much attention to the 
 story of Cicely Fanshawe's troubles. Nobody 
 else took any further part in the conversation 
 after Mrs Mitford had commenced that mono- 
 logue, except indeed the Doctor, who now 
 and then would ask a question. As for the 
 two young people, they sat on either side of 
 the table, and tried to look as if nothing had 
 happened. And Kate, for one, succeeded very
 
 JOHN 207 
 
 well in this laudable effort — so well that poor 
 John, in his excitement and agitation, sank to 
 the depths of despair as he twisted one of the 
 great vine-leaves in his fingers, and watched 
 her furtively through all the windings of his 
 mother's story. He said to himself, it is no- 
 thing to her. Her mind is quite unmoved 
 by anything that has happened. She could 
 not have understood him, John felt — she 
 could not have believed him. She must have 
 thought he was saying words which he did 
 not mean. Perhaps that was the way among 
 the frivolous beings to whom she was accus- 
 tomed ; but it was not the way with John. 
 
 While the mother was giving that account 
 of the young Fanshawes, and the father inter- 
 posing his questions about Cicely's health, 
 their son was working himself up into a fever 
 of determination. He eyed Kate at the other 
 side of the table, with a certain rage of resolu- 
 tion mingling with his love. She should not 
 escape him like this. She should answer him 
 one way or another. He could bear anything 
 or everything from her except this silence ; 
 but that he would not bear. She should tell
 
 208 JOHN 
 
 him face to face. He might have lost the 
 very essence and joy of life, but still he 
 should know downright that he had lost it. 
 This passion was growing in him while the 
 quiet slumberous time crept on, and all was 
 told about Cicely Fanshawe. Poor Cicely ! 
 just Kate's age, and sent to Nice to die ; but 
 that thought never occurred to the vehement 
 young lover, nor did it occur to Kate, as she 
 sat and ate her grapes, and gave little glances 
 across the table, and divined that he was ris- 
 ing to a white heat. " I must run off to my 
 own room, and say it is to do my packing," 
 Kate said to herself, with a little quake in 
 her heart ; and yet she would rather have 
 liked — behind a curtain or door, out of harm's 
 way — to have heard him say what he had to 
 say. 
 
 Mrs Mitford was later than usual of leaving 
 the table — and she took Kate by the arm, being 
 determined apparently to contrarier everybody 
 on this special evening, and made her sit down 
 on the sofa by her in the drawing-room. " My 
 dear, I must have you to myself for a little 
 while to-night," she said, drawing the girl's
 
 JOHN 209 
 
 hands into her own. And then she sat and 
 talked. It seemed to Kate that she talked of 
 everything in heaven and earth ; but the old 
 singing had come back to her ears, and she 
 could not pay attention. " Now he is coming," 
 she said to herself; "now I shall be obliged to 
 sit still all the evening ; now I shall never be 
 able to escape from him." By-and-by, however, 
 Kate began to feel piqued that John should 
 show so little eagerness to follow her. " Yes, 
 indeed, dear Mrs Mitford, you may be sure I 
 shall always remember your kindness," she 
 said, aloud. But in her heart she was saying 
 in the same breath, " Oh, very well ; if he does 
 not care I am sure I do not care. I am only 
 too glad to be let off so easy; " which was true, 
 and yet quite the reverse of true. 
 
 But then Kate did not see the watcher out- 
 side the window in the darkness, who saw all 
 that was going on, and bided his time, though 
 he trembled with impatience and excitement. 
 Not knowing he was there, she came to have a 
 very disdainful feeling about him as the mo- 
 ments passed on. To ask such a question as 
 that, and never to insist on an answer ! Well, 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 210 JOHN 
 
 he might be very nice ; but what should she 
 do with a man that took so little pains to secure 
 his object. Or was it his object at all % He 
 might be cleverer than she had taken him for ; 
 he might be but playing with her, as she had 
 intended to play with him. Indignant with 
 these thoughts, she rose up when Mrs Mitford's 
 last words came to a conclusion, and detached 
 herself, not without a slight coldness, from that 
 kind embrace. "I must go and see to my 
 things, please," she said, raising her head like 
 a young queen. " But, my dear, there is Par- 
 sons," said Mrs Mitford. " Oh, but I must see 
 after everything myself," replied Kate, and 
 went away, not in haste, as making her escape, 
 but with a certain stateliness of despite. She 
 walked out of the room in quite a leisurely way, 
 feeling it beneath her dignity to fly from an 
 adversary that showed no signs of pursuing ; 
 and even turned round at the door to say some- 
 thing with a boldness which looked almost like 
 bravado. He will come now, no doubt, and 
 find me gone, and I hope he will enjoy the 
 tete-a-tete, with his mother, she mused, with a 
 certain ferocity ; and so went carelessly out,
 
 JOHN 211 
 
 with all the haughtiness of pique, and walked 
 almost into John Mitford's arms ! 
 
 He seized her hand before she knew what 
 had happened, and drew it through his arm, 
 first throwing a shawl round her, which he had 
 picked up somewhere, and which, suddenly 
 curling round her like a lasso, was Kate's first 
 indication of what had befallen her. " I have 
 been watching you till I am half wild," he 
 whispered in her ear. " Oh come with me to 
 the garden, and say three words to me. I have 
 no other chance for to-night." 
 
 " Oh, please, let me go. I must see to my 
 packing — indeed I must," cried Kate, so startled 
 and moved by the suddenness of the attack, 
 and by his evident excitement, that she could 
 scarcely keep from tears. 
 
 "Not now," said John, in her ear — "not 
 now. I must have my answer. You cannot 
 be so cruel as to go now. Only half an hour 
 — only ten minutes — Kate ! " 
 
 " Hush ! oh hush ! " she cried, feeling herself 
 conquered; and ere she knew, the night air 
 was blowing in her face, and the dark sky, with 
 its faint little summer stars, was shining over
 
 212 JOHN 
 
 her, and John Mitford, holding her close, with 
 her hand on his arm, was bending over her, a 
 dark shadow. She could not read in his face 
 all the passion that possessed him, but she felt 
 it, and it made her tremble, woman of the world 
 as she was. 
 
 " Kate/' he said, " I cannot go searching for 
 words now. I think I will go mad if you don't 
 speak to me. Tell me what I am to hope for. 
 Give me nry answer. I cannot bear any 
 more." 
 
 His voice was hoarse ; he held her hand fast 
 on his arm, not caressing, but compelling. He 
 was driven out of all patience ; and for the first 
 time in her life Kate's spirit was cowed, and 
 her wit failed to the command of the situation. 
 
 " Let me go ! " she said ; "oh, do let me go ! 
 you frighten me, Mr John." 
 
 " Don't call me Mr John. I am your slave, 
 if you like; I will be anything you please. 
 You said just now we belonged to each other ; 
 so we do. No, I can't be generous ; it is not 
 the moment to be generous. I have a claim 
 upon you — don't call me Mr John." 
 
 " Then what shall I call you ? " Kate said,
 
 JOHN 213 
 
 with a little hysterical giggle. And all at 
 once, at that most inappropriate moment, 
 there flashed across her mind the first name 
 she had recognised his identity by. My John 
 — was that the alternative \ She shrank a 
 little and trembled, and did not know whether 
 she should laugh or cry. Should she call him 
 that just as an experiment, to see how he 
 would take it ? — or what else could she do to 
 escape from him out of this dark place, all full 
 of dew, and odours, and silence, into the light 
 and the safety of her own room \ And yet 
 all this time she made no attempt to with- 
 draw her hand from his arm. She wanted 
 something to lean on at such a crisis, and he 
 was very handy for leaning on — tall, and 
 strong, and sturdy, and affording a very ade- 
 quate support. " Oh, do let me go ! " she 
 burst out all at once. " It was only for your 
 own good I spoke to you ; I did not mean — 
 this. Why should you do things for me? I 
 don't want — to make any change. I should 
 like to have you always just as we have been 
 — friends. Don't say any more just yet — 
 listen. I like you very very much for a
 
 214 JOHN 
 
 friend. You said yourself we were like brother 
 and sister. Oh, why should you vex me and 
 bother me, and want to be anything differ- 
 ent ? " said Kate, in her confusion, suddenly 
 beginning to cry without any warning. But 
 next moment, without knowing how it was, 
 she became aware that she was crying very 
 comfortably on John's shoulder. Her crying 
 was more than he could bear. He took her 
 into his arms to console her without any 
 arriere pensee. " Oh, my darling, I am not 
 worth it," he said, stooping over her. "Is it 
 for me — that would never let the wind blow 
 on you ? Kate ! I will not trouble you any 
 more." And with that, before he was aware, 
 in his compunction and sympathy, his lips 
 somehow found themselves close to her cheek. 
 It was all to keep her from crying — to show 
 how sorry he was for having grieved her. His 
 heart yearned over the soft tender creature. 
 What did it matter what he suffered, who was 
 only a man % But that Kate should cry ! — 
 and that it should be his fault ! He felt in 
 his simplicity that he was giving her up for 
 ever, and his big heart almost broke, as he
 
 JOHN 215 
 
 bent down trembling, and encountered that 
 soft warm velvet cheek. 
 
 How it happened I cannot tell. He did 
 not mean it, and she did not mean it. But 
 certainly Kate committed herself hopelessly 
 by crying there quite comfortably on his 
 shoulder, and suffering herself to be kissed 
 without so much as a protest. He was so 
 frightened by his own temerity, and so sur- 
 prised at it, that even had she vindicated her 
 dignity after the first moment, and burst 
 indignant from his arms, John would have 
 begged her pardon with abject misery, and 
 there would have been an end of him. But 
 somehow Kate was bewildered, and let that 
 moment pass; and after the surprise and 
 shock which his own unprecedented audacity 
 wrought in him, John grew bolder, as was 
 natural. She was not angry ; she endured it 
 without protest. Was it possible that in her 
 trouble she was unconscious of it % And in- 
 voluntarily John came to see that boldness 
 was now his only policy, and that it must not 
 be possible for her to ignore the facts of the 
 case. That was all simple enough. But as
 
 216 JOHN 
 
 for Kate, I am utterly unable to explain her 
 conduct. Even when she came to herself, all 
 she did was to put up her hands to her face, 
 and to murmur piteously, humbly, " Don't ! 
 oh, please, don't ! " And why shouldn't he, 
 when that was all the resistance she made ? 
 
 After this, the young man being partly 
 delirious, as might have been expected, it was 
 Kate who had to come to the front of affairs 
 and take the lead. " Do, please, be rational 
 now," she said, shaking herself free all in a 
 moment. " And give me your arm, you fool- 
 ish John, and let us take a turn round the 
 garden. Oh, what would your mother say if 
 she knew how ridiculous you have been mak- 
 ing yourself % Tell me quietly what it is you 
 want now," she added, in her most coaxing 
 tone, looking up into his face. 
 
 Upon which the bewildered fellow poured 
 forth a flood of ascriptions of praise and paeans 
 of victory, and compared Kate, who knew she 
 was no angel, to all the deities and excellences 
 ever known to man. She listened to it all 
 patiently, and then shook her head with gentle 
 half-maternal tolerance.
 
 john 217 
 
 " Well," she said, " let us take all that for 
 granted, you know. Of course I am every- 
 thing that is nice. If you did not think so 
 you would be a savage ; but, John, please 
 don't be foolish. Tell me properly. I have 
 gone and given in to you when I did not 
 mean to. And now, what do you want ? " 
 
 " I want you," he said ; " have you any 
 doubt about that \ And, except for your sake, 
 I don't care for anything else in the world." 
 
 " Oh, but I care for a great many things," 
 said Kate. " And, John," she went on, joining 
 both her hands on his arm, and leaning her 
 head lightly against it in her caressing way, 
 " first of all, you have accepted my conditions, 
 you know, and taken my advice ? " 
 
 " Yes, my darling," said John ; and then 
 somehow his eye was caught by the lights in 
 the windows so close at hand, the one in the 
 library, the other in the drawing-room, where 
 sat his parents, who had the fullest confidence 
 in him ; and he gave a slight start and sigh in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 " Perhaps you repent your bargain already," 
 said impetuous Kate, being instantly conscious
 
 218 JOHN 
 
 of both start and sigh, and of the feeling which 
 had produced them. 
 
 "Ah! how can you speak to me so," he 
 said, " when you know if it was life I had to 
 pay for it I would do it joyfully 1 No ; even 
 if I had never seen you I could not have done 
 what they wanted me. That is the truth. 
 And now I have you, my sweetest " 
 
 " Hush," she said, softly, " we have not 
 come to that yet. There is a great deal, such 
 a great deal, to think about ; and there is 
 papa " 
 
 " And I have so little to offer," said John ; 
 "it is only now I feel how little. Ah ! how 
 five minutes change everything ! It never came 
 into my mind that I had nothing to offer you — I 
 was so full of yourself. But now ! — you who 
 should have kingdoms laid at your feet — what 
 right had a penniless fellow like me " 
 
 " If you regret you can always go back," 
 said Kate, promptly; " though, you know, it 
 is a kind of insinuation against me, as if I had 
 consented far too easy. And, to tell the truth, 
 I never did consent." 
 
 Here poor John clutched at her hand, which
 
 JOHN 219 
 
 seemed to be sliding from his arm, and held it 
 fast without a word. 
 
 " No, I never did consent," said Kate. " It 
 was exactly like the savages that knock a poor 
 girl down and then cany her off. You never 
 asked me even — you took me. Well, but then 
 the thing to be drawn from that, is not any 
 nonsense about giving up. If you will pro- 
 mise to be good, and do everything I tell you, 
 and let me manage with papa " 
 
 " But it is my business to let him know," 
 said John. "No, my darling — not even for 
 you. I could not skulk, nor do anything un- 
 derhand. I must tell him, and I must tell 
 them " 
 
 " Then you will have your way, and we 
 shall come to grief," said Kate ; " as if I did 
 not know papa best. And then — I am not 
 half nor quarter so good as you; but in some 
 things I am cleverer than you, John." 
 
 " In everything, dear," he said, with one of 
 those ecstatic smiles peculiar to his state of 
 folly, though in the darkness Kate did not get 
 the benefit of it. "I never have, never will 
 compare myself to my darling. It is all your
 
 220 JOHN 
 
 goodness letting me — all your sweetness and 
 humility and " 
 
 " Please don't/' said Kate, " please stop — 
 please don't talk such nonsense. Oh, I hope I 
 shall never behave so badly that you will be 
 forced to find me out. But now about papa. 
 It must be me to tell him ; you may come in 
 afterwards, if you like. I know what I shall 
 do. I will drive the phaeton to the station to 
 meet him. I will be the one to tell him first. 
 John, 1 know what I am talking of, and I must 
 have my own way." 
 
