^''H 
 
 $
 
 r^ jhC\i 
 
 //. . y/ .' /^///r.j '/fr^/i:/^/tJ.
 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 The person charging this material is responsible for its 
 renewal or return to the library on or before the due da ^ 
 The minimum fee for a lost item is $1 25.00, $300.00 for 
 bound journals. 
 
 Theft mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons 
 for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from 
 the University Please note: self-stick notes may result in 
 
 torn pages and lift some inks. 
 
 Renew via the Telephone Center at 217-333-8400, 
 
 846-262-1510 (toll-free) or circlib@uiuc.edu. 
 
 Renew online by choosing the My Account option at: 
 
 http://www.library.uiuc.edu/catalog/ 
 
 JUL -,^ 
 
 M
 
 L I E) RA RY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 623 , 
 
 ward
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC
 
 NE\A/ NOVELS. 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF MARGARET BELLAR- 
 MINE. By Adeline Sergeant, Author of 'The 
 Story of a Penitent Soul,' etc. In 2 vols. 
 
 BENEFITS FORGOT. By Wolcott Balestier, 
 Author of ' The Average Woman,' etc. In 3 vols. 
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS WOMAN. In 3 vols. 
 
 • Uncommonly well worth reading.' — National Observer. 
 
 THE KING OF SCHNORRERS. Grotesques and 
 Fantasies. By I. Za.xgwill, Author of 'Children 
 of the Ghetto.' etc. With Ninety-eight Illustrations 
 by Phil May, George Hutchinson, and others. In 
 I vol. 6s. 
 
 OUR MANIFOLD NATURE. By Sarah Grand, 
 Author of ' The Heavenly Twins,' ' Ideala,' etc. 
 In I vol., with portrait of the Author. 6s. 
 
 THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS. By C. J. Cutcliffe 
 HvNE. In I vol. 6s. 
 
 LONDON : 
 WM. HEINEMANN, 21, BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 K 
 
 BY 
 
 G. COL MORE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 A CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE,' 'CONCERNING OLIVER KNOX, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM H E I N E M A N N 
 
 1894 
 
 [A// rights reserz'ed]
 
 \AJ5nct 
 
 
 
 TO 
 
 H. A. COLMORE DUNN 
 
 ^
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO . .... 3 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE - - - - 193
 
 *. . . the daughters of music shall be brought Iozl\ 
 
 ECCLESIASTES. 
 
 ' For whithersoever the soul of man turns itself 
 unless towards Thee, it is riveted upon sorrows, yea, 
 though it is riveted upon things beautiful.^ 
 
 Confessions of St. Augustine
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO. 
 
 I would that you were all to me, 
 You that are just so much, no more. 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the commonest human face there lies more than 
 Raphael will take away with him. — Carlyle. 
 
 On a lonely heath beside a wood stood the 
 farmhouse of Heather Den. A road, deep- 
 rutted and narrow, ran between the heath 
 and the wood, and passed within fifty yards 
 of the house ; then, dwindling into little 
 more than a bridle-path, took a wandering 
 way back to the highroad, which it had 
 parted from three miles back. The house 
 was square and low, with a flat slate roof, 
 and thick, squat chimneys ; the walls were 
 gray and bare ; no Ivy or climbing rose 
 softened their hard outline, or hung droop- 
 ing about the narrow-paned windows ; no
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 shrub or waving tree broke the long straight 
 line of the front : all was cold and hard and 
 blank. Only a single fir-tree stood on a 
 little mound to westward, like a sign-post 
 pointing to the sky, and the sky and the 
 heaven beyond it seemed nearer, more 
 easily to be reached in that lonely place, 
 than the earth of cities and the world of 
 men. On two sides of the house the heath 
 stretched almost from its walls miles and 
 miles away ; but at the back, and widen- 
 ing out into the wood, lay the fields and 
 grass-land of the farm. The ground dipped 
 where the road ran, and the dip spread out 
 into a hollow behind the house : in the 
 hollow lay the farmyard and buildings, and 
 beyond, some flat, wide meadows. But 
 soon the ground tired of the level and 
 rose upwards again ; and the ploughing 
 horses, creeping up the brown side of the 
 hill on autumn mornings, seemed as though 
 they meant to follow the direction of the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 fir-tree signpost and mount Into the sky, 
 till, pausing when they reached the summit- 
 line, the hand of man turned them to the 
 earth again, and they came back Into the 
 valley, only all day to climb the height 
 anew, and to climb It each time In vain. 
 
 On a June day, when the air was still and 
 the hot sun shone unshaded on the earth, a 
 man walked" over the heath towards Heather 
 Den. It was between five and six o'clock In 
 the afternoon, but on the treeless heath the 
 heat was fierce still, and the man looked 
 worn with exhaustion as he plodded on. 
 He had a thin, tired face ; he was tall ; his 
 figure was spare, almost gaunt ; his hands 
 were large, nervous, and strong. 
 
 ' To call It an easy w^alk,' he said out loud ; 
 ' It's a pilgrimage, a — a ' 
 
 He broke ofT, not finding any word to 
 express the measure of his annoyance ; he 
 spoke peevishly, as though he were Irritated 
 rather than angry.
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' A devil of a way.' 
 
 A voice that seemed to come from nowhere 
 finished the stranger's sentence. He started, 
 and stopped, and looked about him. All 
 around the heath stretched bare and flat, desti- 
 tute of concealing bush or tree. The nervous 
 irritation on his face gave way to a puzzled 
 look ; he knit his brows, and said in a voice 
 that was half defiant, yet held a touch of fear : 
 
 * Who spoke ?' 
 
 ' I did.' 
 
 From out the thick heather, a yard or 
 two away, a head was raised, and two long 
 dark eyes met the stranger s searching gaze. 
 The eyes were set in a dark, pale face, clean- 
 shaven, with thick, dark hair about the brow, 
 and full, firm lips that met each other close. 
 
 ' I spoke. Where are you going to ?' 
 
 There was a certain insolence in the calm 
 voice that roused the other man's resentment. 
 
 ' That is my own business, not yours,' he 
 answered.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 * You are going to old Wichelow's. You 
 are Anthony Dexter.' 
 
 ' How the devil ' 
 
 * Do I know ? I know most things about 
 here. It Is not difficult ; there are very few 
 to know. You have not much further to go ; 
 when you get to the top of that little mound 
 yonder, you will see the Den.' 
 
 The head disappeared Into the heather 
 again. Anthony Dexter stood still a minute, 
 undecided whether to attempt to continue the 
 conversation ; then he went on towards the 
 mound that the other had spoken of. 
 
 It was not far away, nor steep. He soon 
 reached the top, even with his lagging steps, 
 and when he had reached It, he paused 
 again, and shading his eyes with his hand, 
 looked on ahead. Before him, about a mile 
 away, lay the house he sought ; only the upper 
 part of It was visible, for the ground sank 
 towards It, and hid the lower row of windows 
 and the door ; but the roof and the higher
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Story were clear in all their square unpic- 
 turesqueness, and the sun shone full on the 
 bare gray walls, on the slates, and on the 
 squat chimneys. As Anthony Dexter stood 
 and looked at the house, his chief feeling was 
 one of desire to reach it, so that he might be 
 at his journey's end ; there was no room in 
 his mind for conjecture as to what com- 
 panionship or experience awaited him there ; 
 there was no presentiment of all that was 
 about to happen to him w^ithin those square 
 stone walls and the lonely country about 
 them. Worn out with excitement and hard 
 work, he had come far away from his work 
 to find rest, and he longed for the rest to 
 begin. Behind him, the man lying in the 
 heather, with his face turned up to the sun- 
 shine, and his dark eyes half closed, was 
 thinking of the house, too, but with different 
 thoughts and different feelings from those of 
 Anthony Dexter. 
 
 The traveller did not pause long ; very
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 soon he went on ao^ain, faster now, the 
 thought of the Httle distance still to be 
 covered giving the energy to cover It more 
 quickly, and In another twenty minutes he 
 was close to the house. As he went down 
 the slight slope that led to It, he was struck 
 with the Intense quiet of the place ; the door 
 was shut, and the windows, and there was no 
 sound of life either within or without. There 
 was no garden ; only a little flagged space 
 divided the house from the heath ; he stood 
 on this space and looked about him. To 
 the right was the mound with the one fir- 
 tree rising thin and alone ; to the left the 
 woods ; behind, the heath that he had 
 crossed : and the fir-tree and the woods 
 were silent, for no breeze moved the branches 
 or rustled In the leaves ; and the heath was 
 silent ; and the house, with its half-drawn 
 blinds, and Its door closed to the warm June 
 air, seemed the most silent of all. 
 
