L I B RARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N I VERSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 823 
 
 V. \
 
 Retu 
 
 -"•»-5 ---*„.. 
 
 University 
 
 L16I— H4I
 
 / /^/^^.-^ 
 
 f^A
 
 EVA DESMOND 
 
 OR, 
 
 MUTATION. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1858. 
 
 [77ic Ilight of Tianslation is rcserveif.^
 
 
 CONTENTS TO VOL. I. 
 
 - 
 o 
 
 " 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 Chap. 
 
 Page 
 
 5 
 
 I. The Cousins . . , . ' . 
 
 1 
 
 
 II. The River Side . . . . . 
 
 24 
 
 
 III. Early Lovb . . . . . 
 
 34 
 
 V 
 
 IV. The Departure .... 
 
 47 
 
 rO 
 
 V. Glenmore . . . . . 
 
 57 
 
 
 VI. Disappointment .... 
 
 ^ 
 
 _x 
 
 VII. The Legacy . . \ 
 
 83 
 
 r;. 
 
 VIIL The Only Son . 
 
 91 
 
 S 
 
 IX. The Sisters . . . . 
 X. Family Gossip .... 
 
 100 
 105 
 
 ' 
 
 XI. The Hopeful Lover . 
 
 117 
 
 
 XII. The New Relative 
 
 . 121 
 
 
 XIII. Old Scenes .... 
 
 . 134 
 
 
 XIV. Discussion ..... 
 
 150 
 
 4 
 
 XV. Secrets .... 
 
 . 163 
 
 XVL The ''Odd" Letter 
 
 . 169 
 
 
 ' XVII. Diplomacy .... 
 
 . 176 
 
 
 XVIII. The Gipsy 
 
 182 
 
 
 XIX. Reddestoxe Hill 
 
 . 197 
 
 
 XX. The Walk 
 
 . 211
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. Paob., 
 
 XXI. HiSLOP 221 
 
 XXII. HisLop's Mistress . . . 235 
 
 XXIII. An Accident ..... 246 
 
 XXIV. Electioneering . . . . . 256 
 XXV. An Old Acquaintance . . . 265 
 
 XXVI. Creature Comforts . . . . 276 
 
 XXVII. The Ride and the Visit • .288 
 
 XXVIII. Love's Agents . . . . . 299 
 
 XXIX. Baffled Diplomacy , . 314 
 
 XXX. Sharp-Shooting . . . 332 
 
 XXXI. The Ally .343
 
 MUTATIOI^. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE COUSINS. 
 
 NoTHiNa could be fairer than the prospect, as 
 seen from the terrace, beneath the southern front 
 of one of those handsome residences, so frequently 
 met with in England, known by the term 
 '^ Elizabethan." It is a style s^parently much 
 in favour with the present generation, for more 
 edifices seem to be constructed in accordance 
 with it, than with any other which has enjoyed 
 a term of existence in this island. But the 
 builders of to-day take special care not to adhere 
 so closely to the primitive style as not to admit 
 of the improvements and alterations which a 
 progressive age and more refined taste demand. 
 The windows are larger and lower, the rooms 
 higher and better arranged. The carriage 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MUTATION. 
 
 approach and terrace walks, though still severely 
 angular in their formation, are relieved of what 
 might be deemed stiffness, by the beauty of 
 the laying out of the surrounding pleasure ground, 
 with tastefully dispersed evergreens and gay 
 parterres of flowers. 
 
 The one with which we have to do was an 
 elegant as well as handsome and substantial 
 mansion. Straight as an arrow from the high 
 road, carefully and richly planted on either side, 
 came the approach, to a porch of massive cut 
 stone, supported by strong buttresses of the same, 
 which was located at one end of what was termed 
 the northern front. Into this porch you entered 
 by a wide archway of Tudor Gothic ; and 
 within it, the hand of modern elegance greeted 
 you ; the sides had been fitted up with a frame- 
 work of wood, tier upon tier, on which were placed 
 geraniums, cactuses, crassala, all the beauteous 
 tenants of the conservatory, so arranged that 
 none of the frame-work should be visible, thus 
 lining the sides of the porch with perfumed and 
 gorgeous walls, between which you passed to 
 an arched door-way leading into the house. 
 
 Turnincr round the corner of the terrace, 
 nearest to this entrance porch, you came to what
 
 THE COUSINS. 3 
 
 was known as the "west-end," or, among the 
 servants, better, as the " best-end," for there 
 opened the windows of the chief sitting-rooms ; 
 and above them, those of the sleeping apartments 
 and dressing-rooms appropriated to visitors. But, 
 once more, I would ask you, to turn the rect- 
 angular corner of that broad gravel walk, and 
 accompany me to the southern, or, as the family 
 themselves called it, the " terrace front," for there 
 our present business lies. 
 
 It was a front of considerable longitudinal 
 extent ; and the end of the building nearest to the 
 corner we have turned, after passing the oriel 
 windows of the western end, was composed of 
 smoothly and handsomely cut stone. The large and 
 heavy muUioned windows were each approached 
 by two broad stone steps, which reached from the 
 shorn grass of the terrace to the window sills. 
 A little lower down along the front, the stone 
 employed was more roughly cut; the windows, 
 though of the same pattern, were smaller, and the 
 many gabled roofs lower ; showing that the rooms 
 in that part of the building were less lofty and less 
 spacious. But what it wanted in magnificence 
 it gained in picturesque beauty; the rougher 
 stonework was covered with ivy, through the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MUTATION. 
 
 dark green of which could be seen the blossoms 
 of the jessamine and clematis, the Italian honey- 
 suckle and Bengal rose. Upon this terrace looked 
 out the windows of the bedrooms occupied by 
 the family, above those of the apartments destined 
 for the many domestic purposes essentially 
 necessary in an extensive and well arranged 
 English establishment: and that the owner of 
 this manor-house, which we shall call Oakstone, 
 was the head of such a one, might be guessed 
 by the substantial appearance of everything which 
 met the eye, and by the order which everywhere 
 prevailed. The extensive and regular range 
 of offices ; the high brick wall of the garden, 
 thickly covered with sprucely trained fruit-trees ; 
 the neatly-kept yard, into which several carriages 
 of different dimensions had been wheeled for 
 the purposes of washing or airing; the trim 
 beds of shrubs or flowers ; the nicely raked 
 gravel, and closely shorn and smoothy rolled 
 grass ; all bespoke a sufficient and well ordered 
 establishment, whose presiding spirit was of 
 easy circumstances, and refined and solid tastes. 
 
 The prospect from the southern terrace was, as 
 I began by saying, a fair and pleasing one. Below 
 the smooth slope of the terrace, and separated
 
 THE COUSINS, O 
 
 from it by a strong wall, the castellated parapet 
 alone of which appeared to the view of those who 
 stood above, were large and verdant fields thickly 
 sprinkled with hedgerow timber of considerable 
 growth. Through them wound the river, in every 
 fantastic form that water left to nature loves to 
 wind itself into ; its banks for ever diversified; now 
 steep and craggy, now shelving with a shingly 
 shore to the water's edge ; here over-hung with 
 alder, there well knotted with oak. Beyond the 
 river, again, were fields overspread with timber 
 so thick and luxuriant, as, in the distance, to give 
 the country the appearance of one continued woad, 
 amongst which were seen the village spire, and 
 here and there a roof or white wall. As a back- 
 ground, rose the rock of Reddeston, bold and well- 
 defined. From that rocky mount was supplied 
 the stone used in the buildings, and for burning 
 lime, for many miles round. It was of a dark 
 red colour, bright and hard as granite; you 
 might see the quarried sides of the rock flashing 
 in the sunlight amid patches of pine or crags of 
 stunted oak, or, in the gloom, looking like dark 
 caverns sunk in the wooded surface. 
 
 It was the afternoon of a sultry August day. 
 The door-like sashes of two of the windows, in
 
 6 MUTATION. 
 
 what mio-lit be termed the aristocratic end of the 
 southern front, stood open, and on the broad step 
 of one, leaning his back against the heavy mullion, 
 half-seated, half-lying, reclined a youth. He had 
 perhaps numbered eighteen summers, but he was 
 of so slight a build and of such fair complexion 
 that he had the appearance of being even younger. 
 He was not handsome, but he might be termed well- 
 looking. His features were regular and pleasing, 
 his figure and bearing gentlemanlike and easy : 
 and though he gazed down upon the lovely plain 
 before him with the unexcited eye of familiarity, 
 there was that in the expression of his countenance 
 which told that its beauty was not unfelt by him. 
 In his hand he held a fishing rod, with the line of 
 which he carelessly switched the grass, as if fishing 
 in imagination. His back was partially turned 
 towards the window, through the open sash of 
 which the room within was plainly visible. 
 
 It was a handsome apartment, rather long than 
 wide. At either end it was fitted up with well 
 filled book-cases, while the side walls, of a pale 
 blue colour, were nearly covered with paintings in 
 oil or water colours. At a table near the window 
 occupied by the youth, sat two young ladies, each 
 busily engaged in copying from drawings placed
 
 THE COUSINS. 7 
 
 before them. It was impossible to look upon two 
 girls more completely different than those two 
 who appeared to be following, at least, a congenial 
 taste. The one was a fair, plump, blue-eyed girl, 
 with a soft, smiling, innocent, and not too clever 
 expression. The colour of her hair and eyes, the 
 shape of her face, the formation of her mouth, 
 especially when she spoke, were so identical with 
 the youth at the window that there could be no 
 difficulty in the beholder assigning their true posi- 
 tion to each other, and coming to the conclusion 
 that they were brother and sister. It might have 
 taken a little longer to determine to which 
 should be attributed the advantage (if such sub- 
 stantive may ever be used, when a lady is in 
 the case) in age ; but a keen observer would at 
 length detect, that the girl had been the slower 
 at arriving at maturity: and to her account 
 must be credited the year and half which had 
 intervened between their birth. 
 
 Whether the lady, who sat at the other end of 
 the table, were related to her two companions, the 
 physiologist would have found no clue to determine 
 from any traceable resemblance. About the same 
 age as her fellow-artiste, she had the appearance 
 of being a good deal older. Her expressive
 
 o MUTATION. 
 
 face was more matured in its conformation, 
 and, in her figure, slight, and almost childishly 
 pliant as it was, the woman was still clearly 
 developed. Above the middle height, its extreme 
 grace scarcely let it appear so. Her face was 
 of that oval contour which is so often seen in 
 the west of Ireland, where the Spanish blood 
 has mingled with the native ; the characteristics 
 of which comminglement, generations seem to 
 do little towards obliterating. Her complexion, 
 too, was that which usually accompanies the admix- 
 ture ; clear and very bright. Her brows had the 
 same dark thinly traced arch. But her eyes ! — 
 they were the glory of her face; large, dark, 
 liquid and languishing in repose, and flashing 
 like light when her face broke into smiles. Hers 
 was a face pre-eminently expressive — intellect, 
 fun, mischief, deep thought, tenderness, or acute 
 feeling, all seemed capable of moulding for them- 
 selves an appropriate expression ; and, perhaps, 
 no slight part of the charm was that they suc- 
 ceeded each other so rapidly : it seemed a brow 
 for every varying, yet never changing without a 
 cause. 
 
 The youth at the window ceased his idle pas- 
 time, and turned impatiently towards the room.
 
 THE COUSINS. 9 
 
 His sister was holding her drawing at arms' 
 length, with a pleased happy look, as if its 
 appearance was very satisfactory. Her com- 
 panion was bending low over her's, carefully 
 adding some touches which evidently required 
 attention. Her side face was towards the lad, 
 showing the Grecian outline of her profile to 
 great advantage, as well as the long, dark lashes 
 that seemed to sweep her cheek, in that down- 
 ward, earnest gaze. As the boy's eye rested on 
 it, his impatience seemed quelled by admiration, 
 his look calmed, and he resumed his bootless 
 casts for a time. • 
 
 '' When will that everlasting drawing be 
 finished, Eva ? " cried he, his patience exhausted, 
 at last. " Do fling it there, and come. As to 
 Aggy, she would draw on till to-morrow : one 
 would think she had to earn her bread by 
 it." 
 
 With a gay smile, the girl he addressed looked 
 up. 
 
 " I have but a few finishing touches to add, 
 and then I shall be with you, Eddie." 
 
 " Add them to-morrow. It is a sin to be in 
 the house this evening. I only wonder Ernest 
 has not been making a row long ago."
 
 10 MUTATION. 
 
 " I want to copy that view in Wales to- 
 morrow. You know I shall have no drawings 
 to copy from when I go back to Ireland. 1 
 must make my hay while the sun shines — it 
 seldom shines on us poor Irish," she added, 
 with a smile, a sunbeam in itself. 
 
 " You look very like one who had been 
 brought up under a cloud.'* 
 
 " You must have had drawings to copy from 
 for some time, Eva," said the young girl opposite 
 to her, *' or you could not draw as you do." 
 
 "Little you know, Agnes, how I picked up 
 my knowledge. It sharpens one's wits wonder- 
 fully to have to live by them: I never had a 
 drawing lesson in my life : you, I suppose, have 
 had three a week for about seven years, at least." 
 
 "Dear Eva, add your touches to-morrow, and 
 come ; we are losing the whole day." 
 
 " No great misfortune, cousin mine, considering 
 what a scorchinsj one it was : the sun has been 
 so hot all morning that we could not have been 
 out, supposing there were no paint-boxes in the 
 world." 
 
 " But it is quite cool and pleasant now," said 
 the lad. 
 
 " The sun is gone off this terrace : were you
 
 THE COUSINS. 11 
 
 the other side of the house you would find him 
 still warm enough. But there ; — I have done 
 now. Wliat way is your drawing in, Agnes? 
 Shall we go ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am ready. My drawing will not 
 be finished this long time, so I can lay it by at 
 any moment." 
 
 The two girls collected their brushes and 
 paints, and placing them in the drawers of the 
 table they had been engaged at, went up-stairs 
 for their walking things. That the dark-haired 
 beauty was on a footing of close familiarity and 
 friendship in the house, was evident; for ou 
 coming to the la'^iding on which opened the 
 door which led to the private apartments of 
 the family, instead of pursuing her way up 
 the staircase which conducted to the " best end," 
 she passed, with her companion, into the gallery 
 of the ivy-covered portion of the mansion, and 
 turned into a small room about mid-way down 
 it, the foliage -imbedded window of which looked 
 out on the terrace where she had left the lad. 
 
 On the broad gravel walk beneath now 
 appeared, with rod in hand and basket on 
 his back, an apparition, which would have 
 gladdened the heart of Isaak Walton himself;
 
 12 MUTATION. 
 
 he looked so thoroughly the fisherman. His 
 dress was rough and coarse, and many a stain 
 bore testimony of former sport. His legs were 
 cased in waterproof boots which reached to 
 his thighs, showing that the wearer did not 
 disdain taking to the water if necessary. Round 
 his straw hat was twisted a casting line with 
 numerous flies attached. 
 
 He was a man, who, by the mere casual 
 observer, would perhaps have been described 
 as a fine handsome fellow, with a very pleasing 
 expression of countenance; but to the keen 
 eye of one who studies the human race, much 
 more than that was revealed by the contem- 
 plation of his exterior. That his proportions 
 were good and his features physically handsome 
 could be seen at a glance ; but it required a 
 longer survey to read therein the indications 
 of the inward man. 
 
 He was young — had but just attained his 
 twenty-second year; but he might have been 
 taken for at least three or four years older, 
 for he was one of those in whom manhood 
 developes itself at an earlier period, and in a 
 stronger measure, than in the usual order that 
 nature deals with mankind. His limbs, clothed
 
 THE COUSINS. 13 
 
 with all the roundness and plumpness of youtli, 
 were heavier and more muscular than is 
 generally seen at his age ; and that^ combined 
 with the expansion of his deep chest and square 
 well-formed shoulders, showed that his great 
 natural strength had been increased by continual 
 athletic exercise. His step, though elastic, was 
 firm; his attitude, erect, but natural; his head 
 well and even proudly set. The head itself 
 was eminently handsome: classically formed, it 
 was adorned with a profusion of black glossy 
 hair, which fell more in waves than curls (and 
 would, in itself, have been enough to consti- 
 tute the beauty of any head) and large, black, 
 and well kept whiskers. 
 
 His white forehead was high and broad enough 
 for beauty, though perhaps not sufficiently so 
 for what our ideas associate with great intel- 
 lectual powers. The portion immediately above 
 the eye, where the perceptive organs lie, was 
 prominent ; which, with the dark eye-brow upon 
 it, gave the well-set eye a depth of expres- 
 sion it would not otherwise have possessed. 
 The eye itself was of that dark graiy colour, 
 midway between blue and hazel, which, when 
 too bright to be examined closely, looks black;
 
 14 MUTATION. 
 
 and he had a certain quick impetuous way of 
 glancing at any one who advanced an opinion 
 he deemed erroneous, or expressed a thought 
 he recognised as just or clever, that made it 
 seem to look you through. In repose, there 
 was a steadfast concentrated look in the eye, 
 and in the compression of the full handsomely 
 formed lips, which told that the owner would 
 throw his w^hole mind and body into any enter- 
 prise he undertook ; and once undertaken, would 
 perseveringly carry it through : though that such 
 enterprise would be of a practical rather than of 
 an imaginative or sentimental nature perhaps a 
 physiognomist would determine. His smile was 
 very charming ; there was something so sincere 
 and frank — such manly kindness in it. But 
 he did not often smile : his more habitual 
 expression was grave ; and not unfrequently 
 his eyes appeared to smile without his lips 
 bearing tliem company. Altogether, without 
 so close a scrutiny as the foregoing, tal<.e him 
 as he was, wholly independent of the adjunc- 
 tive auxiliaries of dress, no one could fail to 
 pronounce him a singularly handsome man. 
 
 " I say, Ned ! do you mean to come and fish, 
 or do you not ? " he began, impetuously, as his
 
 THE COUSINS. 15 
 
 eye caught the lazy figure of the occupant of the 
 window step, " I can tell you my patience is ex- 
 hausted." 
 
 "So is mine," said the youth he addressed, with- 
 out making any demonstration of rising ; " I have 
 been exerting my persuasive powers for the last 
 hour to coax the ladies to put aside their drawing : 
 they are coming with us." 
 
 " With us ? with you, you mean : I am not mad 
 enough to go to fish with ladies." 
 
 "Nonsense, Ernest ; what harm will the girls do?" 
 "Gabble till there is not a fish in the Kennet 
 will rise. I have a lively recollection of the last 
 day they came." 
 
 " Oh, we will make them be silent." 
 " I hope you may, though I shall not be there 
 to see. Much chance of a nibble where Eva 
 Desmond is." He turned away. 
 
 " Come, Ernest ! don't be crusty. Wait for us." 
 "No, no, my boy! Every one please him- 
 self, say I. We will each catch our fish after our 
 own fashion." 
 " I'll tell the ladies of you : what will they think ?" 
 "My compliments to them," said Ernest. 
 He ran lightly down the green slope of the terrace, 
 placed one foot on the parapet of the wall, and
 
 16 MUTATION. 
 
 leaping into the field beneath, walked quickly 
 towards the river. 
 
 Edward, still listlessly reclining against the 
 mullion, gazed admiringly after the manly figure of 
 his eldest brother. There was no jealousy in his 
 feelings now, though there were times when that 
 handsome exterior was coveted by him. His present 
 thoughts were of their respective futures : dreamy 
 and indistinct they were ; but not unpleasant. 
 
 A narrow Gothic doorway opened on the 
 southern terrace, at the further end of the front 
 that lay along it ; which doorway was at the 
 foot of the back staircase, and being a nearer 
 means of egress from the apartments they in- 
 habited, was much used by the family. Through 
 this doorway Eva Desmond now appeared, 
 equipped for walking. The lad's listlessness 
 vanished : he sprang up and joined her. 
 
 " Where is Aggy ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not quite ready to come out." 
 
 " Aggy is always late." 
 
 '^ Your mother wanted her for something : she 
 will be here presently. Let us walk up and 
 down and wait for her : this terrace feels so cool 
 and nice now the sun is gone off it. But you like 
 the sun, I believe."
 
 THE COUSINS. 17 
 
 " I want no other sun when you are here." 
 
 "Don't waste your comphments on me: you 
 will want them all when you go into the 
 army." 
 
 " It was no compliment/' said the youth with 
 an oifended air: " I thought you were clever 
 enough to discern between true and false 
 coin." 
 
 " Some coiners are clever enough to counterfeit 
 so truly that the difference cannot be detected." 
 
 ^' Aye, it always can, by the ring, Eva. You 
 must not trust to appearances: my sentiments 
 for you will bear testing well." • 
 
 *^ Take care how you boast ! Perhaps I shall 
 try them too severely some of these days." 
 
 " I wish you would : then I should have some 
 chance of proving to you how true they will 
 answer to the ring." 
 
 Here Agnes joined them. " Where is Ernest? 
 I thought he was going to fish." 
 
 " Gone. Would not trust himself with us," 
 replied Eva. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Agnes, wonderingly. 
 
 " No doubt you think for fear our society might 
 so fascinate him that he could not attend to his 
 craft. Discard the delusion, my innocent cousin ! 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 MUTATION. 
 
 I '11 tell you. Because he has a lively recollection 
 of the last day he was out with us : we gabbled — 
 yes, gabbled, fair coz ! so, that not a fish would 
 rise. " 
 
 " You are hard on Ernest, Eva." 
 
 " His own words ! " 
 
 " How did you know, Eva ? " asked Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 " Heard all that passed, as I stood in my 
 window tying on my bonnet, and felt greatly 
 complimented." 
 
 " Ernest did not know you were eaves-dropping, 
 or he would have been more cautious." 
 
 " Than to backbite me," said Eva, laughing. 
 
 *^ Ernest never says anything behind a person's 
 back that he would not say to one's face : it is 
 not his way," retorted Agnes, warmly. 
 
 "He does not waste many compliments even 
 to one's face." 
 
 " If ever he does pay a compliment it is worth 
 having," returned his sister : " he means it, or he 
 would not say it." 
 
 " And when he does not say it, I suppose he 
 does not mean it," replied her cousin, gaily; " so I 
 need not buoy myself up with the idea that I hold 
 a high place in his opinion : need I ? "
 
 THE COUSINS. 19 
 
 " I do not know his opinion of " Agnes's 
 
 conscience smote her ; she stopped short. Her 
 cousin's flashing eye was on her. 
 
 " That is not the truth, Agnes ; you know it 
 is not. You do know his opinion of me — come, 
 what is it ? 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Ernest would not like." 
 
 " Then I was not much mistaken when I said 
 it was a hostile one." 
 
 " No, not hostile, Eva." 
 
 '^ Depreciating. Come, Agnes, you need nof 
 blush and look so guilty, as if you had been 
 discovering Ernest's secrets to me. Eva Desmond 
 does a little in the discovery line herself, and she 
 wanted no help to find out that her cousin Ernest 
 was no victim to her attractions." 
 
 " I shall be a victim to his satire, if I catch no 
 fish and he does," interrupted Edward, who had 
 been running the line oiF his reel and winding it 
 on again, while this conversation passed between 
 the ladies. 
 
 " Leave the rod behind, and then he cannot 
 crow over you. Say you wanted both hands 
 to help Agnes and me over the stiles." 
 
 C 2
 
 20 MUTATION. 
 
 *' Well thought of, fair cousin I it shall be done. 
 I will leave the rod here," he said, placing it up 
 against the wall of the house in an angle of 
 one of the projecting gables. " I don't think my 
 father can see it there ; or I shall have a lecture 
 for bringing litter on the terrace." 
 
 The three cousins descended the slope, but 
 instead of takino; the short cut that Ernest had, 
 they walked along the parapet to the corner 
 where a flight of steps led to the field below. 
 They, too, took their way towards the river, 
 though not in the same direction that Ernest 
 had gone. 
 
 "Will Ernest fish up or down the river?" 
 asked Eva: "we had better not go within ear- 
 shot of his fish." 
 
 " Up, most likely ; there is more shade," replied 
 Edward. 
 
 " He almost always fishes down," said Agnes. 
 
 "Then we will go abos^e," said Eva, "and 
 desire the fish not to tell him they saw us." 
 
 "Oh, Eva!" 
 
 " There is my father coming along the terrace," 
 said Edward, who had been looking back. " Watch, 
 will he spy the fishing-rod ? By Jove, he does ! 
 There, he is up to it."
 
 THE COUSINS. 21 
 
 " Edward, why will you leave your things 
 about when you know papa does not like it ? " 
 
 " Uncle Clifton carries his love of law and 
 order to extremity," said Eva. "How he 
 did preach about that key of the post-bag this 
 morning." 
 
 "What was that?" asked Agnes, "I heard 
 nothing." 
 
 " I believe you were not there : Eddie mis- 
 laid it." 
 
 " The Governor gave it to me last night to get 
 out something that had stuck in the pipe; while 
 I was working at it, I saw Eva pass the window, 
 carrying a flower-crock with a heliotrope nearly 
 as large as herself, and, in my hurry out to help 
 her, I did not know what became of the key." 
 
 " But Eddie, dear, you know how particular 
 papa is about these things." 
 
 " Faith, I do, Aggy ! I should be a dull dog 
 if I did not. It was all Eva's fault — distracting a 
 poor fellow's attention." 
 
 " Yes, lay the blame on me, if you like : 
 Uncle Clifton's sermons sit lightly on me." 
 
 "Oh, Eva!" 
 
 " Oh, Agnes ! If you had heard the way he 
 held forth this morning on the unpardonableness
 
 22 MUTATION. 
 
 of mislaying a key, you would agree with me 
 that my good uncle of Oakstone was badly in 
 want of a grievance to expatiate on." 
 
 " It is not the magnitude of the grievance, Eva, 
 that makes papa say so much ; it is the disregard 
 of his wishes and special desire : he requires 
 everything to be so regular; above all, every- 
 thing immediately concerned with himself." 
 
 " Once I get my commission, there will be no 
 more drillings." 
 
 " I thought that was the time the drillings would 
 commence," said Eva, slily. 
 
 " Not the sort I get here : no long yarns 
 about a lost key, or a dirty pair of shoes. Oh, 
 how I wish they would gazette me, and then 
 I should be a happy man. No Governor to 
 preach, — no Dominie to tether me ! " 
 
 " I do not think you have much complaint to 
 make of your Dominie; he seems to give you 
 leave of absence pretty often : I wonder will your 
 colonel be as indulgent?" 
 
 " Oh, you don't know how he grumbles, and 
 how he works me when I go back ! Morning, 
 noon and night he has me over those confounded 
 books. Geometry, trigonometry, geology, philo- 
 logy — no end to them. ' A soldier should be a
 
 THE COUSINS. 23 
 
 scholar and a gentleman, Mr. Clifton.' " He 
 pushed up his hair off his forehead, and waved 
 his hand in a declaiming attitude, in imitation, 
 of his master. The girls laughed. Eva said ; 
 
 " You have been here four times in the 
 last fortnight — four whole days and four pieces of 
 days." 
 
 ^' Yery short pieces ! I have been back each 
 morning at one o'clock. And recollect, sweet 
 coz, two of the whole days were Sundays. 
 Besides, Dominie knows he may as well let me 
 go, if I set my heart on it: I would not learn 
 for him if he kept me." 
 
 " Does Mr. Cartwright know that Eva is with 
 us still ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 "Yes, for when I asked leave, yesterday, to 
 come over to day, he said, ' When will your cousin 
 return to Ireland, Clifton ? ' I don't know why he 
 asked." 
 
 There was an arch smile on Eva's face, but 
 her head was turned away and her cousin did not 
 see it.
 
 24 MUTATION. 
 
 GHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE RIVER SIDE. 
 
 The young ' party rambled on through the fields, 
 still keeping the direction of the river, though 
 not following its course ; indeed so serpentine 
 was the latter, that they would have made but 
 little progress had they not crossed by the 
 shortest way from one bend of its windings to 
 another. Agnes was often in advance, often 
 lingering behind ; now, in search of some flower 
 seen in Sowerby and not yet added to her 
 collection ; now, to gaze on the beauty of the view. 
 But, close by Eva's side kept the embryo soldier, 
 the unevenness of the ground they were traversing, 
 broken by the heavy winter floods, being a continual 
 excuse for his hand seeking hers ; now, whispering 
 his boyish hopes in her ear, now gazing in silent 
 admiration on her very lovely face, glowing with 
 health and exercise, and beaming with its most 
 generally prevailing expression, which was that 
 of sparkling fun. It needed no conjurer to tell
 
 THE RIYER SIDE. 25 
 
 that that stripling's heart was in his dark-eyed 
 cousin's keeping. 
 
 Entering a field in which the river's windings 
 formed the shape of a horseshoe, and crossing 
 the narrow neck of land at the base of the shoe, 
 they perceived a boat moored on the opposite side 
 of the river to the point for which they were 
 making. Eva was the first to observe it. 
 
 " If it were but on this side, we could cross the 
 river and get to the village," said she : " I have 
 business at the post-office." 
 
 " It is our boat," replied her cousin : " Ernest 
 must be here." « 
 
 " How could he be here ? " rejoined Agnes : 
 " he went towards the alder field, you said." 
 
 " If the boat is here, won't that account for the 
 way he came, you little dunce," retorted her brother. 
 
 " How glad he will be to see us," said Eva, 
 laughing. " There he is ! " she exclaimed, as they 
 came in sight of him standing upon a projecting 
 piece of sedge, beneath a beech tree, a little higher 
 up the river than where the boat lay. He was 
 carefully watching the line he cast upon the water, 
 and did not look up. 
 
 ^^ He is so absorbed he is not aware of the 
 pleasure that is awaiting him," observed Eva.
 
 26 MUTATION. 
 
 '' Whatever he does, he does in earnest," 
 remarked his sister. 
 
 " He is well-named," answered Eva. " I will 
 break his reverie ; " and she cried at the top of her 
 sweet silvery voice, "Neighbour, neighbour, we 
 are come to torment you ! " 
 
 The fisherman looked up with that smile 
 of his eyes, and answered in his short quick 
 way— 
 
 '^ Unfortunately, you are on the wrong side 
 for that." 
 
 " But we are going to cross." 
 
 " I don't think you are." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I don't think you can swim, and the boat is 
 on this side." 
 
 ^^ But we want you to bring it over for us." 
 
 " Did you ever want anything you did not 
 get?" 
 
 " Often ; but not when I asked a gallant man 
 for it." 
 
 "You are not asking one, now." 
 
 " I know that ; but I will call you one if you 
 bring over the boat." 
 
 " I should not wish to make you tell an un- 
 truth."
 
 THE RIVEK SIDE. 27 
 
 " Well, I will call you a good-natured man : I 
 will ask you very humbly and prettily ; do, 
 please, Mr. Ernest, bring over the boat for us." 
 
 " I am busy. Tell that dainty cavalier of yours 
 to step up to the ford, and come over for it." 
 
 " No : I cannot ; his feet would be wet for 
 the rest of the walk. You did not cross on foot 
 yourself." 
 
 ^^ How the girl talks ! I rowed up the river 
 where the water would be over my head ; there 
 was not shade enough to fish below. An officer 
 should not mind a wet foot : now that they talk 
 of war, it is quite necessary he should be useful • 
 as well as ornamental ; able to ford a river, 
 running after the enemy — or running away, as 
 the case may be." 
 
 " Come across, Ernest, that 's a good fellow," 
 said Edward : " if I were to cross the ford itself, 
 I am sure I 'm not boatman enough to row in 
 this confounded eddy." 
 
 " There is a strong current. It was no easy 
 job coming up the stream. But where 's the 
 rod, Ned?" 
 
 " Left it at home at my suggestion : was he 
 not wise ? " replied Eva. 
 
 " Partially so."
 
 28 MUTATION. 
 
 '* You think he would have been wiser had 
 he left me behind instead. You are hard on 
 your poor cousin, Ernest." 
 
 " That would scarcely be fair, she is so unable 
 to defend herself. I never met an Irish person 
 yet^ man or woman, who could not stand up for 
 themselves and their rights." 
 
 " Who drove us to our war-cry, ^ Justice to 
 Ireland?'" 
 
 " Your own unreasonableness ; nothing would 
 content you." 
 
 " No, not ours, but yours : you English think 
 we may be content on very little." 
 
 " The more people get the more they want : 
 it has always been the way with the Irish." 
 
 " You are talking of what you don't under- 
 stand; as your father, and another father, that 
 I know about, are in the habit of saying. A 
 truce with your politics : please, come." 
 
 Even her antagonist was not proof against the 
 smile that accompanied the last few words. He 
 stuck the spike of his rod in the ground, and 
 stepping into the boat, loosed it and pushed from 
 the land. For a while he rowed straight down 
 the stream, and though he scarcely more than 
 parted the water in the graceful play of his oars.
 
 THE RIVER SIDE. 29 
 
 the boat, impelled by the current, glided swiftly 
 away. 
 
 " They will soon be out of sight," said Eva. 
 " Ernest is showing off his rowing." 
 
 " Not he," replied his brother, quickly,. " ' show 
 off' is a word he does not know the meaning 
 of. He won't pull a stroke more than is 
 necessary. It would be impossible for him 
 to come straight across ; the place is full 
 of rocks: they are hidden now: the water is 
 high for the time of year." 
 
 " Ernest rows well, does he not ? " 
 
 "Well! he is a splendid rower. His college 
 is at the head of the river, and he is captain of 
 the boat." 
 
 " Was it at college he learned the craft ? " 
 
 "No — training and practice have of course 
 improved him ; but he was a first-rate oarsman 
 before he went to college. All those things 
 seemed to come intuitively to Ernest; at school 
 he was always the best quoit and ball and 
 cricket player — at home, the best shot, the 
 foremost rider, the strongest puller, the most 
 unflagging walker, no matter who was of the 
 party : how, with all those qualities, he came 
 to choose a parson's life, I cannot imagine."
 
 30 MUTATION. 
 
 " Ernest has chosen the better part," remarked 
 Agnes gravely. 
 
 " Then he is quite determined to take orders ? " 
 rejoined her cousin. 
 
 " Ay, sets to at divinity, on his return to college. 
 I am sure it was well for me he did not choose 
 the army : it seems so hard to get one commission, 
 what would it be to get two? But I cannot 
 understand it in Ernest : with his sound sense 
 and calm cool judgment, his strength, activity 
 and courage, he would have made a splendid 
 officer; and then, his person — in a handsome 
 uniform, how he would break the ladies' hearts ! " 
 
 " If they take my advice, they will not break 
 their brittle property for Ernest : they are not 
 likely to get compensation for the fracture." 
 
 " Oh, Eva I Ernest will like some one, some 
 day." 
 
 " A far-off one, I expect, Agnes : he does not 
 seem very susceptible just now — a thought more 
 alive to our faults than a victim to our capti- 
 vations. But here he comes," as the boat, 
 answering to his powerful strokes, made way 
 up the river. 
 
 " Not easy pulling in the teeth of this current," 
 he said, as he neared them, " I have not felt it
 
 THE EIVER SIDE. 31 
 
 SO strong this many a day. Here, Ned, catch 
 the chain." He flung it on the bank, Edward 
 missed catching it, and the boat was again borne 
 backward by the force of the water. 
 
 " Do use the hands God gave you, Ned ! " 
 exclaimed the rower, energetically, as he again 
 brought the boat alongside. " Now mind." 
 He again flung the chain, which Edward, with 
 more success than the first time, caught, and 
 drove the spike home in the bank. 
 
 " Give me your hand, Aggy : wait for me, 
 Eva, I will return for you. Sit beside me in 
 the stern," he whispered, as he led her down. 
 
 '' Do no such thing!" exclaimed his brother, 
 whose quick ear had caught what was not 
 intended for it. " Sit in the middle of the boat 
 with Agnes, and Ned you '11 attend all the better 
 to the helm. Sit down, Eva, if you don't want 
 to have us all overboard." 
 
 She obeyed him mechanically, and they 
 traversed the same course by which Ernest 
 had come. 
 
 " Thank you, Ernest. We are going to the 
 Post-office; I suppose there is no use ask- 
 ing you to come with us," said Eva, as they 
 landed.
 
 32 MUTATION. 
 
 " None in the world. What do you want at 
 the Post-office?" 
 
 "Agnes wants to post a contraband letter," 
 she replied, mischievously. 
 
 " What is a contraband letter ? " asked Agnes, 
 innocently. 
 
 " You w^ill soon find out when you have one," 
 replied her cousin. 
 
 " Never have one, Aggy," said Ernest, gravely : 
 " never do anything you are ashamed of." 
 
 " People are not always ashamed of what they 
 hide," returned Eva. 
 
 " As a rule, they are." 
 
 " What say you to that diplomatic word, 
 ^ expediency?'" 
 
 " That it ought to be expunged from the 
 language : one thing is right and another wrong, 
 there is no middle course to take." 
 
 " I wish we had you in Ireland." 
 
 ^' I am very glad you have not : there you 
 always take the wrong." 
 
 " You are very polite. Good-evening." 
 
 " You had better not take leave of me yet, or 
 how are you to get back ?" 
 
 "Shall you be here when we return?" asked 
 his brother.
 
 THE EIVER SIDE. 33 
 
 *^ Ay, Ned ; you would make but a bad hand 
 of crossing in this current : we should hear of 
 you in the Thames to-morrow. I will leave the 
 boat here ; I shall not be far away." 
 
 He took up his fishing-rod and descended to 
 the place from which they had disturbed him. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARLY LOVE. 
 
 When the two girls and their young escort 
 returned to the place where the boat lay moored, 
 Ernest was still a considerable way up the river; 
 but he was returning: his moves were towards 
 them, though they were slow, with long stoppages 
 between. 
 
 " He seems to be taking fish," said Edward ; 
 " if he is, it will be a good while before he gets 
 as far as this. Let 's sit down on the bank and 
 wait." 
 
 They sat down, above the stream, under the 
 shade of the tree where they, had first seen 
 Ernest : Edward, as usual, by Eva's side. 
 
 " The fish are rising, Eddie," observed his 
 sister ; " if you had your rod now, you could be 
 catching them while you wait." 
 
 " I would rather be as I am," replied the lad, 
 lazily.
 
 EAELY LOYE. 35 
 
 He lay upon the grass, across Eva's feet, 
 supporting himself on one elbow and looking up 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Idling," said she. 
 
 " Admiring you. Tell us, Eva, how you used 
 to spend your time at Hislop. Any contraband 
 entertainment? Indeed, if there was any enter- 
 tainment at all it must have been contraband. 
 Will Ingram was there, was he not, at the same 
 time?" 
 
 ^' He only had two months' leave of absence, 
 you know. I was there six." 
 
 " And did Aunt Herbert tie you to the leg of 
 her chair for those two months ? " 
 
 " We managed a few walks together ; but they 
 were contraband. I do not know why she was 
 afraid of letting us together, for she knows he 
 is dying for love of Jessie Phillips." 
 
 " Oh, Will told me she would not let Jessie 
 into the house while he was there." 
 
 " Neither would she. The subject discussed 
 during those contraband rambles was the best 
 means oi softening her heart. I was employed 
 as ambassadress ; but the embassy was a failure : 
 she was inexorable." 
 
 " I camiot think why she was so much against 
 
 D 2
 
 36 MUTATION. 
 
 it," interposed Agnes : " it does not seem to me so 
 bad a match. Will has plenty of money, and Jessie 
 is so handsome and so nice, and her father's rank 
 and family are so good, I never could under- 
 stand wh}^ Aunt Herbert opposed it so vehemently." 
 
 " Because she would oppose anything on earth 
 in the shape of marriage," replied Edward : " she 
 is without exception the greatest dragon of 
 celibacy I ever heard of: is she not, Eva ?" 
 
 " She does not favour the blind god, certainly." 
 
 " It was reported, Eva," remarked Agnes, 
 "that when that rich Mr. Langton was there, 
 he was greatly smitten with you. Some said it 
 would certainly be a match." 
 
 " We must have got up in the night to make it 
 then," returned Eva, laughing, " for while he was 
 in the house. Aunt Herbert would not so much 
 as go as far as the garden without carrying me 
 with her ; and on any day when Jie was to be at 
 liome all the morning, she was sure to take me 
 for a long drive with herself" 
 
 " How provoking ! I wish Aunt Herbert 
 would not want every one to do exactly what 
 she likes : one has no choice of action at Hislop, 
 not even in the smallest thing. Did not you 
 find it so?"
 
 EAKLY LOVE. 37 
 
 " I am fond of Aunt Herbert ; she has been 
 kind to me : at least in her way. She has her 
 peculiarities, certainly, and any one who stays 
 with her must make up their mind to submit 
 to them, or I do not think they could get on." 
 
 " The grand peculiarity appears to be, Minerva 
 versus Cupid," persisted Edward. " I don't know 
 how she ever was married herself" 
 
 ** She had not much to do with it, I have 
 heard mamma say ; the match was made up 
 between Uncle Herbert's mother and grand- 
 mamma: Aunt Herbert was quite passive in 
 the matter; so, I suppose, having never fdt 
 the frailty, she feels no sympathy for it." 
 
 " All she thinks about him now," retorted 
 Edward. 
 
 " Conjugal affection," said Eva. 
 
 " I sometimes think she is quite ridiculous, 
 don't you?" 
 
 " My dear Eddie, how do you suppose I 
 could set myself up as a judge; above all, of Aunt 
 Herbert." 
 
 "I know I have often laughed at her. She 
 seems to me to think herself fifteen, when she 
 talks of herself and Uncle Herbert. I will 
 tell you a good story Jessie Phillips told me."
 
 38 MUTATION. 
 
 "Eddie!" 
 
 " Aggy ! why should not I ? Aunt Herbert 
 never did anything for me ; except perhaps, 
 put her skinny finger into my pie when I would 
 much rather she had kept it out. Well, Lady 
 Mary Hilton — you Ve seen her : you know 
 what a beauty she is ; Lady Mary was saying 
 at Ash Park, one day Aunt Herbert met her 
 there, that whenever she travelled by rail 
 without any escort, she always put her maid 
 in the seat opposite to her; you understand, 
 for fear any gentleman opposite should look 
 at her. This piece of prudery seemed to charm 
 Aunt Herbert vastly; she applauded it con- 
 tinually to Jessie afterwards. When Jessie 
 was returning home, the Herberts were going 
 to London, and said they would take her as 
 far as Oxford ; the first thing Jessie thought 
 was, ' as sure as fate I shall be made have old 
 Grimshawe's one eye opposite to me in the train.' " 
 
 "And had she?" 
 
 " Wait for the honne boucJie. Aunt Herbert 
 is too thrifty to take Grimshawe in the first 
 class : no ; but when they got in, there were 
 four seats vacant, two middle seats and two 
 at the window, opposite to each other; Aunt
 
 EARLY LOVE. 39 
 
 Herbert took one of the latter and Jessie sat 
 in the middle : Uncle Herbert had not got in. 
 Jessie asked her aunt to change places with 
 her; for she gets sick in a train unless she has 
 the air, and Aunt Herbert would rather be 
 without it. ' I cannot,' said she, ^ for I must 
 have your uncle opposite to me, and he would 
 not like to be away from the window.' Presently 
 Uncle Herbert got in and made for the place 
 assigned him, with such an air of importance 
 as if he was fulfilling some particular charge 
 he was entrusted with: he had evidently been 
 tutored before hand. A man with a handsome pair 
 of moustaches got in and took the seat opposite 
 Jessie, who was laughing in her sleeve. I 
 don't think she was a bit sorry that Aunt 
 Herbert had taken such precious care of her- 
 self instead of her niece." 
 
 "I should think neither was the knight of 
 the moustache." 
 
 " Don't you agree with me, that the lady who 
 did that ought to have some indulgence for human 
 frailty?" ' 
 
 " Take care : did Jessie paint ? You know she 
 owes Aunt Herbert a grudge for interfering so 
 strenuously between her and Willie Ingram."
 
 40 MUTATION. 
 
 " Oh, this is a year ago — before the great row." 
 
 " Eva, do you think Jessie really liked 
 Willie ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 " She certainly liked him : whether she loved 
 him or not, I cannot say. In time, perhaps 
 she might have been glad to marry him : Jessie 
 will not be well off at her mother's death. 
 The General was not rich; much of his money 
 died with him, and what Aunt Phillips has 
 will go to Edward. Aunt Herbert always 
 said she considered Jessie as much as Willie 
 in the affair ; but I never thought so : though 
 it was possible, with Jessie's beauty, that she 
 might do better, it was equally possible that 
 she might not do so well." 
 
 "Husbands are scarce and hard to catch," 
 trolled out Edward. The girls laughed. 
 
 '' We are bemoaning the scarcity of good 
 husbands," said Eva to Ernest, who had just 
 come up. 
 
 " Good wives are a deal scarcer. Get into 
 the boat : we shall be late for tea." 
 
 " There is one good thing about this English 
 custom of early dining; in summer, people 
 can stay out as long as they like in the evenings : 
 tea is a meal that can wait any time."
 
 EAELT LOTE. 41 
 
 "Yoa would not think so if you were long 
 with my father. Get in, I say. Ned, stir yourself." 
 
 Landed on the other side, Ernest and Agnes 
 walked on with the quick step of people who 
 knew they had time to make up ; the other two 
 more leisurely followed. 
 
 " Our last walk, Eva," said the lad, sadly. 
 
 ^' Do you go early to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Sure to : Ernest drops me at Eversley, and 
 he always starts early." 
 
 " I thought he did not go to Oxford until the 
 day after." 
 
 " Neither does he ; but he leaves this : he 
 stays a night on the road with Ruxton — an 
 old schoolfellow. You will be sure, Eva, to 
 let me know what day you leave, and I will be 
 at the hotel in Eversley." 
 
 " Yes, I will make Agnes write you word : 
 I think it will be Friday." 
 
 "I shall then look my last look — at least 
 for a long time. How I wish they would put 
 me into a regiment quartered in Ireland; I 
 would soon get leave and be at Glenmore. 
 But wherever they have the rest of me, Eva, 
 my heart will be where you are." 
 
 " Make no rash assertions. Believe me, Eddie,
 
 42 MUTATION. 
 
 a very different heart beats under a scarlet 
 coat to that beneath" — a schoolboy's jacket, she 
 was going to say, but deeming that might mortify 
 her young lover's dignity, she changed it into — 
 " that you now wear." 
 
 " No, no, Eva! the coat will make no difference ; 
 the heart beneath will be the same." 
 