 " Are you out there, John, in the dark ? and 
 who have you got with you \ " said Mrs Mit- 
 ford's voice suddenly in their ears. It made 
 them jump apart as if it had been the voice of 
 a ghost. And Kate, panting, blazing with 
 blushes in the darkness, feeling as if she never 
 could face those soft eyes again, recoiled back 
 into the lilies, and felt the great white para- 
 dise of dew and sweetness take her in, and 
 busk her round with a garland of odour. Oh, 
 what was she to do 1 Would he be equal to 
 the emergency 1 Thus it will be seen that, 
 though she was very fond of him, she had not
 
 JOHN 221 
 
 yet the most perfect confidence in the relia- 
 bility of her John. 
 
 " Yes, mother, I am here," said John, with 
 a mellow fulness in his voice which Kate could 
 not understand, so different was it from his 
 usual tone, " and I have Kate with me — my 
 Kate — your Kate ; or, at least, there she is 
 among the lilies. She ought to be in your 
 arms first, after mine." 
 
 " After yours ! " His mother gave a little 
 scream. And Kate held up her head among 
 the flowers, blushing, yet satisfied. It was 
 shocking of him to tell ; but yet it settled the 
 question. She stood irresolute for a moment, 
 breathing quick with excitement, and then she 
 made a little run into Mrs Mitford's arms. 
 " He has made me be engaged to him whether 
 I will or not," she said, half crying on her 
 friend's shoulder. " He has made me. Won't 
 you love me too ? " 
 
 " Kate ! " was all the mother could say. 
 " my boy ! what have you done \ — what 
 have you done \ John, her father is ten times 
 as rich as we are. He will say we have abused 
 his trust. Oh ! what shall I do V
 
 222 JOHN 
 
 " Abused his trust indeed ! " said Kate. 
 " John, you are not to say a word ; she does 
 not understand. Why, it was I who did it 
 all ! I gave him no peace. I kept talking to 
 him of things I had no business with ; and 
 he is only a man — indeed he is only a boy. 
 Mamma, won't you kiss me, please ? M said 
 Kate, all at once sinking into the meekest of 
 tones; upon which Mrs Mitford, quite over- 
 come, and wanting to kiss her son first, and 
 with a hundred questions in her mind to pour 
 out upon him, yet submitted, and put her arm 
 round the stranger who was clinmns: to her 
 and kissed Kate — but not with her heart. She 
 had kissed her a great deal more tenderly only 
 yesterday, just to say good- night ; and then 
 the three stood silent in the darkness, and the 
 scene took another shape, and Johns beatitude 
 was past. The moment the mother joined 
 them another world came in. The enchanted 
 world, which held only two figures, opened up 
 and disappeared like a scene at a theatre ; and 
 lo ! there appeared all round a mass of other 
 people to whom John's passion was a matter 
 of indifference or a thing to be disapproved.
 
 JOHN 223 
 
 Suddenly the young pair felt themselves stand- 
 ing not only before John's anxious mother, 
 but before Mr Crediton, gloomy and wretched; 
 before Dr Mitford, angry and mortified ; be- 
 fore the whole neighbourhood, who would 
 judge them without much consideration of 
 mercy. John's reflections at this moment were 
 harder to support than those of Kate, for he 
 knew he was giving up for her sake the voca- 
 tion he had been trained to, and the awful 
 necessity of declaring his resolution to his 
 father and mother was before him. Whereas 
 the worst that could be said of Kate was that 
 she was a little flirt, and had turned John Mit- 
 ford's head — and she had heard as much be- 
 fore. But, notwithstanding, they were both 
 strangely sobered all in a moment as they 
 stood there, fallen out of their fairy sphere, by 
 Mrs Mitford's side. 
 
 " My dears, I must hear all about this after," 
 she said, with a kind of tremulous solemnity, 
 " but in the mean time you must come in to 
 tea. Whatever we do, we must not be late 
 for prayers."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The room was in its usual partially lighted 
 state, with darkness in all the corners, half- 
 seen furniture, and ghostly pictures on the 
 walls. A minute ago the servants had been 
 there in a line kneeling at prayers — dim beings, ' 
 something between pictures and ghosts. And 
 now they had just stolen out in procession, 
 and Dr Mitford had seated himself at the table 
 for the regulation ten minutes which he spent 
 with his family before retiring for the night. 
 Kate had drawn a low chair close to the table, 
 and was looking up at him with a little quiver 
 of anxiety about her lips and eyes. These 
 two — the old mans venerable white head 
 throwing reflections from it in the soft lamp- 
 light, the young girl all radiant with beauty 
 and feeling — were alone within the circle of
 
 JOHN 225 
 
 light. Outside of it stood two darker shadows, 
 John and his mother. Mrs Mitford was in a 
 black gown, and the bright tints of her pleas- 
 ant face were neutralised by the failure of 
 light. Two in the brightness and two in the 
 gloom — a curious symbolical arrangement. 
 And behind them all was the great open 
 window, full of darkness, and the garden with 
 all its unseen sweetness outside. 
 
 Dr Mitford was the only unconscious mem- 
 ber of this curious party. He had no suspicion 
 and no alarm. He stretched his legs, which 
 were not long, out comfortably before him, and 
 leant back composedly, now on the elbows, 
 now on the back, of his chair. 
 
 " Well, Miss Kate, and what have you been 
 doing with yourself all the evening ? " he said, 
 in his blissful ignorance. The other three gave a 
 simultaneous gasp. What would he think when 
 he heard ? This thought, however, pressed 
 hardest upon John. His mind was laden 
 with a secret which as yet nobody divined, 
 and speech almost forsook him when he had 
 most need of it. Neither Kate nor his mother 
 could see how pale he grew, and even if there 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 226 JOHN 
 
 had been light enough, John was not a hand- 
 some pink-and-white youth upon whom a sud- 
 den pallor shows. He might have shirked it 
 even now, or left it to his mother, or chosen 
 a more convenient moment. But he was un- 
 compromising in his sense of necessities, and 
 now was the moment at which it must be 
 done. He went round quickly to his father's 
 right hand — 
 
 " Father," he said, " I have got something 
 to tell you. I have done what perhaps was 
 not prudent, but I trust you will not think it 
 was not honourable. I have fallen in love 
 with Kate." 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " said Dr Mitford, in- 
 stantly abandoning his comfortable attitude, 
 and sitting straight up in his bewilderment. 
 He was so startled that he looked from one to 
 another, and finally turned to his wife, as a 
 man does who has referred every blunder and 
 surprise of a lifetime to her for explanation. 
 It was an appealing half-reproachful glance. 
 Here was something which no doubt she could 
 have prevented or staved off from him. " My 
 dear, what is the meaning of this % " he said.
 
 JOHN 227 
 
 " It is I who must tell you that," said John, 
 firmly. " I have a great deal to tell you — a 
 great deal to explain to my mother as well as 
 you. But this comes first of all — I love Kate. 
 I saved her, you know ; and then it seemed so 
 natural that she should be mine. How could 
 she have taken any one else than me who 
 would have died for her % And see, father, 
 she has consented," said the poor fellow, tak- 
 ing Kate's hand, and holding it in both his. 
 His eyes were full of tears, and there was a 
 smile on his face. It was that mingling of 
 pathos and of triumph which marks passion at 
 the highest strain. 
 
 " God bless my soul!" said Dr Mitford again, 
 and this time he rose to his feet in his amaze- 
 ment. " My dear, if you heard this was going 
 on, why did not you tell me \ Consented ! 
 why, she is a mere child, and her father trusted 
 her to us. Miss Kate, you must perceive he 
 is talking nonsense — you must have turned 
 his head. This can't go any further. The boy 
 must be mad to think of such a thing." 
 
 " Then I am mad too," said Kate, softly. 
 " Oh, please, do not be angry with us — we
 
 228 JOHN 
 
 could not help it. Oh, Mrs Mitford, say a 
 word for John ! " 
 
 And then there came a strange pause. The 
 mother said nothing. She stood in the shade 
 holding back, insensible, as it seemed, to this 
 appeal ; and on the other side of the table 
 were the young pair, holding each other fast. 
 As for Dr Mitford, he came to himself slowly 
 as Kate spoke. A ray of intelligence passed 
 over his face. He was a sensible man, and not 
 one to throw away the good the gods provided. 
 Gradually it became apparent to him that there 
 are times when youthful folly brings about re- 
 sults such as mature wisdom could scarcely 
 have conceived possible. From the first stupe- 
 faction his look brightened into surprise, then 
 into interest and half-disguised approval. He 
 drew a long breath, and when he spoke again, 
 his voice was wonderfully changed. 
 
 " Then you must be more to blame than he 
 is, my dear young lady, for you have not the 
 same temptation," he said, with a little flurry 
 and excitement, but not much apparent dis- 
 pleasure. And then he made a pause, and 
 looked at them with his brow contracted as if
 
 JOHN 229 
 
 they were a book. " I don't understand all 
 this. Do you mean to tell me you are engaged, 
 and it is not three weeks yet " 
 
 " It did not want three weeks/' said John, 
 " nor three days. Father, you see it is done 
 now ; she has consented, and she ought to 
 know best." 
 
 " I am utterly bewildered," said Dr Mitford, 
 but his tone softened more and more. "My 
 dear, have you nothing to say to this ? is it as 
 unexpected to you as it is to me ? Miss Kate, 
 you understand it is no reluctance to receive 
 you that overwhelms me, but the surprise — 
 
 and My dear, is it possible you have 
 
 nothing to say ? " 
 
 " It is her father I am thinking of," said Mrs 
 Mitford, suddenly, with a sharp jarring sound 
 of emotion in her voice. And so it was ; but 
 not entirely that. She seized upon the only 
 feasible objection that occurred to her to cover 
 her general consternation and sense of dismay. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," said Dr Mitford. " John, 
 I wish you had spoken to Mr Crediton first. I 
 shall explain to him that I knew nothing about 
 it — nothing at all till the last moment. I fear
 
 230 JOHN 
 
 you have taken away from me even the power 
 of pleading your cause ; though, Miss Kate," 
 he said, rising, and going up to her with the 
 urbanity which was so becoming to him, " if 
 you had no fortune, I should take the liberty 
 to kiss you, and tell you my son had made a 
 charming choice." 
 
 " Then kiss me now," said Kate, suddenly 
 detaching herself from John, and holding out 
 her hands to his father. Dr Mitford gave a 
 little irresolute glance behind him to see what 
 his wife was thinking; and then after a 
 moment's hesitation, melted by the pretty face 
 lifted to him, by the fortune which he had 
 thus set forward as a drawback to her, and 
 by the mingled sentiment, false and true, of 
 the occasion, took her hands into his and bent 
 over her and kissed her forehead. 
 
 " My dear," he said, with effusion, " I could 
 not have hoped for so sweet a daughter-in-law. 
 You would be as welcome to me as the flowers 
 in May." And then Dr Mitford paused, and 
 the puckers came back to his forehead, and he 
 turned round on his heel as on a pivot, and 
 faced his son. " But don't for a moment sup-
 
 JOHN 231 
 
 pose, John, that I can approve of you. I will 
 not adopt your cause with Mr Crediton. 
 Good heavens ! he might think it was a 
 scheme. He might think " 
 
 " That he could never think," said Mrs Mit- 
 ford, not able to restrain her impatience. " He 
 may be angry, and blame everybody, and do 
 away with it — but he could not think that." 
 
 " If I have done wrong, let it come upon 
 me," said John, hoarsely. " But, Kate, come ! 
 you have had enough to bear." He was think- 
 ing of her only, not of what any one else had 
 to bear ; and it was hard upon Mrs Mitford. 
 And it was hard upon her, very hard, to take 
 the interloper into her arms again, and falter 
 forth a blessing on her. " He is everything in 
 the world to me," she whispered, with her lips 
 on Kate's cheek. " And what should his wife 
 be ? But my heart seems dead to-night." 
 "Dear mamma, don't hate me. I will not 
 take him away from you ; and I have no 
 mother," Kate whispered back. And Mrs 
 Mitford held her close for a moment, and cried, 
 and was lightened at her heart. But this little 
 interlude was unknown to the two men who
 
 232 JOHN 
 
 stood looking on. John led his betrothed 
 away into the hall, where he lingered one 
 moment before he said good-night. What he 
 said to her, or she to him, is not much to our 
 present purpose. They lingered and whispered, 
 and clung to each other as most of us have 
 done once in our lives — and could not make 
 up their minds to separate. While this went 
 on, Dr Mitford made a little turn about the 
 table in his excitement, and thrust up the 
 shade from the lamp, as if to throw more light 
 upon the matter. He was in a fidget, and a 
 little alarmed by what his son had done, yet 
 prepared to feel that all was for the best. 
 
 " My dear, is it possible you knew of this ? n 
 he said, rubbing his hands. " What a very 
 odd thing that it should have happened so ! 
 Bless my soul ! she is a great heiress. Why, 
 Mary," giving a glance round him, and lower- 
 ing his voice a little, " who could have thought 
 that lump of a boy would have had the sense 
 to do so well for himself ? " 
 
 " Oh, Dr Mitford, for heaven's sake don't 
 speak so ! Whatever he intends, my boy 
 never thought of that."
 
 JOHN 233 
 
 " I don't suppose he did," said the father, 
 still softly rubbing his hands ; " I don't sup- 
 pose he did — but still, all the same. Why, 
 
 bless my soul ! Mary To be sure it may 
 
 be unpleasant with Mr Crediton. If he could 
 think for one moment that we had any hand 
 in it " 
 
 " He cannot think that," said Mrs Mitford. 
 A sense that there was something more to be 
 told kept her breathless and incapable of 
 speech. But it gave her a little consolation to 
 be able to defy Mr Crediton's suspicions. It 
 was a safety-valve, so far as it went. 
 
 " I hope not — I sincerely hope not. I 
 should tell him at once that it is — well — yes 
 — contrary to my wishes. Of course it would 
 be a great thing for John. He is not the sort 
 of boy to make his way in the world, and this 
 would give him such a start. Unless her 
 father is very adverse, Mary, I should be in- 
 clined to think that everything is for the 
 best." 
 