 Anthony Dexter paused with his hand on
 
 lo A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 the knocker, almost afraid to disturb the 
 silence ; then he knocked, tentatively, 
 cautiously, making only a faint, uncertain 
 sound. Faint as it was, it seemed loud 
 and intrusive amidst the stillness that it 
 broke so charily ; but though it penetrated 
 the quiet of the woods and the heath, it 
 woke no answering sound within the house, 
 nor response of any kind. The man, hesi- 
 tating, waited a minute, then knocked again, 
 and, as there was still no answer, yet again. 
 The door was still closed, and there was still 
 no sound of footsteps or of movement ; and 
 Anthony Dexter, his reverence for the 
 silence swallowed up by his impatience, beat 
 vehemently upon the unyielding wood. Then, 
 suddenly, and quite close to him, a voice said : 
 
 ' What's your business ?' 
 
 He started and looked above and about 
 him. The door and the windows were 
 still shut, and he still stood alone upon the 
 flags. But presently, to the right of the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO ii 
 
 door, he became aware of a tiny opening, of 
 the size of one brick only, covered with a 
 grating. Behind the grating two eyes 
 looked forth, suspicious and searching ; and 
 when at length he met their gaze with his 
 own gaze, the voice repeated the words it 
 had uttered before : 
 
 ' What's your business ?' 
 
 ' My business is to get into this confounded 
 house,' answered Anthony, half puzzled and 
 half angry. 
 
 ' Ay ! but what for ?' said the voice. 
 
 ' What for ?' — anger was stronger than 
 perplexity now — 'what for? when I've come 
 all the way from London for no other reason 
 than to get in, and to sleep there and to eat 
 there for a month to come ! By Jove ! If 
 you don't open the door, I'll find my way 
 through the window.' 
 
 ' Are you the man that's to be our lodger ? 
 asked the voice again. 
 
 ' Who else should I be, considering that
 
 12 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 no human being seems to live In this place 
 for miles round ?' 
 
 The eyes disappeared from the grating, 
 and presently the door was opened a hand's 
 breadth. Anthony Dexter, thoroughly 
 irritated now, gave it a kick to hasten its 
 slow opening, but it yielded only a few inches, 
 and a grating sound told him that it was still 
 secured by a chain. 
 
 ' Where's your luggage ?' said the voice. 
 
 ' It's coming — in some carrier's cart or 
 something. I don't know where it is now, 
 and I don't care.' 
 
 ' And your name ?' the voice went on. 
 
 ' Dexter, of course — Anthony Dexter. 
 Are you going to let me in through the door 
 or not ?' 
 
 A faint muttering was the only answer ; 
 then slowly the door was closed while the 
 chain was withdrawn, and in another minute 
 Anthony Dexter entered Heather Den.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 And silence waited, as the curving wave 
 Waits ere it breaks in murmurs on the beach. 
 
 The door of the house opened Into a stone 
 passage, and In the passage stood the owner 
 of the eyes that had looked forth through 
 the grating. He was an old man, about the 
 middle height, very thin and very pale ; his 
 head was bald on the top, but silver-white 
 hair hung In straggling locks some Inches 
 below the nape of his neck. His features 
 were delicate and well cut ; his eyes, of a 
 bright blue, were restless and searching. 
 They looked at Anthony with a penetrating 
 gaze as he entered ; they followed him as he 
 strode a few paces along the passage.
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Which way shall I go ?' asked Anthony, 
 stopping short. 
 
 * Kitchen to right, room to left,' answered 
 the old man. 
 
 Anthony turned through a doorway to the 
 left, and found himself in a large square 
 room. It was sparely furnished, yet had an 
 air of order and comfort. The flagged floor 
 was bare except for a strip of carpet before 
 the two low windows, and a square rug 
 before the open fireplace ; the whitewashed 
 walls were purely clean. On the mantelpiece 
 stood half a dozen pieces of old blue china, 
 and a shelf on the opposite wall held a dozen 
 or so more. Otherwise the walls were bare, 
 except where a bright red curtain broke the 
 stretch of whiteness opposite the windows. 
 
 Anthony Dexter sat down on a high- 
 backed setde that stood between the fireplace 
 and the window. 
 
 ' Is Mr. Wichelow in ?' he asked. 
 
 * Yes,' answered the old man.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 15 
 
 ' I should like to speak to him.' 
 ' Speak on ; I am Mr. Wichelow.' 
 
 ' You ? I beg your pardon ' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 * Because — well, because I thought you 
 were somebody else.' 
 
 ' As you have never seen me before, I am 
 not offended at your not knowing me.' 
 
 There was a pause. The old man stood 
 by the fireplace, waiting, his searching eyes 
 still fixed on the new-comer, his under lip a 
 little pushed forward. 
 
 Anthony Dexter felt embarrassed and un- 
 comfortable ; but presently the sense of 
 injury began to revive In him, and he said : 
 
 'You give me a strange reception. Is it 
 your habit to treat your lodgers with such 
 scant courtesy ?' 
 
 ' We've never had a lodger before.' 
 
 ' Why do you take one now ?' 
 
 ' For the sake of the money.' 
 
 * Ah — yes. Well, I suppose it was a
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 foolish question. In the advertisement you 
 say, '* A comfortable home." Do you 
 think ' 
 
 ' It's for you to think. This is the room 
 we live in ; you can judge if it's comfortable.' 
 
 Anthony Dexter looked slowly about him. 
 The stiff, clean room had something of 
 quaintness in its air that pleased him ; out- 
 side, the evening light lay soft upon the 
 heath ; and everywhere the quiet reigned 
 complete. It all seemed very restful, very 
 far away from the life that he had left ; and 
 he said softly, and rather as though speaking 
 to himself than the old man waiting near : 
 
 ' I think I will stay.' 
 
 'The terms,' said the old man, 'are that 
 you pay a week in advance.' 
 
 Anthony half started ; the peaceful still- 
 ness of the place had made him dreamy, and 
 the prose of the old man's words broke in 
 abruptly upon the vague sentiment of his 
 mood.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 17 
 
 * The terms ? Oh yes,' he said ; ' very well.' 
 
 He took two sovereigns from his pocket, 
 and laid them down on the table. 
 
 'Guineas,' said the old man; 'and wash- 
 ing extra.' 
 
 Anthony added two shillings to the gold. 
 
 ' I suppose I need not pay for the washing 
 in advance,' he said, with a half-smile. ' I 
 can hardly tell what it may be — to a shirt or 
 two.' 
 
 ' And you board and live with the family,' 
 the old man went on. ' It was all said plainly 
 in the letter. I suppose you kept it — the 
 statement of terms ?' 
 
 ' I'm not sure.' Anthony Dexter felt first 
 in one pocket and then in another. ' Yes, 
 here it is.' 
 
 He drew forth a letter as he spoke ; it was 
 written in a round, rather formal hand, and 
 it was signed ' R. Wichelow.' 
 
 ' Here is your letter,' he said, handing it 
 to the old man. 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 'It's not mine; my grand-daughter wrote 
 It. And I don't want It ; I know what's in 
 it ; it's for your own satisfaction, so that 
 there may be no disputing.' 
 
 ' I am not likely to dispute ; I only want 
 to be quiet, and to be left alone. And now, 
 if you don't mind, I should like to see my 
 room.* 
 
 The old man turned and led the way out 
 into the passage again, and up an uncarpeted 
 wooden staircase, to a broad landing that 
 ran the whole length of the house, and was 
 lighted by a square window at either end. 
 He moved slowly along the landing towards 
 the further window, opened a door near it, 
 and said : 
 
 * That's your room.' 
 
 It w^as a large room, very scantily furnished, 
 and the boards were bare except for a strip 
 of matting by the bed ; but everything was 
 as scrupulously neat and clean as in the room 
 below. There was only one ornament : on
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 19 
 
 the uncovered deal table that stood beneath 
 the small square of mirror nailed to the wall 
 was a glass of flowers. 
 
 ' It's a good room,' said the old man. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Anthony rather doubtfully, 
 looking at the uncarpeted floor. 
 
 * Supper at eight,' said old Wichelow ; 
 then left the room, closing the door behind 
 him. 
 
 Anthony Dexter stood still and looked 
 about him. Just the bed and one chair, a 
 small, rather rickety washhand- stand, and 
 the deal table ; that was all the furniture in 
 the room ; and the blank wall spaces and 
 bare boards looked somewhat comfortless. 
 
 'Well, it's a change,' he said to himself at 
 last, ' a thorough change ; and, after all, that's 
 what I want.' 
 