 A smile, half-sceptical, half-regretful, passed 
 over Eva's face. She was thinking how much the 
 contact with that world which he was so impatient 
 to enter, would chill and vitiate the warm 
 unsullied feelings of his fresh young heart: she 
 shook her head. 
 
 " Time will tell, if nothing else will be believed." 
 
 " Time will tell ; and here is somebody who 
 will tell the time." 
 
 They had reached the steps by which they 
 had descended, and on the terrace above them 
 stood Mr. Clifton, his watch in his hand: not 
 in the careless way with which it is held, when, 
 after looking at the hour, from absence or laziness 
 we neglect to restore it to its place, but, 
 laid out on the palm of his open hand, and 
 deliberately held there by the massive gold chain, 
 with its depending seals of imposing magnitude, 
 passed between the two forefingers.
 
 EARLY LOVE. 43 
 
 In person, Mr. Clifton, sen., was a mixture — if 
 that synthetic expression, which generally implies 
 the prior existence of the component parts, may be 
 legitimately permitted to retrograde and apply to a 
 father — of his two sons. His features resembled 
 those of the younger in shape and character, 
 while their accessories of complexion, hair, and 
 whiskers were like those of the elder : or had 
 been, for gleams of silver in the two latter told 
 that their beauty was on the wane. Though 
 larger and heavier in his build than Edward was 
 likely to be at any age, his figure fell short of 
 Ernest's in height, power, and symmetry ; still it re- • 
 sembledit: Nature might be said to have improved 
 on Mr. Clifton in the moulding of his son. Different 
 from that of either youth, was the expression of the 
 father's face : wholly exempt from the debonair and 
 indolent levity of Edward, there was no trace in it 
 of the quick and collected decision of Ernest ; on 
 the contrary, there was an anxious hesitation in his 
 eye, and a mixture of firmness and fidgetiness about 
 the lower features, which might be termed incon- 
 sistent ; though perhaps to be accounted for by an 
 impatient temperament, a kind heart, and a love 
 of rule: all concomitants in Mr. Clifton's moral 
 organization. By love of rule, I must not be under-
 
 44 MUTATION. 
 
 stood to mean the aspiration to govern in its wider 
 and more lofty acceptation : Mr. Clifton had neither 
 ambition nor talent for that. It was a love of 
 petty rule in his own family and his own establish- 
 ment, which when carried to excess, and coming 
 from one whose position renders resistance im- 
 practicable, is very tantalizing. Had Mr. Clifton 
 been a less kind father, his family would have 
 found his perpetual over-ruling (Eva called it 
 meddling), in every trifling particular, very irk- 
 some: indeed it would have been a boon to 
 both himself and family, more especially his wife, 
 had he been born to circumstances which would 
 have rendered a positive ^nployment necessary ; 
 for lack of occupation is very apt to conduce to 
 the seeking for it in meddling. 
 
 " Late as usual, Mr. Edward. Ten minutes to 
 eight, and you know that tea is ordered at half- 
 past seven." 
 
 " "We had to wait for Ernest, uncle ; he had 
 not come down the river," said Eva, excusingly. 
 
 " Ernest is at his tea, his dress changed." 
 
 " Because he and Agnes walked so fast that I 
 could not keep up with them, and Eddie waited 
 for me. We had to wait at least twenty minutes 
 for Ernest to come and row us across the river."
 
 EABLY LOVE. 45 
 
 "Ernest is not tlie unpunctual one of my 
 family, Eva, nor does he disregard my orders. 
 Where did you leave your fishing-rod, Ed- 
 ward?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I thought no one would see 
 it." 
 
 " That is not answering my question: you know 
 I like a straightforward answer." 
 
 " Against the wall." 
 
 " Was that its proper place ? " 
 
 '' No, sir." 
 
 " Well I will thank you, sir " 
 
 " Indeed, uncle," interrupted Eva, " it was my 
 fault: I persuaded Eddie to run back with his 
 rod " 
 
 " Young lady," said her uncle, solemnly, " no 
 one here gives contrary orders to mine ; nor is 
 it any extenuation to me that they have done 
 so. There is a room in this house," he continued, 
 speaking very slowly and deliberately, "appro- 
 priated for the keeping of such articles ; and those 
 who find it too much trouble to put them into it, 
 will find that they must do without them." 
 
 A scarce repressed smile curled the red lip of 
 the Irish girl, as she turned impatiently away. 
 
 " I will thank you to stay, Edward : if you
 
 46 MUTATION. 
 
 please, you "vvill hear what I have got to say;" and 
 taking the youth's arm as he made an effort to follow 
 his cousin, he led him up and down the terrace, in 
 front of the drawing-room window, recapitulating 
 the enormity of the two delinquencies he had been 
 guilty of that night : and it is possible that the 
 former grievance of the lost key was made 
 honourable mention of also. 
 
 Luckily for Edward, his father at last espied 
 Eva fondling Little Ai'lette, in the deep recess 
 of the bay-window of the drawing-room. He 
 went up to them. 
 
 " Not in bed, little one ? How is this ? It is 
 twenty minutes since I said you were only to 
 remain up ten minutes longer." 
 
 " She saw Eva coming up through the fields," 
 said Mrs. Clifton, " and as she had waited so long 
 for her kiss, I thought it a pity she should go 
 without." 
 
 Arlette had been unwilling to go to bed without 
 kissing " Tousin Eve." 
 
 " Not very judicious, I think, to make indul- 
 gence to her disobedience to me. Go, my child, 
 at once." 
 
 He took her from Eva's arms, kissed her, and, 
 ringing the bell, sent her away.
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 Eva kept her promise with her young cousin. 
 He was duly informed of the day of her departure, 
 and, had his heart not been too full, he might have 
 detected a shade of ironical pleasantry in his 
 tutor's tone, as he answered " with very great, 
 pleasure," to his request that he might absent 
 himself from his studies, for the purpose of taking 
 leave of his Irish cousin and seeing her off in the 
 train. 
 
 " Thank God, she is gone, at last, and the foolish 
 boy can mind his books," was the Dominie's comment 
 to Mrs. Cartwright, on informing her of the fact. 
 
 Long before the appointed time, Edward 
 Clifton was standing upon the steps of the prin- 
 cipal hotel in Eversley, casting many an anxious 
 and impatient glance down the street which was 
 the outlet from the town to the Oakstone road. 
 Scarcely could he resist the temptation of starting
 
 48 MUTATION. 
 
 on foot to meet the carriage. Would they 
 wonder ? Why should they : he had often done 
 so ; and a foot was hastily advanced, on impulse ; 
 but the bashfulness of a certain consciousness 
 again withheld him, and the foot was with- 
 drawn. He wondered if his mother would be in 
 the carriage : if it were only Agnes who was with 
 Eva, he would not mind ; but he had detected 
 a smile upon his mother's calm face when 
 he had turned suddenly round after having 
 for the third time taken leave of his fair cousin 
 the last time he was at home, and the hot blush it 
 had brought to his cheek still burned at the 
 recollection. No, he would stay where he was. 
 He folded his arms, leaned his back against a 
 pillar of the portico, and tried to look indifferent, 
 with very indifferent success. 
 
 At last, two horses' heads appeared round the 
 turning of the street he had so intently watched, 
 followed by the Oakstone carriage. His mother 
 was in it : he felt a thrill of gladness that he had 
 not gone. He tried to look as d^gagd as he could, 
 lounging on the inn steps, as if there for no 
 particular purpose ; but he felt conscious and 
 uncomfortable. Conscience makes cowards of us 
 all : scores of times had he been on those steps
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 49 
 
 waiting for even a chance of his family driving 
 into the town, and never before had he hesitated 
 to have the expectation imputed to him. 
 
 ** There is Edward at the hotel door : Agnes, 
 pull the check string," said Mrs. Clifton. "Eddie, 
 dear, I do not think we have any time to lose ; 
 you had better get on the box and come down to 
 the station with us : or, here, love," she continued, 
 as the mother's eye caught a shade of disappoint- 
 ment crossing the lad's countenance, " if you don't 
 mind taking Eva's muffling on your lap, we can 
 make room for you inside. Richards, let down 
 the steps." 
 
 Edward sprang in. It was no bore to nurse 
 Eva's muffling : he had her sweet face opposite to 
 him. 
 
 " Why were you not earlier, as you promised?" 
 he whispered, seeing his mother occupied adjusting 
 Agnes's shawl. 
 
 " Not easy to keep promises at Oakstone : your 
 father has a knack of breaking them ; he mistook 
 the hour of the train, and would not let us start. 
 We should not be here now, only I looked in 
 the ^ Guide.'" 
 
 There were but few spare minutes at the station; 
 they were occupied in getting Eva's ticket, and 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 MUTATION. 
 
 seeing her luggage put in. She had taken leave 
 of her aunt and cousin, and was in the railway 
 carriage when Edward came up from the ticket 
 office. The man, whose business it is to shut the 
 doors, was coming along from the farther end of 
 the train, banging each door as he passed. 
 Edward sprang lightly on the step and clasped 
 Eva's hand : one hasty glance round the carriage ; 
 it was empty, except one old lady who had her 
 back turned, arranging her parrot's cage on the 
 vacant seat beyond her : he pressed his downy lips 
 to the soft cheek of his cousin. 
 
 " Have a care, sir ! " shouted the door-shutter, 
 pulling him back. 
 
 Bang went the door, and the train moved 
 slowly along the rails. For a few moments, 
 the heart -sore lad delayed returning to his 
 mother. The hot tears, though they were 
 restrained from overflowing, could not be kept 
 from rising to his eyes. But he need not have 
 feared: when he rejoined her, Mrs. Clifton was 
 carefully looking at other objects, and did not 
 once raise her eyes to his face. One furtive glance 
 through her own tears, little Agnes stole at her 
 brother ; then all three returned to the carriage : and 
 this time, Edward, in preference, rode on the box.
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 51 
 
 The day of Eva's departure from Oakstone 
 had been one of regret to all the household, as 
 well as to young Edward. A gay lightsome 
 spirit is always more missed — at least, in the first 
 moments of absence — than is a being of a graver 
 temperament ; and Eva was one who could not be 
 in a house, and not leave a blank when she was 
 no longer there. In her, Agnes lost a dear and 
 congenial companion. Unlike as they were in 
 many respects, they had many things in common : 
 by different routes, indeed, they had arrived at 
 the same end: both were enlightened and ac- 
 complished. In Agnes, whose natural parts wer& 
 slow, this consummation had been attained by care- 
 ful and continuous cultivation ; she had been under 
 the instruction of a governess from the time she 
 could lisp to the age of ten years, when she was 
 placed at a first-rate school, where she remained 
 nntil she was eighteen : even during the holidays 
 an accomplished German governess resided in 
 the house and superintended the education of 
 herself and a sister; who, at the time our tale 
 commences, was still at school. Eva, with her 
 brilliant talents, had picked up knowledge in a 
 scrambling accidental manner; to which had 
 Agnes been trusting, she would have remained in 
 
 E 2 
 
 UMIVERSITY or llUNUt 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 MUTATION. 
 
 f 
 
 almost total ignorance. The very circumstances 
 of her defective instruction, and the difficulty 
 of obtaining it, had made Eva's naturally gifted 
 perception expand; and the knowledge acquired 
 from books was not the only kind she grappled 
 with : she was, for her years, acutely versed in 
 knowledge of the world. 
 
 Totally ignorant of this latter kind of know- 
 ledge, careful education, assisted by a certain 
 amount of application on her own part, had con- 
 stituted Agnes, in the other, a match for her more 
 clever cousin ; and their companionship was inti- 
 mate and pleasurable. They copied the same 
 drawings, comparing each other's success eagerly 
 and impartially ; they learnt the same songs and 
 sang them together, and would play duets for 
 hours ; they pursued the same fancy occupations, 
 Eva's taste and judgment being the one always 
 referred to and adopted. They read the same 
 books, frequently at the same time, Eva waiting 
 at the bottom of each page for her slower cousin 
 to arrive at it ; and they talked the tale over 
 and commented on it in their rambles through 
 the fields. And though Agnes sometimes thought 
 that her gay cousin did laugh a little too merrily 
 at her ignorance of things of the world, Eva was
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 53 
 
 SO gay and sweet tempered, so ready to help her 
 in a difficulty, or sympathize with her in a sorrow, 
 that it is not to be wondered at that Agnes saw 
 her depart with tears in her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Clifton — a shrewd, sensible woman, rather 
 browbeat by her husband, who took great pains 
 to prove to her that she was not competent to 
 form an opinion on any subject until she had 
 been enlightened on it by him, yet who, in 
 effect, was much more worldly wise than him- 
 self — saw her husband's niece depart with regret ; 
 for she felt, apart from a personal affection for 
 herself, that Eva had been a kind and improv- 
 ing companion to her daughter. Doatingly fond 
 of her children, Mrs. Clifton was yet alive to 
 their faults ; she could see that Agnes was 
 slow, and that companionship with Eva had a 
 quickening tendency on her: in any emergency 
 Eva was never at fault; her ready wit could 
 always suggest a remedy or supply an expedient. 
 In company she had a gay and natural way of 
 drawing Agnes out, without appearing to do so : 
 she would start some topic which she knew Agnes 
 could converse on, and then, leaving her to 
 pursue it, would glide away and chatter to 
 some one else : she would show Agnes's em-
 
 54 MUTATION. 
 
 broidery and never hint that her taste had guided 
 it; and she did all in such an easy unaffected 
 way that no observation was attracted to what 
 was going on. It had been a great complaint 
 against Jessie Phillips, when she was staying at 
 Oakstone, that she kept Agnes in the back- 
 ground; whereas, perhaps, the true state of the 
 case was, that she had not helped her out of it. 
 But it was different with Eva ; she could afford 
 to let some of her own light shine through her 
 cousin, and she did so, ungrudgingly. Agnes 
 never appeared to so much advantage as when 
 Eva was present and Mrs. Clifton valued her 
 for it. 
 
 The mother was not without observing the im- 
 pression made on the heart of her second son : an 
 impression of longer growth than the three months 
 of the present visit ; for Edward had been at home 
 for the holidays during a former visit of Eva's. 
 Still, she did not think it would last ; boys of 
 Edward's age always fell in love, and generally 
 with a girl older than themselves: then, it was 
 not surprising that Eva's beauty and brilliancy 
 should captivate him. But he was going into the 
 world and would be separated from her ; he was 
 of a volatile disposition, and his mother did not
 
 THE DEPAKTURE. 55 
 
 fear but that he would forget her. She would 
 have felt differently had it been Ernest. 
 
 Mr. Clifton thought, it is true, that Eva carried 
 her want of deference to his opinion and authority 
 almost to a spirit of rebellion ; but he saw that his 
 children idolised her, and he knew she must have 
 deserved it. He could see that, in all things, 
 she made common cause with the young ones, 
 and was ever ready to throw out a helping hand ; 
 and (for he was a very kind father) he was 
 sorry to see their sad faces for her loss. The 
 little children grieved after her, for no one could 
 play like Cousin Eva — no one tell such pretty 
 stories. The servants all liked her, because she 
 gave them so little trouble, spoke so cheery 
 when their business brought them in contact 
 with her, and gave so liberally. Servants and 
 children like merry people. 
 
 " I wish Cousin Eva was here to make us 
 laugh," said little Nannie, as they sat in silence 
 round the drawing-room fire during the half 
 hour which the children were allowed to be 
 down before bedtime, on the day of Eva's 
 departure. 
 
 " Eve gone," said little Arlette mournfully, 
 and began to cry.
 
 56 MUTATION. 
 
 " A body would miss Miss Desmond out of a 
 house more than any three of our own young 
 ladies or gentlemen ; unless indeed Mr. Edward. 
 It used to rise my heart to hear her laugh out 
 in that passage," was Ruxton's remark to Mrs. 
 Clifton's maid, as they sat at work in the nursery 
 and heard the family going soberly to bed on the 
 same evening.
 
 GLENMORE. 57 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GLENMORE. 
 
 Glenmore House was a handsome modern build- 
 ing: at least so it would be styled in Ireland; 
 though perhaps not in England, where a more 
 ornamental and picturesque style of architecture is 
 in favour. It was, to use an Irishism, of that long 
 square shape, universal in the country residences 
 of the middle class of gentry in Ireland ; and which 
 their English neighbours, who deem their own 
 customs must be the superior, scornfully desig- 
 nate as, " four walls in a field." Why it is that a 
 style of building so substantial and unpretending 
 should be a popular one with a people whose ten- 
 dencies are proverbially of an imaginative and am- 
 bitious character, I do not know. It would appear 
 to be most in accordance with the unfanciful and 
 positive temperament of the sturdy Englishman ; 
 yet that class of residence, with him, will be all 
 gables and projections, oriel windows and useless
 
 58 MUTATION. 
 
 pinnacles, involving a large outlay with no mani- 
 fest advantage ; except that such a construction 
 supplies more nooks and corners for unsightly 
 conveniences than is attainable in the more rect- 
 angular division of space in an Irish house. But 
 our business is not to write a disquisition on 
 the peculiar characteristics of taste in the sister 
 nation, nor to deduce from what elements of 
 their disposition the contrarieties are derived ; it 
 is sufficient, for any one who has travelled in 
 the two countries, to use his eyes, and he will 
 soon learn that, as far as the residences are 
 concerned, the fact I have stated exists. 
 
 Glenmore, as we have already said, was a long 
 square house ; the length of the front being nearly 
 double that of the sides, or, as they are more 
 properly called, ends. On each side of the hall 
 door were three windows, and in each end were 
 three windows ; and every lower window had a 
 corresponding one in the story above. The roof 
 was low and projecting, of the shape termed " um- 
 brella," with low chimneys of cut stone in the 
 centre. It was, on the whole, a uniform and 
 handsome edifice, of an appearance which, if con- 
 sistently kept up, would attach a degree of 
 importance to the position of the family possessing
 
 GLENMORE, 59 
 
 and residing in it. But it was not consistently 
 kept np. The grounds, though extensive, were ill 
 arranged and slovenly ; fences were broken, gaps 
 were filled up with bushes, and dilapidated gates 
 had been propped up with poles and stones, or 
 mayhap, eked out with a broken rail. The long 
 approach, which had never been effectually made, 
 was dirty and rutted, and, in the spaces between 
 the wheel and horse tracks, grass-grown. 
 
 The back approach had been originally in- 
 tended to wind round a plantation, and lead so 
 subtilely to the rear premises that not even their 
 existence should be guessed; but it had never been* 
 more than marked out, and instead, a short cut, 
 at first only professing to be temporary (but woe 
 to those temporary shifts of the sloven, they become 
 the most permanent of his possessions), v/as made 
 from the fields beyond, right across the grand 
 approach : it went straight as an arrow through 
 the plantation into the yard, revealing down the 
 vista cut by its passage through the trees, to those 
 who came up the drive which approached the 
 house from the side, a very distinct view of as 
 dirty and untidy a farm-yard as could well be 
 conceived. This short cut, which was merely a 
 track worn in the turf by the passage of carts and
 
 60 MUTATION. 
 
 cattle to the yard^ was, in wet weatlier, mud up to 
 the ankles. Around the house, shrubs and ever- 
 greens grew wildly and luxuriantly ; and amongst 
 them were dispersed beds of flowers, whose neat- 
 ness, order, and beauty, showed that they owed 
 their contrivance and culture to another spirit 
 than that which presided over the rest of the 
 place. 
 
 Inside, the house would not contradict the 
 opinion which might be formed from the appear- 
 ances outside. It had been in the plan desired 
 that not one inch should be lost to show. One 
 window on each side the hall door lighted the 
 hall, which was large and lofty. On entering, 
 a door at the right hand opened into a drawing- 
 room, which occupied the entire of that side 
 of the house, and which was divided in two by 
 wide folding-doors. The opposite side of the 
 house consisted of two rooms of similar propor- 
 tions, but unconnected ; these were termed the 
 dining-room and library. At the back of the hall 
 was a small passage, from which one staircase 
 ascended to the bed-rooms, and another descended 
 to the basement story. Such was the interior 
 arrangement of the ground plan of Glenmore. 
 
 Within, as well as without,) it might be seen
 
 GLENMORE. 61 
 
 that the eye had been larger than the means ; the 
 coat not cut according to the cloth. Though the 
 house had been inhabited for fifteen years, neither 
 the back portion of the drawing-room nor the 
 library had ever been finished; the walls were 
 but "scratch coated," the ceilings unstuccoed, and 
 the fire-places but gaps in the wall. For years 
 the library had been turned into a granary, and 
 the unplaned floor was always covered with grain 
 of one kind or other. The back drawing-room 
 appeared to be a receptacle for every imaginable 
 species of rubbish; and a more heterogeneous 
 collection could not possibly be conceived. In 
 the centre, still stood a carpenter's table, on which 
 had been executed the timber work of the house, 
 and which had been there since the time of 
 the building. That one end of this table was still 
 occasionally in use for carpentering purposes, 
 might easily be discovered from the tools 
 scattered on it, and the shavings which lay 
 around it. The other end was piled with old 
 school-bpoks, and with the accumulations of 
 pamphlets, newspapers, advertising cards, begging 
 circulars, assize reports, &c., &c., of which a 
 sitting-room is constantly obliged to be disgorged, 
 or there soon would not be room to sit down in
 
 62 MUTATION. 
 
 it. On the floor, in the most untidy disorder, 
 were heaps of things which had been carried 
 there out of the way, and laid down in any place, 
 because it did not matter what was laid in 
 that waste place which no one was to see ; and 
 often, in the search after some lost article, had 
 they been tossed over, making their disorder 
 more complete. In disarray they lay: an old 
 birdcage, a chair with but three legs, a statue 
 with its head knocked off; the head having rolled 
 into the place where the grate ought to be, 
 and knocked off its nose against that big stone 
 mortar with the broken pestle ; some paint-pots 
 and a bladder of oil are in one corner, with a cast 
 waterproof coat under them (an effort at tidiness) ; 
 there is a basket of wool washed for stuffing 
 a cushion, an old saddle, a green painted turf- 
 bucket, mitred at the top, but without a bottom ; 
 a box of nails, a glue-pot, an old showerbath and 
 a pile of empty flower - crocks : these formed 
 the furniture of the back drawing-room at Glen- 
 more. Above were the bed-rooms, the largest 
 and best of which, with its dressing-room (the 
 only one in the house), were still unfinished. 
 
 But the hand of feminine taste had done much 
 to retrieve the evils of the proprietor's mis-
 
 GLENMOKE. 63 
 
 management. Furniture of a light, elegant, 
 and inexpensive description had been collected — 
 by degrees and with trouble, it is true, still 
 they were collected; and no casual visitor at 
 Glenmore could have guessed the whole poverty 
 of the land. The bareness of the large stone 
 hall was taken off by two long flower-stands, 
 placed one on either side. On these the green- . 
 house plants were preserved in winter, and 
 when they were bedded out in the parterre 
 for the summer, their places were filled with 
 balsams, cock's-combs, and such showy annuals. 
 
 On the dining-room much care had not been be- • 
 stowed. The furniture was scanty. The walls were 
 still of the grey stucco often seen in new houses 
 which have not yet been painted, and the chimney- 
 piece was of wood : another temporary contriv- 
 ance. But the appendages of a dining-room are 
 not of paramount importance, and this was used 
 as the common sitting-room of the family. On 
 the drawing-room had been expended the chief 
 exertions and taste of the ladies of the house. 
 Good in its proportions, well-lighted by three 
 windows, the end one of which looked out on 
 the lively flower garden, it was a pretty and 
 elegant apartment. The walls, covered with a
 
 64 MUTATION. 
 
 delicate self-coloured paper, were hung with 
 pictures ; chiefly water-colour drawings of Eva's. 
 There were besides some handsome prints, 
 framed in well executed leather work, and some 
 Indian views in sepia, done by a native artist ; 
 a present to Eva from an old officer of the 
 Company's service who had taken an interest in 
 her drawing. There were many pretty, fashion- 
 ably shaped chairs and couches, chiefly covered 
 with ladies' work of the very best description ; 
 two showy pole-screens of worsted work — one, 
 representing a Circassian chief waving his scimitar 
 towards the minarets of a distant town, in the 
 attitude of pointing it out to the cupidity of the 
 mountain horde who followed him : the colouring 
 so w^ell managed, and the shading so effective, 
 that it looked like a beautiful painting. The sub- 
 ject of the other screen was of a widely different 
 character. It represented Jacob blessing the sons 
 of Joseph. The looped-back curtains and flowing 
 coverlet of the dying patriarch seemed formed of 
 real velvet, so vividly was it portrayed ; the 
 thin feeble hand extended over the sunny curls 
 of the children, and the gorgeous apparel of 
 the parents as they stood looking on, were all 
 admirably executed.
 
 GLENMORE. 65 
 
 There was a cottage piano in the room — a bad 
 one, it is true : it was old, and to replace anything 
 at Glenmore was difficult : so expensive an article 
 as a new piano, indeed, was out of the question ; but 
 it had had new crimson silk in the front, and did 
 not look amiss. The seats of other chairs and 
 settees were covered with a furniture calico of 
 delicate pattern on a white ground: it was but 
 sixpence a yard, and the covers had been made by 
 Eva and her mother. There were several work 
 and reading tables with their elegant litter; in 
 one window was a light wire stand with a show 
 fuchsia in splendid bloom, and here and there 
 were vases filled with beautiful blossoms of exotics. 
 Altogether, with but little expense, taste and 
 industry had made it a more elegant looking room 
 than many a one of greater pretensions. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 ^G MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Mes. Desmond, as perhaps the reader will have 
 guessed, was an English lady ; sister to the Mr. 
 Clifton we are already acquainted with, and to the 
 Mrs. Herbert of whose characteristics we have had 
 but the slight glimpse afforded by the sarcastic 
 remarks of her undutiful nephew. Mrs. Phillips, 
 the beautiful Jessie's mother, now a widow with 
 two children, a son and daughter, both grown up, 
 was another sister ; and a fourth there had been, 
 who was the mother of Jessie's cousin lover. 
 Will Ingram : but she was dead many years, her 
 widowed husband lived abroad, and seldom visited 
 his native country. Each of the four sisters had 
 possessed a fortune of 6,000Z. and how Miss 
 Clifton became Mrs. Desmond, and how her 
 home evinced so little evidence of the influence of 
 6,000Z. fortune, I will now proceed to explain. 
 The Desmonds were an old family: they
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 67 
 
 plumed themselves on being descended from the 
 Desmond of rebel notoriety. They came origi- 
 nally from Kerry, where the head of their branch 
 had excited the ill will of the rest of the family, 
 by embracing the Protestant religion, on his 
 marriage with an English wife. Finding that, by 
 this procedure, he had made Kerry too hot for 
 him, he sold his holding in that county, and 
 migrated to a more northern climate, settling 
 himself in the County Cavan. His descendants 
 constituted a family now happily much less 
 frequently met with in Ireland than they were 
 fifty years ago — an improvident, scrambling, 
 drinking, and horse-racing family ; who, with a 
 stud of horses in the stable and a pack of hounds 
 in the kennel, never had the means of liquidating a 
 ten pound debt, except by an I O U : giving the 
 wine merchant a mortgage on the property when 
 he would no longer supply the claret unless his 
 claims were adjusted ; killing their own sheep and 
 mutton when the butcher refused further credit ; 
 rearing their sons in idleness and without educa- 
 tion ; grudging money which might give them 
 the means of becoming great and wise men, and 
 squandering it on riotous pleasure. This is no 
 exaggerated picture of a numerous class of 
 
 F 2
 
 68 MUTATION. 
 
 families among the middle gentry of Ireland, fifty 
 years ago. 
 
 A sister of old Mr. Desmond (Eva's grand- 
 father) had, early in life, married an officer. He 
 was an ensign at the time of his marriage, but 
 during the long war with Napoleon I. he rose to 
 the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and commanded a 
 regiment on service in the Peninsula. By his 
 wife's persuasion, he procured a commission in 
 his own regiment for Randal Desmond, who was 
 her godson, and named after her husband. Young 
 Randal joined the regiment in Spain (luckily 
 there were no examinations in those days) ; and 
 passed two years in the Peninsula; but the 
 regiment was but little engaged, and his promotion 
 was slow. At Waterloo he was in the reserve, 
 and found himself still but junior lieutenant at 
 the close of that memorable day. After the 
 war came the reduction of the army, and 
 Randal was among the number of those reduced. 
 He remained on half pay four years, when his 
 uncle's interest got him reinstated, and he mounted 
 slowly upwards: slowdy indeed — once, for two 
 years a step did not occur in the regiment, and the 
 next was occasioned by the death of Randal's 
 uncle : at length he approached the top of the list
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 69 
 
 of lieutenants. At this time, some riots having 
 occurred at Hilton, a small town in Wiltshire, 
 among the labourers employed on some public 
 works in the neighbourhood — in one of which 
 commotions a policeman who had been thrown from 
 a viaduct which the malcontents were engaged in 
 building, was killed on the spot — a small detach- 
 ment of military were ordered there from Bristol, 
 and Randal Desmond was sent in charge of them. 
 Mr. CUfton, Eva's grandfather on the mother's 
 side, had been a banker in Hilton. He had also 
 embarked largely in trade during the war, and 
 being a prudent sensible man of business habits, " 
 had amassed sufficient wealth to purchase the 
 estate of Oakstone, some miles distant from the 
 town, and brought to the hammer by the extra- 
 vagance of the former owner : he had besides 
 some 30,000Z. in hand, in cash or in value. In 
 the prime of life and the very middle of his 
 career, he was carried off, after an illness of only 
 four days' duration, by an attack of erysipelas in 
 the head, brought on by a cold, contracted while 
 standing with wet feet superintending the building 
 of some stores. His family continued to reside 
 in the same house which they had occupied for 
 the latter years of his life. It was just outside
 
 70 MUTATION. 
 
 the town, standing In its own lawm. Myra Clifton, 
 the eldest daughter, had but just returned home 
 from school at the period of the arrival of Kandal 
 Desmond's detachment. She was a girl naturally 
 of a romantic turn of mind; and at the romantic 
 age of seventeen, it is not to be wondered at 
 that the tall military figure and showy uniform 
 of the Irish officer made an impression on her 
 young heart. It would be prolonging our tale 
 too much to enter into the detail of that long- 
 past wooing ; suffice it to say, he was all love and 
 chivalry, she all belief and blindness, and, though 
 her mother disapproved, and guardians remon- 
 strated, they were engaged. 
 
 Then came that financial period of agitation 
 and suspense — a sort of interregnum betwixt the 
 thrones of Cupid and Hymen — a time which has 
 often rescued Innocence from Cup'dity, and saved 
 the wealth of the heiress from the dice of the 
 gambler ; which has often shed its beneficent in- 
 fluence over future years, and preserved to the yet 
 unborn offspring the inheritance that, but for its 
 interposition, had been squandered ; and yet which 
 has often, also, placed its cold sordid hand between 
 heart and heart, and thrown back their feelings 
 to them, frozen in that icy clasp.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 7 1 
 
 When Mr. Desmond's father came to be con- 
 sulted, he said that having lately made a large 
 settlement upon his eldest son^ who had married a 
 lady of distinction in the county (he did not think 
 it necessary to say, that she was slightly crazed 
 on the subject of matrimony, which had made 
 her family glad to entrust her to the care of any 
 husband sufficiently respectable not to be an 
 actual disgrace), it would not be in his power to 
 give up to Randal, who was his third son, more 
 than 400^. a year : but that he possessed an estate, 
 in a ring-fence, worth 550^. a year, which estate 
 it would be a pity to divide ; and he made aif 
 offer to transfer the whole to Randal, provided 
 3,000Z. of Miss Clifton's money was handed over 
 to him, as an equivalent for the 1501. per annum 
 which he was giving over and above Randal's share. 
 
 The guardians agreed to the terms, provided 
 that the estate, on being valued, should prove 
 of the worth represented, and also, on the 
 condition that if any debt affecting Glenmore 
 existed, it should be discharged out of the 3,000Z., 
 and that Mrs. Desmond's jointure should be paid 
 off the property, so as to leave the remaining 
 3,000/. for the benefit of younger children. The 
 guardians (and they were bad ones) permitted
 
 i 2 MUTATION. 
 
 the Desmonds to appoint the valuators. These 
 were chosen, with names, indeed, that ought to 
 have betokened better things, and a valuation was 
 returned in accordance with old Mr. Desmond's 
 representations. It is an easy thing to make 
 facts look very different on paper, to eyes at some 
 hundreds of miles distance, from what they would 
 appear looked at in reality. The three valuators 
 were all creditors of old Mr. Desmond, pressing 
 him sore for their demands ; and the prospect of 
 the effect which the influx of 3,000^. of hard 
 English money might have on their own fortunes 
 had had much to do in exaggerating their ideas 
 of the value of Glenmore. The Glenmore title 
 deeds were sent over : they showed that the num- 
 ber of acres asserted were contained in it; but 
 made no mention of the utter worthlessness of a 
 great part of the land. The guardians paid the 
 3,000Z. into the hands of Mr. Desmond's trustee, 
 for the purpose of his disposing of it according 
 to the conditions of the agreement; and they 
 might as well have sent it down the river. 
 
 But, in addition to this daylight transaction, 
 there was a covert agreement between Mr. 
 Desmond and his son, by which the latter 
 bound himself to allow his father, who at the
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 73 
 
 time was literally in abject want, a sum of 
 lOOZ. yearly for five years ; at the expiration of 
 which term, the falling in of some leases would 
 enable the old man to keep his head above water 
 without assistance. Of the 3,000Z. paid to the 
 trustee, 2,000^. were handed over to Mr. Desmond 
 senior, and spent in removing his most pressing 
 liabilities. The other 1,000^. ought to have paid 
 off a similar sum for which Glenmore was security 
 to this very trustee, but, as he considered that 
 a safer debt than one of the same amount upon 
 another farm of Mr. Desmond's, he preferred 
 paying himself the latter; and withheld from' 
 the knowledge of the English guardians the bond 
 which he possessed affecting the lands of Glen- 
 more. There will be always foxes in the world, 
 and I am afraid there will be always their con- 
 trasting adjuncts also. 
 
 As soon as the settlements could be drawn, 
 and the lover, for reasons of his own, hurried 
 them not a little — the guardians being irritated 
 and the bride flattered at his impatience — Miss 
 Clifton married. She started with her husband 
 on a wedding tour to Paris, but they never got 
 farther than London: however, reasons, which 
 satisfied the trusting wife, were made out for the
 
 74 MUTATION. 
 
 abandonment of that long promised gratification, 
 and a little lonrjer continued that dream whose 
 awakening would be bitter disappointment. 
 
 The young Mrs. Desmond soon discovered that 
 the little feminine indulgences and tasteful luxuries 
 to which she had been accustomed were regarded 
 by her husband as useless extravagances. At 
 first he contented himself with sidelong raps at 
 them ; then it came to open grumbling ; and at 
 last, to a positive refusal of the funds to supply 
 them. Many were the bitter tears that were 
 shed : not for the loss of the baubles — Mrs. Des- 
 mond was too sensible and too unselfish for that ; 
 her tears were for the overthrow of the aerial 
 and fanciful temple of happiness she had created 
 — for the shattering of her idol. A woman of her 
 intellect less desperately in love would have seen 
 her mistake ; have seen that her lover, viewed 
 through the romantic colour of her own feelings, 
 had been decked with refinement and affections he 
 did not possess: the ideal had been a hero of 
 romance, the reality proved a very common-place 
 Irishman, possessing not the most pardonable of the 
 faults of his countrymen, nor the most redeeming 
 of their virtues. She would have seen that in 
 the direction of his affairs he needed the veiled
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 75 
 
 influence of a stronger mind and more judicious 
 judgment than his own, and would have tried 
 to discover the most effectual means of obtaining 
 it ; would have retempered her implements to suit 
 the different metal which she found she had to 
 work on, and not have given way to grief at the 
 disappointment the discovery of that difference 
 occasioned her. Hers would not have been an 
 easy task ; for Randal Desmond was so little open 
 to the convictions of reason, and had so overweening 
 an opinion of his own sense and judgment, while in 
 proportion as he overvalued his own, he under-rated 
 those of others, that the only hope of succeeding 
 with him was by subtlely supplying him with 
 the right idea, and making him believe it was the 
 original emanation of his own clever brain. Even 
 this mode of treatment was not without its ill 
 effects, inasmuch, as it confirmed him in the 
 opinion of his own wisdom. Still a strong mind 
 will always attain a certain amount of ascendancy 
 over a weak one, and in time that ascendancy 
 strengthens. But, for long, the only agency Mrs. 
 Desmond employed were her tears, and she 
 might as well have expended so many drops of 
 the ocean. The mask of chivalrous devotion had 
 been thrown off.
 
 76 MUTATION. 
 
 Mrs. Desmond had been but a short time 
 married when the scantiness of her husband's 
 pui'se began to surprise her. She had not been 
 accustomed to economy ; but it had been com- 
 puted that their joint fortune would amount to 
 between SOOL and 900/. a year, and she was 
 told that that ought to enable them to live 
 comfortably, if not so luxuriously as of old; 
 but, instead, she found it was inadequate to meet 
 their necessary expenses. At starting, her guard- 
 ians had placed 100/. in her hands for her 
 immediate and private uses. But even this money 
 had all been borrowed from her by her husband, 
 on some pretence or other: once, there had 
 been a disappointment about a letter; another 
 time, a delay in receiving his pay, and so on. 
 He never seemed to think of returning the 
 money. Once, with a burning blush, she hinted 
 a reminder; but it met with no attention; at 
 last she found her purse was empty. Some 
 men, from policy, are cross when their wives 
 talk about money to them ; this makes it an 
 unpleasant subject to the wife ; — Randal Desmond 
 was one of such. 
 
 " Randal, love," said the young wife, one day as 
 they sat together after dinner in their lodgings
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 77 
 
 at Winchester, " when will the rents of Glenmore 
 become due ? " 
 
 Her husband's eye turned upon her with a 
 glance that made her quail. "What piece of 
 extravagance are you at now, that you are 
 looking after the rents of Glenmore ? " 
 
 " Nothing, dear : I want nothing," she answered, 
 timidly. "I was only wondering when you 
 received them ; you have not had any since we 
 married, I think." 
 
 "Haven't I?" 
 
 " I thought not ; we never seem to have much 
 money. 
 
 " It would not be easy to have money for 
 everything you want." 
 
 Myra made no reply. She wept bitterly 
 when alone, to think how little he thought she 
 needed, and how little he cared whether she had 
 it. Desmond always seemed needy: he never 
 even could wait for the day on which the interest 
 of his wife's money became due ; but was always 
 writing to ask the guardians to advance it. Once 
 they had written to Myra to remonstrate on her 
 thus forestalling her income. Poor Myra ! her 
 income was very different from what she expected 
 it would be. When she showed the letter to her
 
 78 MUTATION. 
 
 husband, he flew into a rage, and called the guard- 
 ians a pack of meddling blackguards : what business 
 had they to interfere in his affairs or dictate his 
 expenditure? Mr. Desmond had two or three 
 very business-like expressions by heart which he 
 often produced : indeed, so often, as to lead one to 
 suppose that there was rather a paucity of them. 
 Myra was frightened. She thought her guardians 
 had a right to speak when they had to supply the 
 money, but she did not say so ; she said nothing. 
 In one particular she was to blame ; she made no 
 attempt at resistance, no struggle against oppres- 
 sion, no effort to manage her husband, since 
 management he required. She shrunk from his 
 rudeness and ill temper, and would make no reply 
 when she ought to have maintained her PTOund. 
 She drooped and pined, and often took to her bed ; 
 making discomfort in the house Avithout effecting 
 any results. She did not try to learn economy ; 
 she only learnt to do without. She did not suit 
 herself as much as she might have done to her 
 altered circumstances, or learn to live on a 
 smaller scale. When she had money she would 
 lay it out on one article, instead of dividing it 
 among many wants ; and for the rest she had to 
 go without.
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 79 
 
 The Glenmore affairs she never could understand. 
 She had seen the title deeds ; the estate must exist ; 
 but no money ever came from it. One day, with the 
 baby in her arms, she entered the room vy^here 
 her husband was writing : she saw him put a 
 bank-note, just received (part of her fortune), into 
 a letter, which letter was directed to his brother. 
 For a while she hesitated; at length, taking 
 courage, she asked — 
 
 '' Randal, why are you sending money to 
 Edward ? " 
 
 Her husband looked as if he would as soon she 
 and her baby had been elsewhere. He answered 
 shortly — 
 
 '' To buy stock : if you have a farm you must 
 stock it." 
 
 "Whose farm?" 
 
 " Why mine, to be sure : Glenmore." 
 
 '^ Is Glenmore a farm ? I thought it was an 
 estate." 
 
 " Well, if it is an estate, if you buy nothing 
 to put on it you '11 get nothing to sell off it." 
 
 " I do not understand. Why do not the tenants 
 buy and sell and pay you the rent, like they used 
 to papa ? "
 
 80 MUTATION. 
 
 " For a very good reason ; there are no tenants 
 on it." 
 
 " That is the reason, I suppose, that you get no 
 money." 
 
 He made no reply, unless a grunt can be 
 called one. 
 
 "Randal, why did you not tell me that 
 before ? " inquired his wife. 
 
 " Before when ? " 
 
 " When I asked you when the rents would be 
 due." 
 
 " Why ? What did it matter to you ? " 
 
 She thought it mattered a great deal, but she 
 did not know how to say so. She stood still, 
 looking puzzled. 
 
 " My dear, you don't understand these matters," 
 said her husband, looking very wise and business- 
 like. " In Ireland, we have not tenants like you 
 have in England. Every gentleman keeps his land 
 in his own hands, and farms it." 
 
 " Who farms Glenmore ? " 
 
 " My brother Ned : to save me the expense of 
 an agent, and they are confoundedly expensive, he 
 has kindly taken charge of it for me, and does 
 all the business."
 
 BISAPPOINTMENT. 81 
 
 " And what does he do with all the money?" 
 
 This was a poser. " What does he do with the 
 money, my dear ? Why he makes use of it. 
 It is floating. It is used for the expenses of the 
 farm. What is to buy and feed horses, to find 
 implements and keep them in repair, and purchase 
 stock and seed ? Yon have a curious notion of 
 farming, to think it can be done without expense. 
 People talking of what they don't understand. 
 Now, take away that child ; for I have business 
 that must be attended to." 
 
 Myra went away : her husband's voice had, 
 risen as he proceeded, in a way it was wont to do 
 when he intended to silence unwelcome investiga- 
 tion ; but Myra had begun to analyze his empty 
 speeches, lay what emphasis on them he would, 
 and to think for herself. 
 
 " Of what use is property," thought she, " if it 
 thus swallows up the profits. I wish he had kept 
 my 3,000?. At least, the interest of that would 
 never have been devoured by the principal." She 
 felt very sorrowful : but she kissed her beauti- 
 ful boy, and remembered that while she had 
 him, she was not without consolation in the 
 world. 
 
 She lost him, however; and another also, and 
 VOL. I. a
 
 82 MUTATION. 
 
 she was nigh broken-hearted. A third was born. 
 Passionately she clasped him to her bosom, and 
 fervently she prayed that he might be spared to 
 her, and never more would she repine for aught. 
 Her prayer was heard, and she tried to keep 
 her vow.
 
 THE LEGACY. 83 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 THE LEaACT. 
 
 Randal Desmond's position in the regiment re- 
 mained the same as when he married ; that is, he 
 was still a lieutenant, though he had arrived at 
 the head of them. By a clause in his settlements, 
 he could have had money of his wife's to purchase 
 a company, by charging his property with a similar 
 amount for younger children ; but that he obsti- 
 nately refused to do. Though Myra felt frightened 
 at parting with anything real, yet on considering 
 the difference of pay and the advantage of rank, she 
 wished him to purchase, and trust for the future 
 to his profession ; as it was evident Glenmore was 
 a broken reed. But as usual the meek wife was 
 silenced by being told she was talking of what 
 she did not understand. Two steps were pur- 
 chased over Randal, a third was given out of the 
 regiment. It was thought to be a hardship, and 
 he was urged to go to the Horse Guards and appeal 
 
 G 2
 
 84 MUTATION. 
 
 against it; but he would not. He wanted the 
 energy : he called it throwing good money after 
 bad ; said those who advised him were hairbrains ; 
 tapped his own head with his fore-finger to show 
 how cool and cautious was the judgment within it, 
 and let the step go without a struggle. 
 
 He had been married five years, and he now 
 began to get dissatisfied with his brother's manage- 
 ment of the property, and dissatisfied with the 
 army : he talked of the bad profession it was ; of the 
 necessity of a man's own eye being on his estate; 
 and at length he said he was determined to go on 
 half-pay and farm for himself. His wife tried to 
 dissuade him. "A lieutenant's half-pay was 
 such a poor thing: he was, he must be, so near 
 gaining his company. True they got nothing, 
 or next to nothing from Glenmore ; but was 
 there anything to be got out of it ? Were 
 they not giving up another reality for a shadow ?" 
 She had got a strange unreal feeling of mistrust 
 towards that Glemnore. 
 
 It was not until years afterwards that she learnt 
 the real state of the case : then she knew the 
 actual value of Glenmore ; that more than half was 
 waste land, and instead of an income of 5501., it 
 brought but 200/. Then she discovered the con-
 
 THE LEGACY. 85 
 
 cealed understanding between father and son 
 regarding tlie allowance of 100/. per annum, and 
 found that the place had been given up to pay it ; 
 that 50/. went yearly to pay the interest of the 
 1,000Z. owing to the trustee. The additional 
 50/. ought to have come to them, but between 
 mismanagement and the agent's pilferings, often 
 not more than 10/. was transmitted to them in 
 twelve months. The five years of incumbrance 
 having expired, Randal could now claim his 
 property ; and with that love of acquisition of 
 land, be it for loss or gain, which seems inherent 
 in the Irish nature, he desired to take pos- 
 session of and live on it. Just at this time 
 an aunt of Myra's died and left her a legacy of 
 300/. It was great joy to her to have it. Her 
 ideas were changed: it seemed riches to her, 
 now. She was speaking to her husband of all she 
 would be able to do now without being any in- 
 convenience to him. 
 
 *^ Build you a house to live in, I think. Some- 
 thing more useful than buying kickshaws." 
 