 " You are so ready to think that, Dr Mit- 
 ford," said his wife, sitting down suddenly in 
 her excitement, feeling that her limbs could no
 
 234 JOHN 
 
 longer support her. " But I am afraid I am 
 not so submissive/' she added, with a little 
 burst of feeling, putting up her hand to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you don't see the 
 advantages of it ? " said her husband ; " or is it 
 the girl you object to 1 She seems to me to be 
 a very nice girl." 
 
 " Oh, hush ! " said Mrs Mitford ; " do not 
 let him hear you. Oh my boy ! my boy ! " 
 
 John came in with his face just settling 
 out of the melting tenderness of his good- 
 night into the resolution which was necessary 
 for what was now before him. He saw that 
 his mother, half hidden in her chair, had 
 covered her eyes with her hand ; and his 
 father stood by the table, as if he had been 
 arguing, or reasoning, or explaining some- 
 thing. It was not an attitude very unusual 
 with Dr Mitford ; but explaining things to 
 his wife, notwithstanding her respect for him, 
 was not an effort generally attended with 
 much success. 
 
 " I tell you, my dear," he said, as John ap- 
 proached, with the air of concluding an argu-
 
 JOHN 235 
 
 ment, "that if Mr Crediton does not object, I 
 shall think John has made an excellent choice." 
 
 "Thank you, father," John said, and held 
 out his hand ; while the mother, whose anxi- 
 eties on the subject went so much deeper, sat 
 still on her chair and covered her face, and 
 felt a sharp pang of irritation strike through 
 her. She had trained the boy to be very 
 respectful, very dutiful, to his father ; but Dr 
 Mitford spent much of his time in his study, 
 and there could not be much sympathy be- 
 tween them ; yet the two stood clasping hands 
 while she was left out. It was the strangest 
 transposition of parts. She could not under- 
 stand it, and it jarred through her with sudden 
 pain. Nor did John seek her after that, as 
 surely, she thought, he must do. He stood 
 between them in front of the table, and kept 
 looking straight, not at either of them, but at 
 the light. 
 
 " I have had something else on my mind for 
 a long time," he said, and his lips were parched 
 with excitement. " Father, it is a long affair : 
 will you sit down again and listen to what I 
 have to say ? "
 
 236 JOHN 
 
 " If it is about this business/' said his father, 
 " I have told you already, John, that nothing 
 can be done without her father's consent ; and 
 I have not time, you know, to waste in talk. 
 Tell your mother what it is ; I shall have it 
 all from her. I have given you my consent 
 and approbation conditionally. Your mother, 
 surely, can do all the rest." 
 
 " Wait," said John ; " pray, wait a little. It 
 is not about this. I want to tell you and my 
 mother both together. I should not have the 
 courage," he added, with the excitement of 
 self-defence, "to speak to you separately. It 
 has nothing to do with this. It was a burden 
 upon my mind before I ever saw Kate. And 
 now that everything has come to a crisis, I 
 must speak. It cannot be delayed any longer. 
 Hear me for this once." 
 
 Mrs Mitford gave a stifled groan. It was 
 very low, but the room was very silent, and 
 the sound startled all of them — even herself. 
 It sounded somehow as if it had come in 
 through the window out of the dark. She 
 raised herself up suddenly and opened her 
 eyes, and uncovered her face, and looked at
 
 JOHN 237 
 
 them both, lest any one should say it was she. 
 Yes, she had foreseen it all the time ; she had 
 felt it, since ever that girl came to the house 
 — which was not, it must be admitted, entirely 
 just. 
 
 " You have brought me up to be a clergy- 
 man," said John, still more and more hurried, 
 "and there was a time when I accepted the 
 idea as a matter of course ; but since I have 
 grown older, things are different. I cannot 
 bear to disappoint you, and overturn all your 
 plans ; but, father, think ! Can I undertake 
 to say from the altar things I cannot believe ? 
 Ought I to do that? If I were a boy, it might 
 be different, and I might learn better ; but at 
 my age " 
 
 " Age ! " said the Doctor, impatiently, " what 
 is all this about ? Age ? of course you are a 
 boy, and nothing else. And why shouldn't 
 you believe ? Better men than you have gone 
 over all that ground, and settled it again and 
 again." 
 
 " But, father, I cannot be guided by what 
 other people think. I must judge for myself. 
 I cannot do it ! I have tried to carry out
 
 238 JOHN 
 
 your expectations until the struggle lias been 
 almost more than I could bear. Forgive 
 me : it has come to be a question of possi- 
 bility " 
 
 " A question of fiddlestick ! " cried the 
 Doctor, angrily, walking about the room. " I 
 tell you, better men than you have settled all 
 that. Of course you think your doubts are 
 quite original, and never were heard of before. 
 Nonsense ! I have not the slightest doubt 
 they have been refuted a hundred times over. 
 Stuff! Mary, is it to be expected I should 
 give in to him ? — just when it was a comfort 
 to think he was provided for, and all that. 
 Are you such a fool as to think you can meet 
 Mr Crediton with this story? Is he to under- 
 stand at once that you mean to live on your 
 wife?" 
 
 " I will never live on my wife," said John, 
 stung in the tenderest point. 
 
 " Oh, Dr Mitford, don't speak to him so," 
 said his mother, rising up and throwing her- 
 self metaphorically between the combatants. 
 " Do you think if he had not had a very 
 strong reason he would have said this to us,
 
 JOHN 239 
 
 knowing how it would grieve us ? Oh, let 
 him tell us what he means ! " 
 
 " I know what he means/' said Dr Mitford, 
 "better than he does himself. He thinks it 
 is a fine thing to be a sceptic. His father 
 believes what he can't believe, and that makes 
 him out superior to his father. And then here 
 is Kate Crediton with all her money " 
 
 " Father ! " cried John, pale with rage. 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush !" said Mrs Mitford; "that 
 has nothing to do with it. Oh, don't let us 
 bring her name in to make bitterness. John, 
 John, do not say anything hasty ! We had so 
 set our hearts upon it. And, dear, your papa 
 might explain things to you if you would but 
 have patience. He never knew you had any 
 doubts before." 
 
 " Mother," said John, with tears in his eyes, 
 turning to her, "it is like you to take my 
 part." 
 
 " But he must have a very strong reason," 
 she went on, without heeding him, addressing 
 her husband, " to be able to make up his mind 
 to disappoint us so. Don't be hard upon our 
 poor boy. If you were to argue with him,
 
 240 J HN 
 
 and explain things — I am sure my John did 
 not mean any harm. Oh, consider, John ! — 
 Fanshawe, that you were born in — how could 
 you bear to see it go to others \ And the poor 
 
 people that know you so well Dr Mit- 
 
 ford, when all this is over, and — strangers 
 gone, and we are quiet again, you will take 
 the boy with you, and go over everything and 
 explain " 
 
 " The fact is," said the Doctor, suddenly 
 going to the side table and selecting his 
 candle, " that I have no time to waste on such 
 nonsense. You can have what books you want 
 out of my library, and I hope your own sense 
 and reflection will carry the day. Not a word 
 more. You are excited, I hope, and that is 
 the cause of this exhibition. No ; of course I 
 don't accept what you have said. Speak to 
 your mother — that is the best thing you can 
 do. I have got my paper to finish, so good- 
 night." 
 
 John stood aghast, and watched his father 
 go out at the door, impatient and contemptu- 
 ous of the explanation it had cost him so much 
 to make. And when he turned to his mother,
 
 JOHN 241 
 
 expecting her sympathy, she was standing by 
 him transformed, with a gleam of fire in her 
 eyes such as he had never seen there ; a flush 
 on her face, and her hand held up with indig- 
 nant, almost threatening, vehemence. 
 
 " How could you do it ? " she cried — " how 
 could you have the heart to do it 1 To us 
 that have had no thought but for you ! Look 
 what sacrifices we have made all your life that 
 you should have everything. Look how your 
 father has worked at his papers — and all that 
 we have done to secure your prosperity. And 
 for the sake of a silly girl you had never seen a 
 month ago ! Oh, God forgive me ! what shall 
 I do V ' " 
 
 And she sank down on her chair and cover- 
 ed her face, and burst into angry weeping. It 
 was not simple sorrow, but mortification, rage, 
 disappointment — a combination of feelings 
 which it was impossible for John to identify 
 with his mother. She had been defending him 
 but a moment before. It had given him a 
 sense of the most exquisite relief to find her 
 on his side. He had turned to her without 
 doubt or fear, expecting that she would cry a 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 242 JOHN 
 
 little, perhaps, and lament over him, and be 
 wistfully respectful of his doubts, and tender 
 of his sufferings. And to see her confronting 
 him, flushed, indignant, almost menacing ! 
 His consternation was too great for words. 
 "Mother," he said, faltering, "you are mis- 
 taken — indeed you are mistaken ! " and stopped 
 short, with mingled resentment and humilia- 
 tion. Why should Kate be supposed to have 
 anything to do with it 1 And yet in his heart 
 he knew that she had a great deal to do with 
 it. Her — but not her fortune, as his father 
 thought. Curse her fortune ! John, who had 
 always been so gentle, walked up and down 
 the room like a caged lion, with a hundred 
 passions in his heart. He was wild with 
 mortification, and with that sense of the in- 
 tolerable which accompanies the first great 
 contrariety of a life. Nothing (to speak of) 
 had ever gone cross with him before. But 
 now his mother herself had turned against him 
 ■ — could such a thing be possible ? — and the 
 solid earth had been rent away from under his 
 feet. 
 
 Neither of them knew how long it was be-
 
 JOHN 243 
 
 fore anything more was said. Mrs Mitford 
 sobbed out her passion, and dried her tears, 
 and remained silent ; and so did John, till the 
 air seemed to stir round him with wings and 
 rustliugs as of unseen spectators. It was only 
 when it had become unbearable that he broke 
 the silence. " Mother," he said, with a voice 
 which even to his own ears sounded harsh and 
 strange, "you have always believed me till 
 now. When I tell you that this has been in 
 my heart ever since I left Oxford — and while 
 I was at Oxford — and that I have always 
 refrained from telling you, hoping that when 
 the time of decision came I might feel differ- 
 ently — will you refuse to believe me now ? " 
 
 Mrs Mitford was incapable of making any 
 reply. " Oh, John," she said — " oh, my boy ! " 
 shaking her head mournfully, while the tears 
 dropped from her eyes. She did not mean to 
 imply that she would not believe him. Poor 
 soul ! she did not very well know what she 
 meant, except utter confusion and misery ; but 
 that was the meaning which her gesture bore 
 to him. 
 
 " I have done nothing to deserve this," he
 
 244 JOHN 
 
 said, with indignation. " You have a right to 
 be as severe upon me as you like for disobeying 
 your wishes, but you -have no right to disbelieve 
 your son." 
 
 "Oh, John, what is the use of speaking ? " 
 said Mrs Mitford. " Disbelieve you ! why 
 should I disbelieve you ? The best thing is 
 just to say nothing more about it, but let me 
 break my heart and take no notice. What am 
 I that I should stand in your way ? Your 
 father will get the better of it, for he has so 
 many things to occupy him ; but I will never 
 get the better of it. Don't take any notice of 
 me ; the old must give up, whatever happens 
 — I know that — and the young must have their 
 day." 
 
 " Yes ; the young must have their day," said 
 John, severely; and then his heart smote him, 
 and he came and knelt down by his mother s 
 side. " But why should you be in such de- 
 spair ? " he said. " Mother, I am not going 
 away from you. Though I should not be 
 curate of Fanshawe Eegis, may not we all be 
 very happy together ? — as happy in a different 
 way \ Mother, dear, I thought you were
 
 JOHN 245 
 
 the one to stand by me, whoever should be 
 against me." 
 
 " And so I will stand by you," she sobbed, 
 permitting him to take her hand and caress it. 
 " Nobody shall say I do not stand up for my 
 own boy. You shall have your mother for 
 your defender, John, if it should kill me. But 
 oh, my heart is broke ! " she cried, leaning her 
 head against his shoulder. " Now and then 
 even a boy's mother must think of herself. All 
 my dreams were about you, John. I have not 
 been so happy, not so very happy, in my life. 
 Other women have been happier than me, and 
 more thought of, that perhaps have done no 
 more than I have. But I have always said to 
 myself, I have my John. I thought you would 
 make it up to me ; I thought my happiness had 
 all been saving up — all waiting till I was grow- 
 ing old, and needed it most. Don't cry, my dear. 
 I would not have you cry, you that are a man, 
 as if you were a girl. Oh, if I had had a girl 
 of my own, I think I could have borne it better. 
 But she would have gone off and married too. 
 There, there ! I am very selfish speaking about 
 my feelings. I will never do it again. What
 
 246 JOHN 
 
 does anything matter to me if you are happy ? 
 My dear, go to bed now, and don't take any 
 more notice. It was- the shock, you know. In 
 the morning you will see I shall have come to 
 myself." 
 
 " But, mother, it matters most to me that 
 you should understand me," cried John — " you 
 who have been everything to me. Do you 
 think I am going to forget who has trained me, 
 and taught me, and guided me since ever I 
 remember ? What difference will this make 
 between you and me ? Does giving up the 
 Church mean giving up my mother 1 Never, 
 never ! I should give up even my own con- 
 science, whatever it cost me, could I think that." 
 
 " Oh, John, my dear, perhaps if things were 
 
 rightly explained ? " she faltered, raising 
 
 her voice with a little spring of hope, and look- 
 ing anxiously in his face. But she saw no hope 
 there, and then her voice grew tremulous and 
 solemn. " John, do you think it will bring a 
 blessing on you to turn back after you have 
 put your hand to the plough, and forsake God 
 for the world 1 Is that the way to get His 
 grace I
 
 JOHN 247 
 
 " Will God be better pleased with me if I 
 stand up at the altar before Him and say a 
 lie ? " said Jolm. " Mother, you who are so 
 true and just, you cannot think what you say." 
 " But it is truth you have to speak, and not 
 lies," said the unused controversialist, with a 
 thousand wistful pleas, which were not argu- 
 ments, in her eyes; and then she threw her 
 tender arms round her son, and clasped him 
 to her. " Oh, my boy, what can I say ? It is 
 because of the shock and my not expecting it. 
 I think my heart is broken. But go to bed, 
 my dear, and think no more of me for to- 
 night." 
 