 There were two windows in the room ; 
 one looked towards the woods, the other on 
 to the farmyard and fields at the back of the 
 house. Anthony could see the haymakers
 
 20 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 at work In a long sloping meadow that ran 
 up the side of the hill : they worked on 
 steadily in the subdued evening light, and 
 presently he sat down on the wide ledge of 
 the window and idly watched them. By-and- 
 by he turned his head from the scene outside 
 Inwards towards the room, and, as his eyes 
 wandered round it, they fell again upon the 
 glass of flowers. He began to wonder who 
 had put it there. Not his host, certainly ; 
 perhaps that R. WIchelow who had written 
 the letter ; perhaps a servant, though servants 
 didn't as a rule — well, it didn't matter ; but 
 he took the letter out of his pocket and 
 read again the short, stiff sentences in the 
 careful, upright hand, and the signature 
 — ' R. WIchelow.' There were not many 
 women's names beginning with R : Rachel, 
 
 Rose, Rebecca 
 
 * I hate people who only put their initials,' 
 said Anthony Dexter, with a touch of im- 
 patience.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 21 
 
 He got up and crossed the room, and as 
 he did so there was a knock at his door, and 
 the door opened to let in old Wichelov.''s 
 head. 
 
 ' The carrier has brought your luggage/ 
 he said. ' If you give him sixpence, he'll 
 bring it up.' 
 
 ' Let him bring it up, and I'll give him 
 sixpence.' 
 
 In ten minutes Anthony's portmanteau and 
 Gladstone bag were in his room, and he was 
 left alone again. He unpacked slowly, stow- 
 ing away his clothes in two little cupboards 
 in the wall, one on either side of the fire- 
 place ; and then, feeling very tired, he lay 
 down on the bed to rest. The soft evening 
 light grew paler and paler in the room ; a 
 faint scent from the hayfield stole in through 
 the open window; and in the great silence 
 was that slight sense of movement, felt only 
 in most perfect stillness, which is caused by 
 the beating of one's own heart, but which
 
 22 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 seems like the rhythmic throb of the pulse of 
 time. 
 
 To Anthony Dexter the absence of all 
 sound was rest and healing ; the quiet was 
 to him as the sweetest music ; as he lay 
 there in the evening peace, his tired nerves 
 were soothed and strengthened, and he said 
 to himself that he had done well to come to 
 this far-away, lonely place. The glass of 
 flowers was growing dim in its shadowed 
 corner, and dim and uncertain in outline was 
 the crumpled sheet of paper that lay near it, 
 the letter that was signed ' R. Wichelow.' 
 
 Anthony Dexter's gaze fell direct upon 
 the deal table, and he looked dreamily at the 
 flowers and the little square of white. He 
 was not consciously thinking of them ; yet 
 they were in his consciousness, vaguely, as 
 was a half-formed picture of the girl who had 
 touched them both. He pictured her as 
 beautiful, not caring much whether his illu- 
 sion were destroyed or not, but because it
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 pleased him, lying there In the half-light, to 
 think that somewhere from out the peaceful 
 loneliness a gracious, Ideal face would come 
 and look at him, and that from out the silence 
 a voice, full and soft, would speak. 
 
 A real voice spoke and roused him from 
 his dreaming ; but It was a voice feeble In 
 tone and somewhat harsh In quality. Old 
 WIchelow, knocking at the door, called to 
 him to come to supper. He rose from the 
 bed, and presently went downstairs to the 
 room he had first entered, and which, as he 
 found afterwards, was called always simply 
 'the room.' The table was covered with a 
 white cloth, and there were knives and forks 
 laid for three ; but the old man was alone 
 when he entered, and he felt Instinctively that 
 a strong, thick-bullt woman who came In just 
 after him, bearing a covered dish, was not 
 R. WIchelow. 
 
 Old Boniface WIchelow seated himself at 
 the table.
 
 24 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Supper is ready,' he said. 
 
 Anthony still stood with his hand on the 
 back of his chair. 
 
 ' Your grand-daughter,' he said — ' is she 
 not ' 
 
 ' She has not come in.' 
 
 ' You do not wish to wait ?' 
 
 ' I never wait.' The old man helped him- 
 self to food, and began to eat. ' Supper 
 comes,' he said, * and supper goes. Those 
 that don't come at the right time go with- 
 out.' 
 
 Anthony Dexter sat down and began to 
 eat his supper. The fare was plentiful for 
 two, but it would have been rather scanty 
 for three ; and Anthony felt, as the meat and 
 bread and scones disappeared, as if he were 
 taking the absent girl's share. He tried 
 once or twice to open a conversation ; but 
 Boniface Wichelow evidently did not care 
 for conversation, and the short space of time 
 that the meal lasted passed chiefly in silence.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 25 
 
 When it was over, Anthony went across to 
 the window and looked out. The pale blue 
 sky was quite cloudless ; a beauty of peace 
 lay upon the heath ; the quiet loneliness of 
 the outside world called to him. He waited 
 a moment ; then went into the passage, and, 
 taking his hat, strolled out on to the little 
 flagged space before the house. In front the 
 heath ; to the left the dark fir-tree, with a 
 strip of pink and orange sky behind its 
 lonely height ; to the right the road, and 
 beyond it the woods. 
 
 Anthony Dexter lingered, looking about 
 him for a moment or two after he had lighted 
 a cigar ; then slowly he went towards the 
 road, glanced up and down, crossed it, and 
 sauntered into the woods.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Then she spake : her speech was such 
 As not ears but heart did touch. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 The woods were silent with the silence that 
 seemed to possess all the country-side, but 
 across the silence came the full, sweet notes 
 of a nightingale, beating tremulously through 
 the still air. Anthony Dexter paused a few 
 minutes to listen to the lonely song, then 
 wandered on through the deepening shade of 
 the trees, slowly, carelessly, not heeding the 
 direction in which he went, delighting in the 
 absence of those many sounds of rumbling 
 wheels, barrel-organs, brass bands and human 
 voices, which, preying on his strained nerves,
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 27 
 
 had at last become unbearable, and made 
 flight from them a necessity. 
 
 On and on, still very slowly : even the 
 gray of the evening light was rest ; and his 
 weary body forgot its weariness as his spirit 
 inhaled and rejoiced in the great quiet that 
 lay over all. Great and unbroken, or it had 
 seemed so till now. He could not tell when 
 first the silence had ceased to be absolute, 
 when first the sound that moved so gently 
 towards him had struck upon his ear ; the 
 stillness had been broken so softly that the 
 break had been hardly perceptible : but the 
 moment that brought him the consciousness 
 of the break, brought him the knowledge 
 that for some moments before that conscious- 
 ness had been active, there had floated 
 through the quiet the sound that he heard 
 distinctly now, the sound of a sad melody, 
 sung by a pure, full voice. 
 
 He paused and listened ; and the sound 
 rose suddenly, swelled by other voices, harsher
 
 28 A DA UGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 and less true than the voice that had gone 
 before ; then sank again, and there was a 
 moment's silence before the single strain 
 broke forth once more. Anthony Dexter 
 moved on, led by the sound ; and the sound 
 grew stronger as he moved ; and again came 
 the burst of voices, raised in what the plain- 
 tive melody made a cry of longing or of 
 prayer. Still forward, more quickly ; the 
 sound was very near him now ; the singer 
 
 must be Suddenly there was a break 
 
 in the woods ; the thick brushwood and 
 undergrowth that had hidden the onlook 
 ceased ; and Anthony Dexter found himself 
 on the borders of an open space, a clearing 
 in the midst ot the thick-growing, motionless 
 trees. He stopped short, and looked, and 
 listened. In the open space was gathered 
 a company of men and women, in number 
 about twenty : some were young and upright, 
 but most were bowed and bent with age, 
 or hard work, or the two together : and 
 the men, with their smock-frocks or shirts
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 29 
 
 open at the neck, and the women with their 
 wide-brimmed hats or large cotton bonnets, 
 all held rakes or pitchforks as they stood. 
 Some of the faces were dull and heavy ; 
 some were only very weary ; some were 
 both : here and there a young face showed 
 that the joy of living was not yet quenched 
 in finding the means to live. They were 
 grouped, some leaning on their rakes or pitch- 
 forks as they stood, round a central figure ; 
 in their midst was a young girl, tall, full- 
 busted, strong, dressed in a scanty, clinging 
 gown of pale lilac cotton, and holding in one 
 hand a sun-bonnet of the same material and 
 colour as her dress. Her face was turned 
 towards Anthony ; slightly raised, the eyes 
 looking upwards to the sky, it was lighted by 
 a glow of exultation as she sang in the pure 
 voice that he had heard afar off The words 
 that she sang were a kind of doggerel verse : 
 
 * Sorrow and toil through all the weary day, 
 Sorrow and toil, and neither let nor stay. 
 Sorrow and toil till life shall pass away ;'
 
 30 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 and the voices of the men and women stand- 
 ing round, joined in, quavering and uncertain, 
 harsh, strong, true and false, with the girl's 
 voice, as it rose and thrilled in the refrain : 
 
 ' But oh for the rest beyond !' 
 