 " Why, Randal, you are not thinking of 
 building ? " 
 
 " Why not ? How am I to mind my property if 
 I don't ? Pitch a tent, I suppose."
 
 86 MUTATION. 
 
 "But we shall have so little money." 
 
 " We have that 300Z. and we shall have the 
 difference between full and half-pay." 
 
 « How much will that be ? " 
 
 « Between 400^. and 500Z." 
 
 " Who will give you that ? " 
 
 " Why, whoever exchanges with me. I never 
 knew a person so ignorant about military matters 
 as you are." 
 
 " If you remained until you had your com- 
 pany, I suppose you would get a larger sum for 
 exchanging ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " And a larger income as half-pay ? It seems a 
 pity not to wait." 
 
 " The devil a wait I '11 wait. They 've had 
 service enough out of me for what they've given 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, it was for your own sake I meant. We 
 have found it so hard to live with the whole pay, 
 of course it will be worse with only half." 
 
 " My dear, you are talking of what you don't 
 understand : won't I have my property ? " 
 
 " You have that now." 
 
 *^ Yes, but it does not pay. It is not minded as 
 it will be when I am there. I shall have no
 
 THE LEGACY. 87 
 
 house-rent to pay : these d d lodgings run 
 
 away with a fortune. I will stock the grass 
 fully with the money I get for the exchange, and 
 turn the property to the best account." 
 
 " But if you buy stock with that money, how 
 can you build? " 
 
 " Why, I have this windfall ; this legacy." 
 
 Myra's countenance fell. " Even if you take 
 that from me," she said, " it would not build a 
 house." 
 
 " My dear, you don't know what you are speak- 
 ing of. You can be no judge. Building materials 
 are very cheap in Ireland ; labour a mere nothing. 
 I can easily build a shell of a house, make a few 
 rooms comfortable for us to get into, and I can 
 finish it by degrees, under my own superinten- 
 dence: the master's eye is worth a good deal." 
 And he shut one as if to illustrate that his 
 were so good, one was sufficient for him to use. 
 
 Myra looked perplexed : after a while she said — 
 
 " I cannot conceive that a house could be built 
 for 300/., and as to its being fitted up out of our 
 income, it is impossible." 
 
 " Well, if you think you are so very wise, 
 have it so ; only don't bother me. I don't see what 
 you have to do with it ; it is I, not you, who will
 
 88 MUTATION. 
 
 have to do It, and I suppose I know my own 
 business." 
 
 Mjra saw she could do no good, and she wisely 
 forbore to say more. With a sorrowful heart she 
 bade adieu to the army and accompanied her hus- 
 band to Ireland. By the insight she had got on a 
 closer acquaintance with her husband, and from 
 the letters he received from his family, she had long 
 discovered that they were of a very different grade 
 to what she had imagined. She had believed her- 
 self to be marrying into a family of much higher 
 position than her own ; having heard Randal talk 
 familiarly of things he had seen at Lord Bel- 
 turbet's, and mention casually people he had met 
 at Sir James King's, and matches he had ridden 
 with Sir James's son, " King, of the Guards." She 
 did not know that his observations at Belturbet 
 Castle had been made while paying his father's 
 rent ; that the extent of his dinners at Sir James 
 King's was one electioneering feast ; and that the 
 match must have existed in his own imagination — 
 though perhaps at some time he might have found 
 himself accidentally galloping at a fox-hunt side 
 by side with the guardsman, who did not know 
 him by eye-sight. When Myra first married, 
 believing her husband's sisters to be moving in
 
 THE LEGACY. 89 
 
 the same circle tliat he had represented as his 
 associates, the letters she addressed to them were 
 filled with such subjects as she deemed might be 
 interesting to accomplished and fashionable girls. 
 Their replies soon convinced her that she lay 
 under a mistake ; but she did not expect to find 
 them so homely in appearance and mode of life, and 
 so completely out of society as they proved to be. 
 
 They were a family who, from straitened 
 means and want of education, had never advanced 
 with the times. Living in a retired neighbour- 
 hood, and unaccustomed to go from home, their 
 ideas had not expanded, nor their ways refined, 
 and, by degrees, they lost even the place they had 
 once held among neighbours who were distancing 
 them in the progress of civilization. Into this 
 family, so uncongenial to her tastes, and with 
 whom she had not an idea in common, the young 
 Mrs. Desmond was introduced ; and an arrange- 
 ment was entered into, that she, her husband, and 
 child should reside with them while their own 
 house was building. This extended over a much 
 longer period than was at first anticipated. 
 Whether building materials were not so cheap as 
 Randal imagined, whether he found labour to be 
 something, or whether the eye had not done as
 
 90 MUTATION. 
 
 much as it was expected to do ; the result was 
 that with the scanty means at his disposal, and 
 with all the assistance he could obtain from loans 
 or credits at the bank, it took five years to con- 
 struct a house such as he coveted: which was 
 about treble the size it ought to have been for 
 his income, the Irish being proverbially fond of 
 large houses. 
 
 During that time two little girls were born, and 
 in the care of her children, teaching and working 
 for them, Myra spent her time. The continued 
 drain of money for the building prevented her 
 having any funds, except what were absolutely 
 indispensable ; but she was out of society, and re- 
 quired but little. Her gentle temper enabled her to 
 carry her cup evenly with her new relations, and 
 while they respected her as superior to themselves, 
 they felt no envy towards one so unassuming. 
 
 At last, a small portion of the building at 
 
 Glenmore was in a sufficiently finished state for 
 
 the owners to occupy, and they moved into it. 
 
 We have seen that after a lapse of fifteen years, 
 
 he work of completion was not yet accomplished.
 
 THE ONLY SON. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 THE ONLY SON. 
 
 The education of her children was the great aim 
 of Mjra's life. She valued it the more now that 
 she was acquainted with the effects of the want of 
 it. For the little girls she could do much herself. 
 but when the boy became of an age to require a 
 classical education, it demanded great exertion, on 
 her part, to procure it. But she succeeded in 
 effecting it : schooling was paid for, though 
 at the expense of her own peace and quietness, 
 and the sacrifice of many personal comforts. 
 Young Randal would have liked the army as 
 a profession. Myra would have been glad to 
 indulge his fancy, and thought her husband's not 
 having had promotion might give his son a claim 
 on the service. But his father stormed at the army 
 as a villanous profession where no one got his 
 deserts. He had not pinched himself to give his 
 son a first-rate education, to have it thrown away:
 
 92 MUTATION. 
 
 he did not hold the same opinion as Mr. 
 Cartwright of the necessity of scholarship being 
 included in a soldier's qualifications. No, he would 
 have a learned profession: Randal must be a 
 lawyer ; and a lawyer he was made. He was not 
 a dull scholar, though far from being a brilliant 
 one ; but he was idle, and disliked the occupation. 
 He went two circuits without getting a brief; on 
 the third, he got one, from a man who could not 
 pay him, lost the cause, and was never employed 
 again. After he had continued some little time 
 longer at the business, or rather waiting for it, 
 his father, who had grumbled unceasingly at the 
 calls these unsuccessful circuit travellings had 
 made on him, said he would supply him with 
 funds no longer ; law was gone to the dogs, and 
 Randal must come home : he would set him up as 
 a gentleman farmer. 
 
 At this time, a property adjoining Glenmore 
 was to be sold, and nothing would content Mr, 
 Desmond but to buy it. It was dirt cheap — only 
 2,000Z.; and with a little outlay, under his judicious 
 management, would produce 150Z. a year : where 
 was such interest to be got for jnoney ? In short, 
 he should be a traitor to his family, and unworthy 
 of the name of father, if he neglected so certain a
 
 THE OKLY SON* 93 
 
 means of enriching tliem. Two of the three 
 thousand pounds still in England, were invested 
 in a canal, which paid 5 per cent- interest, and this 
 was the money Mr. Desmond had his eye upon 
 for the purchase. Mrs. Desmond's trustee was 
 dead, therefore all the trust now centred in Mr. 
 Desmond's ; the man who had already taken such 
 good care of himself, to their prejudice. As there 
 was no covenant in the settlements that the 
 security of the trust money should not be changed, 
 this Mr. Donagh, in consideration of a douceur 
 from the proprietor of the property, readily per- 
 mitted its withdrawal for the purchase. Randal 
 w^as to farm the new estate, live in his father's 
 house, making him an allowance, and at Mr. 
 Desmond's demise, he was to inherit Glenmore ; 
 and the girls were to have the new investment be- 
 tween them. " A good exchange for them," their 
 father thought, "instead of getting three and 
 a quarter per cent, for their money." 
 
 " Five per cent," corrected Mrs. Desmond. 
 
 *' Yes, my dear, but how long do you suppose 
 that five per cent, will last? Railways commenc- 
 ing through the country— buying up canals every 
 moment " 
 
 " But they often pay even a higher per centage."
 
 94 MUTATION. 
 
 '* The merest chance ! often can't pay at all. 
 Here you have 150L a year for an outlay of 2,000Z. 
 (he had advanced to certainty now : an hypothesis 
 always became an axiom with him after being 
 fostered a little while in his own brain): coining, I 
 think. Besides, it will give that boy something to 
 do : law is gone to the dogs. Can't have him idling 
 about here, getting into mischief and bad society : 
 people must take all sides of a question into ac- 
 count," and he tapped his forehead with his fore- 
 finger, to signify, there was that within it, to whose 
 shrewd scrutiny no corner of anything could be dark. 
 
 Myra was not contented; nor convinced by 
 these specious arguments. She had seen 3,000/. 
 of her children's money already wasted, and 
 she could not bear to see 2,000/. more run the 
 same chance. She did not understand the 
 purchase : it might be a good one — it might 
 be a bad: she could not trust her husband's 
 judgment, and she had learned not to give 
 credence to his representations. But the opposi- 
 tion did not avail ; the purchase was made. 
 
 She wished an experienced lawyer to look 
 into the title : people in Ireland were so negli- 
 gent about their papers. Desmond would not 
 listen to the expense : was not Randal sufficient ?
 
 THE ONLY SON. 95 
 
 Would she thus run down the talent of her 
 own son? Could not he himself look into 
 things ? Women were always so foolish — running 
 into every expense : they seemed to think 
 money was dirt, the way they wanted it thrown 
 away. When she persevered in urging, he 
 told her to be quiet ; to let him manage his 
 own affairs; he believed she had taken leave 
 of her senses. Myra had never learned Latin, 
 or she might have answered — 
 
 " O majore tandem parcas insane minori."* 
 
 • 
 A year after, the title was proved defective, 
 
 the purchase invalid, and the 2,000^. was 
 lost, besides heavy law expenses which had 
 to be paid. It was no consolation to Myra 
 that then her self-willed husband tore his hair, 
 clapped his hands till they sounded like pistol 
 shots, and rushed up and down the room in- 
 veighing against his evil fortune, and casting the 
 blame on every individual in the world but the 
 right one. 
 
 " Our poor girls* portion is now reduced to 
 500Z. each," said Myra, when he had cooled 
 down a little. " I do hope you will take warning 
 
 * Thou greater madman, at least spare a lesser.
 
 96 MUTATION. 
 
 by tlie past, and leave that untouclied, that 
 you may not on your deathbed have the bitter 
 reflection, that by your mismanagement, you left 
 them beggars." 
 
 " You can't call it mismanagement, my dear, 
 I am not to be answerable for misfortune occa- 
 sioned by a point of law. I am sure I thought 
 I was doing a great deal for them. If things 
 had turned out as I conceived " 
 
 "You ought not to have been content with 
 conceiving. You ought to have employed a 
 wiser head than your own, and been certain 
 before you spent your children's money. It 
 cannot be recalled ; but it may act as a warning 
 and save the little that is left." 
 
 ,A check perhaps it was, though not a warning ; 
 for IMr. Desmond attributed no blame to him- 
 self whatever. Had he known anything about 
 Lynceus, he would have thought that the eye of 
 that sharp-sighted Argonaut himself, could not 
 have detected the result which had accrued. 
 
 The girls, the squandering of whose portion 
 had occasioned their mother such poignant 
 regret, were the charm and the comfort of 
 her life. She had a pride in her son — what 
 mother has not? He was a fine, handsome.
 
 THE ONLY SON. 97 
 
 light-hearted young fellow and would have made 
 a brave and dashing officer, though a bad lawyer 
 and an indifferent farmer. But there was a disap- 
 pointment connected with him. His mother had 
 struggled much to procure him an education; 
 she had tried to inculcate rectitude of principle and 
 a spirit of laudable ambition, and when she 
 looked in his frank, open face, and bright 
 laughing eye, she had hoped for better things 
 from him. 
 
 A man who gives up his profession, when 
 possessed of means so small that they only 
 enable him to exist without it, soon sinks into 
 insignificance. He is thought but little about. 
 He has started in the contest of life, has shrunk 
 from the encounter, and lost the battle. He 
 has been launched upon the unknown ocean, 
 whose waste of waters must be ploughed by 
 the bark of intellect, before the treasure shores 
 which lie beyond can be attained; and he has 
 returned, unequal to trim his sails, to breast 
 the storm, or guide his helm to clear the 
 shoals; and the golden goal is left for better 
 mariners. The metal of his nature has not 
 stood the test of tempering. 
 
 " Pleasant, civil spoken young fellow ! No 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 MUTATION. 
 
 ])etter head than liis father, I take it," said a 
 fox-hunting friend of Mr. Desmond's, a shrewd, 
 jolly, farmer-looking man, who was w^ell to do 
 in the world, and looked as if he felt he had 
 himself to thank for it. He had realized money 
 enough, as a land agent, to purchase a property, 
 and build a house, in which he now lived. 
 He was speaking to another man, a stereotype 
 of himself, as they stood in one of the w^indows 
 at Glenmore, at a fox-hunting lunch, believing 
 themselves to be unnoticed. 
 
 " I don't know how it was at the law," replied 
 the other, "he was at school wdth my Harry, 
 and he tells me young Randal learned like 
 another boy." 
 
 *' Faith, I don't know; but when a horse 
 baulks the first fence, and turns back from the 
 starting post, people don't bet on him ; tliat 's 
 certain." 
 
 And Myra heard this said of her son — of 
 that boy, by whose cradle she had so often 
 sat, dreaming of the greatness of his future ; 
 planning the education she was the more 
 resolved to give him, as she each day saw 
 the results of the want of it in his father; 
 and soothing away the bitterness of her present
 
 THE ONLY SON. 99 
 
 hours in contemplation of the pride of future 
 days, as mother to the rising genius. 
 
 M3^ra was always a dreamer. It was almost 
 the only luxury she could indulge herself 
 with, and the awakening did not cure her, 
 though it would have done most people. 
 
 n 2
 
 100 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SISTERS. 
 
 Differently constituted from their brother, and 
 no less dissimilar from each other, were the two 
 girls. Both were lively, sensible and intelligent ; 
 but there all comparison ended. In Myra com- 
 mon-sense guided action: in Eva, intellect was 
 combined with common-sense. Learning was to Eva 
 not even an exertion : it seemed to come intuitively, 
 with such facility did she acquire information; 
 while in Myra, inaptitude of receiving the know- 
 ledge derived from books, amounted to incapacity. 
 Eva was ambitious; Myra unambitious. Eva 
 burned to exalt herself in the world, and to be 
 something better and greater than she found 
 herself; often she thought, were she a man, how 
 she would grapple w^ith, and overcome obstacles, 
 and build herself a name : as it was, she could 
 only hope to guide a name to fame. Myra aimed
 
 THE SISTEKS. 101 
 
 at nothing beyond good management of what she 
 had, to make it go as far as it would, and to be 
 careful not to make it less ; a very good, practical 
 every day kind of intelligence, but wholly re- 
 moved from the intellectual. She was a better 
 housekeeper than Eva, farmed in a small way, 
 looked well after her affairs and made money. She 
 understood all domestic, household matters, and 
 to use the servants' expression, would thrive where 
 Miss Eva would starve. She liked these things, 
 while to Eva they were irksome. She despised 
 Eva's ignorance of many useful things, while Eva 
 rather looked down upon the mind which was on 
 a level with them. Eva was all talent and taste, 
 Myra all sense and business ; you could read it 
 in their looks, and above all, in their move- 
 ments — Eva's so graceful and gliding, Myra's so 
 quick and firm. Both were very handsome ; but 
 their beauty, like their dispositions, were of 
 different styles ; Myra was the finer looking girl, 
 Eva the more spirituelle. Myra's features were 
 well formed and well defined, Eva's more delicately 
 moulded. You could never look twice at her 
 face and catch the same expression ; while that of 
 her sister's was uniform and placid ; more placid 
 than Eva's, though of a much less gentle temper.
 
 102 MUTATION. 
 
 Eva's feelings were more acute, and her counte- 
 nance betrayed them. 
 
 Until these girls were grown up, there had been 
 little to vary the monotony of Mrs. Desmond's 
 life, except when she had twice visited her own 
 family in England. In both these visits Eva had 
 accompanied her; the first time, because Myra 
 was on a visit with a relative in the south of 
 Ireland, who had invited her to spend the holidays 
 with her children, at the time of Mrs. Desmond's 
 going ; and the second time, because, having had 
 a severe illness, which left her delicate and relaxed, 
 she had been specially invited for change of air. 
 
 This visit had taken place when Eva was about 
 thirteen. Her English relations, charmed with 
 her promise of beauty, her sweet disposition, and 
 bright gay manner, wished to see more of her ; 
 and as none of them ever visited Ireland, they 
 felt she must grow up a stranger to them unless 
 she occasionally came to stay amongst them, 
 and they were pressing for her visits to be 
 renewed. 
 
 When Myra Desmond was between seventeen 
 and eighteen and Eva a year younger, the Free- 
 masons of Cavan gave a grand ball to the County, 
 to wdiich the Desmonds were invited and went.
 
 THE SISTERS. 103 
 
 It was universally acknowledged that the two girls 
 were the belles of the rooms ; it is therefore no 
 wonder that their mother thought so. They 
 danced all night, and with the best partners 
 present. They were looked pointedly at when the 
 Cavan beauties were toasted, and many a man's 
 head inclined to them as he hurraed in response. 
 Mrs. Desmond overheard Mr. King (son of old 
 Randal's " King, of the Guards ") ask his partner 
 who was that heavenly looking girl who danced 
 like a feather, as Eva whirled past in a waltz with 
 Lord Mahon; and Mrs. Desmond was a proud 
 and happy woman that night : the past was for- 
 gotten, and again she began to dream. 
 
 Some invitations followed this debiit of the 
 girls ; but they were few : the Desmonds' circle of 
 acquaintance was very circumscribed. Eva re- 
 ceived two or three offers of marriage, which she 
 refused ; nor were they eligible ones. She paid 
 a visit to England, the chief part of which was 
 spent at Mrs. Herbert's ; who, having no children 
 of her own, found the gay and pliant Irish girl 
 so delightful a companion that she was unwilling 
 to part with her, and most anxious for her to 
 come again. Eva's second visit to her had closed, 
 and she was spending a little time with her uncle
 
 104 MUTATION. 
 
 Clifton at Oakstone (which, being nearer the 
 coast than Hislop, was on her way home) at the 
 time our tale opens. As our acquaintance with 
 her will continue, I trust to be forgiven this retro- 
 grade digression, for the purpose of acquainting 
 the reader with her family and circumstances.
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 105 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 
 
 *' All alone, ma mere? " said Eva, coming into the 
 dining room at Glenmore, holding her hat by the 
 string, and addressing her mother, who was seated 
 at a square table in the centre of the room, cutting 
 out shirts from a pile of calico before her. "I 
 have been through my garden, dear mother : in 
 very good order it looks, and I have come to make 
 my thanks to you ; for to you, I know, they are 
 due." 
 
 *^ Your papa gave me a man, love, to put it to 
 rights, when we found you were coming home ; 
 and George Leslie was over that day, and he 
 busied himself in it. He brought some new 
 flowers the following day and planted them 
 himself." 
 
 *^0h ! that accounts for the new geraniums. I 
 was wondering : I thought I should consider 
 myself very fortunate if I met with all my old
 
 106 MUTATION. 
 
 acquaintances; new acquisitions I never dreamed 
 of." 
 
 " George was over very often, asking when 
 would you return." Eva looked grave. 
 
 "Where is Myra?" 
 
 " A butcher has come to buy one of her heifers. 
 He will only give ten pounds, and she is gone to 
 see that he gets the worst of the two." 
 
 " How funny ! I never could tell mine by eye- 
 sight yet. One red or one white cow is so like 
 another." 
 
 "Myra knows them well. She thought your 
 last was sold too cheap ; but I was afraid to lose 
 the sale of it, for I knew you wanted the money. 
 I was sorry I could not get more to send you, but 
 your papa was very pressed at the time and I had 
 none myself." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, mother dear ; I had enough : 
 I did very well." 
 
 " I was afraid your dresses would have rubbed 
 shabby. How did they last?" 
 
 " Very well. I had the pink silk turned, 
 and I got a new white muslin, with pink roses, 
 for the race-ball, I believe I told you; and I 
 think I looked as well dressed as the others. 
 The old blue gauze is defunct. I did not think
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 107 
 
 it worth carrying home, and threw it away at 
 Oakstone." 
 
 " Do your cousins dress handsomely ? " 
 
 " There is no one at home but Agnes and the 
 little ones. Myra Is still at school. Agnes's 
 things are handsome : at least they cost a great 
 deal of money. She knows nothing about dress, 
 and I don't think Aunt Clifton has good taste, 
 either ; she doesn't choose what suits Agnes. 
 If she admires something on a tall, slight girl, 
 she gets it for her little dumpling figure. They 
 were always consulting me, and examining, and. 
 copying my things. It sometimes posed me." 
 
 " It would pose them, I think, to dress as you 
 do on the same money." 
 
 " Agnes has a very good allowance — thirty 
 guineas; and Uncle Clifton gives her mourning 
 besides " 
 
 " Does Edward seem very fond of his children?" 
 
 " Doatingly so. Spends his life in thinking of 
 them ; but he worries them : always arguing 
 about some law or other that he has made, and 
 he seems to think no one knows anything but 
 himself. Not one of them can do a single thing 
 but just as he tells them." 
 
 " Yes, he is like your Aunt Herbert in that
 
 108 MUTATION. 
 
 respect. The difference is, he only wishes to 
 rule in his own family ; she would like to regulate 
 the affairs of the whole county." 
 
 " She interests herself more in the Phillips's 
 affairs than they like." ^ 
 
 " My sister, Jessie, is very capable of conduct- 
 ing her own affairs." 
 
 " So she evidently thinks. I have seen her 
 short enough with Aunt Herbert." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " Oh, about many little interferences in their 
 every day arrangements. The two grand sub- 
 jects of contention were, firstly, William Ingram's 
 attentions to Jessie, which Aunt Phillips evidently 
 encouraged, and which Aunt Herbert vehemently 
 opposed." 
 
 " I think it was hardly fair of Rebecca opposing 
 it if the Phillipses wished it. They must have 
 thought it desirable; and as Jessie is exactly 
 the same relation to her aunt that William 
 is, one would think she would feel for them 
 equally." 
 
 " So she says she does, but her disposition is 
 naturally jealous and I really do not think she 
 would like to see Willie married to any one. 
 She wants to be all in all to him, and she can-
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. 109 
 
 not help seeing that she is not. She wants to 
 be like an idolized mother to him ; but she does 
 not enact a mother's part, or lavish a mother's 
 indulgence on him: she is too fond of her own 
 way. Willie said to me once, * Persuade Aunt 
 Herbert that you are doing what she likes, 
 instead of what you like yourself, and you will 
 have some chance of getting what you want : ' 
 that is not the kind of feeling a lad has towards 
 his mother." 
 
 " No, indeed. Mothers are too apt to indulge 
 what they believe to be their children's fancy. 
 But what was the other disagreement between 
 my sisters ? You spoke of two." 
 
 "Not exactly a disagreement, but a difference 
 of opinion ; or rather, like the other, a difference 
 of interest. The grievance was Edward Phillips 
 coming to settle in that neighbourhood. As his 
 means were small, his rich relatives did not like 
 his coming to settle in their vicinity. Aunt 
 Phillips, who is pretty independent, thought 
 Edward's advancement in life was of a good 
 deal more consequence than her family's pride; 
 so she worked away in open defiance of them, 
 and got him appointed one of the Archdeacon's 
 curates."
 
 110 MUTATION. 
 
 " Expecting church preferment, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes. It appears Salisbury is a better diocese 
 for preferment than the one he was in in York- 
 shire, and the Archdeacon looks after his curates' 
 interests." 
 
 " What kind of a fellow is he ? He was only 
 fifteen when I saw him last; he was very plain 
 then." 
 
 " And is so still. The most absent, odd being : 
 the oddest dresser, and with the oddest manner ; 
 but very clever and very learned. You would not 
 know what to make of him until he begins to 
 speak on some learned subject or other, and then 
 he seems a different being: his language is so 
 good, his manner so earnest; and so much 
 intellect — deep, thoughtful intellect — looks out 
 through his dark, sunken eyes : they are the 
 only redeeming feature in his face, and they are 
 so far in his head, it is only when his energies 
 (his intellectual energies I mean, for he has no 
 physical ones) are roused, that you see them 
 at all." 
 
 " Your Aunt Phillips told me he had become 
 very well-looking." 
 
 " She is his mother," and Eva laughed a gay 
 ringing laugh of good-humoured derision. " Aunt
 
 FAMILY GOSSIP. Ill 
 
 Phillips must be content with other people 
 thinking him only clever : that he undoubtedly is." 
 
 ^' I wonder, then, his relations do not take a pride 
 in him, for none of the rest of the family are 
 particularly clever." 
 
 " Why, one thing to be said is, the Edward 
 Phillipses are exceedingly bad managers. They 
 make no appearance, and the interior economy 
 of their establishment is so wretchedly conducted 
 there is no comfort or respectability about it. 
 There seems some inability about Mary Phillips 
 that I never could rightly understand. Even ^ 
 when she is going about the house, what she 
 calls 'arranging matters,' nothing seems the 
 result. Everything is as scrawly and untidy 
 as ever : the children are running about wild 
 and dirty ; the servants appear to have no 
 fixed business, and what is no one's business 
 is very apt to be left undone. Wherever Edward 
 is, there is a litter; and poor Mary, amiable 
 and good-tempered as she is, appears to succeed 
 in accomplishing but one occupation — increasing 
 the population. Therefore, curate Edward and 
 his household are looked upon as anything but 
 an acquisition by the other establishments. And, 
 as far as Aunt Herbert is concerned, if any
 
 112 MUTATION. 
 
 point is contested, it is a stronghold for the other 
 Phillipses to run into and defy her ; when but for 
 it, they should leave the neighbourhood. There 
 they went when she would not let Jessie remain 
 at Hislop any longer, and there Willie Ingram 
 followed her " 
 
 " Do you think that will be a match ? " 
 
 "I do not know. I have thought — perhaps 
 I ought not to mention it, for it is but a supposition — 
 but I have thought if Jessie could do better 
 she would not have him. Aunt Phillips encou- 
 rages it ; yet I hardly think at the present moment 
 she would wish to give her, beauty as she is, 
 to that harum-scarum boy. But Jessie does 
 not receive as much admiration from gentlemen 
 as one would expect from her appearance, and 
 has never had an offer she could accept, so Willie 
 might do as a pis aller.^^ 
 
 " That would hardly be fair, to engage 
 his afPections and then leave him, if it suited 
 her." 
 
 " It may not be the case. The others do 
 not suspect it. Aunt Herbert believes they 
 would marry to-morrow only for her vigilance ; 
 so I may be wrong. But the Phillipses are very 
 worldly wise, notwithstanding Aunt Herbert
 
 FAMILY aOSSIP. 113 
 
 thinks they stand so much in need of her 
 help." 
 
 " What kind are Edward's boys — the grown 
 up ones I mean ? " 
 
 " Eddie is a bright lad enough, but foolish 
 as yet : he is at a foolish age ; sighing to 
 be an officer instead of a schoolboy. He is rather 
 well-looking." 
 
 "And Ernest?" 
 
 " I saw but little of him. He was abroad ^w hen 
 I went to Oakstone, and only came home for 
 a week, before going to College. He is very 
 handsome : one in a thousand for beauty. He 
 looks older than he is. He is not very courteous 
 to ladies, but a first-rate sportsman, and seems 
 the very ' makings' of a country squire : I should 
 think he was not very bookish. He is going into 
 the church, and he seems a man who would 
 conscientiously perform whatever he undertook ; 
 but I suspect Edward Phillips will be a bishop 
 before him." 
 
 The door here opened and, a bright hand- 
 some face looked in, from under a wide-awake 
 hat. 
 
 "Eva, the wool-buyer is here, and Mysie 
 is selling him her two fleeces. The ' chief ' is 
 
 VOL. L I
 
 114 MUTATION. 
 
 holding out for another sixpence. What will you 
 do, — will you sell yours ? " 
 
 " Yes, please sell them for me, will you. VT'hat 
 matter about the sixpence ?" 
 
 "Oh, he is giving the market price; as you 
 may suppose when he is getting Mysie's : but 
 my father always expects sixpence more than 
 any one else, no one knows why. Just as I 
 came away he .was beginning to tell the man 
 what sort of wool they had in the Peninsula." 
 
 Eva laughed. Her mother looked grave, and 
 the young man shut the door. 
 
 " How well Randal is looking ! " said Eva. 
 " Were he polished, he would be a very fine man. 
 What a pity he has nothing to do." 
 " " A sad pity, indeed." 
 
 " I wish he had been in the army." 
 
 " I wish he had. Your father is always lament- 
 ing now ; but when it could have been done 
 he would not listen to it." 
 
 " I should think, from his own services, he could 
 have got Randal on the foundation at Sandhurst.'* 
 
 " Your father did not know such a place as 
 Sandhurst was in existence when Randal was of 
 an age to have gone there. Besides, he had a 
 very erroneous idea that education was com-
 
 FAMILY aOSSIP. 115 
 
 pletely wasted on an officer, and he could not bear 
 Randal not to be a learned profession. Randal 
 has not that steadfast application necessary to 
 struggle through the first uphill work of a mental 
 profession ; he would have made a fine soldier." 
 
 *' No doubt, but as he has completely abandoned 
 the law why not give him something to do. He 
 is wasting his life now. Why not set him up in 
 farming at once, if farming is to be his trade." 
 
 " That was what he intended, but that unfortu- 
 nate purchase prevented it. Your father has not 
 the means now of setting him up in another place, 
 and he is so tenacious of his own management in 
 this, that he would not let him have the direction 
 of a single field. Randal will not work as a mere 
 automaton : the consequence is, he does nothing. 
 His cousins, your Uncle Patrick's family, are no 
 advantage to him. Wholly uneducated and un- 
 aspiring, they have plenty of pocket-mone}'- — 
 which they make, by farming, with little trouble, 
 now that they live with their father, at no expense — 
 and they spend it among horses and dogs. When 
 Randal first came home, you know he looked 
 down on them ; bat, by degrees, for want of other 
 resources, he took up with what excitement he 
 found among them ; and he, who might have 
 
 I 2
 
 116 MUTATION. 
 
 been sucli an assistance towards raising the 
 position of his family, is rather lowering it, and 
 will soon be looked on as no better than the rest 
 of the Desmonds." 
 
 " It is the sure fate of an idle man. The very 
 attributes that make him idle, carry him down 
 the stream. If I were a man, it would be a 
 strong current that I would not at least strive 
 to breast upwards. Who is that passed the 
 window ? " 
 
 " I think it must be George Leslie : he had on a 
 white hat. There is a fire in the drawing-room ; 
 you had better go and receive him there." 
 
 Eva shrugged her shoulders, as she rose to 
 obey. 
 
 " They say he is very clever," said her mother. 
 
 "Clever and unprincipled," replied the daughter.
 
 THE HOPEFUL LOVER. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE HOPEFUL LOVER. 
 
 Georqe Leslie's character could not have been 
 better summed up than in those two words, clever 
 and unprincipled. 
 
 That he was clever there could be no doubt^ 
 One of a large scrambling family of no position, he 
 had contrived, with little assistance from his 
 father, to work himself onward, until, at the time 
 we speak of, he was a rising member of the Lish 
 bar. He was accounted to possess a ver^^ acute 
 insight into the bearings of a case ; above all, any 
 which admitted of parry or evasion : and this joined 
 to a considerable degree of forensic eloquence, and 
 a still greater degree of self-confidence, procured 
 him a larger share of business than generally falls 
 to the fortune of so young a man. 
 
 Though he, to a great degree, separated himself 
 from the rest of his family, he did not so entirely 
 do so but that he lent them occasional assistance ;
 
 118 MUTATION. 
 
 and sometimes when lie required relaxation, and 
 was not inclined for a more distant excursion, 
 he was used to come and spend a few weeks at 
 his father's. The House being situated close to 
 Glenmore, caused his coming into frequent contact 
 with the Miss Desmonds ; and to the charms of 
 the younger, was assigned, by report, the frequent 
 recurrence of his visits, of late. The partiality 
 was by no means reciprocal. Eva disliked the 
 whole family, as much as it was in her nature to 
 dislike any one who had never injured her. She 
 thought them vulgar and low-minded. Her 
 refinement and intellect made it irksome to her to 
 associate w^ith them, and she felt that an alliance 
 with them would be most revolting to her feelings. 
 She had never given George Leslie any reason 
 to suppose she encouraged his addresses ; unless he 
 so construed the politeness and good nature 
 which was natural to her manner, and which was 
 extended equally to all the members of his 
 family whenever they visited at Glenmore. 
 
 As soon as she suspected that he honoured her 
 with a more than usual degree of preference, she 
 tried, by a guarded watchfulness over her demea- 
 nour, to disabuse his mind of the idea that it was 
 by any means acceptable to her. But George
 
 THE HOPEFUL LOVER. 119 
 
 Leslie was not easily put down. That was not 
 the way he got on in the world; retiring from 
 the contest at the first damper he got. He 
 persevered, and though the coldness of Eva's 
 manner towards him retarded his bringing 
 matters to a crisis and proposing for her^ he 
 always had an intention of doing so at some 
 future, indefinite period; when, as he said to 
 himself, he should have brought her round. 
 
 " She '11 come round," he had mentally exclaimed 
 that morning, as he stood before the glass giving 
 the finishing touches to his sandy whiskers (which- 
 touches were applied with a sponge dipped in a 
 bottle of liquid dye-stuff). He appeared rather 
 pleased with the result of his exertions, for once 
 or twice, as he contemplated them, turning to the 
 glass first one darkened whisker then the other, 
 he murmured with a self-satisfied smirk — 
 
 " That 's an improvement decidedly. She '11 
 come round." 
 
 Whether he received any corroboration of his 
 hopes in his visit to Glenmore or not, Eva's man- 
 ner precluded all possibility of his imagining that 
 the turning point had yet come. He was too 
 shrewd not to read it aright, and not to feel that 
 any advances on his part would be repulsed : he
 
 120 MUTATION. 
 
 therefore, for the present, contented himself with 
 expressions of delight at her return ; making her 
 sensible how much he had exerted himself in the 
 embellishment of her garden, in the hope that it 
 might afford her pleasure : he reserved the offer 
 he intended to make until that more favourable 
 period when she should have " come round."
 
 THE NEW RELATIYE. 121 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE NEW EELATIVE. 
 
 George Leslie's visit was followed by one from 
 Mr. Hassard, a young officer, a lieutenant who 
 belonged to a troop of dragoons quartered at 
 the time in Belturbet ; but having come there- 
 while Eva was away in England, he was quite 
 a stranger to her. It at once struck her 
 that something more than mere acquaintanceship 
 existed between hihi and her sister ; but on her 
 naming it afterwards, the latter evinced so much 
 displeasure, that, for the future, she made her 
 observations in silence. 
 
 Mr. Hassard seldom visited at Glenmore, but 
 Myra Desmond was in the habit of meeting him at 
 the house of a relative of his who resided in Bel- 
 turbet, and between whom and Myra a great 
 intimacy had sprung up during Eva's absence. 
 Some little time afterwards, Eva was aware^ that 
 her sister corresponded with this gentleman, but
 
 122 MUTATION. 
 
 as Myra disliked interference, and was, Eva 
 believed, fully competent to take care of her- 
 self, she took no notice. A couple of months 
 afterwards, she received the information from 
 her mother that Mr. Hassard had made a 
 proposal to Myra, and had been accepted by 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Hassard was possessed of no property 
 whatever except his pay ; but he showed, at 
 Glenmore, a letter from his uncle making a 
 promise to purchase his company for him; which, 
 when he got it, would give his widow a pension 
 of 50L a year. He also said that for years he had 
 subscribed to a fund which would secure to 
 Myra, at his death, another 50^. per annum ; 
 and that he had been promised ♦a staff appointment 
 in India, worth 700^. a year, from which he could 
 easily spare sufficient to insure his life for any 
 sum which might be deemed advisable. Nothing 
 could be fairer or seemingly more straightfor- 
 ward than his offers ; still they did not satisfy 
 Mr. Desmond, who, without giving, or seeming 
 to be able to give, any reason for his conduct, 
 persisted in withholding his consent: until, at 
 length, Myra, in desperation, told him she would 
 marry without it,
 
 THE NEW RELATIVE. 123 
 
 Both Eva and her mother thought, if Mr. 
 Hassard's statements were true, it was probably 
 quite as good a match as Myra could expect; 
 and if rejected, it was possible that another 
 chance of settling herself as well might not 
 occur: therefore they were not opposed to it, 
 if, on investigation, matters were found to be 
 as represented. But Mr. Desmond, who was 
 never guided by good sense, instead of looking 
 into and ascertaining the truth or untruth of 
 Mr. Hassard's prospects, as his wife wished him 
 to do, maintained a blind opposition to the match ; 
 this exasperated his daughter beyond measure, 
 and many angry scenes and stormy discussions 
 ensued. 
 
 At length, by her determination of will, the 
 lady prevailed, and her father gave a reluctant 
 consent; which he believed it would be useless 
 any longer to withhold. One half of the remain- 
 ing thousand was settled on Myra, with the 
 thousand pounds for which Mr. Hassard's life 
 was to be insured. This, with the two pensions, 
 was to be her provision in case of her husband's 
 death. There was much vexation and disagree- 
 ment before it was finally settled. Eva, whose 
 ears were continually plied with the dissatisfac-
 
 124 MUTATION. 
 
 tion on both sides, was delighted when at last 
 the wedding-day came. She went to bed that 
 night thanking Heaven that her sister was married, 
 and there would be some peace and happiness 
 in the house. She was heartily tired of strife, 
 and clamour, and conflicting interests. How- 
 ever, she had not done with them yet. 
 
 Myra had not been a fortnight married before 
 her mother began to perceive from her letters 
 that all was not right. At first they contained 
 only vague hints; then came allusions to her 
 husband's profession, and the loss it would be 
 if anything happened to it : it must be preserved 
 at any cost. These inuendoes were continued 
 in several letters, without at all implying what 
 was the misfortune she alluded to. When she 
 thought the inhabitants of Glenmore had been 
 sufficiently prepared, the truth appeared — Mr. 
 Hassard was in debt. 
 
 Long in imminent jeopardy, he had kept off 
 the most clamorous of his creditors by telling 
 them he was going to be married to a lady from 
 whose fortune they should all be satisfied. Not 
 finding him fulfil his promise, they would no 
 longer be silenced. Every day he received 
 letters threatening arrest. As long as he could.
 
 THE NEW BELATIVE. 125 
 
 he concealed the state of his affairs from his 
 wife; but she was too shrewd to be kept long 
 in the dark — too sensible not to know that the 
 exigency must be met and remedied. She asked 
 him plainly if he was embarrassed about money 
 matters. He owned that he was. Warm tempered 
 though she was, she bore the deception he had 
 practised on her with great equanimity. She 
 did not speak a word of reproach or displeasure — 
 that she knew would do no good: she applied 
 all her energies to obviate the impending evil. 
 She saw the most pressing of the creditors a* 
 once, and passed her word that their demands 
 should be satisfied, if they allowed her time to 
 obtain the money ; and so purchased a temporary 
 respite for her husband: the creditors believed 
 her frank, sensible, straightforward statements. 
 Her next step was to break the intelligence of 
 her difficulties to her family; whose assistance 
 she required, or they never should have heard of 
 them. A girl who makes a wilful marriage 
 does not like to acknowledge to its drawbacks. 
 
 It was w^ell for her she had not to endure 
 her father's comments thereon, as had her 
 mother and Eva. He was outracjeous. He 
 gave full scope to his powers of extolling his
 
 126 MUTATION. 
 
 own judgment and sagacity in having been 
 against the match. Had his advice been taken, 
 it never would have occurred. They were all 
 so wise. He was supposed to know nothing. 
 Mrs. Desmond suggested that he could not 
 have anticipated this, or he would have made 
 inquiries if Mr. Hassard were in debt — a fact 
 easily ascertained; and she reminded him that 
 she had often urged the necessity of inquiry. 
 To this he turned a deaf ear. He was against 
 the match, that was enough. If his advice 
 had been followed, it would never have taken 
 place. This was what came of people setting 
 up their own judgment in opposition to that 
 of those who knew better. A pretty kettle of 
 fish they had made of it among them ! Fine 
 heads they had ! He tapped his own. 
 
 Mrs. Hassard's first thought was, of raising 
 the 500^. her husband owed, by an insurance 
 on his life ; but the insurance company required 
 security to the amount, and Mr. Desmond, 
 having only a life interest in his property, they 
 refused to accept him as such. Myra's 500/. 
 was settled on her children, if she should have 
 any, so that neither was it available for security, 
 and she therefore asked Eva to allow her 5001.
 
 THE NEW RELATIVE. 127 
 
 to be responsible for the debt to the company. 
 This, Eva positively refused. She had no con- 
 fidence in a gentleman who could marry when 
 he was five hundred pounds in debt, keeping 
 it a profound secret, and she would not put 
 her money in his power. Her father, ever in- 
 consistent, urged her to consent. He called 
 her selfish and suspicious ; but Eva, though 
 distressed at having to refuse, held her ground : 
 her mother supported her, and they gained the 
 day. Eva suggested that Myra's settlement 
 should be burnt, and her own 500^. spent in 
 liquidating the debts, which suggestion, though 
 at first rejected, was eventually acted upon. 
 
 By degrees, the full extent of Mr. Hassard's 
 duplicity came to light. Time passed, and no 
 staff appointment in India was given to him. 
 The fund which was to supply the second 
 pension turned out to be a myth. He was 
 purchased over in the regiment, and it was 
 discovered that the uncle who had written the 
 letter which he showed, had been dead two years ; 
 and before his death had withdrawn his promise 
 of purchase in consequence of having had to 
 pay debts which had formerly threatened Mr. 
 Hassard's expulsion from the army.
 
 128 MUTATION. 
 
 The knowledge of each new delmquency, 
 afforded Mr. Desmond fresh opportunity of 
 inveighing against the sense and judgment of 
 every individual concerned, except himself. He 
 tapped his forehead until he nearly wore a hole 
 in it; and as he was carefully reticent on 
 the subject of his having refused his consent 
 with the firm conviction that none of these draw- 
 backs existed, he believed others to be in 
 ignorance of it. 
 
 Myra Hassard carried things with a high 
 hand. She said she had made up her mind 
 to the loss of the 500/., considering it was 
 expended in a good cause — to save her husband's 
 profession; and she never wished to revert to 
 the subject. They must live on his pay, and 
 take their chance. 
 
 " I do not fear for Myra," remarked Mrs. 
 Desmond to her other daughter, " she has 
 strong sense, good health, and can accommodate 
 herself to circumstances. Her mind is not of 
 that refined and sensitive cast that she will 
 suffer much in doing so. You, my Eva, must 
 have a diflFerent kind of husband." 
 
 " I shall, if I ever have one. Mr. Hassard 
 would not be my taste at all. A man without
 
 THE NEW KELATIVE. 129 
 
 mind, education, refinement, or principle — I could 
 not endure him." 
 
 "Do you know any one you would like?" 
 asked her mother, with a smile. 
 
 " Not one," and she paid back the smile with 
 a sweeter one. " Never was there a being more 
 heart-whole." 
 
 " You must not always remain so, darling." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because you will not have sufficient means 
 to live single. You must marry some one to 
 support you." 
 
 " Well, I hope some one nice will come : I 
 could not marry any one I did not like." 
 
 " Was Mr. Langton nice ? " 
 
 "Who? The Mr. Langton I met at His- 
 lop?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Middling. Why do you ask ?" 
 
 "Your Aunt Phillips wrote me word, he 
 seemed to admire you very much ; were you 
 aware of it ? " 
 
 " No — yes — well, I don't know. Sometimes he 
 used to seem to — but I saw very little of him." 
 
 " How was that ? Was he not a good while 
 there?" 
 
 YOL. I. K
 
 130 MUTATION. 
 
 " Yes ; but Aunt Herbert never seemed to 
 like our being together. She used to keep us 
 as separate as possible." 
 
 " How very extraordinary of Rebecca ! One 
 would have thought she would have done all 
 in her power to further it." 
 
 " I do not think Aunt Herbert would further 
 a match if it made a queen of you. But I 
 thought very little about Mr. Langton. I do 
 not think I ever should have thought about him 
 only for people talking — but then people talk 
 with very little provocation." 
 
 " Your Aunt Phillips told me that his admiration 
 of you was evident to every one. I often hoped 
 something would come of it. I think you are 
 more calculated for an Englishman, and the life 
 you would lead with him, than for an Irish- 
 man. You are not made for rou^hinir it." 
 
 " I dare say I shall have to rough it yet." 
 
 Her mother looked with fond regret at her 
 delicate and refined beauty. As yet, there 
 was no trace of sorrow or hardship on that 
 bright sparkling face : vexation she had often 
 had, but it had glanced harmless over her 
 happy disposition; or, if it depressed her for 
 a moment, her buoyant spirits quickly rebounded.
 
 THE NEW RELATIYE. 131 
 
 George Leslie continued his attentions assi- 
 duously, whenever he was at his father's ; 
 and his visits there w^ere not angels'. He was 
 in constant attendance on Eva, bringing her 
 books and music from Dublin (which she would 
 persist in only taking as a loan, returning 
 them in spite of him,) bringing her flowers 
 and planting them himself; training his horse 
 for her to ride ; waylaying her whenever she 
 went out, and bearing her company. But she 
 was very ungrateful: still she did not "come, 
 round." 
 