 " I cannot bear you saying your heart is 
 broken," cried John. " Mother, don't be so 
 hard upon me. I must act according to my 
 conscience, whatever I may have to bear." 
 
 u Oh, John ! God knows I don't mean to 
 be hard upon you ! " cried Mrs Mitford, stung 
 with the reproach. And then she rose up 
 trembling, her pretty grey hair ruffled about 
 her forehead, her eyes wet and shining with 
 so great a strain of emotion. Thus she stood 
 for a moment, looking at him with such a
 
 248 JOHN 
 
 faint effort at a smile as she could accomplish. 
 " Perhaps things will look different in the 
 morning/' she said; softly, "if we say our 
 prayers with all our hearts before we go to bed." 
 And with that she drew her son to her, and 
 gave him his good-night kiss, and went away 
 quickly without turning round again. John 
 was left master of the field. Neither father 
 nor mother had any effectual forces to bring 
 against him — they had both retired with a 
 postponement of the question, which weakened 
 their power and strengthened his. And he 
 had attained w^hat seemed to him the greatest 
 happiness in life — the love of the girl whom 
 he loved. And yet he was not happy. He 
 walked slowly up and down the deserted 
 room, and stood at the open window, and 
 breathed in the breath of the lilies and the 
 dew, and remembered that Kate was his, and 
 yet was not happy. How incredible that was, 
 and yet true ! When he left the room he 
 caught himself moving with stealthy foot- 
 steps, as if something lay dead in the house. 
 And something did lie dead. The hopes that 
 had centred in him had got their death-blow.
 
 JOHN 249 
 
 The house had lost what had been its heart 
 and strength. He became vaguely, sadly con- 
 scious of this, as he stole away in the silence 
 to his own room, and shut himself up there, 
 though it was still so early, with his heart as 
 heavy as lead within his breast.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Next morning the household met at breakfast 
 with that strange determination to look just 
 as usual, and ignore all that had happened, 
 which is so common in life. Kate, to be sure, 
 did not know what had happened. She was 
 aware of nothing but her own engagement 
 which could have disturbed the family calm ; 
 and it filled her with wonder, and even irrita- 
 tion, to see how pale John looked, who ought 
 to have been at the height of happiness, and 
 how little exultation was in his voice. " He is 
 thinking of what he is to say to papa," was the 
 thought that passed through her mind ; and 
 this thought fortunately checked her moment- 
 ary displeasure, Mrs Mitford was paler still, 
 and her eyes looked red, as if she had been 
 crying ; but instead of being subdued or cross,
 
 JOHN 251 
 
 she was in unusually gay spirits, it seemed 
 to Kate — talking a great deal more than 
 usual, even laughing, and attempting little 
 jokes which sat very strangely upon her. The 
 only conclusion Kate could draw from the 
 general aspect of affairs was that they were all 
 extremely nervous about the meeting with Mr 
 Crediton. And, on the whole, she was not 
 very much surprised at this. She herself was 
 nervous enough. His only child, for whom 
 he might have hoped the most splendid of 
 marriages — who was so much admired, and 
 had so little excuse for throwing herself away 
 — that she could engage herself thus, like any 
 school-girl, to a clergyman's son, with no pros- 
 pects, nor money, nor position, nor anything ! 
 Kate looked at John across the table, and saw 
 that he was very far from handsome, and 
 owned to herself that it was next to incred- 
 ible. Why had she done it ? Looking at him 
 critically, he was not even the least good-look- 
 ing, nor distinguished, nor remarkable in any 
 way. One might say he had a good expres- 
 sion, but that was all that could be said for 
 him. And Kate felt that it would be increcl-
 
 252 JOHN 
 
 ible to her father. Dr Mitford was the only 
 one of the party who was like himself ; but 
 then he was an old* man, and naturally had 
 not much feeling left. 
 
 " I want you to let me drive the phaeton 
 over to the station to meet papa/' she said. 
 " Please do, Dr Mitford. Oh, I am not in the 
 least afraid of the pony. I have been making 
 friends with him, and giving him lumps of 
 sugar, and I do want to be the first to see 
 papa." 
 
 " My clear Miss Kate, I am so sorry the 
 phaeton has only room for two," said the 
 Doctor. "If you were to go there would be 
 no seat for your excellent father ; but it is 
 only half an hour's drive — cannot you wait 
 till he reaches here 1 " 
 
 "But, dear Dr Mitford, I always drive him 
 from the station at home," cried Kate. 
 
 " You are not at home now, my dear young 
 lady," said the Doctor, shaking his head. 
 " We must give you back safe and sound into 
 his hands. The groom will go. No, Miss 
 Kate, no — we must not frighten your worthy 
 father. You must consider what had so
 
 JOHN 253 
 
 nearly happened a month ago. No, no ; it 
 
 requires a man's hand " 
 
 " But the pony is so gentle/' pleaded 
 Kate. 
 
 " I know the pony better than you do," Dr 
 Mitford said, shaking his head, " and he wants 
 a man's hand. My dear, you must be content 
 to wait your good father here." 
 
 The Doctor was the only one who appeared 
 unmoved. He had put on all his usual decor- 
 ous solemnity along with his fresh stiff white 
 tie, and highly-polished creaking boots. But 
 even he made no allusion to the changed state 
 of affairs. Sometimes Kate felt as if she 
 must laugh, sometimes as if she must cry, 
 sometimes disposed to be angry, sometimes 
 wounded. She was glad to escape from the 
 table to the garden, where John found her — 
 glad, poor fellow, to escape too. And then, as 
 they wandered among the rose-bushes arm-in- 
 arm, she found out how it was. 
 
 " But they have no right to be so hard on 
 you," cried Kate, impetuously. "Suppose 
 you had never seen me or thought of me — 
 would it be right to be a clergyman, just like
 
 254 JOHN 
 
 a trade, when you felt you could not in your 
 heart " 
 
 " My Kate ! — you understand me at least ; 
 that is what I said." 
 
 "And when you can do so much better for 
 yourself/' said Kate, with emphasis. " Mrs 
 Mitford and the Doctor should think of that. 
 One way you never could have been anything 
 but a clergyman ; while the other way — why, 
 you may be anything, John." 
 
 He shook his head over her, half sadly, half 
 pleased. He knew his capacities were far 
 from being beyond limit, but still that she 
 should think so was pleasant. And then 
 there was the sense, which was sweet, that he 
 and she, spending the summer morning among 
 the flowers, were a little faction in arms 
 against the world, with a mutual grievance, 
 mutual difficulties, a cause to maintain against 
 everybody. Solitude a deux is sweet, and 
 selfishness d deux has a way of looking half 
 sublime. It was the first time either of them 
 had experienced this infinitely seductive senti- 
 ment. They talked over the hardness of the 
 father and mother, with a kind of delight in
 
 JOHN 255 
 
 thus feeling all the world to be against them. 
 " They cannot blame me, for you were think- 
 ing of that before you ever saw me," said 
 Kate. " Blame you ! it is one thing the more 
 I have to love you for," said John. "I 
 should never have been awakened to free 
 myself but for you, my darling. I should 
 have gone stupidly on under the sway of 
 custom." And for the moment he believed 
 what he said. Oh, what a difference it made ! 
 the wide world before him where to choose, 
 and this creature, whom be loved more than 
 all the world, leaning on him, putting her fate 
 in his hands ; instead of the dull routine of 
 parish duties, and the dull home life, and the 
 stagnation around, and all his uneasy restless 
 thoughts. 
 
 It was about twelve o'clock when Kate 
 went up-stairs to get her hat, with the inten- 
 tion of setting out on foot to waylay her 
 father. It was absolutely indispensable, she 
 felt, that she should be the first to see him ; 
 but up to that time the two lovers had wan- 
 dered about together uu molested, not caring 
 who saw them, arm-in-arm. This was the
 
 256 JOHN 
 
 first advantage of the engagement. Dr Mit- 
 ford saw them from his library, and Mrs Mit- 
 ford looked down upon them with a beating- 
 heart from her chamber-window, but neither 
 interfered. Twenty- four hours before Mrs 
 Mitford would have gone out herself to take 
 care of them, or would have called Kate to 
 her : but now that they were engaged, such 
 precautions were vain. And other people saw 
 them besides the father and mother. Fred 
 Huntley, for instance, who reined in his horse, 
 and peered over the garden- wall as he passed, 
 with a curiosity he found it difficult to account 
 for, saw them standing by the lilies leaning on 
 each other, and said " Oh ! " to himself, and 
 turned back and rode home again, without 
 giving the message he had been charged with. 
 He had come to ask the Fanshawe Eegis 
 people to a garden-party — " But what is the 
 use \ " Fred had said to himself ; and had 
 turned, not his own head, but his horse's, and 
 gone back again. Parsons, too, saw the pair 
 from Kate's window, where she was finishing 
 her packing. " Master will soon put a stop to 
 that," was Parsons' decision. But everybody
 
 john 257 
 
 perceived at once that a new relationship had 
 been established between the two, and that 
 everything was changed. 
 
 When Kate ran up-stairs to put on her hat, 
 it was after two hours of this consultation and 
 mutual confidence. It was true she had not 
 taken much advice from him. She had closed 
 his lips on that subject, telling him frankly 
 that she knew her papa a great deal better 
 than he did, and that she should take her own 
 way; but she had given a great deal of coun- 
 sel, on the other hand. He had found it im- 
 possible to do more than make a succession of 
 little fond replies, so full had she been of ad- 
 vice and wisdom. " You must be, oh, so kind 
 and genble and nice to her/' Kate had said. 
 " I will never forgive you if you are in the 
 least cross or disagreeable to mamma. Yes ; I 
 like to say mamma. I never had any mother 
 of my own, and she has been so good to me, 
 and I love her so — not for your sake, sir, but 
 for her own. You must never be vexed by 
 anything she says ; you must be as patient 
 and gentle and sweet to her — but, remember, 
 you must be firm ! It will be kindest to all 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 JOHN 
 
 of us, John. If you were to appear to give in 
 now, it would all have to be done over again ; 
 now the subject has been started, it will be 
 much kinder to be firm." 
 
 " You need not fear in that respect," John 
 replied. "I think nothing but the thought 
 of you up-stairs, and the feeling that you 
 understood me, would have given me cour- 
 age to speak ; but the moment one word 
 had been said, all had been said. Nothing 
 can bring things back to their old condition 
 again." 
 
 " I am so glad/' said Kate ; " but, remem- 
 ber, you must be gentleness itself to her. If 
 you were rude or undutiful or unkind, I should 
 never, never look at you again." 
 
 " My darling ! " said John. It was so sweet 
 of her thus to defend his mother. If Mrs Mit- 
 ford had heard it, her soft heart would have 
 been filled full of disgust and bitterness to 
 think of this stranger taking it upon herself to 
 plead for her, his mother, with her own son ! 
 But John only thought how sweet it was of his 
 darling to be so anxious for his mother, and 
 felt his heart melt over her. What was all his
 
 JOHN 259 
 
 mother had done for him in comparison with 
 Kate's dominion, which was boundless, and of 
 divine right ? Thus they discussed their posi- 
 tion, the very difficulties of which were deli- 
 cious because they were mutual, and felt that 
 the other persons connected with them, parents 
 and suchlike, were railed off at an immense 
 distance, and were henceforward to be strug- 
 gled against and kept in subjection. It was 
 with this resolution full in her mind, and thril- 
 ling with a new impulse of independence and 
 activity, that Kate went up-stairs. Parsons 
 had gone down to seek that sustenance of fail- 
 ing nature which the domestic mind finds 
 necessary between its eight o'clock breakfast 
 and its two o'clock dinner ; but Lizzie, whom 
 Kate had seen but little of lately, inspired on 
 her side by a resolution scarcely less strong 
 than the young lady's, was at her bedroom 
 door, waylaying her. Lizzie rushed in offici- 
 ously to find the hat and the gloves and the 
 parasol which Miss Crediton wanted, and then 
 she added, humbly, "Please, miss ! " and stood 
 gaping, with her wholesome country roses 
 growing crimson, and the creamy white of her
 
 260 JOHN 
 
 round neck reddening all over, like sunrise 
 upon snow. 
 
 " Well, "Lizzie, what is it 1 — but make haste, 
 for I am in a hurry/' said Kate. She was a 
 young lady who was very good-natured to 
 servants, and, as they said, not a bit proud. 
 
 " Oh, please, miss ! — it's as I can't a-bear to 
 see you going away." 
 
 " Is that all 1 I am sure it is very kind of 
 you, Lizzie — everybody has been so very kind 
 to me at Fanshawe Eegis that I can't bear to 
 go away," said Kate ; " but I daresay I shall 
 come back again — probably very often ; so you 
 see it is not worth while to cry." 
 
 " That's not the reason, miss," said Lizzie ; 
 " I've been thinking this long and long if I 
 could better myself. Mother's but poor, miss, 
 and all them big lads to think of. And you 
 as has so many servants, and could do such a 
 
 deal It aint as I'm not happy with missis 
 
 — but service is service, and I feel as I ought 
 to better myself ." 
 
 " Oh, you ungrateful thing ! " cried Kate ; 
 " after Mrs Mitford has been so good to you. 
 I would not be so ungrateful for all the world.
 
 JOHN 261 
 
 Better yourself indeed ! I can tell you, you are 
 a great deal more likely to injure yourse]f. Oh, 
 Lizzie, I should not have thought it of you ! 
 You ought to be so happy here." 
 
 " It aint as I'm not happy," cried Lizzie, 
 melting into tears. " Oh, miss, don't you go 
 and be vexed. It's all along of what Miss 
 Parsons says. She says in the kitchen as how 
 she's going to be married, and all the dresses 
 you gives her, and all the presents, and takes 
 her about wherever you go. Oh, miss, when 
 Miss Parsons is married, won't you try me ? 
 I'll serve you night and day — I will. I don't 
 mind sitting up nights — not till daylight — 
 and I'd never ask for holidays, nor followers, 
 nor nothing. You'd have a faithful servant, 
 though I says it as shouldn't," said Lizzie, 
 with her apron at her eyes ; " and mother's 
 prayers, and a blessin' from the Lord — oh, 
 miss, if you'd try me ! " 
 
 " Try you in place of Parsons ! " cried Kate, 
 in consternation. " Why, Lizzie, are you mad ? 
 Can you make dresses, you foolish girl, and 
 dress hair, and do all sorts of things, like Par- 
 sons ? You are only Mrs Mitford's housemaid.
 