 The air of the song was quaint, and wild, 
 and plaintive ; it was written in the major 
 key, yet had a minor sadness in it; or perhaps 
 the minor note was in the worn faces of the 
 men and women, as they stood with eyes 
 fixed on the singer in their midst, or joined 
 in the cry of longing for a rest which could 
 only lie beyond the daily life they knew, i 
 The girl sang on : 
 
 ' Sorrow and toil, and sin and passion rife, 
 Satan at hand to vex us in the strife. 
 No hope of rest through all this struggling life ;' 
 
 and again the chorus swelled : 
 
 ' But oh for the rest beyond !' 
 
 The singer paused a moment, and glanced 
 at the group around her. ' Sing with me, 
 dear friends,' she said, then raised her voice
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 31 
 
 and started the next verse. And now, here 
 and there, a voice joined in with the girl's 
 voice, feeble and uncertain, jarring on the 
 pureness of her notes, dying away again, 
 and leaving her to sing a few bars alone, till 
 in the last line many voices joined, with the 
 upward and downward drag from note to 
 note common to the untaught in music : 
 
 ' Sorrow and toil and many bitter tears, 
 Quick-dying hopes and ever-living fears, 
 f-Iearts tired with beating all the weary years ; 
 But oh for the rest beyond!' 
 
 A. The wail of the chorus, full, longing, with 
 a ring in it that came from the half-conscious 
 bitterness in the hearts of the singers, died 
 away. The girl turned her eyes from the 
 sky to the people around her. 
 
 ' It is late,' she said ; 'the light will soon 
 be gone. Go home and rest ; the Lord will 
 keep you through the night, and give you 
 strength for to-morrow's work.' 
 
 She stood, with her arms folded, the sun-
 
 32 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 bonnet dangling from one finger, while the 
 people, slowly, and in various directions, 
 passed out of the open space. The women 
 gave little bobbing curtseys, and the men 
 touched their hats before they went, and the 
 girl returned their salutations gravely, with a 
 slow bend of the head. 
 
 Anthony Dexter drew back into the under- 
 growth : some of the company passed along 
 the path by which he had come, and he did 
 not wish to be seen ; but when the figures 
 had disappeared amongst the trees, he stepped 
 forward again, so that he could see into the 
 cleared space. The girl still stood there 
 alone ; her arms were still folded, her face 
 was dim in the lessening light ; but her eyes 
 seemed to look, calm and steadfast. In amongst 
 the trees, to the spot where Anthony waited 
 and watched her. She moved a few paces 
 forward, and Anthony moved too, rustling 
 the leaves purposely as he pushed his way 
 on to the path. She stopped a moment when
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 33 
 
 she heard the rustling, and then came on 
 again, saying In the full, low voice that had 
 wished the people good-night : 
 
 ' Is that you, MIcah ? Are you too tired 
 to get home ?' 
 
 ' It Is not MIcah,' said Anthony Dexter. 
 ' It Is I, a stranger.' 
 
 He stepped out Into the cleared space. 
 He was close to her. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, ' who you are.' 
 
 The exaltation was still alight In her face, 
 and there was a thrill of exaltation In her 
 voice as she answered him. 
 
 ' I am the servant of the Lord,' she said. 
 
 The man could only look at her. Her face 
 was very beautiful In the gray light ; and 
 inscrutable. There was subtlllty behind the 
 exaltation ; It lay In the curves of the mouth, 
 and in the eyes, drooping slightly at the 
 corners ; and there was passionate feeling. 
 The face Interested him, moved him, affected 
 him strangely. 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 'Tell me,' he said eagerly, and with a 
 trembling dread of disappointment in the 
 answer, ' are you R. Wichelow ?' 
 
 * I am Rhoda Wichelow,' she answered. 
 
 ' Rhoda ! Of course,' he said — ' of course 
 that is the name.' 
 
 * Why of course ?' 
 
 The exaltation was gone from her face 
 now : the lips curled slightly as she 
 spoke. 
 
 * Because you could have no other name. 
 Rhoda ! It suits you absolutely. There 
 was never a Rhoda in the world but 
 you.' 
 
 ' I am glad the name pleases you,' she 
 said coldly. ' And now I must go home.' 
 
 ' I am your lodger,' said Anthony Dexter, 
 ' and I must go home too. May I walk 
 with you ?' 
 
 ' If you will.' 
 
 The girl strode on, and he followed her. 
 The path was narrow, and he could not
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 35 
 
 have walked beside her unless she had chosen 
 to tread on the extreme edge of it, and she 
 did not choose ; she walked in the middle, 
 and she did not turn nor speak. On through 
 the woods they went ; the dry twigs cracked 
 beneath their feet ; otherwise the silence was 
 unbroken. Curiosity and a strong desire to 
 hear her speak again made Anthony venture 
 upon a question at last. 
 
 'Those people,' he said, 'that were with 
 you just now, who are they ? Labourers — 
 village people, I suppose ?' 
 
 * They work for my grandfather,' the girl 
 answered. * Just now it is the haymaking, 
 and they are haymakers for the time.' 
 
 ' And you — do you sing like that every 
 night ?' 
 
 'When it is fine.' 
 
 ' It is very good of you.' 
 
 ' Good ?' The girl stopped suddenly and 
 turned upon him. ' Do you call that good ? 
 All day they work, from the early morning
 
 36 A DA UGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 to the dusk — and longer if there is work that 
 must be done ; there is no room in their 
 Hves for anything but work, and work, and 
 work. They have no time to think of their 
 souls, or the life of souls ; they have no time 
 to think of anything but just how to toil on 
 and on from day to day. And if in the 
 summer evenings, when the light lingers, 
 they will come sometimes and think for a 
 little while of the brightness beyond the dull, 
 daily life ; and if they let the longing and the 
 weariness of their hearts come out in the 
 songs we sing, is it goodness to be with them 
 for half an hour, and to give them what help 
 I can ? You call it good. It is not good ; 
 it is human, that is all' 
 
 She turned and walked on again, and 
 Anthony Dexter followed her in silence, not 
 knowing what to say. She did not speak 
 till they had passed out of the woods ; then, 
 before crossing the road, she stopped again 
 and turned her face to him once more.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 37 
 
 ' It will not be very comfortable for you at 
 Heather Den,' she said. 
 
 ' I think It will — quite comfortable enough.' 
 
 ' You do not know, but I know. I wrote 
 to you when you answered the advertise- 
 ment, and I said what my grandfather told 
 me to say ; but I also tried to make the 
 terms seem as disagreeable as I could, so 
 that you should not come from London all 
 this way.' 
 
 ' Why did you not want me to come ?' 
 
 ' I knew you would not stay.' 
 
 ' I think I shall stay.' 
 
 ' You will not have the sort of food you 
 are used to.' The girl's voice became almost 
 defiant, and her face flushed slightly. ' You 
 will hardly have enough. And then,' she 
 went on hurriedly, before Anthony could 
 speak, ' it is all so bare and poor.' 
 
 ' But It is beautifully clean,' said Anthony, 
 and felt when he had said It that It was a 
 ridiculous thing to say.
 
 38 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Rhoda Wichelow gave a little scornful 
 laugh. 
 
 * Oh yes, it is clean,' she said. 
 
 Then she walked on across the road and 
 into the house, and Anthony Dexter followed 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 There is nothing makes a man suspect much more than 
 to know little.— Lord Bacon. 
 
 It was dark In the passage, and almost dark 
 in the room. Pale gleams of light came 
 through the small-paned windows, and showed 
 dimly the shrunken form of old Boniface 
 Wichelow crouching on the settle. 
 
 ' Good-evening, grandfather,' said Rhoda 
 Wichelow. 
 
 ' Why are you so late ?' was all the old 
 man answered. 
 
 ' The work went on till late this evening. 
 You had said that the hay must all be turned 
 in the hill meadow before It stopped.'
 
 40 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 * But you could have come in in time for 
 supper — and the lodger here.' 
 
 ' You know I never stop work till the 
 people stop.' 
 
 * Always thwarting and self-willed,' the old 
 man muttered — 'always her own way.' Then 
 louder he said, ' Supper is over long ago. 
 You know my rule ?' 
 