 About this time young Leslie's father, who 
 for some years had been a widower, met with 
 a lady of a certain age, possessed of some 
 three or four thousand pounds' fortune, who 
 seemed not unwilling to supply the place of 
 his first wife. He responded with alacrity, 
 and his son was commissioned to draw the 
 settlements. The lady's brother, who thought 
 she was doing a very foolish thing (more espe- 
 cially, as he had expected the reversion of her 
 fortune himself,) came down to look into matters 
 before the marriage took place. On reading 
 over the settlement, it appeared that Mr. George 
 Leslie had therein made no mention whatever 
 
 K 2
 
 132 MUTATION. 
 
 of the lady's fortune, with reference to herself. 
 He merely stated that it was to be paid over 
 to his father for his life, and to revert to him 
 at his death ; and instead of it, an equivalent sum 
 was placed, as a jointure, on a property called 
 Bally oworthnaught, which property was entailed 
 on himself, and had already more money on it 
 than it could have held if spread over it in 
 sovereigns. The consequence was, the marriage 
 was broken off, and George Leslie came out of 
 the affair with neither credit nor profit. 
 
 A very short time after this he proposed for Eva 
 Desmond, and was refused. He tried to shake 
 her resolution and bring her round. He promised 
 as a bribe to take a house in one of the squares 
 in Dublin; that she should have a carriage 
 and 50/. a year for pin-money, and he offered 
 to settle a jointure of 2601 a year on her. Eva 
 could hardly resist the temptation of asking 
 him if it was to come off Ballyoworthnaught. 
 Her mother felt half-sorry when she found all 
 was refused : not that she liked George Leslie, 
 or thought that he was calculated for Eva, 
 but she feared perhaps she might not do better. 
 She had all her life — at least, all her married 
 life — seen the substance going for the shadow.
 
 THE NEW RELATIVE. 133 
 
 and she never could contemplate without a pang 
 the possibility of this darling daughter being 
 left slenderly provided for, to encounter priva- 
 tions and roughnesses which her refinement, tastes, 
 and disposition, made her so ill calculated to 
 bear. Therefore when she thought of George 
 Leslie rising rapidly in the world; with sense, 
 talent, and energy, to work still upward; and 
 thought of his long and devoted affection for 
 Eva, she could not help feeling a little regret that 
 it could not be returned. His want of principle 
 reconciled her the most to his rejection. 
 
 Leslie, on his part, did not suffer his disappoint- 
 ment to cause any break between him and 
 Eva. He remained friends with her, and con- 
 tinued his visits if not his attentions ; treating 
 her with kindness and respect. Some imagined 
 he was not altogether without nourishing a hope 
 that his obdurate love might yet " come round."
 
 134 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 OLD SCENES. 
 
 It was late on an August evening. The sun, 
 though it was not yet the time of his setting, was 
 no longer visible from the terraces of Oakstone, 
 having disappeared behind the high and perpen- 
 dicular rock of Reddestone. But his proximity- 
 was easily discernible by the crimsoned, sky 
 which stretched athwart the horizon ; a glowing 
 background, from which the dark wood-clothed 
 and sunken caverned rock stood out in strong 
 relief. Across the gorgeous heavens, the 
 brilliant canopy was here and there traversed 
 by long and narrow streaks of a deep violet 
 coloured cloud, the contrast of whose golden 
 edges enhanced their beauty not a little ; nor 
 was the vividness of these demarcations of light 
 impaired by the dark crimson of the sky behind : 
 they shone like pale molten gold upon it. The 
 day had been very hot, but now a gentle air —
 
 OLD SCENES. 135 
 
 it could hardly be called a breeze — had risen, 
 sighing softly through the trembling leaves, and 
 feeling gratefully balmy after the oppression of 
 the day. As everything gains or loses by com- 
 parison, it is only after enduring the sultriness of a 
 summer day that an evening such as this can be 
 fully appreciated. 
 
 The sashes of the deep bay window of the 
 saloon at Oakstone were open, and on the broad 
 step without were seated two girlish figures — 
 one in deep mournmg, the other in a light dress 
 of white muslin, with simply a band of black 
 velvet round the waist. It was made open in 
 the front, displaying above a lace habit-shirt a 
 graceful throat of snowy whiteness, round which 
 was suspended a locket. At a grand piano within 
 the room, a little in the shade from the window, 
 but near enough for the music to be distinctly 
 heard, was seated another girl, in the same deep 
 mourning as the one without; she was lightly 
 running over the brilliant variations of a new 
 fantasia, and apparently paying no attention to 
 the conversation of the companions at the window. 
 
 " Dear Eva, how glad I am to have you again. 
 It is two years since we sat here last. I have 
 often wished for you, often thought all would be
 
 136 MUTATION. 
 
 less sad if you were here — they have been eventful 
 years to us." This was said tenderly and mourn- 
 fully by the young girl in black who sat upon 
 the window-step. 
 
 " Yes/' replied her companion, in a soft grave 
 tone. " Two years make great changes. They 
 have made one sad one here; I miss my dear 
 aunt at every turn." 
 
 " And, oh, how do we not miss her ! At first 
 it seemed so unreal ; as if the misery would not 
 last : that it was but a temporary thing — would 
 pass, and all be right again. But then, as 
 weeks and weeks rolled by, it seemed to become 
 more real, and more and more desolate." 
 
 " I felt it greatly when I first came ; when I 
 saw you in her place, performing occupations 
 which had been peculiarly her own, and using the 
 things I had never seen any one use but herself. 
 To you, of course, it must have come by degrees, 
 for you must have filled her place during her 
 illness. It was more striking to me who had 
 never been here since she was in health. I 
 cannot tell you how much I felt it when I was 
 coming here : when the train emerged from the 
 tunnel near Reddestone (you know the railway 
 was only made as far as Eversley when I was here
 
 OLD SCENES. 137 
 
 last), and I unexpectedly came in view of the 
 home where I had left her, and of the churchyard 
 where I was to find her : I cried bitterly." 
 
 " Dear, dear mamma ! " 
 
 " You have one consolation, dearest, however. 
 I could not help offering up a prayer at the time, 
 that, when my hour came, I might be as fit to 
 yield up my life as she was. But come, dear 
 Agnes," she continued in a lighter tone, half- 
 rising from her seat as if to throw off some load, 
 " we must not talk on this sad subject, or you 
 will be quite done up by the time Ernest comes ;. 
 when do you expect him ? " 
 
 " Soon now. The train passes at seven o'clock ; 
 he has to walk from the station." 
 
 " That is not far." 
 
 '' No ; he must be coming, I think. If you like, 
 we can set out and walk to meet him." 
 
 " Oh no, indeed, I shall not," said Eva laugh- 
 ing. " He was not used to be so fond of my 
 company that he will be very impatient to see 
 me." 
 
 " You will find Ernest changed." 
 
 " I suppose so — curatized. He will have on a 
 white neckcloth and a suit of black, like Edward 
 Phillips."
 
 138 MUTATION. 
 
 "Ernest is not likely to look like Edward 
 Phillips." 
 
 " No, his face could not well : but I suppose he 
 looks very meek and good." 
 
 " He looks very good and I think very nice ; " 
 his sister seemed a little piqued. 
 
 Eva laughed. 
 
 " You Irish girls think no one worth speaking 
 to but an officer." 
 
 " Don't we ? Well, you cannot take offence, 
 for if you have one brother a parson, you have 
 another a soldier." 
 
 " I am very fond of Eddie, but he is not to be 
 compared to Ernest." 
 
 "In what?" 
 
 "In anything — beauty, goodness, kindness, 
 sense. If you were to know the comfort Ernest was 
 to us in poor mamma's illness. Though he was over- 
 worked, and not well himself, he came every day he 
 could spare, travelling all night backwards and for- 
 wards. And it was bitter weather last November : he 
 often came in with his hair and whiskers all covered 
 with snow. But he never thought of himself; and 
 mamma so loved to have him. He was always her pet, 
 and deservedly ; he never caused her a sigh. You 
 will like him too, Eva, when you know him better."
 
 OLD SCENES. 139 
 
 "That seems to imply that I do not like him now." 
 
 " Well, I do not think you are very partial to 
 him. But you have had no opportunity of judging 
 him. You saw him but for a week the last time 
 ■you were here, and Ernest could not be known in 
 a week. I want you to like him. And when you 
 have seen him and know him, I want you to tell 
 me whether you think a darling wish of mine is 
 ever likely to be gratified." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " That Ernest shall marry some one with a 
 great fortune, and live here." 
 
 " Live here ! At Oakstone ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Leave the Church?" 
 
 " Oh no : Ernest will never do that." 
 
 " Then how could he live here ? keep a curate 
 to do his duty ? " 
 
 " Ernest would not think that remaining in the 
 Church. If he had the living of Reddestone." 
 
 " If the Bishop would kindly take his conve- 
 nience into consideration. I have heard he does 
 not like squire parsons." 
 
 " Papa intends to buy a living for Ernest, and 
 perhaps he could exchange with the rector of 
 Reddestone. Papa would bribe a little."
 
 140 MUTATION. 
 
 '^ That indeed. But then, what do you want 
 the fortune for ? " 
 
 "Papa says Ernest could never keep up this 
 place without large assistance from his wife. 
 Papa would not like him merely to occupy it, 
 unless he could keep it up consistently. He says 
 a house beyond the means of the owner affords 
 neither comfort nor respectability." 
 
 For a moment Glenmore was in Eva's mind. 
 
 "You have got a new rector at Reddestone 
 since I was here," she said. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Griffin. He was vicar of Hilton ; 
 indeed, is still. The Bishop gave him this living 
 and left him Hilton also ; so he has put a curate 
 there. Do you know Uncle and Aunt Herbert 
 have long coveted Reddestone; and when Mr. 
 Mosse died. Uncle Herbert applied to the Bishop 
 for it." 
 
 " And was refused ? *' 
 
 " Yes ; it is a very sore subject at Hislop. 
 The Bishop said Reddestone would require an 
 active energetic man. I believe he thinks Uncle 
 Herbert too fat. I have heard he cannot bear a 
 fat man, and says, if they did their duty they 
 would not fall into flesh." 
 
 " Some people will grow fat, and nothing can
 
 OLD SCENES. 141 
 
 prevent them; but no one would think Uncle 
 Herbert a zealous clergyman, though he is a good, 
 easy man — moderate and inoffensive. I almost 
 wonder they would like to leave Hislop, they 
 seemed so attached to the place." 
 
 " I do not think," replied Agnes, " that the 
 parish has thriven under Uncle Herbert's ministry : 
 dissenters increase, and the church empties more 
 and more every year ; and I think they are dis- 
 gusted with it. Besides, this living is worth so 
 much more, and they would like to be near 
 us." 
 
 ^' It was a pity Uncle Herbert was so fat. 
 Aunt Herbert is thin enough. I wonder would 
 that propitiate his lordship." 
 
 " It did not seem to." 
 
 ^' Well, as they cannot have Reddestone, I hope 
 Ernest may ; and that he may marry a rich wife, 
 and live here in great style, and may not think 
 me too wicked to be invited to come and visit 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, Eva, why should he ? " 
 
 " I do not know : it is very odd ; but I some- 
 times think your father does." 
 
 « When ? " 
 
 "Pretty often. Whenever we differ in
 
 142 MUTATION. 
 
 opinion and I do not cry ' Peccavi.' " A meaning 
 smile played about the corners of her beautiful 
 mouth. 
 
 "I do not know how it is, Eva, that I love 
 you so well, for you often deride my household 
 gods." 
 
 ^* No, not deride, dear Agnes, only refuse to 
 worship them as my own. And do you really 
 love me so well ? " 
 
 " You know I do, Eva. There is not one being 
 in the whole world out of my own immediate 
 family whom I love as I do you.'* 
 
 " Except " Her cousin's lip was bent close 
 
 to her cheek and one word archly whispered. 
 " There must be something in what those writers 
 say about the magic of a name, when one can 
 effect such marvels in the colouring line. How 
 odd for the crimson to go both ways," and Eva 
 mischievously drew her taper finger across the 
 burning forehead and round the glowing throat of 
 her cousin. 
 
 " What could have put such nonsense in your 
 head?" 
 
 " I cannot think : its own foolishness, I suppose. 
 But never mind, Agnes dear; your secret, if 
 secret it be, is safe with me. That is tender
 
 OLD SCENES. 143 
 
 ground I will not tread upon. Whatever I 
 may do about household gods, I will respect the 
 little one with the wings." 
 
 " I see Ernest ! " exclaimed Agnes, whose face 
 was turned away. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Do you see those two poplar -trees to the 
 right, beyond the clump of beech." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, between those two trees is the first 
 glimpse you can catch of any one coming along 
 the road. That is the road hedge at the top of. 
 yonder field, and I can just see his head above it." 
 
 " But all men have heads. How do you know 
 it is Ernest ? " 
 
 " I know him by his white cravat." 
 
 " So he does wear a white cravat." 
 
 " Of course he does. Mysie, Ernest is coming." 
 
 The young girl at the piano started up and 
 joined them through the window. She was like 
 her sister — the same blue eyes and light hair, but 
 she was paler and her figure slighter. 
 
 "Where?" she asked. "There, I suppose ; I 
 can see but his hat." 
 
 ^' How silly you are, Mysie. I can see his 
 cravat; and I know his quick step."
 
 144 MUTATION. 
 
 " Let us run to the gate to meet him." 
 
 " Well, let us. This Irish girl is too proud to 
 come and meet him. Go quietly, Mysie ; what 
 will Ernest say, if you go running like a mad 
 thing." 
 
 Eva remained seated where the two sisters had 
 left her. In a little time they returned, each 
 on an arm of their newly arrived brother. Eva 
 rose to meet him. They shook hands cordially, 
 and walked, all four abreast, up and down the 
 terrace. Ernest's attention was entirely taken up 
 answering the questions his sisters were crowd- 
 ing on him as to what kind of a journey he had 
 had, what hour he had started at, how long leave 
 of absence had he obtained, &c., &c. 
 
 Eva had an opportunity of observing that 
 Agnes's remark had been a just one, that she 
 should find Ernest much changed. But his appear- 
 ance indicated his having undergone mental rather 
 than physical alteration. His manly beauty was 
 imimpaired ; rather increased than otherwise ; his 
 figure more filled out ; the chiselling of his features 
 more clearly marked. His face, always grave and 
 impassive, had assumed an expression of placid 
 forbearance not natural to it. His movements 
 were less abrupt. The independence of his
 
 OLD SCENES. 145 
 
 bearing was exchanged for a quiet dignity. His 
 voice was more gently modulated. The light was 
 still in his eye, but it was more subdued than of old ; 
 and there was a mildness in its calm, steady gaze 
 that told of great powers of endurance. He looked 
 a man whose mind had been disciplined to whatever 
 demand should be made upon it : in a great measure, 
 if not entirely, the result of the training he had gone 
 through preparatory to entering the church. 
 " Abeant, studia, in mores." 
 
 His dress betokened his calling. He wore 
 the orthodox garb of a strict Churchman : wholly , 
 without ornament. A black frock coat reaching 
 low in the skirt ; a black vest sloped out round 
 the neck, with no visible fastening down the 
 front, but passed across the chest according 
 to the most approved High Church fashion. 
 A snow-white cravat, twice encircling' the 
 throat, and finishing with a small neat bow in 
 front. When he drew off his black gloves, 
 Eva saw that his hands, formerly tanned from 
 exposure and rough from usage, were white 
 and soft as a woman's. She looked for his 
 signet ring, but it, too, was gone. He wore 
 a black hat with a mourning band reaching 
 nearly to the crown. 
 
 VOL. L L
 
 146 MUTATION. 
 
 None of the alteration I have mentioned was 
 lost on Eva, as she silently contemplated him 
 w^hlle his attention was otherwise engaged ; and 
 it may be doubted whether some feeling of 
 regret, some lurking idea that it was a pity he 
 was not more like his former self, did not 
 mingle with the admiration she accorded to 
 his surpassing beauty. It was almost a relief 
 to her when he said, with a little of his pristine 
 impetuosity — 
 
 ^^ Well, girls, it is all very well for you who 
 have had your dinner, stopping out here chat- 
 tering; but I have had none, and I am pretty 
 sharp set, I can tell you. When will tea be 
 ready?" 
 
 " Had you not better have dinner ? " said Agnes. 
 
 "No, a chop with my tea will do; or — the 
 governor may not like that — an egg." 
 
 " Such a dinner, Ernest." 
 
 " An egg will do very well, or a couple, 
 perhaps better." 
 
 '^ Come in now. It must be near tea time." 
 
 " No matter about me," thought Eva, with a 
 look of half-comic pique, as Ernest turned with 
 his sisters round the corner of the house, leaving 
 her to follow.
 
 OLD SCENES. 147 
 
 After tea, the girls went as usual to the piano. 
 The sisters played duets for a time, then Eva 
 took their place, and her light slender fingers 
 ran merrily over the keys. 
 
 '^ Ernest likes a graver style of music," whis- 
 pered Agnes; who, accustomed to mark his 
 countenance, saw him look up impatiently during 
 Eva's showy bravura. 
 
 " Why, he does not know one note from 
 another." 
 
 ^' He did not once, but he does now." 
 
 Eva stopped, ran a light prelude of cadences, 
 and began a soft plaintive Irish melody. 
 
 Ernest was seated at a distance, conversing 
 with his father. By degrees, he ceased talk- 
 ing, and at last, rose and came over to the 
 instrument. 
 
 " That is a pretty air, far before those rattling 
 things. Play on!" for she had stopped when he 
 approached. 
 
 "What shall I play?" 
 
 " Play some church music." 
 
 She looked puzzled. 
 
 " I do not know any." 
 
 " Have you no churches in Ireland ? " he asked 
 with a grave smile. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 MUTATION. 
 
 " Yes plenty ; nearly one in every parish." 
 
 " And have you no music in them ?" 
 
 " In the Dublin churches there are organs. 
 Psalms they play. I never learnt any." 
 
 " Have you no music in your own parish 
 church?" 
 
 ''No, unless you call the old clerk bleating 
 out the psalms, music : it is a name no one else 
 ever gave it." 
 
 "More shame for your clergyman, whoever 
 he is; and more shame for you young ladies 
 to whom God has given voices, not to use them 
 in his service." 
 
 " No one could sing with the clerk." 
 
 " Then the clerk ought to be stopped. Sing- 
 ing is a part of our Church service, ordained 
 by our ritual : surely it ought to be performed 
 in a proper manner." 
 
 "I never thought about it. I have heard 
 there is good music at the chapel." 
 
 " Dissenting chapel ?" 
 
 "No, there are no Dissenters about us: the 
 Catholic chapel." 
 
 " Roman Catholic, you mean." 
 
 " Yes ; " she rose to leave the piano. 
 
 " Do not go away. Sing something."
 
 OLD SCENES. 149 
 
 " What shall I sing ? Do not ask for psalms, 
 for I do not know any.'* 
 
 "Well, sing what you like; only let it not 
 be about love and nonsense." 
 
 " Do the two go together in your vocabulary ? " 
 she asked with a smile. 
 
 " I believe they do in most people's. What 
 are you waiting for ? It will be prayer- 
 time." 
 
 "I was running over all my songs in my 
 mind, looking for one with no love in it. I 
 think this will do." 
 
 She struck a few chords and began Moore's 
 ^ Indian Boat.'
 
 150 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DISCUSSION. 
 
 For some days, from that night, Eva seldom 
 saw Ernest, except when they met at meal 
 times. He was much away : sometimes paying 
 morning visits; for as he looked forward to re- 
 turning to reside in his native county, he wished 
 to keep up his acquaintance in it: sometimes 
 'he went for long walks accompanied by his 
 younger brothers, now at home for the holidays ; 
 sometimes, but very rarely, he joined the ladies 
 for a stroll. When he and Eva did meet, there 
 was but little conversation between them, and 
 that was not unlikely to be reproof on his 
 side and repartee on hers. But whether its 
 piquancy gave it zest, or whether he thought 
 his bright cousin would be the better for a 
 little wholesome discipline, towards the end 
 of the first week of his visit, he more fre- 
 quently joined the ladies in the drawing-room.
 
 DISCUSSION. 151 
 
 and was usually lounging about the terrace 
 door at the hour of their evening walk ; and 
 whichever sister was Eva's companion, was 
 the one by whose side he always ranged him- 
 self. It was generally Agnes — she and Eva were 
 the great friends^ 
 
 One morning, the girls were all seated on 
 the broad low window-sill that ran round the 
 deep recess formed by the bay window of the 
 drawing-room. The elder sisters were work- 
 ing, the two little ones playing with their dolls, 
 and Eva was reading aloud, when Ernest and 
 a younger brother, Charles, the third son, came 
 along the terrace. 
 
 " Oh, quite a party," said Ernest, approaching 
 the window and looking in, "Eva as usual the 
 centre of attraction. Come, Charles, we will swell 
 the audience." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Eva, laughing and closing 
 her book, " it is all about * love and nonsense.' " 
 
 " So, I suppose. It is all you young ladies think 
 about when you get together. Come, let us hear." 
 
 " No, no ; it is too foolish for you ; you must 
 be content with our conversation. We will try 
 to talk wisely. Niinnie darling, reach me my 
 embroidery off the table."
 
 152 MUTATION. 
 
 " This looks a very wise thing," said Ernest 
 taking from the child's hand and holding up 
 a handkerchief all lace, except a small square 
 patch of fine cambric in the centre, on which 
 Eva was embroidering her name. " What is 
 this?" 
 
 " A pocket-handkerchief." 
 
 " And may I ask what is the purpose, the 
 natural use of a pocket-handkerchief? " 
 
 " I have heard searching questions are very 
 ill bred, and I think they are particularly so 
 when they must have ugly answers." 
 
 " I have got an ugly habit, I know, of calling- 
 things by their right names." 
 
 ^^Even you, Ernest, must allow, that some 
 things not only may not be called by their 
 names, but must not be alluded to at all, in 
 polite society." 
 
 " Well, if I should find myself in polite society, 
 and require to say, ' I want to blow my nose,' how 
 am I to express it ? " 
 
 " Well, I think you might manage to perform 
 the operation without calling any one's attention 
 to it unnecessarily : but, if you must needs talk 
 about it, say *I must use my handkerchief.' 
 The handkerchief by that means will be the one of
 
 DISCUSSION. 153 
 
 the two contracting parties most connected with 
 the company's ideas." 
 
 " I will try to remember. And does Miss 
 Desmond ever condescend to do any more useful 
 kind of work than this?" 
 
 *' Oh, Ernest, Eva can do anything," said his 
 sister M3rra. 
 
 ^' What does ' anything ' include ? I should 
 like to see if our ideas of the word 'useful ' accord 
 better than those of the article pocket-handker- 
 chief." 
 
 " I made this dress that I am wearing." 
 
 " You did ! without assistance ? " 
 
 ^' Without assistance. Cut it out myself and 
 made it." 
 
 ''Well, I do call that useful; and very nice 
 it looks. His eye fell with a pleased expression 
 on the slight pliant figure which the light muslin 
 dress so well became." 
 
 " Eva made these pretty ribbon bracelets for 
 us," said Myra. 
 
 "And Eva dressed our dolls, and gived them to 
 us," chimed in little Arlette. 
 
 " I am beginning to think Eva is something 
 more than ornamental," said Ernest, with a quiet 
 smile.
 
 154 MUTATION. 
 
 " There, Eva ! " said Myra, " you ought to be 
 flattered. It is not an easy thing to provoke a 
 compliment from Ernest." 
 
 " It was not provoked, Mysie," said her brother : 
 "it was deserved." 
 
 Eva's smile was a grateful one. There was 
 a pause. The needles plied busily, and no sound 
 was heard but their strike against the thimbles. 
 Ernest broke the silence at last. 
 
 " How quick time goes ! Ten days of my holi- 
 day are already gone. Another nine, and I must 
 be again at work." 
 
 " Does the work lighten at all ? " asked 
 Agnes. 
 
 "Not a bit. Graham does nothing that he 
 can help, and is continually away." 
 
 " But that is not keeping his agreement. I 
 wonder you bear it. 
 
 " How can I not bear it ? The conditions 
 of the agreement were indefinite ; more understood 
 in spirit than expressed in letter. I could do 
 nothing but remonstrate. I would not wish 
 to do that ineffectually, and should Graham 
 disregard it, I have no power of resistance." 
 
 " Is your rector's name Graham ? " asked Eva. 
 
 " He is not my rector. He is curate of a
 
 DISCUSSION. 155 
 
 distpct in a very large parish. He oVerworked 
 and knocked himself up, and I engaged with 
 him as an assistant-curate. While his illness 
 continued I was to work the district under his 
 direction, and as he recovered he was to take 
 his share; which share he takes care shall be 
 a precious small one. The agreement never 
 determined the proportions, but I understood the 
 work was to be equally divided." 
 
 '^ And could you not tell him so ? A man who 
 cannot think of others without assistance must be 
 reminded." 
 
 " I could of course remonstrate ; but as I 
 said before, he might not heed it. Or I could 
 ' draw cross ' with him, and when he went away 
 reduce the surplice work to that of an ordinary 
 parish." 
 
 " Why, do you say more prayers than other 
 people ? " 
 
 ^^ We have daily service ; keep the saints'-days 
 and festivals, besides two full services on Sun- 
 days." 
 
 '' Why you must be Puseyites ! " 
 
 ^* Oh Eva ! " said both the girls. 
 
 " What could they do more ! Do you preach in 
 your surplice ? "
 
 156 MUTATION. 
 
 He nodded his head. Eva edged away her chair 
 from him in mimic terror. 
 
 " Is there anything more dreadful in preaching 
 a sermon in a surplice than in reading prayers in 
 it?" 
 
 " No, except that the Puseyites do it ? " 
 
 '' Is that your only objection ? " 
 
 ^* Well yes. I believe it is. I never] saw any 
 one do it." 
 
 " The Rubric ordains it so, and clergymen are 
 bound to obey the Rubric." 
 
 " But no one does it except the Puseyites." 
 
 " Use that word a little less glibly, young 
 lady. I do not think you know its meaning." 
 
 " No indeed, and hope I never shall. I want to 
 have nothing to do with them : all I know is, they 
 are not good Protestants and they pretend not to 
 be Catholics." 
 
 ^^They pretend no such thing. They are 
 Catholics." 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 •' Yes, and you too." 
 
 ^' No, no. You have never been in Cavan, or 
 you would not call a Desmond a Catholic." 
 
 " Are you not a member of that Holy Catholic 
 Church, which you profess to believe in every
 
 DISCUSSION. 157 
 
 Sunday, as it seems you only say your prayers 
 upon Sundays." 
 
 " Oh, I know what you are at. Wanting them 
 called Roman Catholics. And now, a truce with 
 your theology, for I would very soon be out of my 
 depth." 
 
 " I should like to see how deep you could go." 
 '* Well, you are at the bottom now ; so sound 
 me no more : I am very shallow." 
 
 " Do any more people come to your morning 
 service, Ernest?" asked Agnes. 
 
 " No ; we have no one but the school children, 
 and servants." 
 
 '^ And do you think it worth having service for 
 them ? " asked Eva. 
 
 "No, their attendance is compulsory; and 
 I do not think it is worth the tie that daily service 
 is to a clergyman: it fetters him so completely. 
 But Graham thinks it right, and he directs the 
 work: I am not a responsible agent in the 
 parish. Except in a matter of right and wrong, 
 I have not even an opinion. If he throws all 
 the work on me, I can of course reduce it ; but 
 it would make a quarrel between us, and must only 
 be an extreme necessity." 
 
 " I think," said Eva, " a little evinced displeasure.
 
 158 MUTATION. 
 
 though it may not amount to remonstrance, does 
 much towards checking an encroaching power 
 of that kind. As far as my little experience 
 goes, the more one bears the more one is put 
 upon in this world, and if you let any one take 
 your coat they will be very apt to make you give 
 them your cloak also." 
 
 *^ You must not jest out of Scripture, Eva," said 
 her cousin gravely. 
 
 Agnes, who had left the room with a note during 
 the latter part of this conversation, now returned, 
 the note in her hand. She looked perplexed. 
 
 " Agnes, "vvhy that pensive brow ? " said Eva. 
 
 "It is such a worry this bad memory of mine; 
 I quite forgot to send this note in the bag, so I 
 desired Murray take it to the gate house, but the 
 mail had passed." 
 
 " Is it of consequence ? " 
 
 *' Yes ; for papa will be angry." 
 
 " Send it to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow will not do. It is to the butcher 
 to order meat, and his cart comes early to-morrow. 
 I do not know what papa will say" and she looked 
 ready to cry. 
 
 " What can he say? He has such a bad memory 
 himself."
 
 DISCUSSION. 159 
 
 " Yes, but lie expects me to remember. I am 
 so vexed." 
 
 " I will tell you what we can do — take it over to 
 Reddestone. The mail does not leave till five 
 o'clock. I dare say Ernest will put us over in the 
 boat. Will you Ernest?" 
 
 *^ Yes, if Agnes wishes." 
 
 " I wish, but I do not know whether papa will 
 like." 
 
 " Why say anything to him about it ? What 
 need he know how it goes ?" 
 
 '' Papa likes to know everything, Eva." 
 
 *^ My dear Agnes, it is not well for men to 
 know everything. What earthly good could it 
 do Uncle Clifton to know that the butcher's 
 note went by one mail car instead of another. 
 There is no wickedness in that : is there, 
 Ernest?" 
 
 ^^ I see nothing wrong in it ; but if Agnes does, 
 she would be wrong to do it." 
 
 " You are the funniest set of people I ever 
 met: I do not wish to do what is wrong my- 
 self — I try not ; but you make harm out of what 
 I think the extreme of goodness." 
 
 " If you have any idea that my father will not 
 like it, Agnes, go and tell him that you have
 
 160 MUTATION. 
 
 forgotten the note, and we are going to cross 
 over to Reddestone with it," said Ernest. 
 
 Agnes went. Shortly she returned with the 
 unlucky note, looking still more troubled than 
 before ; tears were in her eyes. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Papa is very vexed : says I am very negli- 
 gent when others are depending on me." 
 
 " But what did he say about Reddestone ?" 
 
 "Nothing. He said he would not trouble 
 himself about it, but leave me to manage as I 
 could." 
 
 " That is the best thing he could say, if he will 
 only keep to it. Come, get your bonnet, Agnes, 
 before he changes." 
 
 " Eva, how can you talk so of papa ? " 
 
 " Because I have good reason : come." 
 
 She had got half-way to the door when it 
 opened, and Mr. Clifton's head appeared. 
 
 " Agnes, I will not have the note taken to 
 Reddestone. Leave it as it is, now." 
 
 " But will any meat come, papa?" said the poor 
 delinquent, humbly. 
 
 " To-morrow Avill be Friday : we can turn 
 Catholics and fast," said Eva. 
 
 "What?" asked Agnes.
 
 DISCUSSION. 161 
 
 " Agnes, it is to what I am saying that you 
 are to attend, if you please, not to Eva." 
 
 " What are you saying, papa ? " inquired the 
 bewildered girl. 
 
 *' I am saying that it is a great regret to me, 
 that you, who have now duties to perform which 
 involve the comfort of others" (he had said all 
 this before), '' do not try more to counteract, by 
 attention, the defects of your memory. These 
 continual forgetfulnesses cause me not only in- 
 convenience but expense, and I do think it is 
 incumbent on you to try and correct the fault. 
 It is a very inexcusable one, inasmuch as atten- 
 tion wdll always assist memory." 
 
 " Indeed, papa, I do try to attend." 
 
 " Well, I hope I shall see better results. And 
 now, I will direct you what to do, if you 
 can give your attention to me instead of to Eva." 
 
 Agnes's eyes had wandered from her father's 
 face to the window where Eva was gently play- 
 ing with the children, her eye occasionally seeking 
 Ernest's with an expression which would have 
 been more wicked, but for his rebuking look. 
 
 " I will not stay in the room at all. No one 
 shall put any mischance to the meat on me, or 
 perhaps I shall get none of it when it comes." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 MUTATION. 
 
 She gaily sprang through the window : the 
 children, with a shout of pleasure, followed her, 
 and all three were at high play, when Ernest 
 joined them, and was cheated into taking part 
 in the fun, instead of administering the lecture 
 he intended, on Eva's want of deferential manner 
 to her uncle.
 
 SECKETS. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SECRETS. 
 
 " AaNES, dear," said Eva, one day, tenderly pass- 
 ing her arm round lier cousin's waist and drawing 
 her into the shady shrubbery walk, " this fair 
 face of yours is sometimes shaded, when I think 
 the shadow does not come from things visible. 
 Shall I divine a little, and see if I cannot dis- 
 cover where the cloud does come from ? " 
 
 " Where would be the use, Eva, dear?" 
 
 " Because clouds can sometimes be dispersed 
 by the influence of a little genial warmth — that 
 of friendship for instance. Do not turn away 
 your head, Agnes. I will not probe too roughly' 
 Tell me, in the first instance, why does he never 
 come here now ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " You know whom I mean, Agnes. He visited 
 here when I was over last." 
 
 M 2
 
 164 MUTATION. 
 
 '' Yes : but he has never been here since poor 
 mamma " 
 
 Her eyes filled : she paused. 
 
 '' He has not been invited, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No : no one has, you know." 
 
 " Do you never meet elsewhere ? " 
 
 ^^ I have not seen him for fourteen months." 
 
 " But you would like to ? " 
 
 " What use is that, when I cannot ? " 
 
 *' Unless it could be managed. He does not 
 call ; did he ever?" 
 
 "No: he always came for a few days at a 
 time." 
 
 " Then he could not well come without being 
 asked. Does Ernest know him well ? " 
 
 '* No, Ernest was at college when he was most 
 here." 
 
 " But he is acquainted with him?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Might not he mention it to your father ?" 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " Do not look so frightened. Nothing about 
 you. Might not he suggest inviting Mr. Oakley 
 here?" 
 
 '^ But Ernest knows nothing about him." 
 
 " Would you mind his knowing ? "
 
 SECRETS. 165 
 
 " I should. I do not know — I tliink I should. 
 What would you think ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know enough of the relation be- 
 tween you to give an opinion. I do not know 
 what has passed between you and Mr. Oakley." 
 
 « Very little." 
 
 *^ If you would not mind confiding your affairs 
 to me, I could judge better." 
 
 "Then I will, Eva. I will tell you all. I 
 never feel shy or ashamed with you : you are 
 always so kind, so ready to help one. But you 
 must promise to tell no one. There is not a^ 
 being on the earth to whom I would bare my 
 feelings as I would to you." 
 
 " I promise I will tell no one without your 
 permission." 
 
 Eva listened with a kindly interest, and ques- 
 tioned with tender delicacy, avoided remarking 
 on the answers or looking at her companion's 
 crimson face. When the narrative was con- 
 cluded she felt disappointed ; she thought there 
 had been more to tell than there was. It seemed 
 to her that Agnes had allowed her own feelings to 
 blind her, had attached an undue importance to 
 trifling events, through the colouring of those 
 feelings, and had built her hopes on too slender
 
 166 MUTATION. 
 
 a foundation. She was too kindly truthful to 
 buoy her up with confidence of the realization 
 of her hopes; too kindly compassionate to mortify 
 her by crushing tliem. 
 
 "It seems a doubtful case, dear Agnes: one 
 not easily solved ; for if you yourself cannot 
 form an estimate of the extent of Mr. Oakley's 
 affection for you, -how can I, who never see 
 you together ? " 
 
 " But we have not met for so long, Eva. If 
 I could but see him " 
 
 " That is what I am thinking of. A little 
 help is worth a great deal of pity. It seems to 
 me if you could see him oftener, you would 
 soon be able to judge whether his former admira- 
 tion of you continued: I should think it would," 
 she looked fondly at her cousin. " At all events, 
 you would see ; and if it did not, you would be 
 more content to give up all thought of him: 
 would you not ? " 
 
 ^* I suppose I ought. But it seems to me that 
 while I live I never can give up thinking of 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, darling, you would ; if he did not think 
 of you." 
 
 " Oh, Eva, you do not know how long I have
 
 SECEETS. 167 
 
 loved him; almost since I can remember: when 
 I was quite a small child, and was used to go 
 to children's parties. He was frequently at 
 them; was, I suppose, staying at the houses 
 where they were, and he used to speak kindly 
 to me and give me nice things to eat. I was a 
 very shy child: I never used to speak to him; 
 but I liked to hear him talk. For a long time 
 I did not know his name, only his appearance ; 
 and as soon as I saw he was in the room, when 
 we went to a party, I used to feel so happy and 
 contented. He was often here in the holidays, 
 and I was always making some excuse to come 
 into the room where he was. I never spoke ; 
 only liked to look at him. Then we met at the 
 Spa, after I left school. He came out sketching 
 every day with me ; but I never could sketch 
 worth looking at while he was there." 
 
 " Poor Agnes ! Now let me tell you what I was 
 thinking of. Ernest seems very fond of you. 
 Don't you think if he knew that you liked Mr. 
 Oakley, he would manage that you should have 
 an opportunity of seeing him sometimes ? " 
 
 « But how tell Ernest ? " 
 
 " I will do that, if you think you would like it." 
 
 " I would like anything that brought Mr.
 
 168 MUTATION. 
 
 Oakley here. But I feel so ashamed of Ernest 
 knowing." 
 
 " Would you mind it less if I only spoke of it 
 as my own suspicion; without saying you had 
 confided it to me?" 
 
 " I think I should." 
 
 " Then that is what I will do. We shall hear 
 what he says." 
 
 " Dear Eva, how kind you are ! you always 
 seem to think so of others." 
 
 " I do not like to see any one unhappy, and if 
 possible I like people to be happy in their own 
 way. It seems to me you nourish this sorrow 
 because there is a latent spark of hope in it. 
 But you must try to remember it is an uncertain 
 one, and if it is crushed, be prepared to bear it." 
 
 " I will try. But, Eva, do not speak to Ernest 
 until he is going away. I could not bear to have 
 him looking at me after he knew it. Ernest has 
 such a speaking look." 
 
 •* Yery well : I will not." 
 
 The two cousins kissed and parted to dress for 
 dinner.
 
 THE "odd" letter. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE "ODD LETTER. 
 
 " Are you coining to fish, Ernest ?" asked Charles 
 of his brother, as he encountered him on the 
 terrace one morning that the weather seemed 
 propitious for the sport.. "Trout ought to rise, 
 well to-day. Shall I fetch your rod ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know, let us see what the ladies 
 are going to do." He strolled up to a window in 
 the end of the hall and looked in. Eva was 
 seated at a round table, stooping over some occu- 
 pation at which she was so busily employed she 
 did not perceive him. 
 
 He tapped at the window. She looked up 
 and smiled. 
 
 *^ Will you come and fish ?" 
 
 " Not with you : I gabble as much as ever, 
 and as great nonsense." 
 
 " But I am not so keen a sportsman as ever, 
 and I will teach you to talk sense."
 
 170 MUTATION. 
 
 " What would you do, if instead, I taught you 
 to talk nonsense ? " 
 
 He smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "Not likely. Come." 
 
 " I cannot, indeed, Ernest. The Milwards are 
 coming, and Agnes will he vexed if I go out of 
 the way. Besides I am very busy." 
 
 " Do you mean to fish, Ernest?" asked Charles, 
 after waiting a while. 
 
 " Well I think not to-day." He sauntered 
 romid the corner, and entered the hall where Eva 
 was at work. Strolling up to the table, he stood 
 behind her chair watching her. 
 
 *^What are you doing, Eva, cutting up that 
 painted rose into such thin strips." 
 
 " Making a fly-trap for Agnes's album." 
 
 " You seem to be always emplo^^ed for some 
 one besides yourself. And what is this superfine 
 thing to be?" 
 
 She pulled up the centre by its thread of silk, 
 " Will you look inside ? But no, I forgot : it is all 
 love and nonsense;" she pressed down the trans- 
 parent p3rramid again and covered it with her 
 open palm. 
 
 " Come, let me see," persisted Ernest possessing 
 himself of the slight, delicate hand.
 
 THE "odd" letter. 171 
 
 " Well, first read the caution." She pointed to 
 a line neatly written beneath the rose. 
 
 *' He who pulls the rose must brave the thorn." 
 
 "Do you know the meaning of the rose, in 
 the language of flowers ? " 
 
 Ernest did not. 
 
 " Beauty. Will you venture ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She drew up the silk again, and through the 
 open sides could be seen a beautiful little figure 
 of Cupid with arrow ready notched in his bent 
 bow. Ernest smiled. , 
 
 "Who made it?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Copied it, I suppose." 
 
 "No; designed it. It is original, I assure you. 
 I thought of it one night in bed; and thought 
 morning would never come that I might get up 
 and make it : that is, the one in my own album ; 
 this I made from memory. You have not told me 
 what you think of it." 
 
 " That it is like yourself, very pretty 
 and " 
 
 " Very foolish ; say it out." 
 
 " How do you know but I was going to say, 
 very clever?"
 
 172 MUTATION. 
 
 ^' Because you would not have made that dead 
 pause if you were." 
 
 Here Charles entered the hall with the post- 
 bag dangling on his arm, an open letter in his hand. 
 
 "A letter from Ned, from Gibraltar," he said. 
 
 '* For whom ?" asked his brother. 
 
 " For Agnes. Papa opened and read it. Here 
 is a note for Eva which was enclosed." 
 
 '^ I hope your papa had not the curiosity to read 
 that ? " she said quickly. Ernest's eye was fixed 
 gravely on her. 
 
 " Are there secrets in it ? " he asked. 
 
 " How can I tell what is in it until I read it ? 
 I dare say nothing he intended his father to read : 
 give it to me, Charles." 
 
 " Here it is, its secret safe. The chief did not 
 meddle with it." 
 
 '^ Does Ned always correspond with you, 
 Eva ? " asked Ernest. 
 
 " Not regularly. He writes me an odd letter." 
 
 " By that odd word I believe you mean an 
 occasional letter ? " 
 
 " Yes : what you English call ' one, once in a 
 way.' A round-about mode of expression which 
 we taciturn Irish condense into one word, and 
 that a short one."
 
 THE " odd" lettee. 173 
 
 " ' Taciturn ' is an adjective I never heard 
 applied to the Irish before. Does Will Ingram 
 write to you ? " 
 
 "Yes: I believe all the absent cousins write 
 to me now and again. You are the only excep- 
 tion." 
 
 " Well, when you go back to Ireland I must 
 write you an odd letter. But my letters you 
 would soon tire of." 
 
 "Oh, do not write often enough to tire me. 
 Just occasionally, like the others do, to keep up 
 the acquaintance." 
 
 "Very well. May I read Ned's letter?" He 
 held out his hand. 
 
 " No ; you might be copying ; and I wish your 
 letters to be original." 
 
 He did not look quite pleased, but he made no 
 remark. 
 
 That evening, as Eva and Agnes were strolling 
 through the shrubbery, the former drew a letter 
 from her pocket. 
 
 " Here is Eddie's letter for you, Agnes. 
 Ernest wanted to read it, but I would not let 
 him ; there is so much nonsense in it. I thought 
 Eddie had long since forgotten that foolish fancy 
 of his."
 
 174 MUTATION. 
 
 "So did I at one time," replied her cousin, 
 taking the letter, " but since he has gone abroad 
 there have been allusions in his letters that make 
 me change my mind. This one seems full of love." 
 " Most of his letters are : but he has not written 
 before for a long time." 
 
 " How do you reply to his letters ? " 
 " Just as I do to the other cousins. Take no 
 notice of his being different. He says nothing of 
 Willie Ingram being at Gibraltar." 
 
 "No, there is not much friendship between 
 those two : Ernest and Willie were the great 
 friends : more of an age." 
 
 ^'But they are so wholly different — I can 
 hardly imagine them companions." 
 
 " Yet they always were, from the smallest 
 children. Afterwards at school, then as sports- 
 men. Eddie w^as younger, and not allowed to 
 fish and shoot when they were, and Willie was 
 used to be very ill-natured ; would laugh at him 
 and desire him go to the nurse for a top, he could 
 not be trusted with a gun." 
 
 " I wonder Ernest permitted it." 
 " Ernest never joined, and did sometimes check 
 it; though he thought Eddie foolish to mind. 
 But a boy is easily mortified. I cannot bear to
 
 THE "odd" letter. 175 
 
 see any one's feelings hurt. Eddie was not often 
 with them. Ernest was always the one invited to 
 Hislop, He is a great favourite with Uncle 
 Herbert. He says Ernest must marry some one 
 rich ; that he deserves money." 
 
 " Perhaps he would give him that rich ward 
 he has." 
 
 "Clara Neville !" 
 
 " Oh ! Eva, she is a fool/' said Myra, who had 
 just joined them.
 
 176 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DIPLOMACY. 
 
 " And so you have never been to the top of Redde- 
 stone hill, Eva ; what a shame ! " said Ernest, as 
 he walked by his cousin's side watching the setting 
 sun crest every crag and pine top with golden 
 light. " My holiday is nearly over, or I could show^ 
 you every stump and crevice in it : I know them 
 by heart. It is too far for you to walk, but why 
 not take one ride there before I go ? The view 
 westward is magnificent. Will you come to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " I should like it greatly, if it can be managed." 
 
 '^ Of course it can be managed. The ponies 
 are idle in the field. I will have them got in 
 early in the morning." 
 
 " You had better ask papa, Ernest," said 
 Agnes. 
 
 *' And if you do there will be no ride," said 
 Eva.
 
 I 
 
 DIPLOilACY. 177 
 
 " It is the surest way of having one," replied 
 Agnes, " papa does not like people being inde- 
 pendent of him." 
 
 ^^Well, I will ask him," said Ernest "So 
 great hardship in that. " 
 
 '* What am I to do for garments, if the ride 
 does come off? " said Eva, **' I have no equestrian 
 costume with me." 
 
 ^' What do you want ? who do you suppose 
 will see you on the top of Reddestone Hill, or in 
 the lanes crettincr there ? " 
 
 " Will not you ? " She looked up half-archly^ 
 half-demurely. 
 
 " Bosh ! " but he looked more amused and less 
 provoked than he would have done a week 
 before. 
 
 " I will lend you a skirt, Eva,'' said Mysie, 
 " and Agnes, I 'm sure, can give you a jacket.'' 
 