 262 j H N 
 
 Do you mean to tell me you can do all that 
 too?" 
 
 " I could try, miss," said Lizzie, somewhat 
 frightened, drying her eyes. 
 
 " Try ! — to make me a dress ! " cried Kate, 
 her eyes dancing with fun and comic horror. 
 " But, Lizzie, I will try and find a place for 
 you as housemaid, if you like." 
 
 "I don't care for that, miss," said Lizzie, 
 disconsolately ; " what I want is to better my- 
 self. And I know I could, if I were to try. 
 When I've tried hard at anything, I've allays 
 done it. And, please, I don't know what 
 Miss Parsons is, as she should be thought that 
 much of — I could do it if I was to try." 
 
 " Then you had better try, I think," said 
 Kate, with severe politeness, " and let me 
 know when you have succeeded ; but in the 
 mean time I will take my gloves, which you 
 are spoiling. I have no more time to talk just 
 now." 
 
 Poor Lizzie found herself left behind, when 
 she had hoped the argument was just begin- 
 ning. Kate ran down with her gloves in her 
 hand, half annoyed, half amused. The girl
 
 JOHN 263 
 
 was so ready to transplant herself anywhere — 
 to reach out her rash hands to new tools, and 
 to take upon her a succession of unknown 
 duties, that Kate was quite subdued by the 
 thought. " How foolish ! " she said to herself. 
 " When she has been brought up to one thing, 
 why should she want, to try another ? It is 
 so silly. What stupids servants are ! If I 
 had been brought up a housemaid, I should 
 have remained a housemaid. And to be will- 
 ing to leave her good mistress and her home 
 and all her past life — for what \ " said Kate, 
 moralising. Had she but known what a very 
 similar strain of reasoning was going on in 
 Mrs Mitford's mind ! "To give up his home, 
 and all his associations, and his prospects in 
 life, and the work God had provided for him 
 — for what 1 " John's mother was musing. 
 The school, and the old women in the village, 
 and all her parish work, had slid out of her 
 thoughts. She had shut herself up in her own 
 room, and was brooding over it — working the 
 sword in her wound, and now and then crying 
 out with the pain. And Dr Mitford in his 
 study paused from time to time in the midst
 
 264 JOHN 
 
 of his paper, and wished with a glum coun- 
 tenance that Mr Crediton's visit was well over, 
 and made up little speeches disowning all 
 complicity in the business ; and John had 
 gone down to the river, to the foot of those 
 cliffs where Kate's horse was carrying her 
 when he saved her, and, with his fishing-rod 
 idle in his hand, tried also to prepare himself 
 for that awful interview with Kate's father, 
 and for the final argument with his own which 
 must follow. He was in the first day of his 
 lover's paradise, and had just tasted the sweet- 
 ness of mutual consultation over those interests 
 and prospects which were now hers as well as 
 his. And he was very happy. But all the 
 same he was wretched, feeling himself torn 
 asunder from his life — feeling that he had lost 
 all independent standing, and had alienated 
 the hearts which loved him most in the world. 
 All this followed upon the privilege of saving 
 Miss Crediton's life, and her month's residence 
 at Fanshawe Eegis. Was it Kate's fault % 
 Nobody said so in words, not even Mrs 
 Mitford ; and Kate went to meet her father 
 with such a sense of splendid virtue and dis-
 
 JOHN 265 
 
 interestedness as never before had swelled her 
 bosom. She was full of the energy and ex- 
 hilaration which attends the doing of a good 
 action. " I have saved him," she said to her- 
 self, " as he saved me. I have prevented him 
 going and making a sacrifice of himself. He 
 would never have had the courage to stand up 
 for himself without me." Moved by this glow 
 of delightful complacency, she set out upon 
 the road to the station ; and it was not till 
 she heard the jingle of the phaeton in the dis- 
 tance that a thrill of nervousness ran over 
 Kate, and she felt the magnitude and import- 
 ance of what she was about to do. 
 
 Mr Crediton probably was thinking of 
 quite other things — at least, he did not re- 
 cognise her, though she stood against the 
 green hedgerow in her light summer dress, 
 making signs with her parasol. It was only 
 when the groom drew up that he observed the 
 pretty figure by the roadside. "What, Kate !" 
 he cried, with a flush of pleasure, and jumped 
 out of the phaeton to greet her. " But there 
 is no room for another," he said, looking com- 
 ically at the respectable vehicle, when he had
 
 266 JOHN 
 
 kissed his child, and congratulated her on her 
 improved looks — " what is to be done V 
 
 " I wanted to have driven the pony to the 
 station/' said Kate, "but Dr Mitford would 
 not let me. Now you must walk home with 
 me, papa — it is not a mile. James, you may 
 drive on, and say we are coming. Dr Mitford 
 thought the pony would be too much for me/' 
 she added, demurely. " He is so funny, and 
 so precise about everything." Then Kate re- 
 membered suddenly that it was very contrary 
 to her interest to depreciate any of the Mit- 
 ford family, and changed her tone — " but so 
 nice — you cannot think, papa, how kind, how 
 good they have all been to me : they have 
 made me like their own child." 
 
 " So much the better, my dear," said Mr 
 Crediton. " I am very grateful to them. I 
 am sure they are very good sort of people. 
 But I hope, Kate, you are not sorry to be 
 going home ? " 
 
 " I am not sorry to see you, papa," cried 
 Kate, clasping his arm with both her hands. 
 And then she leaned her head towards him in 
 her caressing way. " Dear papa ! I have so
 
 JOHN 267 
 
 much to tell you," she went on, faltering in 
 spite of herself. 
 
 " If you have much to tell me, you must 
 have used your time well," said Mr Crediton, 
 smiling upon her the smile of fond paternal 
 indulgence. " And I daresay the items are not 
 very important. But you have got back your 
 roses and your bright eyes, my pet, and that 
 is of more consequence than all the news in 
 the world." 
 
 " Papa," said Kate, moved to a certain 
 solemnity, " you would not say so if you 
 knew what I am going to say. Do you re- 
 member what you said to me the morning you 
 left \ and I thought it was such nonsense ; — 
 but," here she gave his arm a tender little 
 squeeze between her two clinging hands, " I 
 suppose it was you that knew best." 
 
 " What did I say to you the morning I 
 left?" said Mr Crediton, quite unsuspicious. 
 He was pleased she should remember, pleased 
 she should think he knew best. But he could 
 scarcely realise his saucy Kate in this soft ador- 
 ing creature, and he put his own hand caress- 
 ingly upon the two little hands. " Mrs Mit-
 
 268 JOHN 
 
 ford must have clone you a great deal of good" 
 lie added, with a soft laugh ; " you did not use 
 to be quite so retentive of what I said/' 
 
 " Oh, but papa, if you would only remem- 
 ber ! " said Kate. " Papa," she resumed, fal- 
 tering, and drooping her head, " it came true — 
 all your warning about — John." 
 
 Mr Crecliton gave a start, as if he had been 
 shot. "About — John. "What does this mean V 
 he cried, becoming alarmed. " What is it % I 
 remember most things that concern you, but I 
 don't recollect anything particular I said." 
 
 " Yes, papa ; you warned me about — John. 
 But it has not quite come true," she added, 
 lowering her voice, and leaning on him, with 
 her head against his arm ; "or rather, it has 
 come more than true. Papa, don't be angry. 
 I came out on purpose to tell you. They are 
 in a dreadful state about it. It is making poor 
 Mrs Mitforcl quite ill. She thinks you will 
 think they had some hand in it, but indeed 
 they had not. Papa, dear, promise me you will 
 not be angry. I — I am — engaged — to John." 
 
 Mr Crediton was a very decorous, respect- 
 able man, not addicted to outbursts of passion,
 
 JOHN 269 
 
 but at this wonderful announcement he swore 
 a prodigious oath, and drew his arm away from 
 her, giving her unawares a thrust aside which 
 made her reel. Kate was so bewildered, so 
 frightened, so dismayed by this personal touch 
 that she blushed crimson the one moment, and 
 the next began to cry. She stood gazing at 
 him, with the big tears dropping, and the most 
 piteous look in her eyes. " Oh, papa, don't kill 
 me ! " she cried, in her consternation, sinking 
 into the very hedge, in horror of his violence. 
 Mr Crediton was so excited that he paid no 
 attention to her cry of terror. "The d — d 
 scoundrel ! " he cried. " What ! come in like 
 this behind my back and rob me — take advan- 
 tage of my sense of obligation — curse him ! 
 Curse them all ! That's your pious people ! " 
 And the man raved and blasphemed for five 
 minutes at least, as if he had been his own 
 groom, aDcl not a respectable gentleman with 
 grey hairs on his head, and the cares of half 
 the county in his hands. 
 
 All this time Kate was too frightened to 
 speak ; but she was not the kind of girl to be 
 long overwhelmed by such a fit of passion.
 
 270 JOHN 
 
 She shrank back farther into the hedge, and 
 grew as white as her dress, and trembled a 
 good deal, and could not utter a word. But 
 gradually her courage returned to her. Her 
 heart began to thump less wildly against her 
 breast, but rose and swelled instead with a 
 force which was half self-will and half a gene- 
 rous sense of injustice. When Mr Crediton 
 came to himself — which he did all at once with 
 some very big words in his mouth, and his 
 hand clenched in the air, and his face blazing 
 with fury — he stopped short all at once, and 
 cast an alarmed look at his daugher. Good 
 heavens ! he, a respectable man, to utter such 
 exclamations, and in Kate's presence ! He 
 came to himself all in a moment, and meta- 
 phorically fell prostrate before her with confu- 
 sion and shame. 
 
 " Well," he said, half fiercely, half humbly, 
 "it is not much wonder if a man should for- 
 get himself. How do you dare to stand there 
 and face me, and put such a thing into 
 words ? " 
 
 " Papa, I am very much surprised," said 
 Kate, her courage rising to the occasion. " I
 
 JOHN 271 
 
 could not have believed it. It is best it should 
 be me, and not a stranger, for what would any 
 stranger have thought ? But all the same, I 
 am very sorry that it was me. I shall never 
 be able to forget that I saw you look like that, 
 and heard you say Ah ! " said Kate, shut- 
 ting her eyes. He thought she was going to 
 faint, and got very much frightened ; but 
 nothing could be further from Kate's mind than 
 any intention of fainting. She sat down, 
 however, on the grass, and leaned her elbows 
 on her knees, and hid her face in her hands. 
 And the unhappy father, conscious of having 
 so horribly committed himself, stood silent, 
 and did not know what to say. 
 
 Then, after a moment, she raised her head 
 and looked him in the face. "Papa," she 
 said, " the people you have been abusing are 
 waiting over there to welcome you to their 
 house. They don't like your coming, because 
 they have a feeling what will happen; and they 
 are very very vexed with their son for falling in 
 love with me ; and, poor fellow ! I think he is 
 vexed with himself, though he could not help 
 it. What are you going to do ? Are you
 
 272 john 
 
 going to swear at Dr Mitford, whose son saved 
 your only child's life, and whose wife saved it 
 over again by her kindness, because they love 
 me now as well % Are you going to drive me 
 mad, and make me that I don't care what I 
 do ? I am not so good as John is," she said, 
 with a half-sob ; " if you cross me I will not 
 be humble. I will go wrong, and make him 
 go wrong too. You cannot change my mind 
 by swearing at me, papa. What are you going 
 to do 1 " 
 
 Yes, that was the question. It was very 
 easy to storm and swear, with nobody present 
 but his daughter. But Dr Mitforcl was as 
 good a man as Mr Crediton, and as well 
 known in the county, though he was not so 
 rich. And John had saved Kate's life at the 
 risk of his own ; and she had been taken in, 
 and nursed, and brought back to perfect 
 health ; and there was no single house in the 
 world to which Mr Crediton lay under such a 
 weight of obligations. Was he to turn his 
 back upon the house, and ignore all gratitude ? 
 Was he to go and insult them, or what was he 
 to do 1 He was very angry, furious with Kate
 
 JOHN 273 
 
 and her bold words, yet cowed by her in a way 
 most wonderful to behold. " We had better 
 walk back to the station ; you are able enough 
 for that, or at least you look so," he said. 
 
 " That will show how highly you esteem my 
 life," said Kate, " though even that would be 
 better than insulting them to their face." 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Mr Crediton, under his 
 breath ; and he took a few rapid turns up and 
 down the road, with a perplexity which it 
 would be impossible to describe. At last he 
 came to a stop opposite Kate, who was watch- 
 ing him anxiously, without appearing to take 
 any notice ; and she felt that the fit was over. 
 He came back to her very sternly, speaking 
 with none of its usual softness in his voice. 
 
 "Kate," he said, "you have spoken in a 
 very unpardonable, very impertinent, way to 
 me, but perhaps I have been wrong too. Of 
 course I am not going to transgress the laws of 
 civility. My opinion is not changed, but I 
 hope I can be civil to my worst enemy. Get 
 up, and let us go to the Kectory ; it is the 
 only thing we can do." 
 
 Kate rose without a word, and put her hand 
 
 vol. I. s
 
 274 JOHN 
 
 upon her father's arm, and the two stalked 
 into Fanshawe Kegis like two mutes following a 
 funeral. They neither looked at each other, 
 nor uttered a syllable to each other, but walked 
 on side by side, feeling as if mutual hatred, and 
 not love, was the bond between them. But 
 yet in her inmost heart Kate felt that nothing 
 was lost. The communication had been made, 
 and the worst was over — perhaps even some- 
 thing had been gained.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was perhaps well, on the whole, for the 
 comfort of all the party, that Mr Crediton had 
 behaved so very badly on the first announce- 
 ment of this news. His self-betrayal put him 
 on his guard. It recalled him to a sense of 
 needful restraint, and that the Mitfords were 
 not, after all, people to be treated with con- 
 tempt. He was very serious and somewhat 
 stiff during the luncheon, which was sufficiently 
 trying to all the party, but he was not uncivil. 
 Of John he took no notice at all after the first 
 formal recognition, but to Mrs Mitford and the 
 Doctor he was studiously polite, making them 
 little speeches of formal gratitude. " I find 
 my child perfectly recovered, thanks to your 
 kind care/' he said. " I can never sufficiently 
 express my deep sense of obligation to you."
 