 * Yes. Sally will make me some gruel ; it 
 is all I want.' 
 
 Boniface Wichelow got down from the 
 settle and came towards the girl 
 
 'Not with milk,' he said; * by Jehovah, 
 you shall not have milk ! If you don't come 
 and eat at the right time, you shall not have 
 extra food cooked at double the cost.' 
 
 The girl made no reply, but walked slowly 
 out of the room, and Anthony Dexter stood 
 hesitating and uncomfortable, not knowing 
 what to do. But in a minute Rhoda re- 
 turned, bearing a lamp. 
 
 * It is hardly dark yet,' said old Wichelow ; 
 ' we do not want a light just now.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 41 
 
 ' Other people do not care for such a long 
 twilight as you do, grandfather. Mr.' — 
 Rhoda turned to Anthony-^— ' Mr. Dexter 
 would like a light.' 
 
 She looked at him as If for an answer. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, more for the sake of agree- 
 ing with her, of appearing to take her part, 
 than because he really cared much whether 
 the room were light or dark. 
 
 Rhoda put the lamp on the table, and 
 once more left the room. When she had 
 gone, the old man came close to Anthony. 
 
 * What are you going to do ?' he asked. 
 
 *I don't know — except to sit down.' 
 Anthony drew a chair to the table as he 
 spoke, and seated himself. 
 
 ' And talk,' said Boniface WIchelow. ' It 
 is a very good time to talk — the evening.' 
 He came and put his face close to Anthony's 
 face. ' You do not want a light, eh ?' he 
 said — ' not to talk by ?' 
 
 Before Anthony could answer he had 
 turned out the lamp. In the first minutes
 
 42 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 the darkness seemed complete, but gradually 
 the last wan gleams of daylight made them- 
 selves felt, showing dimly the table and chairs 
 and the large black mass of the settle. There 
 was no sign of old Wichelow, and all was so 
 silent that Anthony began to think he must 
 have left the room. 
 
 ' Are you there, Mr. Wichelow ?' he said 
 at last. 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 The answer, in the old man's feeble, rather 
 high voice, came from the settle, and Anthony 
 perceived that he must have taken up his 
 former position there. Nothing was added 
 to the ' Yes,' and the minutes went by, 
 darker and darker, but always in silence. 
 
 Anthony Dexter began to feel ill at ease ; 
 the stillness that had been so sweet a little 
 while since became oppressive now ; it 
 seemed to possess a positive quality that had 
 something deathlike in it ; and the fancy 
 grew upon him that the shrewd, searching
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 43 
 
 gaze of the crouching figure on the settle was 
 strong enough to penetrate the darkness, and 
 that the eyes that had looked at him through 
 the grating were fixed upon and saw him 
 now. He told himself that the fancy was a 
 ridiculous one, and tried to shake it off; yet 
 it would not go ; it strengthened into a con- 
 viction and dominated him. He was tired, 
 out of health, lacking in nervous force ; and 
 no doubt the condition of his body tended to 
 the development of the mental state in which 
 he found himself; yet afterwards, when his 
 body grew strong again and his nervous energy 
 revived, there was never an occasion, of all 
 the many occasions on which it happened, 
 that he was alone with old Boniface Wiche- 
 low, when he was not conscious of something 
 of the same sensation he felt that evening ; 
 and the sensation was always stronger in 
 proportion as the light was less. It is hardly 
 strange that it should have been so. The 
 influence of a strong spirit makes itself felt
 
 44 A DA UGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 even amidst the constant distractions of 
 everyday life ; and when these distractions 
 are in suspense, when darkness blinds the 
 eye and silence starves the ear, it is natural, 
 rather than unnatural, that the soul of a man 
 should dominate his surroundings, and that a 
 strong spirit should impress itself upon a 
 spirit less strong. 
 
 The windows faded gradually from the 
 wall ; the night rose up behind them and 
 made itself one with the darkness within the 
 room ; and still the silence endured, and still 
 Anthony Dexter sat motionless, and the 
 feeling grew stronger that through the dark- 
 ness the eyes of old Boniface Wichelow 
 pierced with certain sight, and held him in 
 bondage with a force he could not combat. 
 He did not know what length of time had 
 passed, when, while still there was no sound 
 within the room, outside the house came a 
 sound which, as it broke the heavy silence 
 that pressed upon him with paralyzing weight,
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 45 
 
 brought with it a sense, hardly so much of 
 relief as of salvation. 
 
 A whistle, low and clear, rose softly 
 through the stillness of the summer night : 
 it was repeated once and again, and then a 
 voice, a man's voice, spoke. Anthony Dexter 
 could not hear the words it said ; but he 
 heard the answer, and he knew the voice 
 that answered, the same voice, low but full, 
 that had spoken in the woods. 
 
 ' I could not have come to you before, 'it said. 
 
 In the strange state of his consciousness, 
 it seemed to Anthony that it spoke to him, 
 even while he knew it was not so ; and it 
 seemed to him that this was the voice he 
 had dreamed of in his waking dream in the 
 room upstairs, when the twilight had shown 
 him dimly the glass of flowers plucked by an 
 unknown hand. ' I could not come to you 
 before,' it said ; but it had come forth at last 
 out of the silence, as he had dreamed it 
 would, and he was content.
 
 46 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Outside the voices went on talking in low 
 tones. Anthony heard no more words that 
 were said, but while the voices spoke he 
 was freed from the spell which the unseen 
 presence of Boniface Wichelow had exercised 
 upon him in the silence. After a time they 
 ceased, and he was left alone again in the 
 still darkness ; and again the subtile influence 
 that took its rise from the silent figure on the 
 settle began to lay hold on him. But not 
 for long : after a little space of the black, 
 dead silence the door of the room was 
 opened, and someone entered. Anthony 
 could not see who it was, but he felt that 
 it was Rhoda Wichelow, and in a moment 
 she spoke. 
 
 * You are in the dark,' she said ; and as no 
 answer came, ' Grandfather, why did you 
 put out the lamp ?' she went on. 
 
 As she spoke, she moved forward through 
 the darkness to the table by which Anthony 
 sat ; her dress brushed him as she passed.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 47 
 
 She struck a match, and once more there 
 was light in the room, and Anthony Dexter 
 awoke from his nightmare. Rhoda repeated 
 her question. 
 
 ' Why did you put out the lamp, grand- 
 father ?' 
 
 The old man, crouching on the settle, 
 screwed up his eyes as though the light hurt 
 them. 
 
 * We did not want a light to talk by,' he 
 said. 
 
 He rose from the settle, crossed the room, 
 and passed out of the door. 
 
 * Did he talk ?' asked Rhoda Wichelow. 
 ' No.' 
 
 The girl stood with her two hands on the 
 table, her head thrown slightly back, looking 
 over the lamp, over Anthony's head, as he 
 sat, to something on the opposite wall — or 
 beyond the wall : the light came in an up- 
 ward stream, showing distinctly the full, 
 round throat, the firm chin, and the delicate
 
 48 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 nostrils, and leaving the upper part of the 
 face in shadow. As Anthony watched her 
 face, and the expression of it, he was re- 
 minded of a picture that hung in his room at 
 home, a drawing of a woman's head and bust. 
 It was copied from a painting by Leonardo 
 da Vinci, and it had always fascinated and 
 puzzled him by the mystery of the woman's 
 face. The spirit of the Renaissance looked 
 forth from it : beauty, the pride of life, 
 passion, subtility, daring ; all the splendour 
 and all the evil of an aroused humanity, 
 triumphant in its own strength and its own 
 glory. And in this half-lighted face he 
 seemed to see something of the same in- 
 scrutability that fascinated him in the picture 
 face, and something of the same strong capa- 
 bilities. He did not ask himself whether 
 the capabilities were for good or for evil : 
 he did not reflect that strength for the one 
 means strength for the other ; and that it 
 is not in capabilities but in the control or
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 49 
 
 fostering of them* that sin or holiness gathers 
 the force of victory : he only felt instinctively 
 that the depths and heights of a human 
 soul showed dimly in the upturned face before 
 him, and that an undeveloped nature awaited 
 development. 
 
 It was only a minute that Rhoda Wiche- 
 low stood looking at something that was not 
 in the room : presently there were slow 
 steps in the stone passage, and old Boniface 
 returned. He came close to his grand- 
 dauo^hter, and laid his hand on her arm with a 
 clenching grip. 
 
 ' Where is Sally ?' he said. 
 
 ' She has gone to bed.' 
 
 ' The milk has gone from the pan in the 
 larder. If she has given it to you, I ' 
 
 ' She did not give it to me ; I took it.' 
 