 " Listen to sensible !" said Charles, as if Aggy's 
 jacket would fit Eva, 
 
 " Mysie, when do you intend to think before 
 you speak ? " said her eldest brother. 
 
 '• How you do cavil at what a poor body says," 
 said Eva. " Thank you Mysie for the skirt, I 
 will see if I cannot cover the upper part myself. 
 I do not think Ernest will be fastidious." 
 
 VOL. L N
 
 178 MUTATION. 
 
 " Put on a bonnet and shawl and don't be 
 foolish," said Ernest. 
 
 " Mind the ponies, you Ernest : the costume 
 is my province ; I will look my very best and 
 bring you home with a sore heart." 
 
 He drew off his glove and threw it on the 
 table before her, with a quiet smile of defiance. 
 
 The smile with which she picked it up was 
 less quiet, more arch, but equally defiant. No 
 one on earth knew less than did those two cousins 
 the state of their own feelings. 
 
 Ernest went to seek for his father and came 
 back looking disappointed. The ride could not 
 be. His father could not spare a man to bring in 
 the ponies, and the groom was to be away next 
 morning. Ernest said, he and Charles would 
 catch the ponies, and the coachman should rub 
 them down, but it was no use : the ride had not 
 originated with Mr. Clifton, and there were always 
 good and sufficient reasons, which no one but 
 himself could see, against anything which had 
 not emanated from himself being carried into 
 effect. So Ernest communicated his ill success to 
 Eva with a cloud upon his handsome face, which 
 a trifling disappointment did not usually gather 
 there, and Eva gently and kindly tried to disperse
 
 DIPLOMACY. 179 
 
 it, no ray of raillery in the soft beam of her 
 eye. 
 
 That evening, as the whole party at Oakstone 
 strolled along the river side, Mr. Clifton remarked 
 to Eva, — 
 
 *' Ernest tells me you have never been on 
 Reddestone Hill. If you wish you may ride 
 there some day. The ponies are generally dis- 
 engaged." 
 
 " Thank you, uncle ; I should like it very 
 much." 
 
 " One of the boys will, I am sure, be very* 
 happy to escort you. You will have the prettiest 
 view in Wiltshire." 
 
 " I am sure the view must be beautiful." 
 
 " It is : if I could get time to ride there with you 
 myself, I could better explain the different objects 
 of local interest. Young people think too little of 
 these things. They imagine any characteristic 
 connected with their native place beneath their 
 notice. Perhaps some day " 
 
 " I think I see a fisherman yonder : I thought 
 you preserved this river, uncle? " said Eva, 
 adroitly, to whom the prospect of the ride was 
 fast becoming less attractive. 
 
 Her uncle stopped suddenly, and went down 
 
 N2
 
 180 MUTATION. 
 
 the river bank to examine. It was but a shep- 
 herd's crook Eva had mistaken for a fishing-rod. 
 Wlien Mr. CHfton returned she had strolled on ; 
 Ernest was by her side. 
 
 " What a pity, Ernest, my uncle did not say 
 that last night instead of this." 
 
 " About the ponies. Why ?'* 
 
 " Because then we could have gone to-day." 
 
 "Why not to-morrow? I will ride with 
 you." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you are going with your father to 
 dine at Bagley." 
 
 " But we shall not go early. There is the 
 morning : two things can be done in one day." 
 
 " Yes, but your father does not think they can. 
 For the same people to ride up Reddestone Hill, 
 and to dine three miles beyond Hilton, on the 
 same day, would seem to him a physical impossi- 
 bility." 
 
 " We shall try. I will speak to him." 
 
 " If you do you lose your only chance. Could 
 we not circumvent him and go ? " 
 
 " Without his knowledge ? That must not be." 
 
 " Well, with his knowledge. Only let him not
 
 DIPLOMACT. 181 
 
 have it until it is too late to prevent us. Order 
 in the ponies to-night ; do, please, Ernest. Let 
 me have it to say, I got one concession from you." 
 She looked up and smiled — a coaxing, winning 
 smile. Ernest's eye softened as he rested on it, 
 notwithstanding his gaged glove. 
 
 " Well, let it be so for once. Come in with 
 me the back way, and I will desire Murray to get 
 them in. You ought to have been named Eve, 
 not Eva."
 
 182 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 THE GIPSY. 
 
 Eya awoke next morning conscious of some 
 unusual commotion being in the house: doors 
 were opening and shutting quickly : voices could 
 be heard in question and answer, and not in 
 their everyday, common-place key. It was some 
 little time before she was sufficiently awake to 
 comprehend what it was : but, at last, the word 
 " pony " struck her ear, and in a moment, she 
 was as thoroughly awake as if she had had 
 her sponge bath ; her hearing painfully acute ; 
 she could hear Ernest's voice, and liis father's; 
 and her own name was mentioned ; then a door 
 was banged somewhat sharply, and a heavy tread, 
 — she believed it to be Ernest's — slowly descended 
 the stairs. 
 
 " As sure as fate it is some row about the 
 ponies," thought Eva, and she began to conjecture 
 whether it were better to get up and brave it out.
 
 THE GIPST. 183 
 
 or to saj she was sick, and stop in bed. While she 
 wavered, the housemaid came in with hot water. 
 Eva w^as above asking questions relating to the 
 family from a servant; but she thought there 
 could be no harm in inquiring if she knew whether 
 the ponies had been brought in. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, please. But the Durham calf 
 as master bought at the show has been lost, and 
 Murray thinks as how it has been stole; and 
 there 's a fair in Devizes to day, and master 's 
 afraid as how they'll sell it, and Murray is gone 
 off on Brown Bess after it." 
 
 " Oh, is that it ? I^heard something : I did not 
 'know what it was." 
 
 " Per'aps, ma'am, it was Mr. Ernest you heard. 
 Murray said Mr. Ernest wanted the ponies, and 
 master was angry, and Mr. Ernest said as how he 
 could do without." 
 
 Eva said no more, and the maid left the room. 
 
 " What a day the old calf should be lost," 
 she muttered, as she rose to dress. " Come in." 
 
 Mysie opened the door and entered. " There 
 has been such a contretemps, Eva." 
 
 " I have heard it. The calf is gone, and Brown 
 Bess after her." 
 
 " Yes : Ernest has sent me to ask if you will
 
 184 MUTATION. 
 
 ride with him if he gets Phoebe in — Phoebe is 
 the old pony we had when we were children — 
 Ernest says she will carry him as far as Redde- 
 stone. 
 
 " Yes, of course, I will go. But say to Ernest, 
 why not put me on Phoebe and let him take the 
 strong pony." 
 
 " I will tell him. He also desired me ask you 
 to come down to breakfast ready dressed for 
 riding." 
 
 "Why?" ' 
 
 « He did not say." 
 
 " Does your father know that I am going ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Does he seem pleased ? " 
 
 "Not very." 
 
 " Is Ernest cross ? " 
 
 '^Ernest is never cross. When he is vexed 
 he does not talk, and he is not talking now." 
 
 " Go and ask him if we had not better plan 
 a walk] somewhere, instead of this plaguy 
 ride." 
 
 " Oh no, Eva, he will not like. He seems bent 
 on taking you to Reddestone, and you know you 
 could not walk there." 
 
 " Well, say I will do as he washes, only that I
 
 THE GIPSY. 185 
 
 sent to ask him not to get me into a scrape 
 with his father." 
 
 Myra went, and in a few minutes returned with 
 a riding skirt in her hand. 
 
 " Ernest says you are to dress. He has settled 
 it with papa." 
 
 Eva did dress, but she felt uncomfortable enough 
 at the prospect of encountering her uncle thus 
 equipped. He looked not a little surprised when 
 she appeared. Ernest gave her a grateful glance, 
 and she felt rewarded. 
 
 " You see, uncle," she said, hastening to antici- 
 pate his remark, " I have not been long in avail- 
 ing myself of your kind offer to let me ride to 
 Reddestone. Ernest and I are going there this 
 morning." 
 
 Mr. Clifton never preached to Eva. It did not 
 answer. She demanded reasons, and he had often 
 none to give ; so he made no reply, further than 
 muttering that Ernest thought a great deal could 
 be done in one day ; and contented himself with 
 looking grumpy all breakfast-time. He disap- 
 peared immediately after the meal was over. 
 It was always his habit, when any of the family 
 were going out, to see them oflp ; and give them 
 any parting advice they might require ; but this
 
 186 MUTATION. 
 
 morning, lie was determined not to give the young 
 rebels the encouragement of his countenance, and 
 he kept out of the way — a more agreeable mode 
 of punishment than Eva had dared to hope for. 
 
 Side by side the young cousins rode slowly up 
 the carriage drive. 
 
 " A handsomer couple never passed through 
 this gate," was the coachman's reflection, as, stand- 
 ing with the gate open for them to pass through, 
 he touched his hat respectfully to his young master 
 and his companion. 
 
 '' Now, Eva, take a canter while you may. We 
 shall soon have to go slowly, whether we will or 
 not. Mind, that pony starts at anything white on 
 the side of the road, so be prepared. I did not 
 mean to put you on him, only for this escapade of 
 the calf's. Brown Bess is steadier." 
 
 They cantered along the broad, smooth level 
 road. A hill, at the base of which the road had 
 been cut, rose perpendicular on one side, screening 
 them from the hot beams of the sun by its shadow. 
 On the other side wound the river through the new 
 mown meadow lands, in which now grazed cattle 
 on after-grass of richest green. Straight through 
 stubble and turnip-field ran the canal, as if bent 
 on its business and the shortest way of doing it.
 
 THE GIPSY. 187 
 
 not meandering for its pleasure like the river : 
 the poetry and prose of water. Each contributed 
 a beautiful as well as useful object to the traveller, 
 an aqueduct, and a bridge. They were near 
 together, so near that the arches of the one seen 
 through those of the other formed a row of inter- 
 secting arches of great beauty. Each was a hand- 
 some structure though of different styles. The 
 bridge was venerable and massive, the aqueduct 
 light and airy. Over the former the riders can- 
 tered, and having continued their way about a 
 quarter of a mile further along the road, Ernest 
 signed to his companion to turn off into a lane on 
 her left. 
 
 " I should have thought this would have taken 
 us from, not to Reddestone," she said. 
 
 " It will take us round it. We must get up by 
 the other side : it is too steep on this." 
 
 It was a pretty winding lane with flowery banks, 
 some feet in height, on top of which were high quick- 
 set hedges. Such lanes are only to be met with in 
 England and a most attractive characteristic they 
 are : I know nothing more grateful than to turn 
 off the dusty high road into a cool, green shady 
 lane, which seems as if it were made for yourself 
 so secure are you from having your meditation
 
 188 l^rUTATION. 
 
 broken in upon. In the lane into which our 
 travellers turned, the road was deeply rutted with 
 cart-tracks caused by the carriage of the stone 
 from the quarry. A tortuous thread of reddish 
 sand showed that a mountain spring ran down it in 
 winter : but it was dry now, and the lane, though 
 rough, was clean. Sometimes, through openings 
 in the hedge, could be seen glimpses of the rich 
 and smiling landscape below ; but more often 
 nothing but the lane itself, its high hedges and 
 flowery banks, met the riders' view. In some parts 
 there were many wild strawberry plants in the 
 banks. It was late for the fruit, but in some 
 sheltered places they were but now ripening. A 
 large bunch caught Eva's eye. She pointed them 
 out to Ernest, who, with more gallantry than she 
 expected from him, dismounted and gathered them. 
 Eva's hands were engaged, and when her cousin 
 held up the fruit on his palm to her, she stooped 
 and took it off with her lips, with a little coquetry 
 it may be. 
 
 "Have you no hands?" said the ungrateful 
 Ernest. 
 
 " You are very matter-of-fact," thought Eva, 
 " We are beginning to ascend in earnest now: 
 Phoebe shall take things easy." He put the bridle
 
 THE GIPSY. 189 
 
 on her neck^ and walked by Eva's side ; the old 
 pony following him like a dog. 
 
 *^ What is that, Ernest?" 
 
 They had come in sight of a place where 
 three lanes met, or rather, where two lanes 
 descending from the hill ran into the one lead- 
 ing from the high road and along which the 
 riders had come. At the juncture was a three- 
 cornered open space, somewhat wide ; not all 
 lane, nor yet grass covered ; but rocky and 
 uneven, and partially sprinkled with fern and 
 moss ; and here were pitched what had caused 
 Eva's exclamation. There were several awnings 
 erected on the waste ground, in shape not unlike 
 the top of a waggon and much about the size 
 of an ordinary one. Five or six half-naked chil- 
 dren were playing about the doors, and about the 
 same number of women were squatting round 
 a fire, over which, hung from a triangle stuck 
 in the ground, a pot was boiling, filled no doubt 
 by the previous night's depredations. 
 
 " A gipsy encampment," said Ernest. " If 
 they don't take care, the governor will have a 
 few of them at the treadmill." 
 
 " I see no men, only women and children." 
 
 " The men, no doubt, are out marauding. The
 
 190 MUTATION. 
 
 farmers cannot keep a goose or duck when any of 
 these idle vagabonds are in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Stop and talk to them, Ernest. I never saw 
 gipsies before." 
 
 " Stop and talk to them ! I, a parson and a 
 magistrate's son! No no, that would not do. 
 Have you no gipsies in Ireland ? " 
 
 " I never heard of any." 
 
 " I wish we never heard of them here. You 
 are not going to stop, Eva ? " he added, on seeing 
 her draw her rein. 
 
 " Yes : I want to have my fortune told." 
 
 '^ Nonsense : you shall do no such thing." He 
 put his hand on her bridle and led the pony 
 past the camp. 
 
 But the gipsies had seen encouragement in 
 Eva's look; perhaps, had heard her words. 
 One of the women, who had been seated with 
 a child, about two years old, in her lap, hastily 
 threw it on the ground and approached them. 
 
 Neither Ernest nor his companion heeded that 
 child, thus carelessly thrown aside — they scarcely 
 noted that it was a child ; yet between that child 
 and them there was a tie — woven on earth and 
 in sin for one, in heaven and in purity for the 
 other, which, had they known, would have made
 
 THE GIPSY. 191 
 
 each pause and turn, and not pass thus heedless 
 by. As it was, their attention was engrossed by 
 the woman who had joined them, and who was 
 not of ordinary appearance. She was, for a 
 female, of great height, but of a very thin and 
 wiry make, more masculine in her frame than 
 womanly. The outline of her large prominent 
 features was very harsh and strongly marked : 
 her swarthy parchment - like skin was deeply 
 lined and furrowed; the curve of her mouth 
 sinister, and in her eye was the fire of devilry 
 and cunning. Altogether she was of very unpre- " 
 possessing appearance; a being one would not 
 much like to encounter alone, as a strong sus- 
 picion might exist that a man had used the 
 female dress as a disguise, and a weapon be 
 expected to emerge from those old tattered 
 draperies. Her voice was deep and croaking, 
 but her language was superior to what her 
 appearance would seem to warrant. With a 
 fawning smile which made her look still more 
 revolting, she began — 
 
 " Will the pretty lady cross the gipsy's hand 
 with silver, and hear from them that reads 
 the stars, the fate that 's waiting her beyond the 
 seas?"
 
 192 MUTATION. 
 
 "Don't encourage the old hag, Eva," said 
 Ernest. ** Beyond the seas, indeed ! She knows 
 as well as you do that you come from Ire- 
 land." 
 
 "How could she?" 
 
 '' Easily. They inquire all those things." 
 
 "But I should like to have my fortune told, 
 Ernest." 
 
 ** What nonsense ! I did not believe you to be 
 so silly." 
 
 "I thought you gave me credit for any 
 amount of silliness; but just for once — for 
 fun. She tossed a small coin to the woman 
 who was keeping up with them; Ernest tried 
 to catch and intercept it ; but he missed it, and 
 the gipsy, darting between the pony's feet, clutched 
 it as it fell to the ground. 
 
 "There," said Ernest, "she will promise you 
 a dark man for that. All gipsies give people 
 dark or light lovers according to the colour of 
 the companion they are with." 
 
 " Hold your craven tongue and tell no lies 
 of the children of the sun. They see what 
 others cannot see and read what others cannot 
 spell. I will talk to you of a dark man, lady ; 
 but not of him that guides your horse, and steals
 
 THE GIPSY. 193 
 
 the heart he does not want. Don't give him 
 your warm heart, pretty lady ; you '11 get it 
 back cold and sore. Let me see." She possessed 
 herself of Eva's hand, and peered earnestly at 
 it. Eva left it with her, notwithstanding her 
 cousin's look of reproof. " No, lady, no ; do not 
 look at him. The lines will not meet. There 's 
 a gap between, and people standing in it. But 
 here's another line of a dark stranger beyond 
 the sea, and his head is stored with wisdom and 
 learning ; and you will rise high with him, high 
 up into glory ; and here 's children growing round 
 you, tall and fair. Be wise, lady, be wise. Take 
 happiness where it is, instead of looking for it 
 where it 's not." 
 
 "Eva, are you contented now?" said Ernest. 
 
 ^^ Let go the lady's hand, you old beldame " 
 
 "Is it yours?" asked the gipsy, with a search- 
 ing look. 
 
 " Never mind whether it is or not. Let it go, 
 or my father shall send you to jail for an im- 
 postor." 
 
 The gipsy turned and took a long look at him, 
 a look in which every evil passion seemed con- 
 centrated. 
 
 "He is your father, then, the squire in the hollow 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 1 94 MUTATION. 
 
 below, and you are the parson son that preaches 
 in the churches. I know you now by your white 
 choker and your raven clothes. I thought it was 
 to say prayers and give charity you learnt in them 
 colleges beyond, not to abuse feller creators, or 
 try to prevent them earnin' their honest meat. 
 Aye, and more than that is done there. Little 
 you know " 
 
 " Go, go, my good woman, you are wasting 
 your time; you shall get no more here. No, 
 Eva, no!" 
 
 The gipsy's eye flashed with vindictive fire 
 when she saw him put his hand on Eva's, through 
 whose slender fingers she had caught a glimpse 
 of something shining. 
 
 " I won't go till I 've told your fortune," she 
 said, bitterly. 
 
 " I don't want to hear it. You shall have 
 nothing for telling it." 
 
 " I 'II tell it without. I won't promise you a 
 dark eyed lady, but a yellow haired one. He 
 won't marry you, my pretty one, for your hand, 
 though open, is not full. He'll marry for gold; 
 I see it in his cold reck'ning forehead. And his 
 gold will turn to brass when he has it, for he 
 doesn't know that the true gold is a lovin' heart.
 
 THE GIPSY. 195 
 
 There '11 be no cricket chirpin' at his hearth, for 
 the ashes are cold upon it. There '11 be a screech 
 instead of a song beside it, and his heart will ache 
 sore when he hears the young birds chirp in 
 others' nests, for there is none in his own ; not 
 one, not one!" 
 
 " There, there ; you must not give him so bad 
 a fortune." Eva slipped the coin to the gipsy, 
 believing her companion did not see. It fell upon 
 the ground. The woman marked the spot with 
 her keen eye and continued by their side. 
 
 ''You are not angry, Ernest?" said Eva, seeing 
 his clouded face. 
 
 "I did not believe that you could have been 
 so foolish." 
 
 '' Well, I will not any more. Don't look so 
 grave. You are not really vexed, Ernest ?" She 
 bent down coaxingly to smile away his anger. 
 
 "Aye, foolish moth," said the gipsy, "aye, bend 
 down your winsome head till it touches the viper's ; 
 the viper can sting all the better. One comfort 
 you '11 have for your sore heart and blinded eyes, 
 when the viper stings he kills himself. Smile away, 
 smile away, lady, and take no heed of the gipsy's 
 warning till it's too late to advantage you. It has 
 been so since the world began." She held up her 
 
 2
 
 196 MUTATION. 
 
 dark skinny hand, thin and sharp as a claw, 
 warningly, and gazed after Eva's retiring figure 
 with a sorrowful look that was almost redeeming ; 
 then turning back, she picked up the coin, and 
 returned to the tents. 
 
 Eva looked at her companion, at the handsome 
 open brow from which the shade of displeasure 
 was now passed, and did not believe the gipsy. 
 It has been so since the world began. 
 
 V;- .
 
 REDDESTONE HILL. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 liEDDESTONE HILL. 
 
 The riders now emerged from the lane upon the 
 waste and undulating table-land which lay upon 
 the top of the hill. All rock beneath, it was covered 
 with but sufficient soil to grow a short sedgy gra^s 
 on which a few mountain cattle were feeding. 
 Ernest again mounted his pony and rode up the 
 different rising grounds, showing the view from 
 each to his companion ; pointing out and explain- 
 ing the distant objects. He was more locally 
 interested in, she, perhaps, more acutely suscep- 
 tible of, the beauty of the different landscapes. 
 
 ^' We have not looked that way, yet, Ernest," 
 she said, pointing to one elevated mound at the 
 extreme side from Oakstone. "I want to see 
 what lies between us and yonder blue hill." 
 
 " I have kept that for the last : it is the west- 
 ward view. Don't give your pony his head too 
 much on this open place, Eva ; if he ran away
 
 198 MUTATION. 
 
 with you, you know I could not follow on old 
 Phoebe." 
 
 They rode over the elevation, and descended a 
 little on the other side, to where a clay covered 
 wall bounded the common, and protected any- 
 thing grazing there from the danger of falling 
 into the precipitous quarry below. In front of 
 this wall, which reached to their ponies' heads, the 
 two halted ; Ernest dismounted to ease the pony 
 of his weight, and stood leaning his chest against 
 the wall gazing down upon the view. The old 
 pony ate what grass grew within its reach upon 
 the wall, then, sidling close up to its master, laid 
 its head upon his shoulder as a tired child might 
 have done. There was something touching in the 
 mute confidence of the poor animal. It seemed 
 as if it remembered the many a kindness it had 
 received from that arm since it first became its 
 master eighteen years ago, when the strong power- 
 ful man was a smiling little boy of six years of 
 age. Ernest glanced lovingly at the old grey 
 nose. Without disturbing it, with his other hand 
 he pulled a handful of grass from the turfy top 
 of the wall, beyond the pony's reach, and held it 
 to his old friend. 
 
 Silently the cousins gazed at the view. Its
 
 REDDESTONE HILL. 199 
 
 beauty seemed to have liuslied and composed 
 them to give it their whole unbroken attention. 
 That both were in the enjoyment of pleasurable 
 sensations could be read by the expression of 
 their countenances : his was serene and gravely 
 happy ; hers bright, but softened into thoughtful- 
 ness. Those two had more feelings in common 
 than they thought they had. 
 
 A great extent of country lay between them 
 and the hill which Eva had mentioned. That 
 hill now formed the extreme background to num- 
 berless other hills, which rose in every degree of» 
 height, broken into every imaginable shape oro- 
 logy admits of, between it and the plain. Some 
 were blue in the distance ; some clothed with 
 verdure ; some hung with wood ; parts dark in 
 shadow ; parts dazzling in the sunlight. On some, 
 rested the blue haze so peculiarly an attribute of 
 mountain scenery, and but partially their forms 
 could be discerned beneath : some stood out, bold 
 and prominent, in clear, strong light. Farthest 
 and highest of all, towered Eva's hill, blue as the 
 sky against which it was drawn. From the foot 
 of the craggy precipice the riders stood above, 
 stretched the plain — rich with water and wood, 
 golden grain and verdant mead — towards the
 
 200 MUTATION. 
 
 hills, at the base of which it broke into knoll and 
 dell, swelling lawn and sloping glade, all glowing 
 bright with the sunbeam's sheen. Ernest would 
 have explained some prominent features, but Eva, 
 not caring for aught save the enjoyment of con- 
 templating its beauty, heeded little. He relapsed 
 into silence and reverie only disturbed by the old 
 pony occasionally rubbing her head against his 
 shoulder to let him know that her grass was 
 finished. Mechanically Ernest would pull another 
 handful and give it to her, and lean again upon 
 the wall. 
 
 " My father might as well have told me whether 
 he would come or not," said he, at last, as if think- 
 ing aloud. 
 
 " Come where ? Here ?" 
 
 " No ; to dine at Bagley." 
 
 " I thought he was surely going with you." 
 
 " So he promised Olivant, and so he decided 
 yesterday. But to-day he has been ding-dong at 
 it all morning. One minute he would come, the 
 next he wouldn't. If he would but have said 
 which he would do, I could have managed so much 
 more pleasantly." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Why, if he did not come, I could have shown
 
 REDDESTONE HILL. 201 
 
 you the quarry ; as it is I cannot , and it is worth 
 seeing." 
 
 " But would not you go any way ? " 
 
 " Yes : but I could choose my own time and 
 start when I wished. My wish would be to stay 
 two hours longer on this hill. As it is we must 
 go now : he said, if he went, he would start at 
 twelve o'clock." He drew out his watch. "I might 
 have time to take you round by the quarry, but 
 I forgot to put any silver in my pocket, and these 
 quarry-men expect something when an old ac- 
 quaintance like I am comes by." 
 
 " Perhaps I have some." She looked in her purse. 
 " No, I have only a crown piece and a half-sovereign. 
 Either of those would be too much, I suppose?" 
 
 *' A great deal. A shilling or two is thought 
 an ample donation by those fellows. We must 
 leave the quarry till another time. You will be 
 here again, will you not ? I heard Agnes say so." 
 
 " Uncle Clifton asked me to come again on my 
 way home. But you will not be here ?" 
 
 " My stipulated holiday is a month every year : 
 I have had but three weeks this time : I was 
 thinking, perhaps I could get the other week when 
 you come next." 
 
 " Oh, pray do ; it would be so pleasant."
 
 202 MUTATION. 
 
 '^ How am I to know when it will be ? " 
 
 " Agnes shall tell you." 
 
 " That involves loss of time, and I may require 
 to know it some time before. I cannot get away 
 when I choose. Could you not tell me your- 
 self?" 
 
 '^ I do not know when it will be. I am always 
 kept at Hislop longer than I intend. I could 
 not say now when I shall leave it." 
 
 " No ; not now. When you do know it." 
 
 "Write it?" 
 
 "Yes; you know we are to write an odd 
 letter." 
 
 *^ I do not think that I should like to write 
 the first." 
 
 " Well, I will write it, and you shall answer it. 
 Will that do?" 
 
 " Yes. But you will not write to me until I 
 go to Hislop." 
 
 " Very well, I won't. If you can help it, do 
 not fix on a week that has any saints' days in it : 
 I cannot so well be spared then." 
 
 " How shall I know when a saint's day comes ? " 
 
 " Look in the Prayer Book and you will see. 
 Time is up, we must return." He turned Eva's 
 pony round, and mounted his own.
 
 EEDDESTONE HILL. 203 
 
 " I wonder shall we encounter the gipsy again ? " 
 said Eva. 
 
 " We shall not go that way. I mean to take 
 you home through the village, unless you have 
 a particular wish to renew your acquaintance with 
 her, and hear more of that dark gentleman who is 
 to take you so high up into glory." 
 
 " No ; I do not. But though I do not believ e 
 a word of it, Ernest, I wish she had given you a 
 better fortune." 
 
 " No doubt she would, if I had paid her for it. 
 But don't be in the least unhappy; if you are. 
 content with your fortune, I am perfectly so with 
 mine." 
 
 They descended by a track, beaten on the masses 
 of shingle and rubbish thrown from the quarry, 
 the accumulations of ages, by the carriage of the 
 stone. In some places this track was so steep and 
 slippy, Eva, afraid of falling over the pony's head, 
 wished to dismount, but Ernest said it was all 
 nonsense, and she stayed on in fear and trembling. 
 
 They arrived at the porch entrance punctually 
 to the hour named. The dog-cart was being 
 led round from the yard as they rode up. 
 
 "I have had such a pleasant ride, Ernest. 
 Thank you very much for taking me," said Eva,
 
 204 MUTATION. 
 
 with a happy smile, as he gave her his hand to dis- 
 mount. 
 
 He returned her smile and looked gratified. 
 
 " Charles, that is a good fellow, lead round the 
 nags while I look after my father." He entered 
 the hall where Mr. Clifton was seated. 
 
 " I am ready, sir." 
 
 " Ready for what ? " 
 
 '^ To go to Bagley. The trap is at the door." 
 
 " The dog-cart, you mean. Who ordered it 
 there?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir. I thought it was yourself." 
 
 '' It was not myself, as you call me. Just ask, will 
 you?" 
 
 Ernest stepped out into the porch : he returned 
 in a moment. 
 
 " Murray says, sir, no one told him to come 
 round: but the dog-cart was ordered at twelve 
 o'clock, so he brought it." 
 
 " I w^ish Murray would be good enough to wait 
 for orders," said Mr. Clifton, testily. 
 
 ^' Are you not going, sir ? " 
 
 " I did not say whether I was or not, sir." 
 
 Here Wilson entered with his master's gaiters, 
 (short black ones he always wore when he went 
 out).
 
 REDDESTONE HILL. 205 
 
 " I do believe," exclaimed Mr. Clifton, " the 
 servants want the house to themselves, they seem 
 so determined to pack me off." 
 
 The man stood irresolute. After a while he 
 laid down the gaiters on a hassock near his master's 
 arm-chair, and was leaving the room, when Mr. 
 Clifton called him back — 
 
 " Here I As you brought them ; button them 
 on." 
 
 The gaiters on, Mr. Clifton stood up and walked 
 to the window. He looked up at the sky as 
 if in hopes of seeing something there that would 
 give him a pretext either for going or stopping 
 at home; but there was no help there for an 
 irresolute man ; it was a very ordinary sky, the 
 sun had become less bright, still it was by no 
 means overcast. He returned from the window 
 and stood with his back to the fireplace, a coat tail 
 under each arm, though the grate was empty. 
 Twice he took up his hat and gloves and laid them 
 down again. He looked discontented and worried, 
 the picture of a man in a nervous state of indeci- 
 sion, though the question was only whether he 
 would dine out or at home. His son, calm and 
 unruffled, stood waiting the result. He joined the 
 girls who were grouped in one end of the hall,
 
 206 MCTATION. 
 
 which was fitted up as a morning room, while the 
 other end contained the appurtenances of a hall : 
 Eva was relating the events of the ride and the 
 adventure with the gipsy. 
 
 " And Eva bought a promise of a dark man 
 in Ireland, and seems very well pleased with her 
 bargain," said Ernest, coming up. " Who is this 
 dark man, Eva?" 
 
 Eva could not imagine. She could not think of 
 any one but George Leslie, and he had red hair ; 
 to be sure he dyed it, but she hardly thought 
 the gipsy could mean that. She answered — 
 
 " I do not know. I suppose I have not seen 
 him yet. He is to be a grand fellow, however, 
 and I am to go up into glory with him. It was 
 worth sixpence to know what a rise I am to get." 
 
 " The truth, Eva ! It cost you a shilling." 
 
 " Did you know about the last sixpence ?" 
 
 " I did. But whether or not, you should tell 
 the truth." 
 
 "Bat I did not pay that for my fortune; I 
 knew it at the time : I gave it to propitiate her 
 for you. Unsuperstitious as I am, I did not like 
 the evil fortune she predicted for you." 
 
 " What did she say for Ernest?" asked Agnes, 
 interested.
 
 EEDDESTONE HILL. 207 
 
 " That I was to have a yellow-haired lassie 
 with lots of gold ; only when it comes into my 
 possession, it is to turn into brass. What else, 
 Eva? Something she said about there being 
 no crickets in my house, and, faith, I was very 
 well content with that, I hate them — ^noisy jump- 
 ing things. But I must see have they put 
 the lamps in the dog-cart ; there will be no moon 
 to-night." 
 
 Neither Ernest nor Eva, in relating the gipsy's 
 prophecy, had recurred to the allusion she had 
 made to them two conjointly ; neither had they 
 been asked why they did not, could they have 
 given a reason. 
 
 The clock struck one before Mr. Clifton finally 
 decided the important subject under discussion 
 in his brain, and his decision was to remain at 
 home, so Ernest started without him. 
 
 As dinner-time approached, Eva was in her 
 own room occupied in mounting a drawing on 
 a table at the foot of her bed. Agnes had brought 
 in her crochet work and was sitting in the window 
 keeping her company. They had been for some 
 time silent when Eva, looking up to make a 
 remark, saw Agnes's eyes fixed intently on some- 
 thing in the direction of the road.
 
 208 MUTATION. 
 
 " Sister Ann, sister Ann, do you see any one 
 coming ? " 
 
 ^' There is something coming along the road. 
 It is very like Ernest." 
 
 Eva came to the window. There was no 
 doubt about its being Ernest. The dog-cart 
 stopped at the gate. 
 
 " What can have brought him back ? Let us 
 run and hear." 
 
 Eva hung back. Ernest drove round to the 
 yard the back way. Another moment, and his 
 step was on the stair and up the passage. The 
 girls ran out. 
 
 "No one kept you," said Eva, with smiling 
 raillery. 
 
 " How was it, Ernest ? " said Agnes, anxiously. 
 
 ^' They seemed able to do without me, so I 
 came back. I have not time to tell you about 
 it now, it is dinner-time and I must wash my 
 hands." He hurried past them. 
 
 "As Eva says, no one kept me," he said, in 
 answer to his father's look of inquiry when he 
 entered the drawing-room. 
 
 " I do not understand. You did not go without 
 being invited. I do not like people talking 
 enigmas."
 
 EEDDESTONE HILL. 209 
 
 «f Why, the way of it was this, sir. I met 
 Olivant in Hilton as I drove through. He asked 
 me did I intend going on to Bagley. I said I 
 thought of it, and he replied, rather shortly, that 
 if I did I should return home at night, for his 
 house was full. I intended that all along. No 
 particular day had been named for our going: 
 I did not think this seemed a very satisfactory 
 one, so I excused myself and returned. No occa- 
 sion to drive three miles further to dine with a 
 man who seems as if he could dine just as well 
 without you." 
 
 " Yery extraordinary : most extraordinary 
 conduct ! People ought to be very sure when 
 they give an invitation that they mean the others 
 to go. Who were his party?" 
 
 " I have not the slightest idea : he gave me none." 
 
 " More extraordinary still. I am glad I was 
 not there. And I am glad you came back: 
 you are always expected to dinner at Oakstone. 
 Next invitation Mr. Olivant gives he need not 
 expect us either." 
 
 '' He did not prevent my going, sir, you 
 understand. But I did not altogether like his 
 manner. I did not think I seemed cordially 
 welcome, so I returned." 
 
 Vv^'L. I. V
 
 210 MUTATION. 
 
 This was the truth and nothing but tlie truth : 
 Ernest believed it to be the wliole truth; but, 
 perhaps, a more skilful casuist than himself 
 would have discovered, what was wholly un- 
 known to him, that had his fair cousin not been 
 an inmate of Oakstone, he would then have been 
 dining at Bagley.
 
 THE WALK. 211 
 
 CHA.PTER XX. 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
 That evening, only Mysie and the two little 
 girls emerged from the terrace door. Ernest 
 was lounging near it on a garden seat beneath a 
 tree. ^ 
 
 " Where is Agnes ? " he asked. 
 
 " In the garden, I believe." 
 
 "And Eva with her?" 
 
 « I think so." 
 
 " We had better go that way and pick them 
 up." 
 
 " We can go and try, but I do not think they 
 mean to walk: Agnes changed her dress for 
 gardening." 
 
 " Nonsense ! she cannot garden to-night." 
 
 In front of the house they were joined by Mr. 
 Clifton and the boys. All took their way to the 
 garden. There, in Agnes's little flower garden, 
 were the two girls at work. Eva was watering, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 MUTATION. 
 
 Agnes filling a light wheel - barrow with the 
 haulm of withered flowers, which she was going 
 to replace with fresh ones. 
 
 " Will you come for a walk, Agnes ? " said 
 Mysie. 
 
 " How silly you are, Mysie. Do not you know 
 I dressed for gardening ? " 
 
 Ernest here came up. 
 
 " Come, Agnes ; come for a walk." 
 
 " No, not to-night. Gardening has to be done." 
 
 He went up to Eva. 
 
 " You will come?" 
 
 " I cannot. I promised to help Agnes." 
 
 " What ! not for my last walk ?" 
 
 " When I promised I thought you w^ould be 
 away to-night." 
 
 " But you will come now I am here?" 
 
 "I cannot, unless Agnes will come too. 1 
 must not leave her after promising to help her." 
 
 " I will settle that point of conscience." He 
 sprang across a flow^er-bed and spoke to Agnes. 
 Eva did not hear what he said, but she saw he 
 was impressing something very energetically on 
 his sister, who looked a little dogged. He took 
 the wheel-barrow out of her hand and wheeled it 
 awav.
 
 THE WALK. 213 
 
 "Are you going to walk, Agnes ?" asked Eva, 
 as she approached her. 
 
 "Yes: nothing else will content Ernest. But 
 I wanted very badly to settle my garden." 
 
 '' I will come and help you to-morrow after he 
 is gone." 
 
 Mr. Clifton and the others had walked on, 
 Mr. Clifton considering it infra dig. for him to 
 be kept waiting while the young people decided. 
 Eva was still watering when Ernest returned 
 after depositing the wheel-barrow in its shed. 
 
 " No more gardening to-night, Eva." He gently ' 
 took the watering-pot from her hand, drew her 
 shawl off a rose-bush where she had thrown it, 
 and put it over her shoulders. 
 
 " That is not the way," she said, smiling. 
 
 " Very likely : I am not a good lady's maid." 
 
 "To put on a shawl, properly, is as much a 
 gentleman's business as a lady's maid's." 
 
 "Not likely to be much of mine. How is 
 this thing?" 
 
 She folded the shawl and he put it on. The three 
 walked on : Ernest by Eva's side, not as usually, 
 by Agnes'. They did not talk much. It seemed 
 as if the knowledge that it was their last evening 
 together threw a restraint over their conversa-
 
 214 MUTATION. 
 
 tlon. The little they held was chiefly between 
 Ernest and Agnes. They were speaking on 
 some subject of religion to which Eva had been 
 inattentive. She did not even know what had 
 been said ; but hearing Agnes remark, " I always 
 find it hard to believe that: it seems against 
 reason:" and feeling it was time for her to say 
 something, she said — 
 
 " I do not think that we can judge matters 
 of religion by our own reason. So much of it 
 seems against reason." 
 
 Ernest turned to her ; and in a tone in which 
 so much of gentle reproof was mingled with such 
 deep earnestness, said — 
 
 *'No, no, no, Eva! Eva! no! Beyond reason, 
 but not against it." 
 
 Eva looked up. There was something in the 
 earnest solemnity of his look that awed her : she 
 said humbly — 
 
 " I dare say that is what I ought to have said." 
 
 Her cousin continued — 
 
 " If I could stay a little while in the same 
 house with you, even for five or six weeks, I 
 think I would try and persuade you to read a 
 little with me every day." 
 
 " What would you make me read ?"
 
 THE WALK. 215 
 
 " Well, I think I should begin with a little 
 geology." 
 
 Eva laughed. 
 
 " It is such a powerful confirmatory evidence 
 of the truths of Scripture," he continued gravely. 
 " I have only lately taken it up myself: when I 
 want some lighter reading than divinity." 
 
 " Do you call geology light reading ? I always 
 thought it was the driest stuff." 
 
 " It is light compared to what I generally 
 read : dry, perhaps, to what you generally read — 
 the last fashionable novel. But your mind could, 
 fully compass it if you would only apply it. I 
 think, if I had the opportunity, I could manage 
 to make it not dry to you." 
 
 " Indeed, Ernest, if you made me read geology 
 in the mornings, I should stipulate for a great 
 many rides in the evenings, as a reward." 
 
 " That would depend on how the lesson was 
 said," he answered, with a smile ; one that seemed 
 to say he would be an indulgent tutor. 
 
 They did not overtake Mr. Clifton and the rest 
 of the party. They saw them down in the fields, 
 into which they had turned off the road. As soon 
 as they had passed them by, Ernest said — 
 
 "Eva, you look tired. Will you take my arm ? "
 
 210 MUTATION. 
 
 " Yes, do take his arm, Eva," said Agnes, who 
 did not wisli Ernest to be refused so unusual an 
 offer for him to make. " You do look tired : that 
 heavy watering pot has been too much for you." 
 
 Eva took the proffered arm. 
 
 " Lean as heavily as you like on me," he whis- 
 pered, "no fear of your tiring me." 
 
 They had conie to where the canal crossed the 
 road, or, perhaps I ought to say, the road crossed 
 the canal, for a bridge was thrown over it. In a 
 group of poplar-trees down by the towing-path 
 Avas a boatman's cottage. 
 
 " I want to see the poor woman in this cottage ; 
 ' she has been sick," said Agnes. " Will you two 
 stroll on while you are waiting for me ? " 
 
 They did so. Eva seemed to have something 
 particular to say to her companion for w^hich she 
 wished to embrace the opportunity thus afforded. 
 She looked at him wistfully two or three times, 
 as if anxious to bespeak his attention. He was 
 looking straig-ht on and did not heed her. Ernest 
 had a most provoking way of looking straight 
 before him when she wanted him to look at her. 
 
 " Ernest ? " she said at last. 
 
 "What?" he replied, without changing the 
 direction of his eyes.
 
 THE WALK. 217 
 
 " Don't keep looking as if you could see 
 nothing nearer tlian those far-off hills," she said 
 pettishly. 
 
 " What part of the landscape between them and 
 us would you wish to direct my observation to?" 
 
 She turned away with a half-smile. " You are 
 very provoking." 
 
 " Am I looking right, now ? " He directed her 
 attention towards his eyes by a little pressure of 
 the arm on which she leaned. His looks were 
 bent full on her face, and their expression brought 
 a faint blush to it. 
 
 " Ernest, I mean to be up very early to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " How early — in time for breakfast ? " 
 
 " You need not speak so ironically ; I am 
 generally in time." 
 
 " I did not know." 
 
 " I am very seldom late, though you breakfast 
 two good hours before I am accustomed to." 
 
 '^ Don't you breakfast until ten o'clock at 
 home?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 " More shame for you. But at what hour do 
 you mean to be up to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I shall be down at half-past seven."
 
 218 MUTATION. 
 
 "A whole half-hour before breakfast! What an 
 appetite you will have ! And what are you going 
 to do to occasion this wonderful early rising ? " 
 
 « To talk to you." 
 
 " I am very happy to hear it. What are you 
 going to say?" 
 
 " If I told you to-night there w^ould be no 
 occasion for me to get up in the morning." 
 
 "That is true. Well I shall beat the bay 
 window at half-past seven ready to hear whatever 
 you may have to say. Let us turn now, T see 
 Agnes coming up from the cottage." 
 
 That night, when Eva was going to bed Agnes 
 came into her room and sat down as if she ex- 
 pected she had some communication to hear, but 
 Eva seemed to have none to make; she quietly 
 went on undressing herself. At last Agnes said — 
 
 " Well, Eva ; did you speak to Ernest ? " 
 
 " About what — Mr. Oakley ? No, you said you 
 wished me not to do so until he was going away." 
 
 " Yes : but you will have no other opportunity ; 
 Ernest goes immediately he has breakfasted to- 
 morrow. I left you together on purpose to- 
 night." 
 
 " I did not know that : I did not think you 
 would like it. I arranged to meet him at
 
 THE WALK. 219 
 
 half-past seven to-morrow. You will only see 
 him at breakfast after. I could not venture to 
 leave it later, lest I might not get an opportunity." 
 
 Though it was a relief to Agnes to find her 
 brother had not been told, she felt disappointed. 
 
 " I thought he looked so strangely at me a 
 dozen times to-night," she said. 
 
 "So far will fancy go," replied her cousin ; 
 " this should be a lesson to you not to mind if you 
 think he looks strangely at you when he does 
 know." 
 
 Eva was thoroughly good-natured. She never 
 saw any one in need of help but she longed to give 
 it to them ; any one she helped she did it with her 
 whole heart and soul. She broke to Ernest 
 x\gnes's partiality for Mr. Oakley as tenderly and 
 delicately as it could be done, speaking of it 
 merely as the result of her own observation and 
 shielding Agnes from every imputation of over 
 susceptibility. She tried to enlist Ernest's sym- 
 pathies in his sister's behalf, and his assistance to 
 bring the lovers once more in contact. Ernest 
 had never admired his cousin so much as he did 
 while she thus exerted herself for another. In 
 truth, he was thinking much more of the pleader 
 than tlie pleaded for ; but he promised to think
 
 220 MUTATION. 
 
 over what she said. Under any circumstances, of 
 course nothing could be done until his next visit 
 to Oak stone. 
 
 The result of this conversation^ Eva communi- 
 cated to Agnes, as arm in arm they walked home 
 after seeing Ernest depart for his curacy from 
 the railway station, whither, at his earnest solicita- 
 tion, they had accompanied him.
 
 EISLOP. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 HISLOP. 
 
 The term of Eva's visit to Oakstone drew to a 
 close. Her Aunt Herbert wrote in raptures at 
 the thoughts of once more having her with her. 
 Hislop was thirty miles from Oakstone, and it 
 was arranged that the Cliftons should drive Eva 
 one-half the way, and Mrs. Herbert come to meet 
 . them and take her back. It was not an unusual 
 arrangement between the two families in their 
 journeys backwards and forwards ; and midway 
 there was a small inn by the road-side, which they 
 called the half-way house, and where they rested 
 their horses. But Mrs. Phillips was now staying 
 at Hislop, and as she wished to avail herself of 
 the opportunity of the carriage going down, to 
 visit her son Edward, she never rested until she 
 succeeded in having his house substituted as a 
 rendezvous, instead of the half-way house ; which
 
 222 MUTATION. 
 
 arrangement gave the Cliftons a longer drive 
 than their share. 
 
 The house at Oakstone looked very desolate 
 when Eva's things were collected from about it to 
 be packed up. Her work, her music, her draw- 
 ings were scattered about ; her bonnet and shawl 
 hung on the pegs in the hall with the other girls'. 
 She had busied herself in the garden, in the 
 store-room ; identified herself with everything, so 
 that everything seemed to miss and to recall her. 
 
 *'Papa," said little Arlette, climbing into his 
 lap the night before Eva was to leave, " will you 
 let I go with Eva to-morrow ? " 
 
 Arlette was the youngest of the family. She 
 was little more than five years old. She had been 
 her mother's darling, and now she seemed every- 
 body's. They held it as a tender duty to her lost 
 mother to pet her, and Arlette never met with a 
 rebuff from any one. 
 