 276 JOHN 
 
 This speech called up an angry flush on John's 
 cheek, but not a word was spoken by any of 
 the party to imply that there was any stronger 
 bond than that of kindness between Kate and 
 the people who had been so good to her. The 
 two young people were made to feel that they 
 were secondary altogether. The thoughts of 
 their elders might, indeed, be occupied about 
 them, but they themselves were struck out of 
 the front of the action, and relegated to their 
 natural place. Mr Crediton carried this so 
 far that, when luncheon was over, he turned to 
 Dr Mitford and asked to speak with him, 
 altogether ignoring the existence of Dr Mit- 
 ford's son. But John had risen, and had taken 
 matters into his own hands. 
 
 " May I ask you to see me first, Mr Credi- 
 ton V 1 he said. "There are some things' of 
 which I am most anxious to speak to you at 
 once." 
 
 Mr Crediton rose too, and made John a little 
 formal bow. " I am at your service/' he said; 
 and Dr Mitford stood up, looking somewhat 
 scared, and listened ; no doubt feeling himself, 
 in his turn, thrust aside.
 
 john 277 
 
 " I must not interfere," he said, with a kind 
 of ghastly smile, " and I take no responsibility 
 in what my son is going to say ; but if you 
 will both come to my library " 
 
 " I should prefer speaking to Mr Crediton 
 alone," said John. And then it seemed that 
 his father shrank like a polite ghost, and gave 
 way to the real hero of the situation. Mrs 
 Mitford shrank too, joining in her husband's 
 involuntary gesture ; and John marched boldly 
 out, leading the way, while Mr Crediton fol- 
 lowed, and the Doctor went after them, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders with a faint assumption of 
 indifference. It seemed as if some magician 
 had waved a wand, and the three gentlemen 
 disappeared out of the room, leaving Mrs 
 Mitford and Kate looking at each other. And 
 there they sat half stupefied, with their hearts 
 beating, till Jervis came in to clear the table, 
 and looked at them as a good servant looks, 
 with suspicious watchful eyes, as if to say, 
 What is it all about, and what do you mean 
 by it, sitting there after your meal is over, and 
 giving yourselves up to untimely agitations, 
 disturbing Me? Mrs Mitford obeyed that
 
 278 John 
 
 look as a well-brought-up woman always does. 
 She said, " Come, Kate ! what can you and I 
 be thinking of?" and led the way into the 
 drawing-room. She did this with an assump- 
 tion of liveliness and light-heartedness which 
 was overdoing her part. " We need not take 
 the servants into our confidence, at least/' she 
 said, sitting down by her work-table, and 
 taking out her knitting as usual. But it was 
 a very tremulous business, and soon the 
 needles dropped upon her knee. Kate, too, 
 attempted to resume the piece of worsted 
 work she had been doing, and to look as if 
 nothing had happened ; but her attempt was 
 even more futile. When they had. sat in this 
 way silent for some iive minutes, the girl's 
 agitation got the better of her. She threw 
 the work aside, and ran and threw herself at 
 Mrs Mitford's feet. " Oh, mamma, say some- 
 thing to me !" she cried ; " I feel as if I could 
 not breathe. And I never had any mother 
 of my own." 
 
 Then John s mother lost the composure for 
 which she had been struggling. Her heart 
 was not softened to Kate personally at that
 
 JOHN 279 
 
 climax of all the trouble which Kate had 
 brought upon her, but she could not resist 
 such an appeal ; and she too could scarcely 
 breathe, and wanted companionship in her 
 trouble. It was hard to take into her heart 
 the girl who was the occasion of it all ; but 
 yet Kate was suffering too. Mrs Mitford fell 
 a-crying, which was the first natural expres- 
 sion of her feelings, and then she laid her 
 hand softly on Kate's head, and by degrees 
 allowed herself to be taken possession of. 
 They were just beginning to talk to each 
 other, to open their hearts, and enter into all 
 those mutual explanations which women love, 
 when Kate's quick youthful eyes caught sight 
 of two black figures in the distance among 
 the trees on the other side of the blazing 
 summer lawn. She broke off in the middle 
 of a sentence, and gave a low cry, and 
 clutched at Mrs Mitford's gown. " They 
 are there ! " cried Kate, with a gasp of inde- 
 scribable suspense. And Mrs Mitford, when 
 she saw them, began to cry softly again. 
 
 " Oh, what is he saying to my boy % " cried 
 the agitated woman, wringing her hands. To
 
 280 JOHN 
 
 see the discussion going on before their eyes 
 gave the last touch of the intolerable to their 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, Kate, I am a bad woman ! " said Mrs 
 Mitford ; " I could hate you, and I could hate 
 your father, for bringing all this trouble on my 
 John." 
 
 " I don't wonder," cried Kate, in her pas- 
 sion ; and then she made an effort to conquer 
 herself. " Papa cannot eat him," she added, 
 with a little harsh laugh of emotion. " I 
 have had the worst of it. He will never say 
 to John what he said to me." 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! " she cried, recollecting her- 
 self. " He is my own papa ; he has a right 
 to say what he likes to me. It is John who is 
 speaking now — that is a good sign. And 
 when he chooses, and takes the trouble, John 
 can speak so well ; he is so clever. I never 
 meant to have let him do all this, and give 
 everybody so much trouble ; but when he 
 began to talk like that, what was I to do ? " 
 
 " Oh, Kate ! " cried the mother, with her 
 eyes full of tears, " we are so selfish — we never
 
 JOHN 281 
 
 thought of that ! Hoav were you to resist him 
 more than the rest of us ? My dear boy — he 
 had always such a winning way ! " 
 
 " John is speaking still," said Kate. 
 " Mamma, I think things must be coming 
 round. There — papa has put his hand on his 
 arm. When he does that he is beginning to 
 give in. Oh, if we could only hear what 
 they say J " 
 
 " He is so earnest in all he does," said Mrs 
 Mitford. " Kate ! listen to what I am going 
 to say to you. If this ever comes to any- 
 thing " 
 
 " Of course it will come to something," cried 
 Kate. " I am not so good as John. If papa 
 were to stand out, I should just wait till 
 I was one-and-twenty ; and then, if John 
 
 pleased Now they are turning back 
 
 again. Oh, will they never be done ? It is 
 just like men, walking and talking, walking 
 and talking for ever, and us poor women 
 waiting here." 
 
 " But, Kate, listen to me," said Mrs Mitford, 
 solemnly ; " if it ever comes to anything, you 
 must be very very careful with my John.
 
 282 JOHN 
 
 Look at his dear face, how it shines with 
 feeling ! He loves you so — he would put 
 himself under your father's feet. I feel as if I 
 could tell you the very words he is saying. And 
 you — you have been brought up so differently. 
 If you were tempted to be careless, and forget 
 his ways of thinking, and prefer society and 
 the world " 
 
 " I see how it is," said Kate, with a mourn- 
 ful cadence in her voice — she did not turn her 
 head, for her eyes were still intently fixed on 
 the distant figures out of doors ; " I see how 
 it is — you don't think I am the right girl for 
 John." 
 
 "I did not say so," said Mrs Mitford, 
 humbly ; " how can I tell ? I can't divine 
 what is in my own boy's heart, and how can I 
 divine yours % But I will love you for his 
 sake. Oh, Kate ! if you are good to 
 him " 
 
 Here the conversation came to a sudden 
 pause ; for the two who were outside were 
 seen to turn in the direction of Dr Mitford's 
 study, and to enter the house, which made the 
 crisis come nearer, as it were. Neither of the
 
 JOHN 283 
 
 two ladies could have told how the afternoon 
 passed. Every sound that went through the 
 house seemed to them significant. Sometimes 
 a door would open or shut, and paralyse them 
 for the moment. Sometimes a sound as of a 
 single step would be heard in one of the pas- 
 sages, and then Mrs Mitford and Kate would 
 rise up and flush crimson, and listen as if they 
 had not been listening all the time. " Now 
 they are coming ! " one or the other would say, 
 with a gasp, for the waiting affected their very 
 breathing. Except on these occasions, they 
 scarcely exchanged two words in half an hour. 
 From time to time Kate looked at her watch, 
 and made a remark under her breath about 
 the hour. "It is too late for the four o'clock 
 train," she said ; and then it was too late for 
 the mail at half-past five ; and all this time 
 not a word came out of the stillness to relieve 
 their anxiety. The bees buzzed about the 
 garden, and the sun shone and shone as if he 
 never could weary of shining, and blazed across 
 the monotonous lawn and vacant paths, which 
 no step or shadow disturbed Oh the burden 
 of the silence that lay upon that whole smil-
 
 284 JOHN 
 
 m<y world outside, where not even a leaf would 
 move, so eager was nature to have the first 
 word of the secret ! When Mrs Mitford's 
 needles clicked in her tremulousness, Kate 
 glanced up with eyes of feverish reproach ; and 
 when Kate's scissors fell, the room echoed 
 with the sound, and Mrs Mitford felt it an 
 injury. Thus the long, weary, languid after- 
 noon passed on. When Jervis began to stir 
 with his preparations for dinner, and to move 
 about his pantry, with clink and clang of glass 
 and silver, laying the table, the sounds were 
 to them like the return of a jury into their 
 box to the anxious wretches waiting for their 
 verdict. Dinner was coming, that augustest 
 of modern ceremonies, and the ladies felt in- 
 stinctively that things must now come to a 
 decision. And accordingly, it was just after 
 Jervis had carried his echoing tray out of the 
 pantry to the sideboard when the door of the 
 study at last opened, and steps were heard 
 coming along the passage — Dr Mitford's steps, 
 creaking as they came, and another footstep, 
 which Kate knew to be her father's. Not 
 John ! The ladies sat bolt upright, and grew
 
 JOHN 285 
 
 red and grew pale, and felt the blood tingle 
 to their finger-points. And then they looked 
 at each other, and asked, silently, " Where has 
 he gone ? " 
 
 This time it was no longer the jurymen. 
 It was the judge himself, coming solemn with 
 his verdict. The .gentlemen came into the 
 room one behind the other, Mr Crediton look- 
 ing worn and tired, and even Dr Mitford's 
 white tie grown limp with suspense and emo- 
 tion. But it was he who was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " I am sorry to have left you so long by 
 yourselves," he said, with a little air of at- 
 tempted jauntiness, which sat very strangely 
 on him, " and to have kept Mr Crediton away 
 from you ; but we had a great deal to talk 
 over, and business, you know, must be at- 
 tended to. My dear, it was business of a very 
 momentous kind. And now, Miss Kate," said 
 the Rector, turning upon her, and holding out 
 both his hands — he smiled, but his smile was 
 very limp, like his tie, and even his hands, 
 though not expressive generally, trembled a 
 little — " now, Miss Kate, for the first time I
 
 286 JOHN 
 
 feel at liberty to speak to you. You must 
 have thought me very hard and cold the other 
 night ; but now I have your father's permis- 
 sion to bid you welcome to my family," Dr 
 Mitford went on, smiling a ghastly smile ; and 
 he stooped over her and kissed her forehead, 
 and held her hands, waving them up and 
 down as if he did not know what to do with 
 them. " I don't know why my son has not 
 come to be the first to tell you. Everything 
 is settled at last ! " 
 
 "Where is John?" cried Mrs Mitford, with 
 her soft cheeks blazing. And her husband 
 dropped Kate's hands as if they had burned 
 him, and they all paused and looked at each 
 other with an embarrassment and restraint 
 which nobody could disguise. 
 
 " To do him justice, I don't think he felt 
 himself equal to a grand tableau of family 
 union and rapture," said Mr Crediton. " Mrs 
 Mitford, I don't pretend to be overjoyed. I 
 don't see why we should make any pretences 
 about it. They have done a very foolish thing, 
 and probably they will repent of it " 
 
 But this was more than John's mother could
 
 JOHN 287 
 
 bear. " One of them, I am sure, will never 
 have any reason to repent of it," she said, with 
 irrepressible heat, not thinking of the double 
 meaning that her words might bear. 
 
 " I hope it may be so," Mr Crediton said, 
 and shook his head. And there was again a 
 silence, and Kate sat with all her veins swelling 
 as if they would burst, and her heart beating 
 in her very throat, and nobody taking any 
 further notice of her. What was it to any of 
 them in comparison with what it was to her % 
 and yet nobody even looked at her. It seemed 
 so utterly incredible, that for the moment she 
 was stunued and dumb, and capable of nothing 
 but amazement. 
 
 " No," said her father again, after a pause ; 
 " I don't pretend to be overjoyed. We have 
 had a great deal of talk, and the talk has not 
 been agreeable. And, Mrs Mitford, if I am to 
 judge by your looks, I should say you were no 
 more happy at the thought of losing your son 
 than I am at that of losing my daughter — in 
 so foolish a way." 
 
 " Let us hope it may turn out better than 
 we think," said Dr Mitforcl ; and then came
 
 288 JOHN 
 
 the inevitable pause, which made every sent- 
 ence sound so harsh and clear. 
 
 " There is certainly room for the hope," said 
 Mr Crediton ; " fortunately it must be a long 
 time before anything comes of it. Your son 
 seems to have quite relinquished the thought 
 of going into the Church." 
 
 " Have you settled that too ? — is it all 
 decided ? Oh, Dr Mitford, you have been 
 hasty with him!" cried John's mother. "I 
 told you if you would but take time enough, 
 and go into things with him, and ex- 
 plain " 
 
 " I don't think explaining would have done 
 much good," said Mr Crediton. " It rarely 
 does, when a young fellow has got such an 
 idea into his head. The only thing is, that 
 when a boy changes once he may change twice 
 — when he is older, and this fever-fit, perhaps, 
 may be over " 
 
 " Oh, can you sit and hear this "? " cried 
 Kate, springing to her feet. " Oh, papa, how 
 can you be so wicked and so rude ? Do you 
 think John is like that — to take a fancy and 
 give it over ? And you are his mother, and
 
 JOHN 289 
 
 know him best, and you leave him to be de- 
 fended by me !" 
 
 " Kate, my dear ! " cried Mrs Mitford, 
 hastening to her, " you make me hate myself. 
 You understand my boy — you stand up for 
 him when his own flesh and blood is silent. 
 And I love you with all my heart ! And I will 
 never, never grudge him to you again !" 
 