 The old man's face darkened ; the dor- 
 mant evil in it awoke ; he raised his hand. 
 Anthony Dexter got up from his seat, but 
 Rhoda waved him back ; with her disen- 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 so A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 gaged hand she held her grandfather's hand, 
 and lowered it to his side again. 
 
 ' I took no more than I needed,' she said. 
 * I work for you all day long ; I work as 
 hard or harder than the people you hire — 
 and God knows they work hard enough ; I 
 earn and more than earn the food I eat, and 
 I must have what my strength needs. If it 
 failed me, or if I were to leave you, you 
 know that I should be a loss to you.' 
 
 Boniface Wichelow's expression changed 
 as she spoke : there was a dim fear in his 
 eyes and a certain deprecation in his voice 
 as he answered her. 
 
 ' But why not come in to supper ?' he said. 
 ' It costs so much less — all to eat together.' 
 
 ' I have told you why I did not come in 
 to supper,' Rhoda said. 
 
 The old man made no reply, but loosened 
 his grip on her arm and went across the 
 room to the settle. But when he reached it 
 he turned and came back to her.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 * You can do as you like,' he said ; ' it 
 doesn't matter about the milk, Rhody.' 
 
 The girl did not answer ; she was look- 
 ing away from him ; and to attract her 
 attention he put his hand upon her arm 
 again. He touched it very gendy, but 
 Anthony could see that she winced. 
 
 'Very well, grandfather,' she said, and she 
 spoke quite gently. ' I hear.' 
 
 ' And you will not leave me, Rhody— not 
 just yet i^' 
 
 ' Not just yet,' she answered. 
 
 The old man stood for a minute in silence, 
 then: ' It is late,' he said — 'time for bed. 
 You must be tired, Mr. Dexter.' 
 
 * Yes, I am quite ready to go to bed.' 
 
 ' Then we will go up. Are you coming, 
 Rhody ?' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 The girl moved from the table across to 
 the red curtain on the wall. She stopped 
 when she reached it. 
 
 UBRARf 
 
 ONivERsmr OF auNOtt
 
 52 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 * Good-night,' she said ; and then she dis- 
 appeared behind the curtain, and there was 
 the sound of a door that was opened and 
 closed. 
 
 Anthony followed old Wichelow upstairs ; 
 but as he went he longed to turn back, to 
 enter the room, to pull aside the curtain, and 
 to see what lay beyond it. Left alone in his 
 own room, and sitting down on the one chair 
 to think over the curious evening he had 
 passed, he gradually became conscious of the 
 sound of a voice speaking : dimly and un- 
 certainly his ear caught the sound : as he 
 listened, he became more and more con- 
 vinced that it came up from the room below. 
 He set himself to consider the position of 
 his own room, and by-and-by the thought 
 that had begun in a hope strengthened into 
 a certainty ; he felt sure that it lay over the 
 room behind the curtain, and that it was 
 Rhoda Wichelow's voice that came to him 
 with such vague sound.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 53 
 
 He opened the door and listened ; the 
 house was quite quiet. He took off his 
 boots, and went cautiously along the landing 
 and down the staircase, and then, still more 
 cautiously, groped his way along the passage 
 and into the room. 
 
 Yes ; he had been right ; it was Rhoda s 
 voice that he had heard ; it was her voice 
 certainly that he heard now. He felt with 
 his hand carefully alono^ the wall till he 
 reached the curtain ; then he stopped and 
 listened. Her voice came out to him ; he 
 could hear the words she said : 
 
 ' O Lord, save Thy people. 
 
 ' And bless Thine inheritance. 
 
 ' O Lord, let Thy mercy be showed upon us. 
 
 ' As we do put our trust in Thee.' 
 
 As he listened, a sudden sense of shame 
 took hold upon him ; he felt that he had no 
 right to steal down and play the spy upon 
 this girl who thought herself alone, that the 
 curiosity that had led him to do it was mean
 
 54 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 and contemptible ; and he began to move 
 back slowly along the wall. But in the same 
 moment that he stirred the voice ceased, and 
 in another instant he heard the uplifting of 
 a latch and the rustle of the curtain. 
 
 With a few bold steps he strode away 
 from the wall out into the room, thus leaving 
 a free passage from the curtain to the door ; 
 and with his heart beating so violently that 
 he feared lest she should hear it beat, he 
 waited for Rhoda Wichelow to pass. Her 
 footsteps sounded distinctly on the bare stone 
 floor ; she came on a few steps and then 
 stopped, and Anthony could hear that she 
 breathed quickly. He held his own breath, 
 and waited, motionless, fearing every moment 
 to hear her voice, scornful and accusing. 
 But after a pause she moved on, and her 
 footsteps died gradually away. Anthony 
 waited a long time before he ventured to 
 climb the stairs and find his way back to his 
 own room.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 How sweet I roamed from field to field, 
 And tasted all the summer's pride, 
 Till I the Prince of Love beheld 
 Who in the sunny beams did glide. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 Anthony Dexter passed a restless night. 
 The upturned face of Rhoda WIchelow, with 
 the upper part flooded by the lamplight and 
 the lower part in shadow, and the face of her 
 grandfather, with its shrewd, searching eyes, 
 were with him in his dreams and during the 
 frequent intervals of wakefulness that broke 
 the night. He was weary and unrefreshed 
 when the dawn, breaking far off across the 
 heath, gathered strength enough to enter 
 and fill the room, and reveal to him its bare
 
 56 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 unfamiliarlty. Only the glass of flowers, 
 shadowy in its corner, had something familiar 
 and friendly in its air, and it must have been 
 placed there — he felt sure of it now — by 
 Rhoda Wichelow. He rose and moved the 
 table close to his bed ; then, lying down again, 
 fell at last, in the growing daylight, into a 
 sleep that brought him forgetfulness and rest. 
 The sunlight was full on the roofs of the 
 farm buildings and on the sloping fields 
 beyond, when he again awoke, aroused by a 
 persistent knocking at the door. 
 
 * Yes,' he called — * yes. What is it ?' 
 'The breakfast and the master's ready,' 
 
 said a voice, ' and he says you'd best be 
 quick if you want any.' 
 
 About half an hour later Anthony entered 
 the room. Old Wichelow had finished his 
 breakfast and gone, and Rhoda was coming 
 towards the door as he went in. 
 
 * Are you going ?' he asked, disappoint- 
 ment strong in his face and voice.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 57 
 
 ' Yes.' She stopped for a minute. ' Your 
 breakfast is cold, but I cannot help it.' 
 
 She had on the large calico bonnet she 
 had worn on the evening before ; her sleeves 
 were turned back above the elbows. On the 
 right arm, just above the wrist, was a bruise, 
 or, rather, there were several bruises, four 
 distinct blue marks. Anthony saw the marks. 
 
 ' Your arm,' he said ; ' is it ' 
 
 He stopped as he raised his eyes to the 
 girl's face ; there was something in it that 
 told him to stop. She put her hand quickly 
 over the bruised place, as though to hide it. 
 
 ' Never mind my arm,' she said ; and she 
 went past him into the passage, and through 
 the outer door, out of the house. 
 
 Anthony turned to the breakfast - table. 
 Cold porridge, cold, weak tea, scones, bread- 
 and-butter ; that was all the breakfast. He 
 understood why Rhoda had said to him, 
 *You will not stay.' Just for a minute he 
 began to think she had spoken the truth ; he
 
 58 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 was fastidious about his eating, and the cold 
 food was not tempting. Then the charm of 
 the girl's face grew strong again ; the story 
 In It, past or to come — and he felt that the 
 chief part of It was still to come — was a story 
 that he longed to know, and he made up his 
 mind that he would stay and read It. He 
 took a little of the weak tea, and ate some 
 bread-and-butter, and then went out on to the 
 heath. The summer morning was still soft 
 with youth ; there was a balmy freshness in 
 the air, and everywhere a sense of dreamy 
 contentment, a consciousness of the long, 
 sweet day to follow. The silence was broken 
 by the clucking of hens in the farmyard, by 
 the songs of birds, by the distant murmur of 
 voices in the hayfield ; but none of these 
 sounds jarred upon Anthony's weary ears ; 
 rather did they seem gentle and soothing to 
 him as they faintly stirred the stillness. He 
 lay down In the heather not far from the 
 house, and, looking up at the cloudless sky
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 59 
 
 above, abandoned himself to the state of 
 dreamy thought which had shadowed him 
 since his arrival at Heather Den. 
 