 " Where does I want to go ? " said her father ; 
 " I think I would say will you let me go." 
 
 " Well, may me, papa ? " Mr. Clifton gave up 
 the syntax. 
 
 " Go where, my child ?" 
 
 "With Eva, in the carriage. I wish, papa, 
 Eva lived here always."
 
 HiSLOP. 223 
 
 " We must try and buy her from her mamma." 
 
 " She would not sell her," said Nannie 
 quickly. 
 
 " You don't know what she might do if we 
 made up a good price for her." 
 
 '' Papa, would you sell me for much money ?" 
 said Arlette, putting her cheek close to his, and 
 looking very sad. 
 
 "Not for twenty thousand million pounds. 
 But Arlette, my child, go run about now. Nannie 
 will play with you, darling." 
 
 "No, thank you, papa. I would rather stay 
 here and look at Eva." 
 
 " Come and sit on Eva's lap, she has a grand 
 story to tell ; she kept it for the last night." 
 
 Both children were soon with her — Nannie 
 at her feet, and little Arlette as close as she could 
 nestle in her arms. A story has a talismanic 
 attraction for a child. 
 
 The next morning Nantiie ran into Eva's room 
 before she was up, to say her papa said they might 
 all go if it could be managed, but he did not see 
 how it could ; for they were to go in the Swiss 
 carriage, which only took four inside, and he would 
 not allow any of them to sit on the box with the 
 servant. So, considering Eva's was the best head
 
 224 MUTATION. 
 
 in the house in a dilemma, she had come to 
 consult her. 
 
 " Go and try if you cannot persuade your 
 papa to drive himself and not take a servant ; then 
 one can ride on the box with him and the other 
 three come inside with me. If he will not do 
 that, I will take Arlette on my lap." 
 
 Eva's suggestion succeeded. After some waver- 
 ing Mr. Clifton consented. He was not sorry 
 to escape so long a day quite alone, and he had 
 the additional inducement of meeting his sisters. 
 
 So Eva departed with a strong escort. Little 
 Arlette in the post of honour by her side in the 
 back seat of the carriage, looking very proud and 
 happy. Mr. Clifton and Agnes were on the box. 
 Agnes liked having her father's ear, and when 
 it was possible to prevent it, never suffered any- 
 one to be beside him but herself. She had told 
 Mysie not to be silly, but to go inside, when she 
 proposed to take the box-seat that morning ; so 
 Mysie went in inside, wondering why it would be 
 more silly for her to sit on the box than it was for 
 Agnes. But she was accustomed to be called 
 silly, she seldom knew why, and she said 
 nothing. 
 
 Both aunts were waiting for Eva. The Edward
 
 HiSLOP. 225 
 
 Phillipses, as usual, were kind and hospitable, 
 scrawly and untidy. One child was sick, and 
 would not suffer itself to be dressed; neither 
 could it be prevailed on to absent itself from 
 the company, to the great detriment of the comfort 
 of the latter. The young Mrs. Phillips seemed 
 distressed, but the dowager, her mother in-law, 
 tried to pass matters off, as she called it. She 
 said sick children must be excused dirty frocks 
 and a little humouring — in short, made it out a 
 clear case the little, dirty, sick child had a right to 
 be whining there, and the company ought not to ' 
 object ; in which opinion, unfortunately, the latter 
 did not agree with her. They had some 
 luncheon, hospitably provided, but badly cooked 
 and uncomfortably served. Then, with many 
 kisses and parting charges to write very soon and 
 very often, Eva was handed over to those who 
 had come to claim her ; and the two parties, 
 turning their backs on each other, went to their 
 respective homes. 
 
 That evening, as Mr. Clifton passed the 
 nursery on his way down to tea, through the 
 open door be saw his little Arlette, with a very 
 woe-begone countenance, seated on the ground by 
 a doll's bed. He went in. The nurse had gone 
 
 VOL. I. , Q
 
 226 MUTATION. 
 
 down-stairs to fetch something, and only the two 
 children were in the room. 
 
 " What are you doing, my child ? " he said to 
 Arietta. 
 
 "Putting Eva's doll to bed, papa," said the 
 small sorrowful voice. The little heart, which 
 had been swelling for some time, here gave way, 
 and she burst out crying. 
 
 "Put dolly comfortably to bed, my darling, 
 and then you shall come down with papa. We 
 will have tea in the drawing-room to-night." 
 
 " And Nannie ? " 
 
 " And Nan shall come too. Is dolly settled ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa," said the child, stooping to kiss the 
 waxen cheek of her cousin's namesake, then hold- 
 ing out her arms to her father. 
 
 " Give papa a kiss too," he whispered as he 
 carried her down. Nannie, who was a much less 
 feeling child than her little sister, ran merrily 
 after them. 
 
 As they reached the drawing-room door, Agnes 
 was remarking to her sister Myra — 
 
 " I dare say they are all as merry as crickets 
 round the tea table at Hislop now, Eva the life of 
 the party." 
 
 " And we are going to be as merry as crickets
 
 HisLOP. 227 
 
 here, too," said Mr. Clifton entering. "I have 
 invited a party, and I am going to be the hfe of it. 
 Come, we will ring the bell, and have the lamp 
 and tea, and look a little cheerful. Hang it ! but 
 I don't like the look of the house without Eva, 
 myself. We must have her back soon again." 
 
 '' When, papa ? " said Arlette eagerly. 
 
 " Very soon : we will send and invite her, and 
 drive to meet her like we did to-day. And perhaps 
 that parson brother of yours may be coming over 
 for a few days' holiday ; I think this magnetism 
 about Eva touched him too : he was more civil to 
 her than I ever before saw him to any woman- 
 kind." 
 
 " Yes," said Agnes, " Ernest liked Eva's society 
 of late." 
 
 " Les extremes se touchent^'' said Myra. 
 
 " What nonsense, Mysie ! " said her sister. 
 
 " I am sorry to say Mysie often talks non- 
 sense," said her father gravely. He did not 
 understand French, and therefore could not 
 possibly be a judge of the sense or nonsense of 
 what she had said. 
 
 " Well, I don't know why it is nonsense," she 
 said: "I think they are very different." 
 
 " Don't argue, my dear," said her father. " A 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 MUTATION. 
 
 little more ladles' society/' he continued, address- 
 ing Agnes, "would do Ernest good. He is not 
 courteous enough to ladies." 
 
 " He is getting more so," replied Agnes. 
 
 " You may thank Eva for it," thought Myra, 
 but for a wonder she did not say it. 
 
 The party which Eva joined at Hislop con- 
 sisted of Mr. and Mrs. Herbert, Mrs. Phillips, and 
 Miss Boare. To begin with the stranger, as in 
 courtesy bound. Miss Boare was a lady mostly to 
 be met with, at most times and seasons, at most 
 houses in Wiltshire. Indeed visitors in that 
 county might be supposed naturally to ascribe to 
 her the attribute of ubiquity, for go where they 
 would, there they were sure to find Miss Boare 
 domesticated. Was there a gala going on, and 
 you were invited to make one of a large country 
 house party in the neighbourhood ; in the thick of 
 them you were certain to encounter Miss Boare. 
 Did you go to some retired nook to spend a few 
 quiet days with an old friend; there, with her feet 
 on the fender, looking as if it had been her home 
 for the last six months, you were sure to find 
 Miss Boare. A stranger might have been puzzled 
 as to what quality Miss Boare was indebted for 
 this great run on her company. There was
 
 HiSLOP. 229 
 
 nothing very striking about her. Her dress was 
 shabby, her person plain, her manner meddlesome 
 and unattractive. Her figure was small and ill- 
 shapen, her face large and flat, almost wholly 
 without expression. She had no eye-brows, and 
 very light eye-lashes ; her complexion was of that 
 character known as mealy ; and as she wore the 
 braids of her sandy wig very much off her face, 
 and her cap very much off her wig, more of 
 unadorned, nature was exhibited to the view than 
 was at all good for the latter. 
 
 Miss Boare, I need not say, had never married, 
 but being an orphan, she had early in life been 
 taken by her uncle to live wdth him. He was a 
 rich man; the accumulations of years made him 
 a very rich man. During those years his unfor- 
 tunate niece had experienced every description of ill 
 treatment which the malice of an ill-tempered man 
 could devise. On her were vented all his rages 
 — all his spleen. Mortified before company, 
 humbled before the servants, kept without funds 
 to defray the necessary expenses of the house 5 
 she was made to bear the ignominy of his par- 
 simony, and dared not vindicate herself — dared 
 not look at the vindictive fire in his eye and 
 the nervous palsy in his thin hands. He denied
 
 230 MUTATION. 
 
 her every gratification : he made her the instru- 
 ment of all his own meannesses. On her was put 
 the odium of sponging in other people's houses 
 more plentiful than his own ; on her the saying 
 of every disagreeable thing that had to be said 
 to gain liis ends; on her every subterfuge and 
 prevarication. 
 
 And she bore it all — bore it when a w^oman of 
 more mind and more spirit would have resisted 
 and broke with him for ever ; gone as governess, 
 servant, anything to free herself from such thral- 
 dom : bore with him during a long life, bore with 
 him during his long illness ; reading the Bible to 
 him when he would permit her, quietly evading 
 the random blows he struck at her in his passion, 
 for his eyes were sightless for some time before his 
 death ; scrupulously performing the duties of a 
 conscientious nurse, and never letting the bitterness 
 of the past militate against his present comfort. 
 At last he died — in his death making one grand 
 act of reparation for his life. He left his niece, 
 whose youth he had so euibittered, sole mistress of 
 his hoarded wealth. 
 
 Miss Boare could perhaps scarcely be expected 
 to be a consistent dispenser of the vast income into 
 which she had thus suddenly stepped in advanced
 
 ' HISLOP. • 231 
 
 life ; but she evinced a greater degree of peculiarity 
 in its distribution than could have been looked for. 
 Some traits of parsimony had become irradicable 
 from the habit of long indulgence; some streams 
 of generosity, never before given vent to, became 
 unbounded in their flow. She was munificent as a 
 princess in some things, and signed a theque for 
 hundreds with as much indifference as if she was 
 paying her washing bill ; close as an Israelite in 
 others, over a grocer's account, she would higgle 
 as much about an additional halfpenny a pound on 
 sugar, as if it had to be paid out of her last sove- 
 reign. Her great stinginess was in housekeeping, 
 for that she had been all her life accustomed to try 
 to accomplish on inadequate means — housekeeping 
 in all its branches, food and fuel in particular. 
 She would rather pay a five-pound note for a 
 gewgaw for you, than give you a meal if you were 
 hungry. Eva Desmond was used to say she watched 
 the food going down your throat ; she always saw 
 her eye fixed on the outside of hers as she gulped 
 down the unsavoury morsels. Miss Boare always 
 complained of her cook being inexperienced ; Eva 
 thought it was no wonder. But it would not do 
 to have eatables too good at Mowbray ; people 
 would eat too much of them. Her stinginess of
 
 232 MUTATION. 
 
 food was so excessive she grudged it even to her- 
 self, as she also did fire. Having a good appetite, 
 and being of a chilly temperament, it was not 
 therefore to be wondered at that she preferred 
 being in other people's houses. How she came 
 to be welcome there is now to be seen. 
 
 Miss Boare gave largely and handsomely wher- 
 ever she visited, according to the length of her stay ; 
 and in any house where there was a gentleman, 
 she always contrived that her present should be 
 of a nature to be appreciated by the masculine as 
 well as the female portion of the family. Sometimes 
 it was a drawing room carpet, sometimes a piano, 
 a mirror, or a carriage, which arrived after her 
 departure. This was the way Miss Boare liked to 
 return hospitality ; and very much better contented 
 with it were her entertainers, than had they been 
 invited in return to partake of the dubious hospi- 
 tality of Mowbray. When Miss Boare, feeling a 
 little hospitable qualms, would say. '' Really I 
 must soon hope to see you at Mowbray," the quick 
 reply was invariably, " Dear Miss Boare, don't 
 think of it ; we really could not leave home at 
 present. Cannot you stay a little longer with us, 
 or, if you are engaged now, return here on your 
 way home? We shall be so delighted, whichever
 
 HiSLOP. 233 
 
 you do." And one or other Miss Boare invariably 
 did, and the present increased in bulk accordingly. 
 
 This then was the secret of Miss Boare's migra- 
 tory life. 
 
 The Herberts, being her nearest neighbours, 
 came in for a large share of her patronage. She 
 did not perhaps make as long sojourns at Hislop 
 as at more distant places ; but she made up for 
 that in their frequency. They were very fre- 
 quent, and she took it into consideration in the 
 compensation. Whenever business required her 
 presence at Mowbray, and she said she was going 
 home, it was to Hislop she bent her steps ; going 
 over to Mowbray in the mornings, or at fur- 
 thest, perhaps for a night, to arrange her affairs, 
 and returning to Hislop the moment they were 
 done. 
 
 Mr. Herbert, whose parochial duties were not 
 pressing, liked managing the concerns of wealthy 
 people. He considered it added to his importance, 
 while it gave him little trouble. He assisted Miss 
 Boare in the direction of her landed property, and 
 gave her advice on the measures of her agent, 
 which she always adopted, often very much to the 
 dissatisfaction of that functionary. This superin- 
 tendence sometimes obliged Mr. Herbert to spend a
 
 234 MUTATION. 
 
 day or two at Mowbray, on which occasions Miss 
 Boare always invited Mrs. Herbert to accompany 
 him, and whenever Eva Desmond was staying with 
 them she came in for a share in the invite, the 
 sound of which, she declared, always made her 
 feel both cold and hungry. 
 
 The second of the Hislop party, Mrs. Phillips, 
 was a little plain bustling body, who looked sharply 
 after her own affairs and those of her children, and 
 cared very little about those of the world beside, 
 unless they were likely in some way to affect any 
 of the three individuals she thought so much 
 about, either by affinity or counteraction — then, let 
 others look to themselves ; Mrs. Phillips was wide 
 awake. The next of the Hislop inmates in order 
 of precedence, I suppose must be the hostess, 
 Mrs. Herbert ; but Mrs. Herbert is an important 
 personage, and must be accorded a chapter to 
 herself.
 
 HISLOP'S MISTEESS. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Mes. Heebeet had no children, never had had 
 any ; and round herself, and her husband as part 
 of herself, had centred all those sympathies to 
 which a large family gives a more extended range.- 
 In the self-abnegation of a mother for her children, 
 the human mind is so filtered of the dross of human 
 selfishness, that all reap the benefit of it. It is as 
 rare a thing to see a mother wrapped up in herself 
 as to see one not wrapped up in her children. Accus- 
 tomed to regard their health, indulge their wishes, 
 and bear with their failings, her opened heart 
 becomes more lenient in its relation with others ; 
 and provided those others do not clash with her 
 offspring, deals more leniently with their faults 
 and their fancies than does one who has had no 
 such humanizing discipline — no one to think of but 
 herself. Mrs. Herbert, I have said, had never 
 been a mother; accordingly her code for juveniles
 
 236 MUTATION. 
 
 was rather Spartan in its strictness. The first 
 great maxim in it was that they were to have the 
 most profound respect for herself and the utmost 
 deference for her opinion. Mrs. Herbert never 
 entertained the slightest doubt but that her opinion 
 must be right ; therefore, to deduce a natural infer- 
 ence, when any one differed from it, she had not 
 the slightest doubt but that they must be wrong. 
 For a nephew or niece to hold a contrary opinion, 
 was an audacity not admitted by her code. 
 
 She was extremely strict in trifles. She would 
 countenance no indulgence of slight ailments or 
 little weaknesses, overlook as venial no offences 
 against order or tidiness ; to such excess did she 
 carry her love of order, that if even a book were 
 taken from the library, she expected that book to 
 be read through and put back into its place with- 
 out delay, and was very angry if so much as the 
 leaves of another were turned over in the interim. 
 She would sanction no parties of young ones 
 clubbing together for strolls or rambles ; let them 
 walk with their elders as in duty bound. She 
 considered it the duty of juveniles to sit on the 
 most uncomfortable seats in the room — she had 
 no idea of boys and girls reclining in easy chairs : to 
 enforce it, she put the few she had in the most out-of-
 
 ' HISLOP'S MISTRESS. 237 
 
 the-way places, where one would have to squeeze 
 round a table, or behind a piano, to get at them. 
 She never sat in one herself — did not like them ; 
 bolt upright on a common chair she always sat ; 
 Edward Clifton said that was what made her figure 
 so stiff; it looked as if from long habit it could not 
 recline. One easy chair Mr. Herbert stipulated 
 for in an available part of the room. He loved his 
 ease in every shape ; and whatever he liked that 
 caused his wife no inconvenience, she was willing 
 he should have. In money matters she was very 
 close, though she annually spent a large sum on- 
 her dress. And yet Mrs. Herbert would have 
 been greatly surprised if she had heard any one 
 call her a selfish woman. She thought herself a 
 perfect Lady Bountiful — a most generous and popular 
 aunt. Something she gave in charity, no doubt ; 
 perhaps more than she otherwise would, because 
 she knew that her husband so completely neglected 
 his parish, and she felt it incumbent on her to 
 make up a little for the spiritual deficiency by 
 looking after the temporal wants of the sick and 
 very poor. She did not apply the text, '^ These ought 
 ye to have done and not left the others undone." 
 
 She frequently had some nephew or niece on a 
 visit with her — more generally the latter ; never.
 
 238 MUTATION. 
 
 if it could possibly be avoided, the two together. 
 She had a most pious horror of love-makiug in 
 general, between cousins in particular. She liked 
 having a companion for her walks and drives, and 
 it never seemed to enter her head that the bright 
 young spirit by her side would better enjoy other 
 fellowship than that of one so much older. She 
 firmly believed that having them as a visitor con- 
 stituted herself a most generous and beneficent 
 relative. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Herbert made frequent excur- 
 sions to London and Paris, but the young girl 
 who had borne this beneficent aunt company in 
 the solitude of Hislop, perhaps for months, always 
 returned to her home, wherever that was, before 
 the excursion took place. The Herberts were 
 used to stay at expensive hotels, to take a maid 
 and footman with them, and to spend largely in 
 the purchase of luxuries. But Mrs. Herbert 
 would often say how much she regretted that her 
 fortune would not permit her to take some young 
 relative with her, which showed a kind and gene- 
 rous disposition to those who were willing to take 
 the will for the deed. Sometimes she would 
 invest a half-sovereign in a present. Long after 
 that, her heart would dilate with liberal emotion.
 
 239 
 
 If people thought Mrs. Herbert selfish, they must 
 have a very strange notion of selfishness. 
 
 One thorn it had planted in her own side. 
 She had taken Willie Ingram as a very small 
 child — not gratuitously, his father bore his ex- 
 penses. But Mr. Ingram wished to go abroad, 
 and it suited him better to allow handsomely for 
 the boy's maintenance than to be fettered with 
 the tie of a young child and his nurse. Willie 
 was a pretty, engaging boy, and won upon Mrs. 
 Herbert's affections, for she was not without affec- 
 tions, though so much of them centred in herself. 
 She fancied hers a mother's feelings for that bright 
 boy — little she knew of a mother's feelings! 
 The child grew up, and was sent to school. His 
 holidays were passed at Hislop. But he did not 
 feel for Hislop as his home — did not look to his 
 aunt as a boy does to his mother. She could not 
 resist impressing on him how much she did for 
 him, and how deeply he w^as indebted to her. He 
 was taught to feel that he had nothing there by 
 right — only by courtesy, and his uncle and aunt's 
 goodness. You cannot expect a child to feel a 
 place where he only lives on sufferance liome. 
 Home is a haven of right; why the very servants 
 are there by right so long as the compact between
 
 240 MUTATION. 
 
 them and you lasts: the house-dog defends his 
 kennel as his right. Willie was not suffered to 
 remain in ignorance of any obligation he was 
 under to his aunt. Even the repairing of his 
 clothes was converted into a debt of magnitude ; 
 it lost to her work so much of her maid's time. 
 Willie knew that his clothes and school bills were 
 paid by his father ; that his pocket money — unless 
 perhaps a crown his aunt might add — came from 
 the same source; and being of a volatile ungrate- 
 ful disposition, lightly the repairing of his ward- 
 robe rested on it. But though he did not 
 feel the affection of a son for Mrs. Herbert, 
 with the quickness of youth he saw the assail- 
 able point, and often affected it to gain his 
 ends. 
 
 You cannot partially adopt a child and have it 
 as a child. You must stand in its parent's place, 
 make a common interest in its home, be all in all 
 to it. To your hand it must look for the supply- 
 ing of every little want, to you for sympathy with 
 every joy and sorrow ; all those endearing ties of 
 indulgence and dependence accumulating since 
 its birth, in that circle within a circle, a child's 
 life with its mother's. It must feel how dear its 
 interests are to you ; that you look on them as
 
 HISLOP'S MISTHESS. 241 
 
 your own, and then, perhaps, you may have all the 
 affection of a child to its parent, except that 
 which nature reserves for the relationship alone. 
 
 Willie Ingram entered the army. When he 
 obtained leave of absence and had nowhere else 
 to go, he came to Hislop. He felt it dull ; voted 
 being there a bore; rebelled when his aunt wished 
 him to accompany her in her walks and drives ; 
 flirted, in spite of her, with any girl he happened 
 to find there when he came ; fell bona fide in love 
 with his cousin Jessie Phillips ; stormed and raged 
 when she packed Jessie off to her brother Edward's, 
 and went down by rail twice a week to see her ; 
 tried to coax Eva out with him, and when he 
 found his aunt followed, turned back : in short, 
 a more refractory youngster could not possibly be 
 imagined. Yet if he wished to lay himself out, 
 in half an hour he could cajole his aunt into 
 believing he was a most attached nephew, quite 
 pliant to her will, and she was ready to lay the 
 blame of his misdoings on any one but himself. 
 
 " Eva," she would say, "you keep Willie loiter- 
 ing about the garden with you until you make 
 him quite lazy in coming for a regular walk." 
 Eva was much too good-natured to say; "I 
 fairly gave way to Willie's worrying to stay and 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MUTATION. 
 
 be out of the way, in the hope that you would set 
 out alone." 
 
 Or Mrs. Herbert would say: " Willie has been 
 consulting me about his going to this coursing 
 match ; I see no objection to his going, but I was 
 pleased with him, at his age, deferring so to my 
 opinion." 
 
 Eva did not reply: "Willie told me if he could 
 persuade you that he was pleasing you instead of 
 himself he might have some chance of getting the 
 dog-cart to go there." 
 
 But notwithstanding these atoning moments of 
 cajolery, Willie Ingram often wounded his aunt's 
 self-love sorely. 
 
 In person Mrs. Herbert was what might be 
 termed genteel. Her figure was tall and slight ; 
 thin, perhaps would be a better adjective — one is 
 apt to associate something graceful with a slight 
 figure. Hers was the antithesis of graceful ; it 
 was very stiff and angular. Her body was long, 
 and had an hard, unundulating look, as if it had 
 been shaped out of wood. Having good ankles 
 she wore her skirts short — for the fashion, very 
 short — which added to the apparent length of her 
 body. Her face was of an oval, rather classic, 
 contour ; in early youth had been good looking.
 
 HISLOP'S MISTKESS. 243 
 
 but she had worn badly, and looked older than she 
 really was. Her face and throat had become what 
 is generally denominated *^ skinny." Her com- 
 plexion was pale dark or sallow. Her hair she 
 wore braided in the short curved bands which 
 she had often heard are so suited to an oval face, 
 but she forgot that it must be a young one. The 
 exposure of a full rounded cheek and smooth 
 ivory neck only discloses beauties, while a 
 long sharp jaw, and wrinkled discoloured throat, 
 afford little pleasure to the sight. Her nose 
 was good, rather aquiline ; her eyes pale watery 
 blue. Altogether, in repose, hers was an inexpres- 
 sive countenance. Her mouth, though its worst 
 feature, was capable of assuming the most expres- 
 sion, but it was by no means a pleasing one; and 
 when she wore it, you might be sure she was not 
 under the influence of the milk of human kind- 
 ness. Her lips were broad and flat, and there 
 was no marked line of curvature distinguishing 
 them from the rest of her face.* When her mood 
 was cynical, she had a way of dropping her under 
 jaw without opening her mouth, which made her 
 lips appear still broader and flatter, as well as 
 having the unsoftening effect of considerably 
 elongating her face. On the right side of her 
 
 R 2
 
 244 MUTATION. 
 
 upper lip tliere was a deep indentation, caused by 
 the projection of a tooth in childhood. As she 
 grew older, the tooth grew still more out, and the 
 malformation of the lip became confirmed. The 
 tooth had long since been removed with its 
 brethren, and a false set substituted, but that did 
 not alter the character of the lip, and as Mrs. 
 Herbert had acquired a habit, when she was in a 
 scornful or unamiable mood, of raising her mouth 
 upon that side at the same time that she dropped 
 her jaws, the tuck up became more clearly de- 
 veloped. It was wonderful what bitterness of 
 expression this disposition of her mouth gave to 
 her countenance. 
 
 It was impossible to imagine a greater contrast 
 to his wife than Mr. Herbert presented. His 
 was a large, handsome, benevolent looking face, 
 with a very sweet expression in his compressed 
 and well-formed lips. His figure was stout and 
 full, indeed adipose. About him was an easy 
 indolence, an indifferent live and let live appear- 
 ance that very truly betokened his character. 
 He troubled himself about nothing and no one. 
 His own circumstances were easy, and gave him 
 no care. He was considered a respectable country 
 gentleman, a good magistrate and poor-law
 
 245 
 
 guardian, in a neighbourhood where those offices 
 entailed little exertion. His opinion had weight 
 in such matters, for it was always moderate, and he 
 never intruded it when unnecessary. As to his 
 qualifications as a minister, people took them on 
 credit in regard of his other popular perfections — 
 all, except his diocesan. 
 
 The Bishop had continuously turned a deaf ear 
 to Mr. Herbert's applications for more lucrative 
 preferment. He had once been heard to say, 
 that Mr. Herbert throve so well on middling 
 pasture, it was quite unnecessary to stall feed 
 him. It was a sore subject with the object of this 
 remark — the only sore one he admitted ; and with 
 Mrs. Herbert it was a still sorer. 
 
 Now, having tried to the best of my poor 
 abilities to make you acquainted with the circle 
 into which Eva had entered, I will proceed to 
 narrate the incidents of her visit, which, though 
 neither romantic nor exciting, nor even out of the 
 usual course we see occurring every day of our 
 lives, left an impress on our heroine which 
 never passed away.
 
 246 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 
 
 Eva was familiar with Hislop : she had several 
 times been staying there, and her visits were 
 generally long ones ; it was easy, therefore, to slide 
 into every nook and custom with that at /tome feeling 
 which long residence alone produces. She was 
 accustomed to her aunt and her ways, and without 
 difficulty could avoid transgressing. For a time 
 she missed the more congenial companionship of 
 her Oakstone cousins, but she soon fell into former 
 habits, and her malleable disposition accommo- 
 dated itself to the place. Mrs. Herbert was 
 delighted to have her. Of all those whom she 
 invited for the purpose of keeping her company, 
 Eva was the one who suited her best, whose 
 society gave her the most pleasure. She was 
 always so gay ; her spirits required neither amuse- 
 ment nor excitement to keep them from flagging.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 247 
 
 Her temper was so good, her tastes so refined, her 
 ways so ladylike, her appearance and manner so 
 elegant and so graceful. She was, withal, a 
 shrewd observer, and however light and volatile 
 her conversation, it was clear that underneath was 
 a strong ground-work of sterling sense. 
 
 For some time after Eva's arrival at Hislop, 
 things went on in the usual unexciting course of 
 everyday life in a retired country place. The 
 ladies sat together in the mornings : Mrs. Her- 
 bert fiddling at some bit of work settled and 
 brought to her by her maid, Mrs. Phillips stitch- 
 ing away in right good earnest for child or grand- 
 child, all the time telling tales of which one or 
 other of them was sure to be the burden ; Miss 
 Boare, who never did anything but watch her 
 neighbours, going about overhauling the occupa- 
 tions of the others and asking questions ; Eva, 
 who did everything yet never seemed busy, 
 played and sang, wrote and drew, embroidered 
 and read, chattering away all the time, and throw- 
 ing her gay remarks into every subject started. 
 Miss Boare, who, unlike old maids in general, was 
 partial and indulgent to young people, was very 
 fond of Eva. She always found Hislop pleasanter 
 when she was there. To tell the truth, she was
 
 248 MUTATION. 
 
 a little afraid of Mrs. Herbert, who sometimes 
 considered her visitor's curiosity got too much 
 latitude, and, to use a vulgar expression, snubbed 
 her. When Mrs. Herbert liked, she could snub 
 very effectively. Mrs. Boare, then, always pre- 
 ferred having some one besides herself staying at 
 Hislop to whom she could apply for information 
 without fear of a snub. Eva was her favourite. 
 She often wished that Eva would marry and settle in 
 the neighbourhood : she should then have another 
 pleasant house to visit at. That Eva's house 
 would be pleasant and well-managed she never 
 for a moment doubted. 
 
 Eva had been about a fortnight at Hislop 
 when one morning, as she and Mrs. Herbert 
 strolled through the flower-garden enjoying the 
 warm and scented morning air, they saw Mr. 
 Herbert approaching, an expression of grave 
 importance depicted on his countenance. Eva 
 knew the look : it was an appropriate one he 
 usually assumed when he had any misfortune to 
 communicate. He came up and said, — 
 " Rebecca, I wish to speak to you." 
 Eva turned dowm a side-walk through the 
 flower-beds, leaving her uncle and aunt to hold 
 their conversation unchecked by her presence.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 249 
 
 but scarcely had a few moments elapsed, when 
 she heard her aunt's voice recalling her. 
 
 " It is no secret, Eva," she said. 
 
 " No," continued Mr. Herbert, " it is not on 
 private affairs I am going to speak, but I have a 
 distressing piece of intelligence to make; there has 
 been a sad accident, attended with most unfortu- 
 nate results — indeed, fatal." 
 
 Eva knew it was his habit to be unnecessarily 
 tender in breaking other people's misfortunes to 
 his wife, but at the last word she thought of 
 the Oakstone family and felt frightened. 
 
 " Who has been killed ? " she asked abruptly, 
 her heart beating quick. 
 
 "Mr. Hughes." 
 
 « Mr. Hughes— the Hilton man ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thank God!" was almost on her lips, but in- 
 stead she said, — 
 
 " How did it happen ?" 
 
 " Why, it appears he was sent for after dinner 
 yesterday to see a sick parishioner at a dis- 
 tance from the town. He went on his pony ; 
 returning late at night, the pony took fright at 
 the flash from a lantern which some one going 
 home from a party was carrying, started, and
 
 250 MUTATION. 
 
 threw Mr. Hughes, quite close to his own gate. 
 He was taken up dead, his head had come against 
 the curb-stone. 
 
 " Poor man !" said Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 " Poor Hudies ! " said Mr. Herbert. 
 
 o 
 
 " His poor wife," thought Eva. 
 
 "Now," continued Mr. Herbert in a very 
 different tone, " I have been thinking that this 
 curacy is the very thing for Edward Phillips. 
 It will be snatched up in a twinkling, he ought 
 not to lose a moment in applying for it." 
 
 " Perhaps he won't," said Mrs. Herbert ; " he 
 must know of the accident." 
 
 " Pooh ! he is such a mope, he would i*ever think 
 of it. Perhaps he is rooting after some Greek 
 synonym, and has not heard a word spoken in 
 his native tongue for the last week: no; Mrs. 
 Phillips had better write to him at once. 
 It will add, I should say, lOOl. a year to his 
 in come." 
 
 "So much, Edward?" 
 
 " I should think so, fully. The stipend is 501 
 more than he has at present ; then he pays SOL a 
 year for his house, that is 80/. Here he will have 
 the parsonage to live in, and I should say the 
 glebe and fees would make up the hundred pounds."
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 251 
 
 " I have heard Mr. Griffin reserves the fees," 
 said Eva. 
 
 " Even so J the glebe cannot be very far short of 
 201. in value, a fine garden and a tolerable field. 
 It v^^ill be a grand thing for Edward Phillips^ and 
 a grand thing for us ; take him and his belongings 
 from under our noses." 
 
 " He v^ill be more under the Clif tons' noses at 
 Hilton," said Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 "Well, let them shove him on to a better 
 quarter, if they don't like the bargain," said her 
 husband. " Go now, and get Mrs. Phillips to 
 write. I am going to ride into Gelston and will 
 take the letter." 
 
 " It was a most provoking thing Edward Phillips 
 marrying at all," said Mrs. Herbert to Eva, as 
 they walked towards the house. "My sister has to 
 thank herself in a great measure for it ; she was 
 always bringing young people into the house. I 
 often warned her." 
 
 " But, aunt, Mary was not a bad match for 
 him in other respects, and no one could tell that 
 they would be such wretched managers." 
 
 " But, Eva," and Mrs. Herbert's lip was raised — 
 when it was, her voice was always sharp,—" Ed- 
 ward had no business to marry these ten years. To
 
 252 MUTATION. 
 
 marry on 300?. a year I He should have waited 
 until he got a living." 
 
 " It would have been better certainly," said Eva, 
 though she thought the time rather indefinite. 
 She had accompanied her aunt to the door, and 
 leaving her to broach the matter with Mrs. Phillips 
 turned back into the garden. 
 
 The letter was quickly written — Mrs. Phillips's 
 maxim was, never lose anything for the want of 
 asking for it; and Mr, Herbert carried it to the 
 post, with a good-natured business-like haste, 
 which would have seemed very benevolent to any 
 one who had not heard the remark as to the benefit 
 of the noses. But indeed, to do Mr. Herbert 
 justice, he felt as much pleasure in the prospect 
 of bettering Edward Phillips, as of ridding him- 
 self of the nuisance of being constantly brought 
 into juxta-position with his wife's untidy rela- 
 tives. 
 
 The dowager Mrs. Phillips, not satisfied with 
 trusting to the letter to rouse her son's ener- 
 gies, started herself in the train the following 
 morning, to Brackley, personally to enforce her 
 advice. 
 
 For two or three days nothing more was heard 
 at Hislop regarding the curacy, except that Mrs.
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 253 
 
 Phillips wrote to say Edward's application had 
 gone in, report said, one of nineteen. 
 
 All this time Eva said nothing, but she thought 
 much. 
 
 It was on the fifth day after the accident, Mrs. 
 Herbert was drawing the letters out of the letter- 
 bag, when her eye fell upon one which seemed 
 to cause her some surprise. She looked at it 
 attentively, turned it about, examined the post- 
 marks and the seal in a manner most tantalizing 
 to any one who might suspect the letter to be their 
 property. At last, handing it to Eva, with a little 
 elevation of the lip, she said — 
 
 " That letter is from Ernest Clifton." 
 " I see it is," said Eva, quietly breaking the 
 seal and taking the letter out of the envelope. 
 After she had read it, she said — " The curacy 
 of Hilton has been offered to Ernest and he has 
 accepted it." 
 
 Mr. Herbert dropped his newspaper, Mrs. 
 Herbert her letter. Both seemed to expect to hear 
 more. 
 
 " Ernest says," continued Eva, "that Mr. Griffin 
 wrote from Oakstone the morning after the acci- 
 dent, offering him the curacy; that he immediately 
 went to the Bishop for permission to accept it,
 
 254 MUTATION. 
 
 and on obtaining it, wrote to Mr. Griffin to 
 say so." 
 
 " Then Edward Phillips is done for," said Mrs. 
 Herbert. 
 
 " So it appears," replied Eva. 
 " Who would have thought of that ? " said Mrs. 
 Herbert. 
 
 *^I always thought it very likely that Mr. 
 Griffin would offi^r it to Ernest," said Eva. 
 
 " You never said so," said her aunt. 
 
 " No, because you none of you seemed to expect 
 it. You ought to be better judges than me. But 
 Mr. Griffin is so intimate at Oakstone, it seemed 
 natural he would give Ernest the preference to 
 Edward Phillips." 
 
 " I did not think Ernest could leave his present 
 curacy," said Mr. Herbert. 
 
 " He says, Mr. Graham kindly and willingly 
 released him." 
 
 " We shall hear it all by degrees," said Mrs. 
 Herbert, tartly. 
 
 " That is all you have to hear," replied Eva, 
 without noticing the acerbity of the tone ; " it is 
 all he mentions." 
 
 " Does he not say when he comes ? " 
 
 " He cannot exactly tell. Mr. Griffin will allow
 
 AN ACCIDENT. 255 
 
 his curate to do the duty for two Sundays. Ernest 
 hopes to come for the third, but is not sure that he 
 can." 
 
 "Oh! he did say a little more!" said Mrs. 
 Herbert ; but it was no use : she did not get what 
 she wanted. She wanted to have the letter to read 
 herself: Eva had not the slightest intention of 
 giving it to her.
 
 256 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ELECTIONEERING. 
 
 One of the members for the adjoining county of 
 Dorset was in the habit of giving an annual morn- 
 ing fete at his summer residence, Coshoeton Court, 
 at which were bestowed prizes for proficiency in 
 athletic games, and feats of dexterity, such as 
 riding at the ring, &c. ; designed as an amusement 
 for the farmers, or perhaps I should write, free- 
 holders, of the county, who were afterwards regaled 
 on bread and cheese and ale on the practice ground, 
 while the gentry, who were invited to look on, 
 partook of a more recherche dejeuner in tents. To 
 this fete the Herberts were invited, for the first 
 time, a few weeks after Eva's coming to stay with 
 them. 
 
 Sir James Fosbrooke's park was eighteen miles 
 from Hislop. He had known Mr. Herbert as a 
 boy at school, and so cleverly did he remind the 
 parson of it in his note of invitation, that that easy-
 
 ELECTIONEERING. 257 
 
 going individual attributed to kind memories of 
 auld lang syne the revival of acquaintance, and 
 never once recalled the fact, that a property in the 
 county of Dorset having devolved on his niece 
 and ward, Clara Neville, by the foreclosure of 
 a mortgage, he, as her guardian, might be 
 supposed to have political influence with the 
 constituent tenantry. 
 
 It is often much more comfortable not to peer 
 too closely into people's motives for civility. Had 
 Mr. and Mrs. Herbert enacted the part of Paul 
 Pry into Sir James's, they would not have been one 
 half so elated at the attention as they were. They 
 felt more particularly pleased, because, as none of 
 the neighbouring gentry were invited to the 
 festivities, their being so was a more marked 
 distinction. 
 
 Sir James's note assured Mr. Herbert of a cordial 
 welcome for all his family, however numerous, 
 which showed sufficiently clearly that the baronet 
 had quite lost sight of his " schoal-days' friend." 
 It was agreed, that for the nonce, Eva should be 
 voted a member of her uncle's family, and accom- 
 pany him and her aunt. It was the first bit of 
 gaiety of which she had had the chance of par- 
 taking since her arrival at Hislop, and like all 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 MUTATION. 
 
 gay young girls looked forward with much delight 
 to it. 
 
 It was not an improbable thing, too, but she 
 might meet Ernest Clifton there. It was the 
 county in which he w^as a curate, and as the 
 gentleman he assisted, and in whose house he lived, 
 was of good family and standing in the county, it 
 was not unlikely that he might have an invitation, 
 though living at a considerable distance from 
 Coshoeton Court. Eva, therefore, determined to 
 answer her cousin's letter and let him know they 
 were going ; it might be an additional induce- 
 ment to him. Clever at letter-writing she took 
 unusual pains with this : it was her first letter to 
 him, 
 
 " Ernest thinks girls so silly, and so shallow," 
 thought she; "in general, people think me clever; 
 I am sure they do." She recalled many instances 
 of it. " Let me try if I cannot write a letter that 
 will improve his judgment of me. I would like 
 Ernest to think well of me." 
 
 When we begin to care for a person's opinion of 
 us, it is a sure sign that we are beginning to care 
 for themselves. 
 
 Eva began her letter, wrote a rough draft at 
 first: it looked too grave. "I must not write him
 
 ELECTION EEBING. 259 
 
 a homilj," she thought, and tried again. At last 
 she pleased herself. 
 
 All the commencement of her letter related to 
 his new appointment, congratulations at his attain- 
 ment, and sympathy with his confidences. Inter- 
 spersed with graver subjects was all the light 
 gossip of the place, playfully told and cleverly 
 commented on. It seemed as if the very neigh- 
 bourhood thus written of had changed and become 
 better worth hearing of. Occasionally came an 
 elegant sentiment or a glimpse of feeling, exquisitely 
 expressed, all in the easy familiar style of a 
 letter. There was not one word of pedantry, and 
 yet there was so much mind. 
 
 No sooner was the invitation accepted than Mrs. 
 Herbert began to consult Eva on her toilette — not 
 Eva's, but her own. She was undecided whether 
 she should wear her plaid tabinet or her black 
 figured silk. The body of the one fitted her best, 
 the skirt of the other was more richly trimmed. 
 It took no small amount of consultation to decide 
 the point. Then suitable bonnets and shawls had 
 to be discussed. One day she dressed herself up 
 in the two suits, and had Eva up to her room to 
 give her opinion on the issue. Eva gave her the 
 benefit of her judgment on every item, and hers 
 
 S 2
 
 260 MUTATION. 
 
 was a taste that never erred. She took it all as a 
 matter of course. She had been accustomed to 
 see her aunt's dress made a great business of, and 
 it never occurred to her to think it odd. Her 
 mother w^as never with her at Hislop, to say, as 
 Mrs. Phillips used to Jessie — 
 
 " I do believe your aunt thinks she is the young 
 girl of the party." 
 
 Eva was saved all vacillations between toilettes. 
 She had but one morning costume sufficiently 
 dressy for the occasion, and she wore it. It was 
 a white muslin dress with blue embroidered sprigs 
 on it, a French shawl of blue silk, and a white 
 boimet trimmed with forget-me-nots. 
 
 The games were to begin at twelve o'clock. 
 The Hislop party, therefore, were obliged to start 
 at an early hour. They had breakfast at half past 
 seven and set out at eight. Eva felt very gay and 
 happy as they bowled along, and chatted merrily 
 to her aunt. They two were the only occupants of 
 the carriage — a handsome close one, a gift of Miss 
 Boare's— -Mr. Herbert preferring riding outside. 
 The road was hilly but very beautiful, all the way 
 through park-like ground. The early hour en- 
 hanced the charms of scenery. The dew, still unex- 
 haled by the morning sun, hung in glittering drops
 
 ELECTIONEERING. 261 
 
 on branch and blade, and liazj mists still partially 
 floated on the wooded hollows. The sunlight was 
 bright without being glaring, and everything looked 
 fair and cheery. It was a four hours' drive, yet it 
 passed quickly ; Eva was surprised when the 
 carriage turning an angle in the road brought 
 them in sight of the park gates, beyond which, on a 
 level space of ground beneath a semicircle of sloping 
 woods, a collected crowd and pitched tents pro- 
 claimed the site of the fete. 
 
 They drove up the wide approach to tha 
 pillared portico of the Court, where they alighted. 
 A man stationed there for the purpose, took 
 their names and entered them in a book, here- 
 after to appear in the published chronicles of 
 the f^te. The house looked deserted ; all seemed 
 to have betaken themselves to the scene of 
 action, and thither the Herberts repaired. The 
 old baronet's memory of his " school-days' friend " 
 appeared better on paper than in person. He 
 passed Mr. Herbert two or three times, as he 
 walked through the company leaning on Lord 
 Westbury's arm, and did not recognise him, or 
 become aware that Mr. Herbert, expecting he 
 would, was on the qui vive to catch his eye. 
 At last his factotum, a kind of popularity
 
 262 MUTATION. 
 
 prompter, whose business it was to save liis 
 master the trouble of hunting out constituents, 
 came up and whispered to him. 
 
 "Eh? What ^ which?" said the baronet, 
 stopping and peering about. " Is tliat he talking 
 to Charlie?" 
 
 " No, Sir James ; to the right of him." 
 
 " Eh ? The fat man with the two ladies ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir James." 
 
 This conversational by -play, Eva, who stood 
 nearest to them, distinctly heard. She could not 
 repress a smile when Sir James hurried up. 
 
 "Ha! my old friend, Herbert; I am glad to 
 see you recollect Harrow days enough not to 
 fear crossing the hills to renew old acquaintance. 
 Mrs. Herbert, I presume — I hope she will consider 
 me privileged," he offered his hand. " If there 
 were a prize for belles, I think I know who would 
 carry it off. I know your daughter, Herbert, hj 
 her likeness " 
 
 " My niece," interrupted Mr. Herbert ; " my 
 wife's niece." 
 
 Eva was quite provoked at his correction. She 
 was hoping the old canvasser would get himself 
 into trouble. He adroitly turned the resemblance 
 that struck him into one between herself and her 
 aunt.
 
 ELECTIONEEEINa. 263 
 
 " I am sure," he continued^ *^ it is very good 
 of you ladies to come so far to see our poor sport, 
 and to brighten our reimion with your presence. 
 A meeting without ladies is to my mind a land- 
 scape without sunshine." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert made a polite speech compli- 
 mentary to the inducements of the party, 
 
 ^' Well, there is something gratifying in amusing 
 a class who have not much relaxation. It does 
 not do to be always plodding. I like to see the 
 people enjoy themselves now and again. Besides, 
 these meetings procure for myself the pleasure of 
 seeing my own particular friends who kindly 
 come to look on." 
 
 If the two hundred and thirty people who 
 were to feast that day in marquees at Sir James 
 Fosbrooke's expense were all his own particular 
 friends, he possessed a larger stock of friendship 
 than generally falls to the lot of one man in this 
 hollow-hearted world. 
 
 " Come," said the baronet, " let us stroll down 
 and see what they are going to do. They seem 
 to be preparing for the foot-races. Let me in- 
 troduce my friend, Westbury. Mr. Herbert, 
 Mrs. Herbert. Lord Westbury, Miss Herbert." 
 