 And the two women rushed into each other's 
 arms, and clung together in a passion of tears 
 and mutual consolation ; while the men, for 
 their part, looked grimly on, vanquished, yet 
 finding a certain satisfaction in their sense of 
 superiority to any such folly. Mr Crediton sat 
 down, with the hard unsympathetic self-posses- 
 sion of a man who has still a blow to deliver ; 
 and poor Dr Mitford walked up and down the 
 room, aware of what was yet to come. But 
 in the mean time the victims over whom the 
 stroke was lowering had delivered themselves 
 all at once from their special misery. The ice 
 had broken between them. John, who had 
 divided them, became all at once their bond of 
 union. " Mamma, if you will stand by me I 
 can do anything," Kate whispered, with her 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 JOHN 
 
 lips upon Mrs Mitford's cheek. "My own 
 child I " John's mother whispered in reply ; 
 and thus the treaty was made which was to 
 set all other diplomacies at nought. 
 
 " I think it is a great pity," said Mr Credi- 
 ton again, " but of course, in the turn that cir- 
 cumstances have taken, I must help him as 
 best I can. It is not very much I can do, for 
 you are aware when a young man changes his 
 profession all in a minute, it is a difficult thing 
 to provide for him. And he did not seem to 
 have any clear idea what to do with himself. 
 Probably you will feel it is not equal to your 
 son's pretensions, Mrs Mitford — but I have 
 offered him a clerkship in my bank/' 
 
 " A clerkship in your bank ! " cried Mrs 
 Mitford, petrified. She withdrew a little from 
 Kate in her consternation, and sat down and 
 gazed, trying to take in and understand this 
 extraordinary piece of news. 
 
 "Papa, you cannot mean it," cried Kate, 
 vehemently. " Oh, are you papa, or somebody 
 come to mock us \ A clerkship in the bank — 
 for Dr Mitford's son— for— John !" 
 
 "John is no doubt possessed of many attrac-
 
 JOHN 291 
 
 tions," said Mr Crediton, in his hardest tones, 
 " but I am only an ordinary mortal, and I 
 cannot make him Prime Minister. When a 
 man throws himself out of his proper occupa- 
 tion, he must take what he can get. And he 
 has accepted my offer, Kate. He is not so 
 high-flown as you are ; and I can assure you 
 a man may do worse than be a clerk in my 
 bank." 
 
 "It is a most honourable introduction to 
 commerce," said Dr Mitford, coming forward 
 very limp and conciliatory ; " and commerce, 
 as I have often said, is the great power of the 
 nineteenth century. My dear, it is not what 
 we expected — of course it is very different 
 from what we expected ; but if i" put up with 
 
 it It cannot be such a disappointment to 
 
 you as it is to me." 
 
 Mrs Mitford turned away with an impatient 
 cry. Her very sense of decorum failed her. 
 Though she had kept up the tradition of her 
 husband's superiority so long that she actually 
 believed in it, yet on this point he was not 
 superior. She was driven even out of polite- 
 ness, the last stronghold of a well-bred woman.
 
 292 JOHN 
 
 She could not be civil to the man who had 
 thus outraged her pride and all her hopes. 
 She sat and moaned and rocked herself, 
 saying, " My boy ! my boy ! " in a voice of 
 despair. 
 
 " He is saying it only to try us," cried Kate. 
 " He is not cruel. Papa, you have always 
 been so good to me ! Oh, he does not mean 
 it. It is only — some frightful — joke or other. 
 Papa, you don't mean what you say V. 
 
 "I do mean what I say," said Mr Crediton, 
 abruptly; " and when I say so, I think I may 
 congratulate both Mrs Mitford and myself 
 that, whatever foolish thing our children may 
 make up their minds to do, they cannot do it 
 very soon. We have had enough of this non- 
 sense for the present, Kate. Dr Mitford is so 
 kind as to ask us to stop for dinner. We 
 must wait now for the nine o'clock train." 
 
 And just then Jervis, curious but unen- 
 lightened, ran a; the first bell. And what are 
 all the passions and all the struggles of the 
 heart compared to Dinner, invincible poten- 
 tate ? Mrs Mitford and Kate gathered them- 
 selves together meekly at the sound of that
 
 JOHN 293 
 
 summons. Against it they did not dare to 
 remonstrate. They gave each other a silent 
 kiss as they parted at the door of Kate's room, 
 but they could not resist nor trifle with such 
 a stern necessity. "Where was John?" they 
 asked themselves, as each stood before her 
 glass, trying as best she could to clear away 
 the trace of tears, and to hide from their own 
 eyes and from the sharp eyes of the servants 
 all signs of the crisis they had been going 
 through. Kate had to retain her morning 
 dress, as she had still a journey before her ; 
 but she was elaborate about her hair, by way 
 of demonstrating her self-possession. " Papa 
 has put off till the nine o'clock train ; and it is 
 so tiresome of him, making one go down to 
 dinner like a fright," she said to Parsons, try- 
 ing to throw dust in the eyes of that astute 
 young woman. As if Parsons did not know ! 
 As for John, he had been wandering about 
 stupefied ever since that amazing conclusion 
 had been come to, in such a state of confusion 
 that he could not realise what had happened. 
 Kate was to be his. That was the great 
 matter which had been decided upon. But
 
 294 JOHN 
 
 notwithstanding his passionate love for Kate, 
 this was not what bulked largest in his mind. 
 The world somehow had turned a somersault 
 with him, and he could not make out whether 
 he had lighted on solid earth again, or was 
 still whirling in the dizzy air. His past life 
 had all shrivelled away from him as if it had 
 never been. His sensations were those of a 
 man who has rolled over some tremendous 
 precipice ; or who wakes out of a swoon to 
 find himself lying on some battle-field. He 
 was very sore and battered and beaten, ting- 
 ling all over with bruises ; and the relative 
 position of the world, and everything in it, to 
 himself was changed. It might be the same 
 sky and the same soil to others, but to him 
 everything was different. Kate was to be 
 his ; but that was in the future. And for the 
 present he was to begin life, not in any noble 
 way for the service of others, but as a clerk in 
 Mr Crediton's bank.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mr Creditors bank was in the High Street 
 of Camelford — a low-roofed, rather shabby- 
 looking office, with dingy old desks and coun- 
 ters, at which the clerks sat about in corners, 
 all visible to the public, and liable to constant 
 distraction. The windows were never cleaned, 
 on principle, and there were some iron bars 
 across the lower half of them. Mr Crediton's 
 own room was inside — you had to pass through 
 the office to reach it ; and the banker, when he 
 chose to open his door, was visible to the clerks 
 and the public at the end of the dingy vista, 
 just as the clerks, and the public entering at the 
 swing-door, and sometimes the street outside, 
 were to him. The office was a kind of lean-to 
 to the house, which was much loftier, more 
 imposing, and stately ; and Mr Creditors
 
 2.96 JOHN 
 
 room communicated with his dwelling by a 
 dark passage. The whole edifice was red brick, 
 and recalled the age of the early Georges, or 
 even of their predecessor Anne — a time when 
 men were not ashamed of their business, but 
 at the same time did it unpretendingly, and 
 had no need during office hours of gilding or 
 plate-glass. The house had a flight of steps up 
 to it almost as high as the top of the office win- 
 dows, and a big iron horn to extinguish links, 
 and other traces of a moderate antiquity. Up 
 to these steps Kate Crediton's horse would be 
 led day after clay, or her carriage draw up, in 
 very sight of the clerks behind their murky 
 windows. They kept their noses over their 
 desks all day, in order that a butterfly creature, 
 in all the brilliant colours of her kind, might 
 flutter out and in in the sunshine, and take her 
 pleasure. That was perhaps what some of 
 them thought. But, to tell the truth, I don't 
 believe many of them thought so. Even Mr 
 Whichelo, the head clerk, whose children were 
 often ailing, and who had a good deal of 
 trouble to make both ends meet, smiled benign 
 upon Kate. Had she been her own mother, it
 
 JOHN 297 
 
 might have been different ; but she was a crea- 
 ture of nineteen, and everybody felt it was 
 natural. The clerks, with their noses at the 
 grindstone, and her father sombre in the dingy 
 room, working hard too in his way — all to 
 keep up the high-stepping horses, the shining 
 harness, the silks and velvets, and the high 
 supremacy of that thing like a rosebud who 
 sat princess among them, — after all, was it not 
 quite natural % What is the good of the stem 
 but to carry, and of the leaves and thorns but 
 to protect, the flower ? 
 
 But it may be supposed that John Mitford's 
 feelings would be of a very strange description 
 when he found himself dropped down^ in Mr 
 Crediton's office, as if he had dropped from the 
 skies. He was the junior clerk, and did not 
 know the business, and his perch was behind 
 backs, not far from one of the windows from 
 which he could see all Kate's exits and en- 
 trances. He saw the public, too, coming and 
 going, the swing-door flashing back and for- 
 ward all day long, and on Saturdays and 
 market-days caught sometimes the wondering 
 glances of country folks who knew him. He
 
 298 JOHN 
 
 sat like a man in a dream, while all these 
 things went on around him. How his life had 
 changed ! What had brought him here ? what 
 was to come of it ? were questions which 
 glided dreamily through John's brain from 
 time to time, but he could give no answer to 
 them. He was here instead of at Fanshawe 
 Eegis; instead of serving the world and his 
 generation, as he had expected to do, he was 
 junior clerk in a banker s office, entering dreary 
 lines of figures into dreary columns. How 
 had it all come about 1 John was stupefied by 
 the fall and by the surprise, and all the over- 
 whelming dreary novelty ; and accordingly he 
 sat the day through at first, and did what he 
 was told to do with a certain apathy beyond 
 power of thinking; but that was a state of 
 mind, of course, which could not last for ever. 
 Yet even when that apathy was broken, the 
 feeling of surprise continued to surmount all 
 other feelings. He had taken this strange step, 
 as he supposed, by his own will ; nobody had 
 forced or even persuaded him. It was his own 
 voluntary doing ; and yet how was it ? This 
 question floated constantly, without any power
 
 JOHN 299 
 
 on his part to answer it, about his uneasy 
 brain. 
 
 He was close to Kate, sitting writing all 
 day long under a roof adjoining the very roof 
 that sheltered her, with herself before his eyes 
 every day. For he could not help but see her 
 as she went out and in. But still it was 
 doubtful whether there was much comfort in 
 those glimpses of her. Mr Credition had not 
 been unkind to him; but he had never pre- 
 tended, of course, to be deeply delighted with 
 the unexpected choice which his daughter had 
 made. " If I consent to Kate's engagement 
 with you," he had said, " it must be upon my 
 own conditions. It is likely to be a long time 
 before you can marry, and I cannot have a per- 
 petual philandering going on before my eyes. 
 She might like it, perhaps, for that is just one 
 of the points upon which girls have no feeling ; 
 but you may depend upon it, it would be very 
 bad for you, and I should not submit to it for 
 a moment. I don't mean to say that you are 
 not to see her, but it must be only at stipulated 
 times. Thus far, at least, I must have my 
 own way." John had acquiesced in this ar-
 
 300 JOHN 
 
 rangement without much resistance. It had 
 seemed to him reasonable, comprehensible. 
 Perpetual philandering certainly would not do. 
 He had to work — to acquire a new trade 
 foreign to all his previous thoughts and educa- 
 tion — to put himself in the way of making 
 money and providing for his wife ; and he too 
 could see as well as her father that to be fol- 
 lowing her about everywhere, and interrupting 
 the common business of life by idle love-mak- 
 ing, however beatific it might be, was simply 
 impossible. To be able to look forward now 
 and then to the delight of her presence — to 
 make milestones upon his way of the times in 
 which he should be permitted to see her, and 
 sun himself in her eyes, — with that solace by 
 the way, John thought the time would pass as 
 the time passed to Jacob — as one day ; and he 
 accordingly assented, almost without reluct- 
 ance. 
 
 But he did not know when he consented 
 thus to the father's conditions that Kate 
 would be flashing before him constantly under 
 an aspect so different from that in which he 
 had known her. The engagement, though it
 
 JOHN 301 
 
 made such an overwhelming difference to him, 
 made little difference to Kate. She had come 
 home to resume her usual life — a life not like 
 anything that was familiar to him. Poor 
 John had never known much about young 
 ladies. He had never become practically 
 aware of the place which amusement holds in 
 such conditions of existence — -how, in fact, it 
 becomes the framework of life round which 
 graver matters gather and entwine them- 
 selves ; and it was a long time before he fully 
 made the discovery, if, indeed, he did ever 
 make it. Society could scarcely be said to 
 exist in Fanshawe Eegis ; and those perpetual 
 ridings and drivings and expeditions here and 
 there — those dinners and dances — those after- 
 noon assemblages — the music and the chatter, 
 the va et vient, the continual flutter and 
 movement, confounded the young man. He 
 tried to be glad at first that she had so much 
 gaiety, and felt very sorry for himself, who 
 was shut out from all share in it. And then 
 he got a little puzzled and perplexed. Did 
 this sort of thing go on for ever \ Was there 
 never to be any break in it ? Kate herself
 
 302 JOHN 
 
 unconsciously unfolded to him its perennial 
 character without the remotest idea of the 
 amazement she was exciting in his mind. So 
 far as John's experience went, a dance, or even 
 a dinner-party, or a croquet-party, or a picnic, 
 were periodical delights which came at long 
 intervals ; but they were the common occupa- 
 tions of life to Kate. He felt that he could 
 have lived and worked like Jacob for twice 
 seven years, had his love been living such a 
 life as Eachel did by his side — going out with 
 the flocks, tending the lambs, drawing water 
 at the fountain, smiling shy and sweet at him 
 from the tent-door. These were the terms in 
 which his imagination put it. Had he seen 
 Kate trip by the window as his mother did 
 with her little basket, or trip back again with 
 a book, after his own ideal of existence, his 
 heart would have blessed her as she passed, 
 and he himself would have returned to his 
 ledger and worked twice as hard, and learned 
 his duties twice as quickly ; but to see her 
 flash away from the door amid a cavalcade of 
 unknown riders — to see her put into her 
 carriage by some man whom he longed to
 
 JOHN 303 
 
 kick on the spot — to watch her out of sight 
 going into scenes where his imagination could 
 not follow her, was very hard upon John. 
 And thus to see her every day, and yet never, 
 except once a -week or so, exchange words 
 with her ! Against his will, and in spite of 
 all his exertions, this sense of her continual 
 presence, and of her unknown friends, and life 
 which was so close to him, and yet so far from 
 him, absorbed his mind. When he should 
 have been working his office work he was 
 thinking where could she have gone to-day ? 
 When he ought to have been awakening to 
 the interests of the bank, he was brooding 
 with a certain sulkiness quite unnatural to 
 him over the question, who that man could be 
 who put her on her horse? It is impossible to 
 describe how all this hindered and hampered 
 him, and what a chaos it made of his life. 
 And even Kate herself found it very 
 different from what she had anticipated. She 
 sent in a servant for him several times at 
 first ; and once, when she had some little 
 errand in the town, had the audacity to walk 
 into the bank in her proper person and call
 
 304 JOHN 
 
 her lover from his desk. " Please tell Mr 
 Mitford I want him," she said, looking Mr 
 Whichelo full in the face, with an angelical 
 blush and smile ; and when he came to her, 
 Kate turned to him before all the clerks, who 
 were watching with a curiosity which may be 
 imagined. " Oh John/' she said, " come with 
 me as far as Paterson's. It is market-day, 
 and I don't like to walk alone." Of course he 
 went, though he had his work to do. Of 
 course he would have gone whatever had been 
 the penalty. The penalty was that Mr Credi- 
 ton gave Kate what she called "a dreadful 
 scold." " It was like a fishwoman, you know," 
 she confided to John afterwards. " I could 
 not have believed it of papa ; but I suppose 
 when people are in a passion they are all alike, 
 and don't mind what they say." 
 