 He lay there till the sun's increasing 
 strength became greater than was comfort- 
 able, and then, without consciously deter- 
 mininor whither he w^ould q^o, he wandered 
 into the wood, and took the path he had trod 
 the evening^ before. The trees were still 
 motionless, but the gray enchantment that 
 had hung from the quiet branches was gone 
 now ; instead was a deep, dark shade, with 
 gleams of scattered sunlight ; and many songs 
 of many birds replaced the nightingale's 
 single notes. He wandered on, screened 
 from the blazing sun, enjoying the beauty 
 and the peace around him with lazy, sensuous 
 enjoyment, till the influence of the place 
 entered into and possessed him, as in Andrew 
 Marvell's poem, 
 
 ' Annihilatin;/ all that's made 
 To a green thought in a green shade.'
 
 6o A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 The path led direct to the cleared space 
 where Rhoda Wichelow had sung to the 
 people ; almost, as he drew near to it, he 
 expected to hear the sound of her singing. 
 And yet the strain, with its burden of sad- 
 ness, was not in keeping with the strong, full 
 light of the noonday ; it belonged rather to 
 the waning gray of dusk : as he went on, he 
 felt with each step that the scene of the even- 
 ing before was impossible now ; a different 
 spirit seemed to reign In and sway the woods. 
 
 A different spirit, a different scene, a 
 different face ; truly It was so. As Anthony 
 paused, as he had paused before, and looked 
 through thick-leaved branches into the space 
 beyond, he saw^ that It was not quite empty : 
 on a felled trunk a man sat, whittling a stick. 
 Anthony knew the face, with its long eyes 
 and its crown of black hair ; it was the face 
 that had been raised from out the heather as 
 he had passed across the heath on his way 
 to Heather Den. He had seen it only
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 6i 
 
 cursorily, Indistinctly, then ; he could see It 
 plainly now. He stopped and observed It. 
 A clean-shaven face, there was nothing to 
 hide the shape and lines of the mouth, or the 
 contour of the chin ; he could mark the lips, 
 the upper one thin, the lower one rather full, 
 and the firm pressure of the two together ; 
 he could mark the strength of the jaw, the 
 determination of the lines about the nostrils, 
 and the boldness of the brow. Anthony 
 Dexter was not a physiognomist, and he did 
 not attempt to draw the character of the man 
 from his features ; he felt rather than inferred 
 the power of the face before him, and In the 
 power was something that repelled him. As 
 he looked, the man glanced up. 
 
 * Anyone coming ?' he said. 
 
 He still whittled away at the stick, but his 
 dark eyes looked round the circle of trees, 
 and then rested near the spot where Anthony 
 stood. It seemed to Anthony that they 
 suspected his presence there, and instinctively
 
 62 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 he drew back further into the wood, and then 
 cautiously found his way into the path again, 
 and went back towards Heather Den. For 
 some reason, which he did not attempt to 
 explain to himself, which he could not even 
 define, he shrank from another interview 
 with the owner of the dark, strange face, and 
 his return through the woods had in it some- 
 thing of the nature of flight. 
 
 All the day he hardly saw Rhoda Wichelow. 
 She came in at dinner-time, and sat down 
 at table with him and old Boniface ; but the 
 meal was quickly over, she spoke very little 
 during its course, and as soon as it was 
 ended she returned to the hayfield. During 
 the afternoon Anthony Dexter ventured to 
 follow her there : he took a book with him, 
 and at first sat down at some distance from 
 where she was working, and watched her 
 while he pretended to read. She was much 
 taller than any of the women, taller than 
 many of the bent, stunted men : the pose of
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 her figure, as she moved from one position 
 to another, was beautiful in its easy grace : 
 he could not see her face, shaded by the 
 wide frill of her bonnet. For some time he 
 watched her, at first with quick, continual 
 glances from the page he did not read, 
 afterwards with the book lying closed by his 
 side ; till at last the strong interest with which 
 she inspired him, an interest composed of 
 many feelings, of which puzzled curiosity was 
 perhaps the strongest, caused him to rise 
 from his lounging position in the shade of 
 a tree, and to approach her as she stood 
 raking hay into a little heap. She looked 
 up for a moment as he drew near, but 
 went on with her work without appearing to 
 notice him. 
 
 ' Do you never speak ?' he asked at last, 
 piqued by her Indifferent silence. 
 
 ' Never — or very seldom, when I am at 
 work.' 
 
 He waited a minute, observing the face
 
 64 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 that would not reveal to him what lay behind 
 it. Then he said : 
 
 ' May I work too ?' 
 
 ' If you like.' She raised her eyes and 
 looked at him with a swift glance. ' No,' 
 she added ; ' you are not strong enough.' 
 
 There was a touch of contempt in her 
 voice. Anthony Dexter winced under it. 
 
 ' You admire strength ?' he said. 
 
 ' Oh yes.' 
 
 ' And you despise weakness ?' 
 
 ' No, I pity it' 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 'I think,' said Anthony, 'that I used the 
 right word, after all; despise is nearer the truth.' 
 
 ' No. All these people ' — she gave a little 
 wave of her hand — 'all these people are 
 weak, and I pity them.' 
 
 ' The people — yes ; but me ?' 
 
 ' Oh, you ? I am not concerned with you ; 
 you do not belong to my life.' 
 
 'I do,' Anthony said quickly, 'for a time,
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 65 
 
 at any rate ; so long as I live in your house, 
 and am your lodger.' 
 
 She half smiled, and there was a shadow 
 of laughter in her eyes. 
 
 'Ah! that's just it; you lodge there, but 
 you do not live in it.' 
 
 ' But I may ; it might happen that I 
 became a part of your life.' He spoke 
 almost defiantly. * How do you know ?' 
 
 ' I do not know, of course.' 
 
 She slightly raised her shoulders ; the 
 movement seemed to imply that the possi- 
 bility he had spoken of was indifferent to her. 
 He turned away : he had meant to amuse 
 himself by the indulgence of his curiosity, 
 and she had made him angry. But after 
 taking a few steps he came back to her 
 again. 
 
 ' Do you know,' he said, with a longing to 
 raise himself in her eyes — ' do you know- 
 that it is hard work that has made me ill and 
 weak ?' 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 She paused in her task, and looked at him : 
 there was a quickened interest in her face. 
 ' What kind of work ?' she said. 
 
 * Do you care to know ?' 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 * Then I will tell you,' he answered, 'but 
 not now. I will tell you some day, when 
 you, too, will let me know something about 
 yourself.' 
 
 *Ah!' she said. Her eyes rested on him 
 for a quarter of a minute ; there was a little 
 wonder in them, a little inquiry, and the 
 unfathomable inward look of the pictured 
 eyes in his room in London ; then she turned 
 away from him, saying : 
 
 ' You must not talk to me any more, 
 please. I have my work to do.' 
 
 She moved away to a group of haymakers 
 at a little distance, and Anthony Dexter 
 went slowly out of the field, feeling himself 
 dismissed.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The region of music which is the hidden workshop of the 
 soul. — George Macdonald. 
 
 It was nearly supper-time, and there was no 
 sign either of Rhoda or of Boniface Wichelow. 
 Anthony Dexter sat in the room, looking 
 listlessly out of the window. The silence 
 was deepening about the house as the dusk 
 drew on ; he began to feel very lonely. 
 Presently came a distant clattering of knives 
 and plates : it drew nearer, and Sally entered 
 with a loaded tray. 
 
 ' Where is Mr. Wichelow ?' asked 
 Anthony. 
 
 ' Gone to Breybridge. Him alius goes 
 of a Saturday.'
 
 68 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Is it far?' 
 
 ' More'n six mile.' 
 
 ' He drives, I suppose ?' 
 
 Anthony spoke rather for the sake of con- 
 tinuing the conversation than to gain 
 information ; the house seemed very lonely. 
 
 ' Drive — him drive ? Lor' bless you no ! 
 Walks.' 
 
 * All that way ? I shouldn't have thought 
 he could have done it.' 
 
 * Oh yes ; him can do it — with time.' 
 
 ' He'll be back in time for supper, I sup- 
 pose ?' 
 
 ' Not afore ten o'clock. Then it'll be a 
 drop of water gruel with a smell of whisky 
 in it — *tisn't more'n enough to smell it by, and 
 nobody don't know where he keeps it.' 
 
 'And what does he go all that way for, 
 pray ?' 
 
 The woman grinned and chuckled. 
 
 ' A half-ounce of baccy. Him smokes it 
 of a Sunday.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 69 
 
 * But surely ' — Anthony began to be 
 interested — * surely he could get tobacco 
 nearer than Breybridge ? There must be a 
 shop of some kind — a village.' 
 
 Again the woman grinned. 
 