 Lord Westbury was a great help. Sir James
 
 264 MUTATION. 
 
 had him by the arm on purpose. People like 
 being introduced to a lord : and it was no great 
 hardship to his lordship, who abounded in small 
 talk, and was so nearsighted that once he took 
 his eye off a person he never knew him again. 
 He chatted for a little while to Eva, paid some 
 too broad though insipid compliments, which were 
 flashed back, not repaid, by the proud irony of her 
 glance. Sir James shortly after, on a hint from 
 his prompter, espied another particular friend, and 
 requesting the Herberts not to wait for him 
 and lose the sport, hastened off to pay his court ; 
 and Lord Westbury, willing to carry his com- 
 pliments to a better market, accompanied him. 
 Our friends did not get within eye-sight of either 
 of them for the rest of the day.
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXy. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 On the departure of their host the Herberts 
 walked on in the direction of the crowd. Eva 
 had been longing to join it for some time. She 
 thought Ernest Clifton might be there; and it 
 would be so pleasant to have one friendly face 
 in that crowd of strangers. But she looked in 
 vain; he wjsis not to be seen anywhere. Her 
 eye was still moving through the crowd in search 
 of him, when his well known voice said behind 
 her — 
 
 " Don't keep your back turned to your friends, 
 Eva." 
 
 She looked round with glad surprise. 
 
 "Oh, Ernest, are you here?" They shook 
 hands cordially. 
 
 The Herberts greeted him likewise ; then all
 
 266 MUTATION. 
 
 four strolled on together. The young pair soon 
 fell back a step or two; Ernest offered his arm 
 to Eva, but with a playful shake of her head 
 towards her aunt, she declined it. 
 
 "I am so glad you are here, Ernest," she 
 said. 
 
 " So am I." 
 
 " Have you been here long?" 
 
 " No ; just come ; came straight from the 
 house." 
 
 " Only think of your finding us so soon in 
 this great crowd." 
 
 " I knew you were here. I looked in the 
 name book to see had you. come. I recognised 
 my uncle a long way off, and made straight 
 towards you. You are looking very well, Eva ; 
 very well, and very pretty." 
 
 *^ You teaching vanity, Ernest ! You ought 
 to be preaching it down. Tell me, when are you 
 coming to preach down the good people of Hilton's 
 sins?" 
 
 " Next Sunday. I go to Oakstone on Wednes- 
 day. I must stay there until I can settle myself. 
 I am sorry, Eva, you are not there still; we 
 might have had some more exploring rides." 
 
 " And gipsy adventures."
 
 AN OLI) ACQUAINTANCE. 267 
 
 " I suspect those last are more in your way 
 than mine. But I must not call you silly any 
 more, Eva, after the letter you have written 
 me." 
 
 She looked up with a pleased smile. 
 * " Was it a wise letter ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes. A clever letter and a very entertaining, 
 one. You little know what a treat a letter like 
 that is to a fellow like me, who never receives 
 any but dry business letters, or else common- 
 place matter-of-fact ones from home. You will 
 have me writing often to you if you send such 
 answers to my dull epistles." 
 
 " Your letter to me was not dull. It told 
 me al about yourself, and I was interested in 
 that." 
 
 " But, Eva, what was that you said in your 
 letter to me about my antecedents ?" 
 
 << Why, I thought you might like to know — 
 I was not sur© — I fancied it might be of use to 
 you " 
 
 "No beating about the bush, Eva. To the 
 truth, plain and straight." 
 
 " Well, you must not be vexed. I believe the 
 Hilton people think your inclinations have a 
 tendency towards High Church doctrine, or
 
 268 MUTATION. 
 
 practice rather, which they are very much 
 opposed to. I thought you might like to know 
 it before you came. I would not have told you 
 only for that." 
 
 "I do like to know it; but you do not tell 
 me enough. What have they been saying ? " 
 
 '' I only heard reports. They are often vague 
 and exaggerated. Do not ask me about them 
 now," she added, looking up with a pleading 
 smile, "you have the key-note to the parish 
 prejudices, and need tie yourself to no extra 
 services or empty forms." 
 
 " Don't call the forms of religion empty, Eva," 
 he said, gravely. 
 
 "Well, I will not. But this is a bad place 
 to discuss such matters ; we will talk it over at 
 Hislop. We shall see you often, shall we not? 
 Uncle Herbert speaks as if we should." 
 
 **Yes, I hope so. They have always been 
 very kind in asking me there : Will and I were 
 friends." 
 
 "I never could understand how you were, 
 you are so dissimilar." 
 
 " You and I are very dissimilar, Eva, yet we 
 are becoming friends." 
 
 " Becoming ? "
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 269 
 
 '' Well, become ; will that do ?" 
 
 " I hope we shall always continue so : but 
 I am sure we shall. Let us not keep so far 
 behind, Ernest. See, Aunt Herbert is looking 
 back every moment. When she does that she 
 is never content." 
 
 '' As she has Uncle Herbert to mind her, 
 I should think she might let me take care of 
 
 you." 
 
 Eva shook her head, and quickening her steps 
 came up with the seniors. 
 
 " I thought you were going to stay behind," 
 said Mrs. Herbert ; " you have lost the game of 
 throwing the stone." 
 
 " I do not care for these games," replied Eva ; 
 *^ I have often seen regiments playing at them 
 in Ireland." 
 
 " It was a pity you came, then." 
 
 " Oh no, aunt," said Eva good humouredly, 
 " I like coming greatly ; it is a very gay scene. 
 What I meant was that I did not care to watch 
 the actual performances." 
 
 " There is nothing else that I see to watch." 
 
 Eva did not reply. She knew her aunt's 
 temper, that when it was ruffled she liked saying 
 tart things. As the best means of curing her.
 
 270 MUTATION. 
 
 she glided over to her uncle's side, leavmg Ernest 
 to mollify his aunt by a little deferential attention. 
 In a few moments matters were smoothed by the 
 timely salve. 
 
 The quartette strolled about from one feat of 
 competition to another without again breaking their 
 ranks, until the bugles summoned them to luncheon. 
 Ernest then offered his arm to Eva, and they 
 followed the Herberts to the grand marquee. The 
 collation was handsome and substantial. After 
 it was done ample justice to, the ceremony of 
 toasting began. The speeches were much of the 
 description usual on such occasions — frothy, though 
 stale. Each proposer of a toast never felt so over- 
 whelmed with the consciousness of his inability to 
 do justice to the object of his eulogium — a con- 
 sciousness in which the audience sympathised ; 
 whilst the recipient of the honour invariably felt 
 so overpowered by the compliment paid him, that 
 no words were left him to express his emotion, and 
 though perhaps many words afterwards came, 
 some were so wide of the mark as to lead one to 
 suppose he had supplied the deficiency from another 
 little store he had by him belonging to another 
 subject. 
 
 After the luncheon came more games. Eva was
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 271 
 
 most pleased in watching that of riding at the ring. 
 Ernest felt most interest in the feats of strength, at 
 which he had himself pre-eminently excelled before 
 his going into orders ; even now, though out of 
 practice, he could have distanced any one of the 
 competitors and carried off the prize. Both he and 
 Eva, perhaps, — however unconsciously to them- 
 selves, — felt a tinge of that feeling which has 
 been so beautifully described by the poet Moore, 
 and verified in the responsive throb of so many 
 breasts, that the pleasure of all scenes can be 
 enhanced by the viewing them by the side of 
 those for whom we feel affection. 
 
 " When is the dancing to commence ? " asked 
 Eva of her cousin, as they stood together outside a 
 crowd round a soaped pole. 
 
 " At five o'clock, I hear. Shall you wait for it ? " 
 
 " I hope so : I do not know. Where will they 
 dance ? " 
 
 " The peasantry in the large marquee, I am told; 
 the aristocracy in the ball-room — that building you 
 see at the side with the colonnades. It is a fine 
 room ; I have been in it at an electioneering 
 dinner. This is a hardly contested county, and 
 voters get great entertainment. I am asked in 
 compliment to Graham.'*
 
 272 MUTATION, 
 
 " I think it must be near five now," said Eva. 
 
 He pulled out his watch. 
 
 *^ Eva," said Mrs. Herbert turning round. " We 
 had better go towards the house. Your uncle is 
 going to order the carriage." 
 
 " Are you going so soon, aunt ? " 
 
 " So soon. We have been here nearly five 
 hours." 
 
 " Dancing will shortly begin," remarked Ernest. 
 
 " We want to get away before it does," replied 
 his aunt. 
 
 The two cousins exchanged looks, but nothing 
 more was said. They walked slowly towards the 
 house. As they mounted the steps, Ernest took 
 ofF his hat to an old lady who was standing on 
 them. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Lennox ? " 
 he asked. " Do you wish your carriage ordered?" 
 
 " Oh, no, my dear sir ; I wish I did; I have three 
 of my granddaughters here, all young things. I 
 could not have the cruelty to take them away 
 before the dancing." 
 
 " You are very good natured, ma'am." 
 ^^I was young myself once, Mr. Clifton, though 
 it is a long time ago. We cannot put old heads on 
 young shoulders. I could not sleep in my bed if I
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 273 
 
 thought those three girls had disappointed hearts 
 about the dance." 
 
 " I wish that old lady would inoculate Uncle 
 and Aunt Herbert with some of her consideration 
 for the follies of youth," said Eva, when they had 
 left her. 
 
 There was some little delay in getting the car- 
 riage. From the window of the Court the company 
 could be seen collecting from different parts of the 
 grounds and wending their way towards the out- 
 door entrance to the ball-room. 
 
 The music struck up just as Eva followed her 
 aunt into the carriage. She looked from the 
 back window, and could see the whirling figures 
 pass the open windows of the ball room, towards 
 which Ernest Clifton was slowly sauntering. 
 Mrs. Herbert had not the same amiable weak- 
 ness towards a disappointed heart as old Mrs. 
 Lennox. 
 
 Before parting with him Mr. Herbert had given 
 Ernest a general invitation to Hislop when he 
 came to reside at Hilton, and a particular one for 
 the week after the next, to meet the Archdeacon 
 of Wilts, who had named a day in it for visiting 
 Hislop church, and had accepted an invitation to 
 remain the night at the vicarage. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MUTATION. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert talked the whole way home. She 
 was a great talker. When she had nothing else 
 to talk about she told long stories, without a 
 particle of interest in them, to any one who knew 
 nothing of the people she talked about. She was 
 a most persevering reader of biography. The most 
 obscure life ever written would find a peruser in 
 her: and it was not unfrequently the life and 
 adventures of one John Brown or Joe Smith that 
 formed the burden of her tale. 
 
 Eva was so accustomed to these stories that 
 they seldom annoyed her. She had taught her- 
 self a knack of following her own thoughts and 
 not hearing her aunt, except at decent intervals, 
 when she made an acknowledgment of atten- 
 tion and relapsed into her former abstraction. 
 This day, however, her mood was not so placid 
 as usual. She would have been glad if her aunt 
 would not have talked so much. She wished 
 to think over the day in silence ; and, whether 
 its excitement had made her nerves more sensitive, 
 or whether her aunt more forcibly appealed to her 
 attention, her ears could not manage to exclude Mrs. 
 Herbert's rhodomontade with their usual skill. 
 As she did not consider it would be right to roll 
 herself up in silence as soon as the gaiety she had
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 275 
 
 been taken to was over, she tried to throw oiF her 
 own wish of being quiet, and make herself agreeable 
 to her companion. But she was tired and found it 
 irksome. She felt very glad to find herself in bed 
 after having partaken of a refreshing cup of tea, 
 on her return home. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYL 
 
 CEEATUEE COMFOETS. 
 
 Mr. Herbeet invited some other clergymen to 
 meet the Archdeacon. Indeed, a small clerical 
 levee generally assembled at each house where that 
 dignitary stopped when going his rounds. It was 
 considered an honour to have him, and the clergy 
 immediately around the honoured house would 
 have taken it unkind if they were not asked to 
 join the party of which he was the star. Those 
 who were to meet him at Hislop were not very 
 good samples of the caste. They were the in- 
 cumbents of the parishes in the immediate vicinity 
 of Hislop, for the most part men of very small 
 means, and the wear and tear of small means soon 
 make inroads on refinement of both idea and person. 
 Mrs. Herbert, it is true, had suggested the pro- 
 priety of inviting some of their more distinguished
 
 CREATURE COMFORTS. 277 
 
 clerical acquaintance from a distance, but her 
 husband said the neighbours would be mortified 
 if they were over-looked ; so they were bidden. 
 
 Mr. James, the possessor of the largest and 
 wealthiest benefice, had been imported from South 
 Wales for some reason only known to the Bishop, 
 who had, in this instance, departed from his usual 
 custom of only giving preferment to those who 
 were of a spare habit. Mr. James was in most 
 excellent case. He looked the picture of good 
 humour and common sense ; but, certainly, much 
 more the personification of the farmer than the 
 scholar. Accustomed all his life to speak mo!^e 
 Welsh than English, the latter language, in his 
 mouth, savoured strongly of the former, nor was 
 he at any pains to correct the peculiarity. 
 
 This gentleman and another of the invited, a 
 Mr. M'Kenzie, had to attend a board of guardians 
 close to Hislop on the day of the Archdeacon's 
 coming. The board having concluded its sitting 
 at about three o'clock in the afternoon, the two 
 members we have spoken of walked up to the vicar- 
 age, as it would not have been worth their while 
 to go home and return to dinner. On the drive 
 they met Mrs. Herbert and Eva going for their 
 walk, and with them, Ernest Clifton, who, having
 
 278 MUTATION. 
 
 arrived just as the ladies were starting, sent his 
 pony to the stable and accompanied them. 
 
 With the two visitors Mrs. Herbert turned back. 
 
 "What are we going to do, Eva?" asked 
 Ernest, as he walked by his cousin's side after 
 the others, " surely not to spend this fine after- 
 noon in the house ? " 
 
 " I do not know what my aunt means to do." 
 
 " But you will stay out with me. Why, it is 
 three hours till dinner ; you cannot mean to sit in 
 the house all that time. Turn back." 
 
 " We two together ! that would be treason : I 
 should never hear the last of it. I know what I 
 will do. I will try and get Mr. James to come 
 with us, then my aunt can say nothing." 
 
 Mr. James politely held open the gate which 
 divided the pleasure ground from the lawn until 
 Eva came up : but, as her aunt had gone beyond 
 ear-shot, instead of passing through, she stopped, 
 and asked him if he had had any luncheon. 
 
 " So far ; I 've ate a parcel of sandwiches," he 
 replied. " I never go out without 'em. If I get 
 anything else, well and coot. If I don't, I'm 
 safe. It 's the pest plan, aint it ? " 
 
 •^ It is the safest, certainly," said Eva, smiling 
 and introducing her cousin to him. "Mr. Clifton
 
 CREATUEE COMFORTS. 279 
 
 and I are going for a turn ; perhaps you will come 
 with us ? " 
 
 He hesitated a moment ; did not seem to know 
 how to object ; and assented. 
 
 " Let us go down the drive," said Ernest, " and 
 get out on the road. I hate an up and down walk ; 
 one might as well be on a ship's deck." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert and Mr. M'Kenzie had by this 
 time disappeared within the house. The other 
 three turned their backs to it, and proceeded to- 
 wards the road. 
 
 Poor Mr. James, who could very well have 
 eaten a second lunch, did not find the walk a very 
 agreeable one ; a third party, when the other two 
 are young and of an opposite sex, seldom does. 
 True that both were too well bred to exclude him 
 from conversation, but he was too shrewd a man not 
 to observe that they had a great deal more in com- 
 mon with each other than they had with him, and 
 when they addressed him, he felt much like a dog 
 that a bone is thrown to to bribe him into content. 
 He thought of the vicarage and the lunch, and 
 wished he had left Mr. M^Kenzie to hold open 
 the gate instead of doing it himself. Having 
 acknowledged to the demolition of the sandwiches, 
 he could think of no decent excuse for turning
 
 280 MUTATION. ' 
 
 back. Had he had it to do again he would not 
 have paraded his providence. 
 
 At last, when all hope of turning back in time 
 to find luncheon was past, they were met by a 
 carrier and his waggon. The man seemed to 
 recognise Mr. James, who, on stopping, found he 
 was a Welshman, an old parishoner of his before 
 he came to Wiltshire ; glad of a chance of exer- 
 cising the familiar Welsh tongue, he stood and 
 conversed with the man, his two companions 
 strolling slowly on. 
 
 " That is an unwilling subsidiary that pressed 
 man of yours, Eva," said Ernest, with a smile, 
 when they were out of hearing. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Why, he has been longing to turn back ever 
 since he set out." 
 
 " How do you Know ? 
 
 " By him ; he is doing anything but enjoying 
 himself. He has stopped at every gate, and post, 
 and bridge, every convenient turning point, in the 
 hope of getting off; you spoke to him each time 
 and kept him on your hands." 
 
 " I never minded him. I spoke out of civility, 
 not to let him think we neglected him after makinor 
 him come with us. Why did not you tell me ? "
 
 CREATURE COMFORTS. 281 
 
 ^* I did not think it would do liim any harm to 
 take a walk, particularly after eating a pocketful of 
 sandwiches. Give him an appetite for his dinner. 
 I would not wonder if he bolted now," he said, 
 looking back. But Mr. James and the waggoner 
 were still standing together in the road. 
 
 " We must not let him do that, Ernest. Let 
 us turn. He is our only safeguard with Aunt 
 Herbert; we must take him in with us." 
 
 Mr. James did not join them when they came 
 up. He remained talking to the waggoner, so 
 they walked slowly on towards the vicarage. 
 
 ** I must get you for a ride with me to-morrow, 
 Eva ; I have brought up my pony for you. Can 
 I manage to get a mount here ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure my uncle will lend you his 
 pony. Ask him before Aunt Herbert's face. If 
 he allows it, she cannot well object to my going." 
 
 " Does she think I could not take care of yoii ?" 
 
 " I do not know what she would think ; perhaps 
 that we should both require minding." 
 
 " My compliments to her ! " 
 
 Mr. James here overtook them. They returned 
 together to the vicarage, where they found the 
 Archdeacon had arrived, and was with Mrs, 
 Herbert and Mr. M^Kenzie in the drawing-room.
 
 282 MUTATION. 
 
 That evening, when Mrs. Herbert and Eva 
 were seated by themselves over the drawing-room 
 fire, after leaving the gentlemen at their wine, the 
 former lady said with a very dissatisfied, ill-used 
 air. 
 
 " I never in my life was so tired as I was of 
 Mr. M^Kenzie to-day. I had him for more than 
 two hours : not a soul to entertain him but myself. 
 He is so stupid; he starts no conversation; and 
 every thing 1 could think of was said; I thought 
 no one ever meant to come and relieve me." 
 
 "You must have been glad to see the Arch- 
 deacon arrive," said Eva. 
 
 " Indeed I was : I had had pretty well of it, and 
 had lost my walk." 
 
 " I was quite surprised to see you go in doors," 
 said Eva, innocently ; "we had only just started, 
 and I thought you would have remained out. 
 When we saw you went into the house, Mr. 
 James, Ernest, and I, set out and took a long 
 walk." 
 
 " You must have walked a good way, you were 
 out nearly three hours." 
 
 " Mr. James met an old Welsh parishioner, 
 which delayed us ; we waited for him to have 
 some Welsh chat."
 
 CREATURE COMFORTS. 283 
 
 " I was longing to be out," said Mrs. Herbert, 
 who appeared unable to get over the grievance ; 
 " but I asked that Mr. M^Kenzie if he would like 
 to walk in, and when he said ' Yes,' I could not 
 choose but accompany him." 
 
 *^ Why did not you ask him if he would like 
 to stay out, if that was what you wished him to 
 do, as I did Mr. James? I dare say he would have 
 said yes to that, too." 
 
 " I did not expect I should have had him all to 
 myself. Besides he had some luncheon ; by your 
 carrying off Mr. James he had none." 
 
 " I asked if he had lunched. He said he had 
 eaten a pocket full of sandwiches — never went 
 out without them." A smile crossed Eva's 
 face. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert said no more. Her niece ap- 
 peared too opaque to understand the implied 
 reproach and she could not say — 
 
 " Why did not you come in ? I should not 
 have been so vexed if you had not been better 
 off than I was." Something akin to it, perhaps, 
 she felt. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Herbert ! Her feelings had to 
 undergo another trial that night. After the 
 visitors had left, the Archdeacon, who was stand-
 
 284 MUTATION. 
 
 ing on tlie hearthrug with his back to the fire, 
 remarked — 
 
 *' The Bishop must have had some good reason 
 of his own, or he never would have transplanted 
 that fat Mr. James from Cardigan to Wiltshire. 
 I have heard him flout a man not half his size for 
 obesity." 
 
 '^ That is a most extraordinary eccentricity of 
 the Bishop's," said Mrs. Herbert, a good deal of 
 asperity in her look and tone. 
 
 '' One he carries to a great pitch. I do think he 
 hates a fat man ; certainly he does a fat clergy- 
 man : the sidelong look of disgust he regards him 
 with seems to say : ' Look at the size of the fellow ! 
 He can't be doing his duty, or he would not 
 fatten like a pig.' " 
 
 The Archdeacon laughed. "Take care, Mr. 
 Clifton, you must not fall into flesli, if you expect 
 preferment in this diocese." 
 
 " No fear of that, I believe, at Hilton, Arch- 
 deacon. I dare say I shall be worked down enough 
 there before his lordship will think it necessary to 
 prefer me." 
 
 " I dare say it wall come in good time," said the 
 Archdeacon, good naturedly. " Hilton is a difficult 
 parish to work; there is a strong dissenting
 
 CREATURE COMFORTS. 285 
 
 opposition in the middle and lower classes, and 
 conflicting interests, often not easy of reconcile- 
 ment, between the two great proprietors. A man 
 who works Hilton parish well will be very fitted 
 for preferment." 
 
 " That is if he does not grow fat," interposed 
 Mrs. Herbert. " That ailment seems to counteract 
 all other qualifications." 
 
 " That ailment may be cured," returned the 
 Archdeacon, with a meaning smile. " It gives 
 way to hard work and limited creature comforts." 
 
 '^ What the Archdeacon said just shows the kind 
 of man this Bishop is," said Mrs. Herbert, in a* 
 private conversation with Eva afterwards, "narrow 
 minded and prejudiced ; very unfit for his situa- 
 tion. His appointments, since he has had the 
 diocese, have been most injudicious. Reddestone 
 he gave to Mr. Griffin solely because he was his 
 cousin. He had the living of Hilton, which was 
 quite as much as he deserved ; then to give him 
 a large living like Reddestone — no other Bishop 
 would have done such a thing." 
 
 " It was well for Ernest Clifton he did so. It 
 gives him such a good curacy." 
 
 " Yes : but Ernest was yery well ofi" where he 
 was, and livings are not supposed to be unjustly
 
 286 MUTATION. 
 
 apportioned for the sake of making lucrative cura- 
 cies. A man of weight and fortune would have 
 been much better calculated for Reddestone; a 
 parish thickly inhabited with families of con- 
 sideration. I don't suppose any other Bishop 
 in England would have overlooked your uncle, 
 and given that living to Mr. Griffin. Very 
 differently the late Bishop would have acted : he 
 thought very highly of Mr. Herbert's attainments. 
 I recollect this same Mr. Griffin, a poor curate 
 at the time, being at a meeting of the clergy 
 where the Bishop was present. His lordship 
 inquired of each clergyman where he had 
 graduated. When your uncle answered, ' Christ 
 Church College, Oxford,' the Bishop said, * Allow 
 me to congratulate you, sir, on belonging to so 
 eminent and illustrious a college' (it was the 
 Bishop's own). Mr. Griffin's turn came next. He 
 had to say, ' Trinity College, Dublin.' The 
 Bishop did not say a word. Every one felt for 
 the poor man's discomfiture : coming so close 
 after your uncle's distinguished college made it 
 seem worse. This is the man this Bishop has 
 seen fit to elevate above the heads of the older 
 and well known clergy : Mr. Herbert felt very 
 much offended with him." Here Mrs. Herbert's
 
 CREATURE COMFORTS. 287 
 
 face assumed an expression of wounded virtue, 
 half comic. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all," said Eva, in an excusing 
 tone, " Uncle Herbert might not have liked it. 
 There must be a great deal of duty to be done." 
 
 *' Your uncle would keep a curate if he had 
 a suitable living," replied her aunt, sharply. " As 
 he says himself, his living is but 2001, a year, 
 and he does not think any Bishop in his senses 
 could expect him to pay a curate out of that. 
 The Bishop has nothing whatever to do with your 
 uncle's secular income. Suppose a man with no 
 private fortune had this living, could he be 
 expected to pay a curate and live on what was 
 left?" 
 
 " No ; but he might be expected to do the duty 
 himself," thought Eva, but she said nothing. She 
 was very well content with the present allotment 
 of the preferment.
 
 288 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE RIDE AND THE VISIT. 
 
 The next day was wet. As it could not take 
 place, the subject of the ride was not broached. 
 Ernest had a cold, and remained in-doors all day, 
 a circumstance Mrs. Herbert did not fail to 
 animadvert on, when she and Eva were alone 
 after dinner. 
 
 " Ernest has a bad cold, aunt," replied Eva, 
 apologetically. 
 
 *^Even if he has, a man does not sit all day 
 in the drawing-room because he has a cold. I 
 never saw Ernest do it before : he always went 
 out. No better way of getting rid of a cold 
 than walking it off." 
 
 " It was so very wet to-day." 
 
 " He could put on his waterproof. I don't 
 know how he is to work his parish if he is afraid 
 of a shower." 
 
 " Perhaps he will take a lesson from Uncle
 
 THE EIDE AND THE YISIT. 289 
 
 Herbert," was on the point of Eva's tongue, but 
 she shut her red lips — I am not sure she did 
 not bite them, thej looked so red — and kept 
 it in. 
 
 The next day the weather cleared. Ernest 
 acquitted himself boldlj, and accomplished the 
 ride, though his aunt did ask him if he was 
 not afraid of going out with his cold. 
 
 On their way, the cousins met Miss Boare's 
 carriage. She was returning from a house, at 
 some distance, where she had been visiting. It 
 was on a steep hill they met her, too steep for 
 the carriage to stop, so they passed with a bow. 
 She was expected at Hislop the following day. 
 
 " Go easy, Eva," said Eva's companion, when 
 they reached the top of the hill. " I do not 
 want to shorten the time nor to tire vou. I don't 
 mean you to sleep on the sofa after dinner, like 
 you did last night." 
 
 " I did not sleep long." 
 
 "Didn't you? You did though: I thought 
 you never meant to waken." 
 
 " I suppose you talked sense to my uncle and 
 aunt?" 
 
 " Yes : but I would rather have been talking to 
 you." 
 
 VOL. I. ' U
 
 290 MUTATION. 
 
 " Nonsense ? " 
 
 " You do not always talk nonsense, Eva ; less 
 than I thought you did — or else you have taught 
 nie to like it. Do you know, when I returned 
 to Dorsetshire, after staying with you at Oakstone, 
 I found my dull routine of work dry and irksome. 
 I never recollect having that feeling before : I 
 generally work with more zest after relaxation. 
 But that time, often when I was slaving along 
 the muddy roads — the end of August was awfully 
 wet — I used to picture to myself the terrace at 
 home, and you all flitting and chattering about; 
 I don't think I ever felt more lonely." 
 
 " Poor Ernest ! you overwork yourself, and 
 then you feel jaded and worn. You must not do 
 so at Hilton." 
 
 " I shall have a great deal to do at Hilton ; 
 but not so much but that I shall take a holiday 
 now and again to run up here. I have had 
 a rare one now. I must leave early to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " After breakfast ? " 
 ■ " Before breakfast." 
 
 " You do not mean that, Ernest ? " 
 
 " Yes I do. I think I will ask Edward Phillips 
 for a breakfast to-morrow. One part of the
 
 THE RIDE AND THE YISIT. 291 
 
 parish runs up close to Brackley; I shall visit 
 through it to-morrow, and if Edward offers me 
 a bed it is likely I shall take it ; Oakstone is so 
 far to go," 
 
 " Do not wait for him to offer it, Ernest. They 
 are both so odd and so absent, ten to one they 
 will never think about it. Just say you will 
 come back. They are very hospitable, but they 
 never have their wits about them. When do you 
 go to reside at Hilton ? " 
 
 ^^As soon as I can. The parsonage is so out 
 of repair no one could go into it in its presei^ 
 state : I cannot think how the Hughes lived there. 
 Mr. Griffin has promised to settle it up, but some 
 way, he does not set about it. If it takes long, 
 I must go into lodgings until it is ready. You 
 will be coming down, Eva ; my father is going 
 to ask you ; he has promised Arlette ; and if it 
 will be soon, I would rather not leave Oakstone 
 till you come: I will set Arlette at my father. 
 You will come, won't you ? " 
 
 " If I possibly can. Do not ask me when there 
 is any engagement here, or Aunt Herbert will not 
 like my going." 
 
 " Write and tell me of any you may have." 
 
 " I will write to Agnes." 
 
 U 2
 
 292 MUTATION. 
 
 " I am not going to let you off corresponding 
 with me : mind that." 
 
 " When you go to live at Hilton I will write." 
 
 Miss Boare arrived at Hislop the following day. 
 Ernest had started at an early hour, having taken 
 leave of the family the night before. He rather 
 congratulated himself on escaping Miss Boare, to 
 whom he had conceived as strong a dislike as he 
 ever suffered himself to entertain towards any one. 
 Looking on her as a low minded, inquisitive 
 woman, who pried unwarrantably into other 
 people's affairs, he did not accord the credit 
 which was due to the good qualities she actually 
 possessed. Too careless of such things to value 
 her presents, and too proud and independent to 
 truckle to her in consideration of them, whenever 
 they met he made no effort at conciliating her, 
 but maintained a stand -ofP indifference towards 
 her, which, if not amounting to rudeness, nearly 
 approached it. 
 
 With his brother Edward it had been the 
 reverse. To counterfeit affection and respect he 
 did not feel, was not to him the irksome task it 
 would have been to Ernest, nor w^as he troubled 
 with the same principle which would have for- 
 bade hypocrisy without any adjunctive preventa-
 
 THE EIDE AND THE YISIT. 293 
 
 tion. He looked on Miss Boare as an old woman 
 out of whom something was to be made, so he set 
 himself to work to make it. He paid her all 
 proper attention from a junior to an elder, and 
 better still, from a gentleman to a lady. He 
 opened the door for her when she went out of the 
 room, and placed a chair for her when she came 
 in ; helped her first at table, and gave her the 
 choicest morsels ; laughed heartily at her very 
 slow^ stories, and told her very fast ones in return; 
 answered all her questions with a readiness that 
 never allowed her to suspect that half his time he 
 was inventing untruths to conceal the truth ; wr(Jte 
 her long letters, beginning with " my dearest Miss 
 Boare," and ending with "your very affectionate." 
 The old lady was charmed with him. She 
 declared Edward Clifton was the nicest young 
 man in the whole county; heaped presents on 
 him which he affected to be shy of receiving ; 
 went about with his letters, retailing their contents 
 and often flatly contradicting every word that 
 was spoken on the strength of false reports they 
 contained, crammed in by the writer to fill up the 
 paper. Edward would rub his hands as each 
 remittance came, swear there were no such billets 
 doux going, and it was ten times better fun
 
 294 MUTATION. 
 
 making love to an old lady than to a young one, 
 who would want all the presents the other 
 way. 
 
 Eva Desmond liked Miss Boare, not for her 
 presents, for she never gave her any — not for her 
 companionship, for they had none in common ; but 
 she liked her for that inexplicable sympathy 
 which exists between beings of the same species, 
 obeying the innate impulses of which, you like 
 one person better than another without bemg able 
 to give any reason for it either to yourself or 
 others. But besides this inherent essence of our 
 nature, Eva had reasons for liking Miss Boare. 
 She knew her faults, it is true, but she knew her 
 good qualities also ; the former were chiefly of 
 the head, the latter of the heart. With the wise, 
 one sterling virtue will cover a good many trifling 
 defects. 
 
 Time went very merrily at Hislop now Eva 
 was there. However retired the life she led, 
 when removed from the ever-recurring annoy- 
 ances of Glenmore, the strain and anxiety of mind 
 inseparable from the vigilance with which it was 
 necessary to watch, and endeavour to restrain her 
 father's ill advised transactions, her spirits never 
 flagged. They ^^'ere by nature gay and buoyant.
 
 THE RIDE AND THE VISIT. 295 
 
 and her temper excellent. It is seldom that a 
 person possessed of such warm deep feelings is 
 endowed with so serene a temper. Nothing ever 
 ruffled Eva's ; her brow never wore a cloud. 
 There is something very cheery in a sunny face, 
 it is much more pleasant to the eye than a grave 
 one, however placid ; and Eva's smile, dazzlingly 
 bright in her eye, and exquisitely sweet and soft 
 on her lip, was in itself a thing of light. Her 
 laugh was very musical as well as joyous, her 
 voice very silvery, and both were mostly to be 
 heard where she was. Miss Boare declared they 
 required no company at Hislop now. Miss De*s- 
 mond was a host in herself ; the house never could 
 feel dull while she was in it : Eva wondered 
 did Miss Boare ever think how it felt to her ? 
 
 One dinner-party Mrs. Herbert gave. Eva 
 sent timely notice of it to her cousin Agnes, lest 
 they should invite her to Oakstone at that time. 
 The guests were thirteen in number ; Eva wanted 
 her aunt to invite Mr. Colville, a rich gentleman 
 who had come to settle in the neighbourhood, to 
 break the unlucky number, but Mrs. Herbert 
 would not. She did not give her niece the reason, 
 but Eva was shrewd enough to divine it. Mr. 
 Colville, it was reported, wanted a wife: Mrs.
 
 296 MUTATION. 
 
 Herbert was determined no one sliould liave it to 
 say she baited a book for him. Miss Boare 
 reprehended her conduct rather severely when 
 speaking of the subject to Eva, but Eva, though 
 she had proposed to her aunt to ask him, did not 
 care a pin about the matter. 
 
 Ernest Clifton intended to reside in the par- 
 sonage house at Hilton, which, when put in repair, 
 would make a good and comfortable residence. 
 This, Mrs. Herbert took it into her head to 
 oppose. She considered it would be better for 
 him to go into lodgings and not have the tie of an 
 establishment. Perhaps she thought that encum- 
 brance might entail the further one of some one to 
 preside over it. Be that as it may, she never 
 ceased writing to Oakstone, representing her 
 views of the objections of an establishment to her 
 brother, until at last she succeeded in gaining her 
 point. It shortened Ernest's sojourn at Oakstone : 
 lodgings were taken for him at a watchmaker's in 
 the town of Hilton ; he had no longer any excuse 
 for residing out of the parish, so he took posses- 
 sion of them at once. Both he and Eva would 
 have been glad if Mrs. Herbert had postponed her 
 interference, at least, until after Eva's visit to 
 Oakstone.
 
 THE RIDE AND THE VISIT. ^ 297 
 
 She was invited tliere very shortly after 
 Ernest's removal to his lodo-ino-s. Mr. Clifton 
 offered to drive half-way to meet her, but Eva, 
 not liking to ask for her aunt's carriage to take 
 her the other half, wrote to say she would travel 
 by rail. Ernest had been apprised of her coming 
 both by herself and Agnes. He was waiting at 
 Hilton station and got into the same carriage to 
 travel down with her. All the family, down to 
 little Arlette, were standing on the platform of the 
 Oakstone station when the train came up; the 
 stable helper and a hand-barrow for Eva's 
 luggage. It was a most joyful meeting, and they 
 walked home a happy band ; little Arlette with 
 one small hand in Eva's, the other in her eldest 
 brother's. One would think the cousins had been 
 years apart, instead of a few weeks, so much had 
 to be asked and answered; and when they had 
 got Eva inside the porch once more, she was 
 devoured with kisses, until Ernest, who found 
 looking on but tame work, pulled them away, and 
 said they would kiss her face off. Mr. Clifton, 
 though he took no part in the kissing, was in high 
 good-humour, and felt very glad to have Eva. 
 It seemed such a pleasure to his children ; and 
 what greatly enhanced his gratification at it, was.
 
 298 MUTATION. 
 
 that tlie visit had originated entirely with himself. 
 It was the fulfilment of the promise he had made 
 to Arlette the evening she was so saddened by 
 Eva's departure. 
 
 " Dear, dear Eva, I wish you lived here !" 
 said the little child to her cousin, her arms round 
 her neck, and her soft pink cheek pressed against 
 one scarcely less soft and pink, as she sat in Eva's 
 lap on the night of her arrival, the centre of a 
 group in the bay window, opposite to which a 
 bright fire was blazing in the grate. 
 
 " Indeed, Eva, I wish you did," said Agnes. 
 " I cannot tell you how we missed you when you 
 went away. It used to make me quite sad to 
 pass by your door going to bed at night, instead 
 of turning in for a chat as we were ever doing. 
 I wish you did live here always, as Arlette says, 
 lived here for good and all, — could turn into Eva 
 Clifton and be with us always." 
 
 Eva laughed — not quite her natural laugh. 
 Her cheek looked a brighter and warmer pink 
 than usual — perhaps the flicker of the fire-light 
 upon it.
 
 love's agents. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Eva had come to Oakstone but for a week. She 
 did not think her Aunt Herbert would be wilHng 
 to spare her for longer ; but it was to comprise as 
 long a period as could be pressed into the word 
 "week:" she came on one Monday and was to 
 leave on the following. Ernest had a funeral on 
 the Tuesday. He started on foot after breakfast 
 and rode back his pony to dinner. All his family 
 encouraged his improving his acquaintance with 
 Eva. They perceived a change in him. He was 
 becoming more gentle, more kind in his manner : 
 his actions had always been so, but there had been 
 a hastiness and abruptness, almost amounting to 
 roughness, in his intercourse with his sisters, 
 which they were not sorry to see softened down 
 into mildness and courtesy. To Eva's hu- 
 manising influence they attributed, and justly, 
 the alteration. That she was a favourite with him
 
 300 MUTATION. 
 
 all could see, but it was a partiality so avowed and 
 undisguised, that with it, they never connected a 
 thought of any deeper feeling than cousinly 
 regard. A shadow of either suspicion or appre- 
 hension of such a thing never crossed their minds. 
 They all participated in the benefit of the suavity 
 imbibed from his associating with Eva without 
 experiencing any discomfort. There was no 
 abstraction, no coveting of exclusive companion- 
 ship. Side by side, Ernest and his cousin always 
 were, but every addition to the circle was wel- 
 comed ; Eva's smile ever seemed to say, " the 
 more the merrier." When Ernest was absent, she 
 appeared to divide her whole thoughts, time, and 
 attention, between her other cousins. She played 
 with the younger ones, conversed w ith and assisted 
 the elder. They wanted Eva's taste and Eva's 
 judgment in a thousand matters connected with 
 their dress, their occupations, or their visitings ; all 
 new responsibilities to them. Untiringly good- 
 natured, she would sit among them, advising 
 and devising, throwing her whole heart into their 
 concerns. In any little plan of economy she was 
 a most valuable help. She knew how far money 
 could be stretched — she had learnt by experience ; 
 and she was a most able suggestor of a resource
 
 301 
 
 or a contrivance. Nor was she unmindful of 
 dearer interests. She again appealed to Ernest 
 on behalf of Agnes's affection for Mr. Oakley, 
 and reminded him of his promise to consider 
 about bringing them together. Ernest would not 
 undertake to interfere without his father's 
 knowledge. This Eva objected to ; she coaxed 
 and persuaded, even tried bribery and corruption, 
 but Ernest was inexorable : he said it would not 
 be right, and all she could effect was a promise 
 that Agnes's secret should in no way be divulged. 
 
 This conversation occurred on Wednesday, and 
 that night, after the girls were gone to bed, 
 Ernest spoke to his father of the necessity of 
 letting his sisters begin to see some one. 
 
 " They are getting on now. You will not wish 
 to keep them all old maids, sir'?" he added, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Has Eva been putting this in your head ? " 
 asked his father, 
 
 "I know myself, sir, that they see no one. 
 You would hardly like them to remain un- 
 married." 
 
 " No, Ernest, I should not. But I must say I 
 do not see eligible or desirable men for husbands 
 for them. This is a bad neighbourhood."
 
 302 MUTATION. 
 
 " 'Tis, certainly," replied his son, " some few 
 there are. There is Charles Oakley, a very 
 unobjectionable person." 
 
 ^^ Yes ; and I believe he will be well off. 
 But I do not think he has any fancy for these 
 girls of mine." 
 
 " He must take a fancy to some one. It is as 
 likely it might be to one of them as to another : I 
 dined with him last week ; if you have no 
 objection, some day I am coming down I will 
 bring him along with me, and give them a 
 chance." 
 
 " 1 shall be very glad to see him. But don't 
 talk of iriving the girls a chance, Ernest : I don't 
 like it, it is a low idea. Of course, one word of 
 this conversation will not be breathed to your 
 sisters ? " 
 
 " No, I promise it shall not." 
 
 « Nor to Eva." 
 
 '' To no one." 
 
 Ernest returned to Hilton the following morn- 
 ing. After ordering his pony at the stables, he 
 came along the terrace to the bay window to say 
 good-bye. The glass doors were open. The 
 season, though far advanced, was very mild. 
 There was a fire in the room, but the girls had
 
 loye's agents. 303 
 
 assembled in tlieir favourite nook round the open 
 window. The two little girls, who had holiday 
 time during Eva's visit, were there, in great 
 delight at new frocks their cousin had been 
 putting on their dolls. 
 
 " Oh ! look, Ernest, look at what Eva has 
 gived us," said Arlette, running with her doll 
 as soon as she saw her brother coming. 
 
 '^^ Why, mite, she ^ gived' you that long ago," 
 said Ernest, catching up his little sister in his 
 arms, and holding her high in the air : she was 
 but a light fragile thing. 
 
 " No, Ernest, she only gived the frock now." 
 
 " Oh, the frock is new, is it ? Let me see. Can 
 you tell me what colour it is?" 
 
 " Blue," said the child, triumphantly. 
 
 " Eva is teaching you pomps and vanities : 
 naughty Eva ! Let us sit down here, and I will 
 give her a lecture." He seated himself on the 
 step outside the window, with Arlette in his 
 lap. 
 
 " No, Eva is good : isn't she very good ?" asked 
 the little girl, looking up more like one who 
 wanted a corroboration of her opinion than an 
 answer to her question. 
 
 " Sometimes," replied her brother, with a grave
 
 304 MUTATION. 
 
 smile, which was meant to provoke Eva to take 
 notice. 
 
 " Only sometimes, Ernest ! " there was gentle 
 reproach in her tone. Their eyes met, his softened 
 into a kind smile. 
 
 "I suppose I must compromise it with you: 
 often." 
 
 " Eddie was used to say Eva was always good," 
 said Nannie. 
 
 "Hush, you chatterbox! Ned was a gay 
 deceiver, and said what he did not mean ; I tell 
 truth. Come out on the terrace, Eva, it is so fine 
 it will not hurt you. Or stay ; Nan, run into the 
 hall for Eva's shawl." 
 
 Eva stepped out on the grass. 
 
 " Run back, you two little monkeys, and play 
 with your dolls," said Ernest, seeing the children 
 were preparing to follow. " Nobody but Eva is 
 to come with me." 
 
 He led her round to the southern side of the 
 terrace, then, drawing her hand through his arm, 
 he said : 
 
 " I shall not return to-night, Eva." 
 
 " When ? To-morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, I hope, unless something occurs 
 to detain me; I shall be here at dinner-time.
 
 loye's agents. 305 
 
 Tell Agnes to let us have a good dinner, and 
 to be very spicily got up." 
 
 Eva looked up, brightly. 
 
 " Are you going to bring him ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Mr. Oakley." 
 
 " I did not say I was." 
 
 " Have you spoken to your father about it ? " 
 
 " You are not to ask questions. Do as I desire 
 you." 
 
 " You have spoken to him, Ernest ; what did he 
 say?" 
 
 « You shall see." 
 
 " No, tell me." 
 
 " I shall not." 
 
 ^' You must, Ernest." 
 
 "Must I? We shall see." 
 
 " Why will you not? I want to know." 
 
 " It is wrong to be inquisitive." 
 
 " I am not inquisitive." 
 
 "Something very like it." 
 
 " You are very rude, Ernest." 
 
 "So are you." 
 
 She looked up, an offended flush on her face. 
 He laughed provokingly. She plucked her hand 
 from his arm. 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 MUTATION. 
 
 "You are vexing yourself now," said Ernest. 
 The spirit of malice seemed to have possessed 
 him this morning ; he took delight in teasing her. 
 
 " I am not : I am pleasing myself." 
 
 " You don't look pleased." 
 
 She made no answer, but walked on, looking 
 very ill-used. 
 
 "Perhaps you call that pouting, and think it 
 very pretty ; I call it sulking, and think it very 
 
 "giy-" 
 
 " Do not speak to me at all, as you have nothing 
 civil to say." 
 
 ** Very well, I won't ; I will go now : you 
 need not tell Agnes what I said ; I shall not come 
 back to-morrow." 
 
 She was surprised into an inquiring look. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you are out of humour." 
 
 She walked by his side a little way in silence, 
 then raising her eyes to his, she said, gently — 
 
 " I am not out of humour, Ernest." 
 
 " Aren't you ? I think you are." 
 
 " Why are you so unkind to me, to-day ? " she 
 said, in an appealing tone. 
 
 "Am I unkind?" 
 
 " I think you are."
 
 love's agents. 307 
 
 " Well, I won't. Be friends. Look up, 
 Eva ! " 
 
 She raised her large eyes, their brightness 
 seemed a little subdued, and Ernest's exchanged 
 their mocking irony for grave tenderness as they 
 looked into them. 
 
 " I won't vex you again, Eva ; I wanted to try 
 if it were possible. Good-bye." 
 
 '' You will come to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes ; be good until then." 
 
 They were standing in the shade of a large 
 arbutus tree which hid them from the view of the 
 windows. Ernest held out his hand, drew Eva 
 towards him by the one she placed in it, and 
 imprinted a chaste brotherly kiss upon her cheek ; 
 a kiss so platonic, it need not have deepened by a 
 shade the colour on the most prudish cheek and 
 yet Eva's glowed for long after. 
 
 After he had gone, Eva still lingered on the 
 terrace ; from it she could see the two poplar trees 
 where the road became visible, and where she 
 had first seen Ernest, when Agnes pointed him 
 out to her, on the occasion of his visit in the 
 summer ; and she now watched him disappear at 
 that vanishing point. She was still gazing at the 
 place, though Ernest had long passed it, when a 
 
 X 2
 
 308 MUTATION. 
 
 step approached. She turned round and saw- 
 Agnes. 
 