 " It is because he grudges you to me," said 
 poor John, with a sigh, " and I don't much 
 wonder ; " upon which Kate clasped her two 
 pretty hands on his arm, and beguiled him 
 out of all his troubles. This was on one of 
 the Sunday evenings which it was his privi- 
 lege to spend with her. Mr Crediton was old-
 
 JOHN 305 
 
 fashioned, and saw no company on Sundays, 
 and that was the day on which John was free 
 to come to spend as much of it as he pleased 
 with his betrothed. At first he had begun by 
 going to luncheon, and remaining the whole 
 afternoon in her company; but very soon it 
 came to be the evening only which was given 
 up to him. Either it was that Mr Crediton 
 made himself disagreeable at luncheon, or that 
 he thrust engagements upon Kate, reminding 
 her that she had promised to read to him, or 
 copy letters for him, or some altogether unim- 
 portant matter. Mr Crediton, though he was 
 so much the best off of the party that he had 
 thus the means of avenging himself, was not 
 without grievances too ; indeed, had he been 
 consulted, he would probably have declared 
 himself the person most aggrieved. His only 
 child was about to be taken from him, and 
 her society was already claimed by this name- 
 less young man, without any particular recom- 
 mendation, whom in her caprice she preferred. 
 The Sunday afternoons had been the banker's 
 favourite moment ; he had nothing to do, and 
 his doors were shut against society, and his 
 vol. I. u
 
 306 JOHN 
 
 child was always with him. No wonder that 
 he used all the means in his power to drive 
 back the enemy from that sacred spot. 
 
 And Mr Crediton had means in his power, 
 — unlike Mrs Mitford, who sat, more alone 
 than he, by her bedroom window all the hours 
 when she was not at church, and wiped noise- 
 lessly again and again the tears out of her 
 eyes. John's mother suffered more from this 
 dreary change than words could say. She 
 had not the heart to sit down-stairs except 
 when it was necessary for that outline of 
 family life consisting of prayers and meals, 
 which, to Dr Mitford's mind, filled up all 
 possible requirements. Mrs Mitford did not 
 tell her husband what she was thinking. 
 There seemed no longer any one left in the 
 world who cared to know. And she could 
 not punish Kate as Mr Crediton could punish 
 John. Probably she would not have done it 
 if she could, for to punish Kate would have 
 been to punish him too ; but oh, she some- 
 times thought to herself, if her horse had only 
 run away with her before somebody else's door, 
 this might never have been !
 
 JOHN 307 
 
 Thus it will be seen that this pretty young 
 lady and that first caprice for the subjugation 
 of John which came into her mind before she 
 had seen him, in the leisure of her convales- 
 cence, had affected the friends of both in 
 anything but a happy way. Indeed nobody 
 except perhaps Kate herself got any good out 
 of the new bond. To her, who at the present 
 moment was not called upon to make any 
 sacrifice or give up anything, the possession 
 of John, as of some one to fall back upon, 
 was pleasant enough. She had all her usual 
 delights and pleasures, lived as she had always 
 lived, amused herself as of old, was the envy 
 of her companions, the ringleader in all their 
 amusements, the banker's only, much-indulged, 
 fortunate child ; and at the same time she had 
 John to worship her on those Sunday evenings 
 which once had been rather dull for Kate. 
 When Mr Crediton dozed, as he sometimes did 
 after dinner, or when he was busy with the 
 little private pieces of business he used to give 
 himself up to on Sunday evenings, there was 
 her lover ready to bow down before her. It 
 was the cream and crown of all her many enjoy-
 
 308 JOHN 
 
 ments. Everybody admired, petted, praised, 
 and was good to Kate — and John adored her. 
 She looked forward to her Sunday ramble 
 round the old-fashioned garden, sometimes in 
 the dark, sometimes in the moonlight, with an 
 exquisite sense of something awaiting her there 
 which had a more subtle, penetrating, delicious 
 sweetness than all the other sweets surround- 
 ing her. And she felt that he was happy too 
 as soon as she had placed her little hand on 
 his arm — and forgot that there was anything 
 in his lot which could make him feel that he 
 had bought his happiness dearly. Kate was 
 young, and knew nothing about life, and 
 therefore was unconsciously selfish. She was 
 happy, without any drawback to her happiness; 
 and so, naturally and as a matter of course, 
 she took him to be, forgetting that he had 
 purchased that hour on the Sunday evenings 
 by the sacrifice of all the prejudices and all 
 the habits and prospects and occupations of 
 his life. This unconsciousness was one from 
 which she might awaken any day. A chance 
 word might open her eyes to it, and show her, 
 to her own disgust and confusion, the immense
 
 JOHN 309 
 
 price he was paying for so transitory a delight; 
 but at present nothing had awakened such a 
 thought in her mind, and she was the one 
 happy among the five most intimately con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Next after Kate in contentment with the 
 new state of affairs was Dr Mitford, who saw 
 a prospect of a very satisfactory " settlement 
 in life " for his son, though he did not feel 
 any very great satisfaction in the prelimin- 
 aries. It was a pain to him, though a mild 
 one, that John had abandoned the Church and 
 become a clerk in a banker s office. It was a 
 pain, and a little humiliation too, for every- 
 body in Fanshawe Eegis, and even the neigh- 
 bouring clergymen, shook their heads and 
 were very sorry to hear it, and wounded Dr 
 Mitford's pride. But, after all, that was a 
 trifling drawback in comparison with the sub- 
 stantial advantage of marrying so much money 
 as was represented by Kate Crediton. " And 
 ford of her too," he would say to himself in 
 his study when he paused in one of his articles 
 and thought it over. But yet the articles were 
 interrupted by thinking it over as they had
 
 310 JOHN 
 
 never been used to be. It gave him a passing 
 twinge now and then, but it was he who suf- 
 fered the least after Kate. 
 
 As for Mr Crediton, there was a certain sul- 
 len wrath in his mind which he seldom suf- 
 fered to have expression, yet which plagued 
 him like a hidden wound. To think that for 
 this lout, this country lad, his child should, as 
 it were, have jilted him, made light of all his 
 wishes, shown a desire to separate herself from 
 him and the life which he had fenced round 
 from every care, and made delightful with 
 every indulgence that heart could desire ! He 
 had gone out of his way to contrive pleasures 
 for her, and to surround her with everything 
 that was brilliant and fair like herself. She 
 was more like a princess than a banker's 
 daughter, thanks to his unchanging, unremit- 
 ting thoughtfulness ; and this was how she 
 had rewarded him the very first opportunity 
 she had. Mr Crediton was very sore and 
 wroth, as fathers are sometimes. Mothers are 
 miserable and lonely and jealous often enough, 
 heaven knows ! but the fathers are wroth with 
 that inextinguishable wonder — how the love-
 
 JOHN 311 
 
 making of some trumpery young man should, 
 in a day or two, or a week or two, obliterate 
 their deeper love and all the bonds of nature 
 — which lies as deep in the heart as does the 
 young impulse which calls it forth. Mr Credi- 
 ton was angry, not so much, except at mo- 
 ments, with Kate, as with the world, and na- 
 ture, and things in general — and John. He 
 could not cross or thwart his child, but he 
 would have been glad in his heart if something 
 had happened to the man whom his child 
 loved. Such sentiments are wicked, and they 
 are very inconsistent — but they exist every- 
 where, and it would be futile to deny them ; 
 and the consequence was, that Mr Crediton 
 was much less happy after his daughter's en- 
 gagement, and put up with it by an effort ; 
 and, while John had his moment of delight on 
 those Sunday evenings, was, for his part, any- 
 thing but delighted. It even made him less 
 good a man. He sat and fretted by himself, 
 and found it very difficult to occupy his mind 
 with any other subject. It vexed him to think 
 of his Kate thus hanging on a stranger's arm. 
 Of course he had always known that she must
 
 312 JOHN 
 
 marry some time, but lie had thought little of 
 it as an approaching calamity; and then it had 
 appeared certain that there would be a blaze of 
 external advantage, and perhaps splendour, in 
 any match Kate could make, which perhaps, 
 prospectively at least, would lessen the blow. 
 If it had exalted her into the higher circles of 
 the social paradise, he felt as if the deprivation 
 to himself would have been less great. But 
 here there was nothing to make amends — no 
 salve to his wounded tenderness. Poor John ! 
 Mr Crediton had the justice now and then to 
 feel that John was paying a hard price for his 
 felicity. " Serve the fellow right," he said, 
 and almost hated him ; and pondered, with a 
 sourd sense of cruelty and wrong-doing, how 
 he might be got rid of and removed out of the 
 way. 
 
 Mrs Mitford, for her part, was simply un- 
 happy, without hoping to mend matters, or 
 thinking any more than she could help about 
 the cause. She had lost her boy. To be sure 
 it is what most mothers have to look forward 
 to ; but she, up to the very last, had been-flat- 
 tering herself that she should not be as most
 
 JOHN 313 
 
 mothers. It had seemed so clear that his lot 
 was cast at home, where surely his duty was ; 
 and the change had this double aggravation 
 to her, that she had expected him not only to 
 make her personally happy, but to carry on 
 and develop the work of her life. It was she 
 who had been for all these years the real spir- 
 itual head of Fanshawe Eegis. Dr Mitford 
 had done the "duty," and had preached the 
 sermons, but every practical good influence, 
 every attempt to mend the rustic parish, to 
 curb its characteristic vices, or develop its bet- 
 ter qualities, had come from his wife. And 
 she had laboured on for years past, with the 
 conviction that her son would perfect every- 
 thing she began ; that he would bring greater 
 knowledge to it, and a more perfectly train- 
 ed mind, and all the superior understand- 
 ing which such humble women hold to be 
 natural to a man. When she had to give up 
 this hope, it seemed to her at first as though 
 the world had come to an end. What was the 
 use of doing anything more, of carrying on the 
 plans which must now die with her? The 
 next new curate would probably care nothing
 
 314 JOHN 
 
 about her schemes, and even might set himself 
 to thwart her, as new curates sometimes do 
 when a clergy woman is too active in a parish. 
 And she was sick of the world and everything 
 in it. The monotony of her life, from which 
 all the colour seemed to have died out in a 
 moment, suddenly became apparent to her, 
 and all the failures, and obstructions, and 
 hindrances which met her at every side. 
 What could she do, a weak woman, she said 
 to herself, against all the powers of darkness, 
 as embodied in Fanshawe Kegis \ Would it 
 not be best to resign the unprofitable warfare 
 and sink back into quiet, and shut out the 
 mocking light 1 
 
 Poor Mrs Mitford ! wherever she went the 
 people asked her questions about Mr John. 
 Was he not to be a clergyman after all % ' Was 
 it along o' his lass that wouldn't let him do as 
 he wished ? What was it \ His mother came 
 home with her heart wearied by such inquiries, 
 and sick with disappointment and misery. 
 And she would go up to the room in which he 
 was born, and cry, and say to herself that she
 
 JOHN 315 
 
 never never could encounter it again. And oh, 
 how dreary it was sitting down-stairs for the 
 few moments which necessity and Dr Mitford 
 required, in those summer nights when the 
 moths were flying by scores in at the open 
 window, and dimness reigned in all the cor- 
 ners, and the lamp shone steady and clear on 
 the table ! In all the obscurity round her, her 
 son was not lurking. He was not ready to 
 step in by the open window as he had done so 
 often. He was with Kate Crecliton, giving up 
 his whole heart and soul to her ; and his father 
 and mother rang for the servants, and had 
 prayers, as though they had never had any 
 children. What a change, what a change it 
 was ! Mrs Mitford knew that it was impos- 
 sible to thwart providence, let its plans be ever 
 so unsatisfactory ; but oh, she said to herself, 
 why did not Kate's accident happen close to 
 the Huntleys, or to any house but hers \ 
 Other boys were not so romantic, not so ten- 
 der-hearted ; and other mothers had heaps of 
 children, and could not brood over the fortunes 
 of every individual among them, as Mrs Mit-
 
 316 JOHN 
 
 ford, with an ache of helpless anger at herself, 
 knew that she brooded over John's. But all 
 was in vain. She could not mend matters 
 now. She could not mend her own bleeding, 
 aching heart. And after all, the only thing 
 possible was to go back to her work, whatever 
 might come of it, and do her best. She could 
 bear anything, she thought, but those Sunday 
 nights — moments which had once been so 
 sweet, and were now so solitary. She said 
 not a word to any one, and tried hard to keep 
 herself from thinking; and she wrote kind, 
 cheerful little letters to her boy, who, for his 
 part, was so very good in writing regularly — 
 so unlike most young men, as she told the 
 people. But after she had finished those 
 cheery, pleasant, gossiping letters, with all the 
 news of the parish in them, Mrs Mitford would 
 sit down and have a good cry. Oh what a 
 change there was ! how silent the house was, 
 how ghostly the garden where she was always 
 thinking she heard his step ! The servants 
 came in and went out again, and the father 
 and the mother would sit together softly with-
 
 JOHN 317 
 
 out a word, as if they had no child. Thus it 
 will be seen that, of all concerned, it was Mrs 
 Mitford who suffered most ; but that none was 
 satisfied, or felt the slightest approach of any- 
 thing like happiness in the new state of affairs, 
 unless, indeed, it might be Kate. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
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