 " Ernest is gone," said his sister. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Dear Ernest, I am so glad he is near. It is 
 such a pleasure to have him come home so 
 often." 
 
 " Yes, his company must be a great enliven- 
 ment." 
 
 " The greatest possible. I always delighted in 
 his visits, so used poor dear mamma. How I 
 wish she saw him now. Since you have taken 
 him in hand, Eva, he is so much more gentle ; he 
 never speaks hastily now. He seems also to like 
 ladies' society better. You must not relax your 
 instructions, Eva ; the more he goes into it the 
 more fitted for it he will become : and he is 
 so handsome ; if he would but lay himself out for 
 it I am sure he could marry very well. Don't 
 you think he could, Eva ? " 
 
 " Very possibly," said Eva drily. 
 
 " But do you think he will ? " 
 
 " My dear Agnes, do you take me for a witch ? 
 How can I possibly tell ? You know the gipsy 
 prophesied he would marry for gold, and that is 
 all the comfort I can give you."
 
 309 
 
 " I often think of what that gipsy said." 
 
 So did Eva, in spite of herself: but Eva 
 knew more of what she had said than did 
 Agnes. 
 
 " I want to prophesy a little on another subject," 
 said Eva lightly changing the conversation. 
 There is to be a very sumptuous entertainment 
 provided at dinner-time to-morrow, and very 
 becoming habiliments are to be worn, because I 
 am going to prophesy that they shall not be 
 thrown away." ' 
 
 " What are you talking of?" 
 
 " Prophecies. Is not that what you have been 
 wanting me to do ? " 
 
 " I was asking you about Ernest." 
 
 " And I not being able to answer you are 
 talking of some one else." 
 
 " Vi^ell, talk so that I can understand you." 
 
 "I cannot bring down my conversation to a 
 level with your understanding, a sybil never does. 
 If you believe me, do as I desire you ; if you do 
 not, reap the consequences." 
 
 " Talk sense, Eva dear ; does Ernest intend to 
 bring Mr. — any one here ? " 
 
 " You know all that I know ; Ernest was not 
 very communicative, but be prepared."
 
 310 MUTATION. 
 
 It took but a little to set Agnes talking on tliat 
 subject. It was one she never tired of. She 
 went over and over — as she had often done 
 before — the little she had to tell. Agnes lived on 
 very little; she had watched Charles Oakley 
 through the atmosphere of her own affections, 
 which, like some other atmospheres, had given an 
 illusive magnitude to the objects seen beyond, and 
 meanings were attached to looks and words which 
 had never been in the actor's mind. Eva was 
 too shrewd not to be aware of it, " But," thought 
 she, " it may come to something if they are thrown 
 together; at least, Agnes must be sensible if it 
 does not, and will cease to dwell on the expecta- 
 tion." She listened to her young cousin's ramifi- 
 cations with patient kindness, lent her assistance 
 in all councils of arrangement or dress, spoke 
 cheering words of hope, and dropped a gentle 
 caution to Agnes to guard her secret from 
 suspicion. Whatever advice Eva gave was said 
 so entirely for the good of the recipient, and with 
 such winning tenderness towards their feelings, 
 that it never could wound. She dressed Agnes's 
 hair herself because she did it more becomingly 
 than her maid; clasped a bog oak ornament of 
 her own upon her neck, that its contrast might
 
 311 
 
 set off the whiteness; kissed her kindly, and 
 wished her success. 
 
 In due time, before dinner, Ernest arrived, and 
 Mr. Oaklej with him. Agnes received them 
 awkwardly, felt and looked confused ; Eva, like a 
 good angel, came to the rescue, drew off attention 
 from the blushing hostess, and managed to make 
 things go smoothly until the gentlemen went to 
 dress for dinner. At dinner Mr. Oakley had the 
 place of honour next to Agnes. There was some 
 restraint ; she felt shy, and both her father and 
 Ernest a little conscious. They were all con- 
 siderably indebted to Eva's good-natured exer- 
 tions, which kept up a vivacious flow of con- 
 versation, and made the meal pass pleasantly. 
 
 When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the 
 drawing-room, Mr. Oakley's first act was to ask 
 Eva for a song. Eva was quite free from the 
 affectation of some of her sisterhood, who, know- 
 ing that they sing well, try to enhance the favour 
 of letting people hear them by a feint of refusal. 
 She rose at once and accompanied him to the piano. 
 She sang an Irish ballad, a style of song peculiarly 
 adapted to her sweet clear voice. When 
 it was finished, Mr. Oakley replaced it by 
 another.
 
 312 MUTATION. 
 
 " That is a duet," said she, " come, Agnes, and 
 sing it with me." Agnes came, looking very hot 
 and shy ; and her father's look of anxiety was 
 not very reassuring. Eva thought it would be 
 a failure. 
 
 " Before we begin, just play this 'Ah non giugne ' 
 with me. It is a new arrangement, Mr. Oakley; 
 I shall like to hear what you think of it." 
 
 They played it over. It gave Agnes time to 
 recruit her courage. 
 
 " You sing, Mr. Oakley," said Eva ; " help ns 
 through this song with a few bass notes." 
 
 They began. At first Agnes's voice could 
 scarcely be heard; Eva supplied the deficiency 
 admirably ; but as Agnes's courage rose, and her 
 voice gained strength, she drew away her rescu- 
 ing powers and left the song almost entirely 
 between the two voices. 
 
 " I have forgotten that song," she said, as Oak- 
 ley, an enthusiast in music, fished out another; 
 " do you and Agnes sing it, and I will play the 
 accompaniment." 
 
 After they had gone through it ; and Agnes 
 and Mr. Oakley were busy over a portfolio of 
 music, Eva slipped away, and, turning her back 
 to the piano, engaged the others in conversation.
 
 loye's agents. 313 
 
 Once the ice was broken, and the startling effects 
 of hearing her own voice — at least, of Mr. 
 Oakley's hearing it — had worn off, Agnes did not 
 feel so backward. Moreover, no one appeared 
 to be listening or minding ; she therefore let him 
 pat another song before her, and began it with 
 him. They went on from song to song; Eva, 
 though appealed to, was too busy winding a skein 
 of cotton, which Ernest was holding, for her 
 crochet work, to join the musicians again that 
 night. They sang on together, no one attending 
 but themselves, until the footman entered to place 
 the chairs for prayers. Agnes was quite surprised 
 to find it was so late. She went into Eva's room 
 that night, and while she undressed, conned over 
 every note, and word, and look, until a less patient 
 listener than Eva would have been wearied. 
 
 " Go and dream of him, dear Agnes," she said 
 as they kissed their good-night, " or rather dream 
 of some one else ; for you know — 
 
 " ' Dreams always go by contraries, ray dear.' "
 
 314 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 
 
 The next morning was spent in the usual desul- 
 tory manner of mornings in a country house when 
 company is in it. The ladies' work seemed but 
 an excuse for being idle — the leaves of periodicals 
 and print books were turned over, waltzes and 
 snatches of airs played, anything which would not 
 hinder conversation, which is in effect the grand 
 occupation on such occasions. The children were 
 playing on the terrace ; the gentlemen sauntering 
 about, now joining in a romp with the juveniles, 
 now indulging in a little badinage with the ladies 
 through the window, strolling to the stables to 
 see the horses, or skimming over the columns of 
 the Times — killing the morning as best they 
 could. 
 
 " When do you ladies mean to come out ? " asked 
 Ernest: "you don't seem wondrous industrious in 
 there."
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY, 315 
 
 " Do not libel us," said Eva, "we are very in- 
 dustrious, and cannot go out until after luncheon." 
 
 "Miss Desmond will require to recruit her 
 strength before walking, after the violent exertion 
 she is undergoing with that little barbed awl," said 
 Mr. Oakley, " when she does make a stitch, she 
 makes it rapidly, but she rests a long time before 
 she makes another." 
 
 " I do not. I am crocheting very busily." 
 
 " You have made but one stitch since Clifton 
 asked when were you going to walk." 
 
 " How can I work when I am on my defence 
 so. At least, the sisterhood in-doors are more 
 usefully employed than the fraternity outside." 
 
 " Usefully ? " 
 
 " Yes, usefully, say it as scornfully as you 
 can. I am working both for economy and for 
 the good of my fellow-creatures." 
 
 " Are you going to sell your work ? " 
 
 " No, I am not." 
 
 ^^ Then I should like to know how your hook- 
 ing that awl in and out can ever benefit your 
 fellow-creatures ? " 
 
 " In a way you have often experienced, though 
 you are too ungrateful to remember it. Hooking 
 this awl, as you call it, in and out makes an
 
 316 MUTATION. 
 
 anti-macassar, which being put over the back of 
 an easy chair permits a man to lean his head 
 upon it — as he is much prone to do — in comfort, 
 instead of being warned off by a wicked glance 
 from the lady of the house." 
 
 " But I do not see how your making it com- 
 bines both economy and the good of mankind, 
 Miss Desmond?" 
 
 " Why, it saves the chair and gives the man 
 comfort." 
 
 "But the man would be just as comfortable 
 without it ; it does not make the chair any softer 
 to his head." 
 
 " But it saves the chair." 
 
 '' That is economy ; I grant you that advan- 
 tage." 
 
 " And he can lean his head upon it." 
 
 ^' That he could do on the chair without 
 it." 
 
 " But he would spoil it." 
 
 '^ Yery likely : I have granted the anti-macassar 
 saves the chair: pardon me, I think you are 
 claiming credit for two virtues when you are only 
 entitled to it for one." 
 
 Eva looked puzzled. 
 
 " Are you at fault, Eva ? " asked her cousin.
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACT. 317 
 
 " Yes, come to the rescue, Ernest ; his logic 
 has bewildered me." 
 
 " Why, though he might loll on the chair, he 
 could not do it in comfort if the lady of the house 
 were looking daggers at him ; for instance, I have 
 seen Aunt Herbert look as if she would like to cut 
 the head off a fellow when he has laid it down on 
 her sofa." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Herbert will not let you lean your 
 head on the anti-macassar itself, for fear of dirtying 
 it," said Myra. 
 
 " Then it is no virtue at all to make an anti- 
 macassar at Hislop," said Mr. Oakley, " it is but 
 one to make it elsewhere ; Clifton's is but by - logic 
 and cannot be admitted. You are silenced. Miss 
 Desmond." 
 
 " Silenced but not convinced." 
 
 There was a letter from Edward Clifton that 
 morning. He had obtained sick leave, having 
 been a great sufferer from rheumatism at Gibral- 
 tar. He was to sail a few days after his letter 
 was written, and must be near England when it 
 arrived. He sent many messages to Eva, charging 
 her not to leave the country until he returned ; 
 one sight of her happy face would do him more 
 good than all the recipes in the world.
 
 318 MUTATION. 
 
 " How glad poor Eddie will be to see you," 
 said Agnes, when they went up after lunch to 
 equip for walking. 
 
 "He will not see much of me," replied E^^a. 
 ^' I shall be gone before he comes ; he is not likely 
 to arrive before Monday." 
 
 ^^ Eddie will never be content to remain here if 
 you are at Hislop." 
 
 *' How can he help it if the Herberts do not ask 
 him to come there ? " 
 
 " He will manage it some way : go to Miss 
 Boare's or get you here again. You will not be 
 able to be so much with Ernest when Eddie comes. 
 He is naturally jealous." 
 Eva's colour deepened. 
 
 "You will find, Agnes, that Edward has forgot- 
 ten that nonsense. Surely it cannot last for ever." 
 "I do not know," said Agnes, doubtfully. 
 " Since he has been ill he has done nothing but 
 write about you, craving for every bit of news, 
 and longing to come home." 
 
 " All sick people long for home. Come down, 
 the gentlemen will say we are as slow in dressing 
 as at our work." 
 
 " How Mr Oakley did argue about your 
 crochet."
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 319 
 
 " Got the best of the argument too, though 
 Ernest's parry was ^very mgenious. For the 
 life of me I cannot tell how he made it out; 
 I have not had time to think of it since. 
 Keep him to yourself, Agnes, while we are 
 out; no use his wasting his time arguing with 
 me." 
 
 " I like to listen to him talking to you quite as 
 well as talking to him myself. I often cannot 
 think of any thing to say to him." 
 
 " You must rummage out something, or little 
 use my encouraging him down here : at all events, 
 he shall not talk to me." 
 
 " I cannot think how it is, Eva, hut I do not 
 think you like Mr. Oakley." 
 
 " If he is ever related to me I will like him for 
 your sake, Agnes : if he is not, no need to waste 
 my affection." 
 
 " I often wonder how it is I love you so much, 
 Eva, you are so different to me; and the three 
 people I like best in the world are the only three 
 you never seemed to like." 
 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 " Mr. Oakley, papa, and Ernest." 
 
 « Ernest ! " 
 
 " Yes ; you and he were always bickering. It
 
 320 MUTATION. 
 
 is only quite lately you have seemed to tolerate 
 him." 
 
 " I thought we were very good friends," said 
 Eva, musingly. 
 
 " You are now, perhaps. He, I am sure, quite 
 takes to you since you have suspended hostilities ; 
 but you know it was used to be quite different. 
 When he first came you were always sparring, 
 
 and the time before it was Eddie who was alwavs 
 
 tj 
 
 by your side ; Ernest never seemed to care for 
 you, nor you for him." 
 
 " Ernest was older, and past the age when boys 
 are always falling in love ; Eddie was just at it." 
 
 " Yes, but Ernest might have been kind and 
 attentive, as he is now." 
 
 " He had not come to the age for that, I 
 suppose," said Eva, laughing ; " he was often un- 
 gallant enough in all conscience when I was last 
 over. There ! I told you how it would be," as 
 a few grains of sand thrown sharply against the 
 window reminded them that those they were dis- 
 cussing had lost patience. 
 
 They took their way through the fields ; large, 
 rich-looking fields, divided by high hazel and 
 hawthorn hedges, and plentifully sprinkled with 
 old and handsome timber. Fine well-bred cattle,
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOilACY. 321 
 
 whose sleek and rounded sides bore witness of the 
 goodness of the pasture, grazed in them. Little 
 disturbed by the passage of the walkers through 
 them, they quietly raised their heads, looked for 
 a moment at them, and then resumed their occu- 
 pation. 
 
 Foremost, in a row, walked Mr. Oakley, Eva, 
 Ernest, and little Arlette ; Agnes and Myra with 
 Nannie following. This arrangement had taken 
 place contrary to Eva's intentions and did not at 
 all give her satisfaction. She had started with 
 Ernest, leaving the others behind to fall into ^v'h9,t 
 apportionments they liked ; Arlette had run after 
 her brother and cousin, and coaxing a hand into 
 that of each settled herself to her mind, and Mr. 
 Oakley, having come up to direct Ernest's atten- 
 tion to a covey of partridge near, continued to 
 walk by his side. 
 
 " The grass is very long in these fields, Ernest," 
 said Eva, " take us across the river, and let us 
 go towards the hill. Would you like that, 
 Agnes?" she fell back for an answer, breaking 
 both groups in the hope that when they again 
 formed it might be more happily; but she was 
 doomed to disappointment, Mr. Oakley contrived 
 to get wedged between Myra and Nannie, whilst 
 
 VOL. L T
 
 322 MUTATION. 
 
 Agnes was with her and Ernest. She felt half 
 provoked with Agnes for not managing better — 
 there seemed no difficulty to her in getting by 
 Ernest's side. 
 
 They found the boat at the ford, which, the 
 river having been swollen by the late rains, was 
 no longer passable on foot. They all got in, and 
 Ernest taking off his black gloves, pulled them 
 across. The wet bushes beat against him as he 
 guided the boat along the bank ; with a look of 
 disgust at his soiled dress, he said — 
 
 " That 's the worst of having anything to do 
 with a boat, it makes one in such a mess." 
 
 " Ernest is changed in more ways than one," 
 remarked Eva to Agnes, who sat beside her in 
 the stern. " Do you remember how he used 
 to think scorn of Eddie for minding a little 
 soiling ? " 
 
 " Ernest is obliged to wear such different clothes 
 now," replied Agnes. 
 
 They landed, and scrambled up the steep bank 
 on the other side. Eva waited for Ernest to make 
 fast the boat, Arlette with her : the others walked 
 on, and this time she had the satisfaction of seeing 
 Mr. Oakley between the two elder girls; they 
 appeared to be laughing and chattering merrily.
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 323 
 
 " Come on my other side, Arlette/' said Ernest, 
 " and let Eva take my arm." 
 
 The child looked dissatisfied. 
 
 " Cousin Eva will be tired," said her brother. 
 
 Still the little face was discontented. 
 
 " Come in my other hand, darling ; that will be 
 the nice way," said Eva, changing the child's 
 hand, and smilingly taking the offered arm. 
 
 '' A salve for every one, Eva," said her cousin, 
 bending on the dark and lustrous eyes that were 
 raised to his a look in which tenderness was 
 mingled with admiration, " all that some people do 
 for others ! " 
 
 "I am not doing anything for others now, 
 Ernest. I am pleasing myself." 
 
 His eye glanced to the group in front. 
 
 " That remains to be seen. You have done 
 your share." 
 
 " So have you." 
 
 " I would give a great deal Agnes could be 
 happy." 
 
 " So would I ; though, I believe, it was to 
 please you that I lent my aid." 
 
 She gave him a grateful look. He drew the hand 
 upon his arm more closely to his side, and said — 
 
 " We are all happy to-day." 
 
 T 2
 
 324 JIUTATIOX. 
 
 " I hope so ; I am. Is Arlette ? " 
 
 " Arlette is," said the child. 
 
 '^ What does this mean ? " exclaimed Eva, as 
 she saw Mr. Oakley leave the party in front and 
 return towards them. 
 
 " There is no fair play, there, Miss Desmond ; 
 the ladies are too strong in number, and a poor 
 fellow is in the minority on every question." He 
 took Arlette by the other hand and walked with 
 them. 
 
 *^But it is not fair, Mr. Oakley, to come and 
 make a majority against me. I shall have you 
 and Ernest putting me on my defence in a mo- 
 ment ; Agnes, come here and help me." 
 
 Agnes stopped, but did not return. ' They came 
 up to her. 
 
 " Stay with me, Agnes. I will not have these 
 two gentlemen outvoting me on every subject, 
 with no one to help me to take the part of poor 
 womankind, except this little scrap here." 
 
 Agnes, w^ho looked a little blank, walked on by 
 her brother's side. 
 
 " Womankind will never want an advocate when 
 Miss Desmond is present ; one look of those flash- 
 ing eyes would strike a detractor mute, if not 
 blind,"
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 325 
 
 "Nay, Mr. Oakley, remember how you shore 
 me of my virtues this morning." 
 
 " You have so many naturally, you surely 
 need not covet a factitious one." 
 
 ^^You are so complimentary you really over- 
 come my poor Irish modesty. I do wish you 
 would make your gallant speeches to Miss Clifton. 
 I suppose she is used to them and will know what 
 to do with them ; I, being Irish, do not." 
 
 " Irishmen would not say that." 
 
 Eva longed to get rid of him, but she could not ; 
 he did not leave them again during the walk. As 
 it put an end to all private communication between 
 her and Ernest, she tried to make the conversation 
 as general as possible, and neglected no opportunity 
 of bringing Agnes in. But the walk was not so 
 happy to any one as it might have been. 
 
 As it was Saturday night the two gentlemen 
 left for Hilton after tea. The next was Eva's 
 last day. Sunday was always a busy day at 
 Oakstone. All the girls attended the Sunday- 
 school, the elder ones as teachers, the little ones 
 as pupils. When Eva was there she always 
 accompanied them, each cousin sparing a few 
 scholars to make up a class for her. They 
 dined between morning and evening service, and
 
 326 MUTATION. 
 
 in summer, had an early tea and a walk after- 
 wards, but the season had become too far advanced 
 for that, now ; they took their walk first and had 
 tea later. They were sitting at it when Ernest 
 walked in. An exclamation of surprise burst 
 from every one ; no one had expected him : Mr. 
 Clifton muttered something which did not sound 
 like approbation. 
 
 •" Why, I had nothing to do this evening," said 
 his son, looking the least shade less downright 
 than usual, '' so I thought I might as well walk 
 down after evening service, and look after Eva 
 going back in the train to-morrow." 
 
 " Did you walk all the way ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 " What signifies it ? Only ten miles. I walked 
 it in two hours and a quarter. Give me a cup of 
 tea if you have any to spare." 
 
 He cut a slice of bread and butter which made 
 them all laugh and say his walk had given him 
 an appetite. They none of them knew he had 
 had no dinner — would not wait for it. 
 
 Agnes came into Eva's room as she was going 
 to bed, to say she would come and sleep with her, 
 as it was the last night she should have her to talk 
 to, and she had a great deal to say. Had Eva had 
 her choice she would rather she had not come.
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 327 
 
 She knew pretty well what was to be the theme 
 of the conversation, and she felt rather inclined 
 herself this night to indulge in a little reverie, 
 which Agnes's presence would quite preclude. 
 
 Agnes never began to converse about Mr. 
 Oakley in an abrupt straightforward manner ; she 
 always led to him by a most circuitous route, 
 commencing with quite a different subject, then 
 leading on from one connecting link to another, 
 until it was quite wonderful what an ingenious 
 chain was woven from the foreign commencemqjit 
 to the never failing conclusion — Mr. Oakley. 
 This night, Agnes began by praising Ernest's 
 gallantry in coming down ; she was sure that his 
 chief reason for doing so was to escort Eva part 
 of the way back the next day. Eva felt pleased, 
 there is something particularly flattering in atten- 
 tion from a man unaccustomed to pay it ; it 
 seems a double conquest, one over the fancy 
 and one over the habit. Then Agnes deplored 
 Eva's loss, and talked of the loneliness of the 
 following day; she wondered when Eva would 
 come again and if Ernest would be able to be 
 with them, she felt sure he would try if Eva 
 asked him. Then she told Eva there was 
 another thing she wanted her to do, that was
 
 328 MUTATION. 
 
 to put something in Ernest's liead. There had 
 been a Miss Carr on a visit at Mr. Griffin's, 
 this Miss Carr was an only child and very 
 rich (Eva started) ; Agnes had often thought 
 if Ernest would but lay himself out for it, 
 that this lady would not be unwilling to bestow 
 her hand and her riches on him ; but Ernest was 
 most provokingly inattentive to his interests in 
 that quarter. Now, if Eva would speak to him 
 about the advantage of having a rich wife, and 
 then 
 
 A hot angry flush burnt on Eva's cheek. 
 
 " Indeed, Agnes, I will do no such thing ; he 
 would think it very strange in me interfering. 
 Let him please himself in a wife." 
 
 " He would never think of it, unless it were 
 put in his head." 
 
 " Then you must put it there yourself : I will 
 not." 
 
 " He takes everything you say in such good part. 
 Cousins can say what sisters cannot. Besides he 
 thinks so much of your opinion.'* 
 
 Eva made no answer. She was determined he 
 should not have it on that subject. 
 
 " I wonder," said Agnes, "whether Mr. Oakley 
 is looking for a great fortune ? "
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 329 
 
 *^ I do not know. Would you like me to re- 
 commend him to ? " 
 
 ', "Jjor^ Eva I no. Why should you ask such a 
 thing?" 
 
 "I thought you were going to appoint me 
 general adviser to the neighbourhood, and, of 
 course, I should be impartial ; " her voice wias one 
 degree less silvery than usual. . 
 
 " I am sure, Eva, I did not mean to ask you to 
 do anything you do not like. You have so often 
 advised Ernest about things, I thought you would 
 not mind doing it again." 
 
 '' I can give advice if it is wanted ; I am not 
 going to force it on people." 
 
 " I wonder when Ernest will come again. 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 "I suppose I shall not see Mr. Oakley until 
 you come again." 
 
 " I dare say Ernest will bring him ; I will 
 talk to him about it ; or he may come of his 
 own accord." 
 
 " I do not think that is likely. Do you 
 know I have been puzzling over whether I 
 could have said anything to offend him. Did 
 you remark yesterday how he left us and
 
 330 MUTATION. 
 
 went back to you and Ernest after he crossed the 
 
 river r 
 
 ?" 
 
 "Yes, I did; I was quite provoked. I had 
 stayed back purposely that he might go on with 
 you. He said something about your being two to 
 one. What was it ? " 
 
 "I do not know. He seemed cross. He 
 looked back, and made some remark about you 
 being on Ernest's arm. I said you were no great 
 walker ; then he began to grumble, and said ladies 
 now-a-days had got to think they could not walk 
 a perch without assistance. Myra and I both 
 began to say what good walkers we were ; it was 
 quite in good humour, but all of a sudden he said 
 we were too many for him and he would run away. 
 Was not it odd ? " 
 
 " Surely," thought Eva, " if he goes on long in 
 this way, she will see that he does not care to be 
 with her." 
 
 Once on the subject of Mr. Oakley, Agnes 
 could go on for ever ; she did go on till far in 
 the night, commenting on every look and tone. 
 Eva kept awake as long as she could, but long 
 before Agnes had finished she was asleep^ 
 Whether the sound reached her mind through
 
 BAFFLED DIPLOMACY. 331 
 
 her sleep or whether it was but the impression 
 left on it — she dreamed that Agnes fell into the 
 river out of the boat ; that she could not prevail 
 on Mr. Oakley to jump in and save her; and 
 to her great alarm, she saw Ernest preparing 
 to do it.
 
 332 MUTATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SHARP-SHOOTING. 
 
 " Why, Ernest ! This train does not stop at Hil- 
 ton," exclaimed Eva, as they whizzed by the 
 station; " did you know it? " 
 
 " Yes, I did," quietly replied her companion. 
 
 "Then why did you come by it? " 
 
 " Because it goes on to Hislop." 
 
 " Are you going on to Hislop ? " 
 
 " I suppose I am, unless I jump out at the 
 window." 
 
 " I thought you might stop at Brackley." 
 
 " No : I am going to see you safe back. I will 
 avail myself of Uncle Herbert's general invita- 
 tion, and ask a bed for to-night ; I must return by 
 the early train to-morrow." 
 
 The vicarage carriage came down to the 
 station to meet Eva; Mrs. Herbert and Miss 
 Boare were in it. The former lady looked 
 greatly surprised to see Ernest, but she received
 
 SH ARP-SHOOTINa. 333^ 
 
 him very graciously ; she liked being on good 
 terms with her nephews, and was more urbane to 
 them than to her nieces ; and in return, expected 
 to be paid great attention by them. Miss Boare 
 and Ernest never got on well together, though 
 she admired and thought very highly of him. The 
 old lady had a habit of advancing some abstract 
 opinion which she never could support, but which' 
 she, nevertheless, adhered to most pertinaciously 
 in the teeth of the most convincing evidence to 
 the contrary; and she was the more likely to 
 assert it, if any one whom she knew held an^ 
 opposite view of the subject, was of the company. 
 These opinions Ernest never would let go with 
 her ; he would demand her reasons ; expose 
 their fallacy, if she gave any, which she often 
 could not; and keep her to the point. "It is 
 because it is" would never do with him. Eva's 
 hand often sought his under cover of the table, to 
 draw him by its gentle clasp from what she 
 thought was pressing his antagonist beyond the 
 bounds of politeness. 
 
 "Let her think it, Ernest, if she likes," Eva 
 would say when she was alone with him, 
 " her saying it will make no one else think
 
 334 MUTATION. 
 
 " But what business has she to advance argu- 
 ments she cannot support ? " 
 
 "None at all; but she is ignorant. Do not 
 you mind her, she is not your parishioner ; let her 
 own parson scold her." 
 
 Then Miss Boare asked questions that Ernest 
 did not wish to answer, and in so direct a manner 
 that she left him no option but to tell her or to 
 say he would not, an untruth being an expediency 
 he never stooped to. For instance : 
 
 " Do you find living in lodgings as expensive 
 as if you were at the parsonage, Mr. Clifton ? " 
 
 " I have never kept house, so I cannot 
 tell." 
 
 "What do you pay the Andrews for their 
 lodgings ? I daresay I could judge." 
 
 " If you could, I do not see what good it would 
 do you." 
 
 " Just for curiosity, what do the lodgings cost ? 
 There will be your board and washing besides." 
 
 " I am to pay for all together." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I did not know that." 
 
 " Nor would you now if you had not asked," 
 said Ernest, aside. 
 
 " But Mrs. Andrews surely does not wash for 
 you in the house ? "
 
 SHARP-SHOOTINa. 335 
 
 " I don't know where she washes ; all I know is 
 I get clean shirts." 
 
 '' And what does she charge you for all 
 that?" 
 
 " Fifty shillings a week." 
 
 '^ Fifty shillings a week ! Dear me, that is 
 very high, and you dining out so often too ; why 
 it leaves very little of your salary. But I suppose 
 your father continues the same allowance you had 
 in Dorsetshire, does he ?" 
 
 Ernest grew crimson. Eva would come to the 
 rescue. 
 
 "You have not heard these new waltzes, 
 Ernest ; open the piano and I will play them for 
 you." 
 
 On another occasion : 
 
 A lady of consequence near Hilton had died 
 shortly after Ernest had entered on the duties of 
 the parish. He attended her during the last 
 fortnight of her life, but she was taken for 
 interment to a neighbouring parish where the 
 burial-ground of her family lay. 
 
 " I should have thought you would have been 
 at the funeral," remarked Eva to him, on his 
 mentioning that he had been at Oakstone the day 
 it took place.
 
 336 MUTATION. 
 
 " No ; I was not. I heard nothing of it." Eva 
 regretted her remark. 
 
 " But, Mr. Clifton, did they send you no scarf 
 and hatband?" exclaimed Miss Boare, darting 
 forward, ready to devour the answer with her 
 eager eyes. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Dear me, that is very extraordinary ! quite 
 an affront ! not to pay the clergyman the com- 
 pliment ; why " 
 
 " Ernest had but just come," interposed Eva. 
 
 "My dear, he attended her. Well, Mr. 
 Clifton, you do amaze me ! I never heard of a 
 greater slight, I think." 
 
 " The inquisitive old hag ! " exclaimed Ernest, 
 impetuously, when he found himself alone with 
 Eva. " There she '11 go down about Hilton saying, 
 the Croftons behaved most shamefully to Mr. 
 Clifton, not only did not invite him to the 
 funeral, but never even sent him a scarf and hat- 
 band, 'I know it,' she'll say, ' I had it from his 
 own lips,' and then people will think I grumbled 
 about it. I, who do not care if there was not a 
 scarf or hatband in England." 
 
 Eva could not help smiling, it was so like what 
 Miss Boare would say.
 
 SHAKP-SHOOTING. 337 
 
 " Never mind, Ernest, I will tell her not ; that 
 you do not wish it named. She is so good- 
 natured, she would not, I think, knowingly annoy 
 any one. I will speak to her when I get an 
 opportunity." 
 
 '^ Do, Eva, I can trust you to say anything 
 delicately." 
 
 The evening that Ernest brought Eva from 
 Oakstone, Miss Boare chose to set about de- 
 nouncing the fast increasing custom of chanting 
 parts of the Church service. She knew that 
 Ernest's sympathies ran too much with the High. 
 Church party for him not to approve of the 
 practice, and partly out of contradiction to him 
 said it. 
 
 " Why do you not like it. Miss Boare ?" he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "Because I do not think it right: indeed I 
 think it very wrong." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I don't think it is a proper way of performing 
 the service." 
 
 " But I think it a very proper way. What 
 objection have you to make to my opinion? I 
 suppose you have a reason." 
 
 " My reason is that I don't approve of it." 
 
 VOL. T. Z
 
 338 MUTATION. 
 
 " That is not a reason." 
 
 " Well, I don't approve of it in chui'ches, only 
 in cathedrals." 
 
 " What is the difFerence?" 
 
 *' There is a great deal of difference, Mr. Clifton, 
 between churches and cathedrals." 
 
 ''What are both for? Are they for different 
 purposes?" 
 
 "They are both for purposes of worship, but 
 they are very difterent places." 
 
 " How are they different ? " 
 
 Here Eva's hand, which had been for some time 
 searching for his under the skirts of the table- 
 cover, found it. He returned the pressure, but 
 continued — 
 
 " Is not the worship of God the business in botli 
 places ? " 
 
 " Of course it is." 
 
 " Then, if to chant it be right in the one, how 
 can it be wrong in the other ? Does God accept 
 worship for its own sake, or according to the kind 
 of house it is offered up in ? " 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, you can never persuade me that 
 chanting is right in churches." 
 
 "And you must get better arguments before 
 you can persuade me, or any one else, that it is
 
 SHAKP-SHOOTING. 339 
 
 wrong. I hope I shall live to see the whole 
 service chanted in every church in the land." 
 
 " What, Ernest, the confession ? " 
 
 " The whole service, Eva." 
 
 The next morning Eva was up early. She 
 had a half hour alone with her cousin before 
 any one else came down- stairs. As she stood 
 beside him at the fire, she put her hand gently 
 on his shoulder and looked up very coaxingly in 
 his face. 
 
 " Do not be vexed with me, Ernest, for what 
 I am going to say. I am going to ask you, 
 not to give those High Church opinions down 
 at Hilton." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 *' They are so contrary to the people's feelings. 
 You have recently come from where they are 
 rife ; perhaps you may not always think exactly 
 the same." 
 
 " Are you alluding to what I said to that stub- 
 born old woman, last night?" 
 
 " Yes : do not be vexed with me." 
 
 " I never am, Eva, say what you will," he put 
 his arm round her ; " tell me why you object to 
 chanting, I suppose you can give a reason ? " 
 
 " I do not know that I could give one which 
 
 Z 2
 
 340 MUTATION. 
 
 would be satisfactory to you, though it is so to 
 myself. I do not think there is real, prayerful 
 religion in it — I think the people's thoughts are 
 more in the music than the sentiments." 
 
 " Music elevates the soul." 
 
 " Not in the right way, to my mind. There is 
 no humility in it ; they think more of the worship 
 and the manner of its being performed, than of 
 Him to whom it is offered and the unworthiness 
 of those who offer it. I know that I never can 
 pray humbly and fervently with all that music 
 swelling about me, and oh, Ernest ! — she stroked 
 down his cheek with her soft hand, as if bespeaking 
 his forgiveness for what she was going to say — 
 you horrified me last night by saying the confes- 
 sion ought to be chanted." 
 
 *^ Why should it not?" 
 
 " When the poor publican smote his breast, do 
 you think he chanted, * God be merciful to me a 
 smner r 
 
 Ernest looked surprised. 
 
 " Well, Eva, I am not sure about the confession ; 
 perhaps that ought to be an exception." 
 
 *^ I will coax you to make other exceptions ; 
 perhaps I shall get the whole service from you 
 
 yet."
 
 SHAKP-SHOOTINa. 341 
 
 " Surelj you cannot object to the hymns of 
 praise being chanted?" 
 
 " I object to any innovation which assimilates 
 our service to the Roman Catholic." 
 
 " But these things you Low Church people con- 
 demn as innovations are not such. It is your 
 party who made innovations, dropped half the 
 rites of the Church ; we do but restore them. 
 Churchmen are getting more conscientious than 
 they were ; they cannot now bring themselves 
 to swear to obey the rubric and then neglect 
 its ordinances. Which is more worthy o£' 
 praise, the man who keeps his oath or who 
 perjures it?" 
 
 " An oath is a sacred thing ; but, dear Ernest, 
 you seem to me to make the prayer-book a step- 
 ping stone to Popery. How many of your party 
 have begun by advocating the preservation of the 
 ritual in its integrity, and have ended by going 
 over to Rome ! " 
 
 '' Some few will err in every party. We are 
 not to break, our ordination oath because some 
 have gone too far. You need not fear, Eva, that 
 I will be one of them." 
 
 " So all think in the commencement. But I 
 did not mean to argue with you, Ernest ; I am
 
 342 MUTATION. 
 
 nearly as incompetent for that as Miss Boare. 
 I did but wish you not to advocate extreme views 
 in public, at least, for the present. Where is 
 the use ? you could not carry them out in practice 
 in Hilton, and perhaps a day may come when 
 your own opinions may modify." 
 
 " Not likely. Right is right always ; wrong 
 always wrong." 
 
 Eva stroked his face again with a half-mischiev- 
 ous half-fawning smile, which seemed to say 
 that, notwithstanding his firmness, she had confi- 
 dence in yet obtaining concessions from him. He 
 understood the smile, and returned it, though 
 he shook his head. He drew Eva more closely 
 to him, her forehead touched his whisker, when 
 a hand was heard on the lock of the door, and 
 the cousins sprang three yards apart as Mrs. 
 Herbert entered the room.
 
 THE ALLY. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE ALLY. 
 
 Miss Boare was glad for Eva to be back at Hislop. 
 The sweet tempered Irish girl was always a 
 resource when Mrs. Herbert was tart. She had 
 been very much so on the day of Eva's return. 
 She had received some letters that morning of 
 which Miss Boare coveted knowing the contents. 
 Mrs. Herbert baffled her inquisitiveness ; only 
 replying to her questions in a vague indefinite 
 manner that gave her no insight. Then Miss 
 Boare made some inquiry regarding a delicate 
 investigation, which had taken place in a neigh- 
 bouring family. Mrs. Herbert made no reply. 
 
 " You are so intimate with them, Mrs. Herbert," 
 said the persevering little woman, "I have no 
 doubt you know all about it." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Do you, Mrs. Herbert ? " 
 
 « Yes."
 
 344 MUTATION. 
 
 " Did they tell you themselves ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " And how did it turn out ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 "Why? you must know if they have told 
 you." 
 
 *' But they did not tell me that I was to tell any 
 one else." 
 
 "But surely you would not mind telling me, 
 Mrs. Herbert ? " 
 
 " But very likely they would. I don't think they 
 would wish you to know it, and I am not going to 
 tell." 
 
 " I would not breathe a syllable of it to mortal." 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " Eva, my dear," said Miss Boare the next 
 morning, "I suppose you have heard of this 
 business at Colgan ? " 
 
 " Yes, there has been a great deal of scandal." 
 
 " And how has the affair turned out ? " 
 
 Eva covered her eyes with her hand, as if 
 collecting her thoughts. 
 
 **I did hear, but I almost forget. Oh, I 
 remember now. Mrs. Sayers' letters to the officer 
 were given up to two umpires ; if they pronounced 
 them guiltless, Mr. Sayers promised not to
 
 THE ALLY. 345 
 
 read them, and things were to remain as they 
 were." 
 
 *^ And did they?" 
 
 " I believe so — said there was no evidence of any- 
 thing criminal ? " 
 
 " What was in the letters ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I never heard." 
 
 " And how is it to be now ? " 
 
 " I understand Mrs. Sayers remains at Col gan 
 with her father, and that her husband takes no 
 further steps about the separation. I think that is 
 what I heard." 
 
 " She will never be received again." 
 
 " That will be a pity if she is innocent," said 
 Eva. 
 
 " Ah ! if she is. You need not mention to 
 your aunt, my dear, that we were speaking on 
 the subject. She seems not to wish it to be 
 known." 
 
 " Others know it : I have heard it talked 
 of." 
 
 " She does not think so ; she thinks no one knows 
 it but herself. But sometimes, my dear, your 
 aunt is not fond of being communicative." Eva 
 knew that. 
 
 A few days after this, Miss Boare and Eva were
 
 346 MUTATION. 
 
 alone in the drawing-room. The room was warm 
 and the fire good, but Miss Boare could bear to be 
 roasted at any other person's expense. It seemed 
 as if she was laying in a stock of heat to draw 
 on when she went to her own cold house. 
 
 " Eva, my dear," (with a shudder) " the fire is 
 getting low. I feel the room cool enough." 
 
 Eva rang and ordered coals; her aunt 
 had desired her to do so when she was absent. 
 
 "I love a good fire," said Miss Boare, with 
 emphasis, when the man was putting the coals on, 
 in the hope that the observation would make him 
 pile on an extra quantity. 
 
 Eva thought of the miserable fires at Mowbray, 
 but she answered very pleasantly, — 
 
 " So do I, it is very cheerful." 
 
 " You don't burn coal in Ireland, I suppose ? " 
 
 "No, we burn turf." 
 
 " Does that make a good fire ? " 
 
 " It is not so hot as coal, but is a quicker fire." 
 
 " Which do you like best, the things of England 
 or of Ireland ? " 
 
 "Some of both." 
 
 " I wish you lived altogether in this country, 
 would you like it yourself? " 
 
 Eva laughed.
 
 THE ALLY. 347 
 
 4 
 
 " That depends " 
 
 " I mean with a good husband." 
 
 " Where is such a thing to be got ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are good husbands in Wiltshire, 
 Eva." 
 
 " Not that I know of. At least none come 
 here." 
 
 " Don't they ? " and Miss Boare looked search- 
 ingly at Eva. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 The old lady gave a wary glance round the 
 
 room to make sure neither door nor window were 
 
 « 
 
 open. 
 
 "What would you say to your cousin, Mr. 
 Ernest Clifton?" 
 
 Eva turned very red. 
 
 " He does not want a wife." 
 
 " Does not he? Perhaps he might." 
 
 " They are looking for I do not know what for 
 him." 
 
 " What signifies that, if he does not look for it 
 himself. I think he would do very nicely for 
 you." 
 
 *' But what signifies that if they do not think 
 so?" 
 
 " Would not Agnes like it ? "
 
 348 MUTATION. 
 
 " No, I am sure not." 
 
 " She seems so fond of you." 
 
 " She is always wishing he should marry for 
 money." 
 
 " I would not have suspected her of that." 
 
 " She is for ever speaking of it to me. The last 
 time I was at Oakstone she asked me to put it in 
 Ernest's head." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 " Said I would not : let him manage his own 
 affairs." 
 
 " You were quite right. Do you think Agnes 
 had any idea why you would not ? " 
 
 " No, I had none myself : I did not intend 1 
 
 did not think but it only shows if there were 
 
 anything, she would not favour it." 
 
 " Her brother is not likely to give her any voice 
 in the matter." 
 
 " But my uncle, his father ? " 
 
 " My dear Eva, there never was a marriage yet> 
 that was advantageous to one party, that was 
 not opposed by the friends of the other. But that 
 does not hinder matches taking place. If the 
 objection is on the gentleman's side, and he con- 
 tinues firm, his friends are sure to give way : once 
 they are married it is all forgotten. That there
 
 THE ALLY. 349 
 
 would be objections to you and Mr. Clifton 
 
 marrpng, I feel sure, but they may be battled out." 
 
 " But, Miss Boare, Ernest never gave me any 
 
 reason to think " 
 
 " Do you think it is his habit to dangle after 
 girls as he does after you?" 
 " But I am a cousin." 
 
 " Cousins can marry ; ask Mrs. Herbert." (Eva 
 laughed.) "I am serious," continued Miss Boare; 
 " it seems to me to be a very nice prospect for you. 
 I will speak plain, I always think it is the best way 
 (seeing that Eva winced a little), Mr. Clifton is a 
 most excellent young man; he will have a com- 
 fortable fortune, and a handsome place at his 
 father's death ; until then, he has his profession, 
 and of course, an allowance." 
 
 ^' But they would all be against it. They will 
 want a great fortune for him." 
 
 " Which would be of no benefit to you if he got 
 it : you have only to think of yourself. If you 
 take my advice you will encourage him, and leave 
 the future to Providence." 
 
 " But he may not Why should you think 
 
 that Ernest ? " 
 
 "By my own observation, and I think I am 
 pretty sharp in such matters."
 
 350 MUTATION. 
 
 " You have seen us but little together." 
 " But I have seen him with other people, and 
 I remarked the change. I thought of it the 
 first time I saw you together. Do you remember 
 the day you two passed my carriage riding? after 
 you had passed I leaned through the window and 
 watched you up the hill. His manner struck me 
 at once; he ^ as leaning forward to look in your* 
 face, and bending down his head to hear what you 
 were saying, as I had never seen him do to any one 
 before, and I thought to myself, ' That will be a 
 match.' " 
 
 " I am afraid you are not a true prophetess." 
 " Afraid ! then you would like that I should be ? " 
 Eva did not answer. She looked flushed and 
 happy, and a little guilty. 
 
 " Would your Aunt Herbert favour it?" 
 " I am sure not. She does not show much 
 favour to anything of the kind; and in this 
 instance, would not, I am sure. She would like 
 to aggrandize her own family if she could ; Ernest 
 will be the head of it, and his marrying me would 
 not add to either his wealth or consequence." 
 " You might be better to him than either." 
 « They will not think that." 
 " If I could, I would help you. Mrs. Herbert,
 
 THE ALLY. 351 
 
 perhaps, would not thank me ; therefore she need 
 know nothing about this conversation. When 
 Eddie comes home he will of course be 
 coming to see me at Mowbray. I shall invite 
 Agnes to come with him. Miss Kingsmill will be 
 with me at the time, and I intend to ask Mr. 
 and Mrs. Herbert and you for a couple of days. 
 'To tell you the truth, I wish to see the Herberts 
 before the Christmas holidays. Miss Neville will 
 be with them then, and she is such a heavy 
 uninteresting girl I never like to invite her 
 into my house, nor do I like this so well when 
 she is in it." 
 
 " Does she not improve at all?" 
 
 " Not a bit, that I can see. Mr. Herbert wishes 
 people to think that she does; but that is very 
 natural, as he is her guardian." 
 
 " Is she sensible ? " 
 
 ^^ They say here she is, but she does not look it. 
 It would be a miracle if she were — lunacy on the 
 mother's side, and imbecility on the father's: I 
 never hear her speak, so I cannot tell. But what 
 I was going to say, was, if you would like it, I 
 would ask Mr. Clifton to come to Mowbray at the 
 same time as you all." 
 . "Ernest?"
 
 352 MUTATION. 
 
 "Yes. Would you like it?" 
 
 " I think I should." 
 
 "Aren't you sure?" said Miss Boare with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Yes — thank you — I should — you are very 
 kind." 
 
 " When will he be here next ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " You do not know ?" 
 
 "He said he could not come very soon, would 
 not like leaving his parish." 
 
 '^ Well, if he does not come up before I leave, 
 I must write to him. Take up your work, my 
 dear, you look a little confused, and I hear your 
 aunt coming." Eva resumed her work, thinking 
 Miss Boare was a much nicer old lady than she 
 had ever thought her before. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I. 
 
 London : Trinled by Sjiith, Elder & Co., Little Green Arbour Court, E.C
 
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