 'It's a halfpenny cheaper at Breybridge 
 nor what it is anywhere else,' she said. She 
 had finished laying the table now, and w^ent 
 over to the door ; there she paused. ' Oh !' 
 she said, with concentrated vehemence, ' him's 
 close.' 
 
 She passed through the doorway, but 
 Anthony called her back. 
 
 * Tell me,' he said, 'will Miss Wichelow 
 come in to supper ?' 
 
 ' Likely,' said the woman, ' being Saturday.' 
 
 And then again she left the room. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock when Rhoda 
 passed the window and entered the house. 
 She ran quickly upstairs, and was down in 
 time to help Sally to bring in the supper. 
 
 ' Your grandfather is out,' said Anthony.
 
 70 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Yes, he Is always out at supper-time on 
 Saturdays.' 
 
 ' And you — are you always In on Satur- 
 days ?' 
 
 * Yes ; we do not work overtime to-day.' 
 
 * In most places people stop work early on 
 Saturdays.' 
 
 ' Not here.' 
 
 ' I almost wonder,' said Anthony suddenly, 
 after a moment's thought — ' I almost wonder 
 that anybody works for your grandfather.' 
 
 * There are so few people to work for,' 
 Rhoda answered, ' and so many who want 
 to work.' 
 
 There was a pause, then Anthony said : 
 
 * Did you sing to-night ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' She looked at him across the 
 table. ' You did not come.' 
 
 ' Did you expect me ?' 
 
 ' No.' She was still looking at him. 
 * And yet,' she said, ' I thought perhaps you 
 would.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 71 
 
 ' I was afraid to come. I knew ' — he 
 paused — * I knew I w^as In disgrace.' 
 
 Rhoda made no reply, but bent her eyes 
 again. Presently she said : 
 
 ' Was that why you didn't come ?' 
 
 * Of course.' 
 
 * You would have come but for that ?' 
 ' Of course,' he repeated. 
 
 ' Then you liked it ?' 
 
 ' What r 
 
 ' The song — the singing.' 
 
 She spoke so gravely that he answered 
 her gravely too, almost in spite of himself : 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Her eyes met his with the same inscrutable 
 look they had worn in the wood. 
 
 * Ah !' she said sofdy, ' I thought so.' 
 
 * I don't mean,' said Anthony, 'that I liked 
 to listen to those people you ' — he smiled — 
 'you pity.' 
 
 'No, no,' she said half impatiently, 'of 
 course not. But me — you liked to hear me ?'
 
 72 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 She gave a little sigh as of contentment, 
 but said nothing ; and presently, the meal 
 being over, she rose and began to clear the 
 table. Anthony stood by the window and 
 watched her as she moved to and fro. Was 
 she very vain ? he thought, and could not 
 answer the question ; he could answer none 
 of the questions that he asked himself about 
 her ; and his Ignorance made her the more 
 Interestlnor. 
 
 When the table was cleared, Rhoda 
 brought in the lamp, and having put 
 it down : 
 
 'Have you any books?' she said — 'any- 
 thing to amuse yourself with ?' 
 
 ' I have some books, but they do not 
 amuse me.' 
 
 Rhoda had moved away from the table 
 as she spoke, towards the red curtain on 
 the wall ; she had reached It now, and she 
 turned and said :
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 7^ 
 
 * I am going in here.' 
 
 She stood with her back to the curtain ; her 
 right hand, raised above her head, grasped 
 one of its folds ; her head was slightly thrown 
 back, so that her eyes had a downward glance 
 as they looked at Anthony across the room. 
 The red of the curtain made a brilliant back- 
 ground for the beautiful face and figure ; the 
 subtile charm of her expression seemed to 
 grow as she waited ; Anthony Dexter looked 
 at her with a quicker beating of the heart. 
 
 She stood for a moment in silence ; then 
 she said : ' Will you come ?' 
 
 Without a word he rose, and came quickly 
 towards her. She waved him back. 
 
 * Bring the lamp,' she said. 
 
 He turned and did her bidding ; and then, 
 while she held the curtain aside, he passed 
 through an open doorway in the wall into an 
 inner room. Rhoda dropped the curtain, 
 followed him, and closed the door. 
 
 The room was a small one ; the floor was
 
 74 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 uncarpeted, the walls unpapered, as in the 
 other rooms in the house, but there was no 
 impression of the bareness that characterized 
 those other rooms. The walls were a pale 
 yellow ; on the stone flags before the fire- 
 place was a large thick rug of many colours, 
 that had been brilliant once, but were faded 
 into softness now ; on the table that stood 
 in the corner was a cloth of the same vivid 
 red that hid the entrance from the outer 
 room. Over the mantelpiece hung a book- 
 case on which were a few volumes : a Bible, 
 a Church Service, Jeremy Taylor's ' Holy 
 Living,' Law's 'Serious Call,' and an odd 
 volume of Carlyle's ' French Revolution ' ; 
 opposite the wall was a piano, open, and on 
 the music slide a book of revival hymns. 
 
 Anthony put the lamp down on the table, 
 and looked about him. ' 
 
 ' This is your room ?' he said — ' yours 
 only ?' 
 
 'Yes.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 75 
 
 Her eyes were on the piano. He followed 
 her glance. 
 
 ' Do you play on that ?' 
 
 ' Not often, only to learn the tunes by.' 
 
 He went over to the Instrument and 
 examined it. 
 
 ' It is old,' he said. 
 
 * It belonged to my mother. She brought 
 it here long ago.' 
 
 ' She did not teach you to play it ?' 
 
 ' Yes, but I do not care to play it ; it 
 creaks.' 
 
 Anthony Dexter sat down and struck a few 
 chords on the yellow notes. 
 
 ' It has been good once,' he said. * It 
 creaks now a little, as you say, but It was 
 good once.' 
 
 She answered him with a question : 
 
 ' You are a musician ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I thought so,' she said. There was a 
 kind of triumph In her eyes.
 
 76 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' I dreamed it.' She paused a moment, 
 her triumphant eyes still fixed upon him. 
 * Did you see,' she said, ' the glass of flowers 
 on the table in your room ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; was it you ' 
 
 ' I put them there, not for you, the lodger, 
 but for the musician of my dream.' 
 
 ' Am I he ?' 
 
 She did not answer him, but moved a few 
 paces away : the light was behind her now, 
 and he could not see the look on her face. He 
 played a few bars of a melody and stopped. 
 
 ' Play on,' she said. 
 
 Anthony rose from his seat. 
 
 ' May I have the lamp nearer to me ?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' As you like.' 
 
 He took the lamp and placed it near the 
 piano. He did not want more light, but he 
 wanted the light so placed that it should fall 
 upon her face.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 77 
 
 ^ You do not care to sit down ?' he 
 said. 
 
 ^ No ; I like to stand.' 
 
 She went over to the mantelpiece and 
 leaned against it : she waited, looking 
 towards him, while he opened the top of 
 the instrument and tried the pedals. Then 
 he sat down and began to play. 
 
 He played one of Bach's preludes ; the 
 movement was adagio ; it was full of majesty, 
 of pure, severe beauty. The girl stood 
 motionless while he played. Looking back 
 at her over his shoulder, he could see that 
 on her face was the same look of exaltation 
 that it had worn when she sang in the woods : 
 her hands were clasped, her eyes had a faint 
 wonder in them. 
 
 He paused, and she did not move : he 
 ran through a few modulations, and glided 
 into a nocturne of Chopin's in a minor 
 key. The changing time, the restless 
 striving, the modern spirit of the music.
 
 78 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 touched something In Rhoda WIchelow's 
 spirit that breathed a change upon her 
 face. A vague excitement mingled with the 
 exaltation of her look, her nostrils dilated, 
 her curving lips parted, the wonder in her 
 eyes became an eager expectation. He 
 played on, and the clasped hands were 
 loosened ; one was half raised, and one foot 
 stepped half a pace before its fellow ; but 
 she did not actually move forward ; she 
 stood, while the complaining music filled 
 the room, still with her head a little thrown 
 back, as if in the act to advance, but yet was 
 motionless. 
 
 The music ceased, and Anthony Dexter 
 looked back at her again. She still stood in 
 the attitude that promised immediate move- 
 ment, and still she did not move ; her face, 
 with its curving, quivering lips and waiting 
 eyes, held all the mystery of Leonardo's face. 
 When he paused, she gave a little sigh, but 
 waited motionless, as though listening for
 
 AlFACE OF LEONARDO 79 
 
 sounds that were yet to come. Still watching 
 her, he put his hands upon the keys again, 
 and played Wagner. 
 
 As the strange, new harmonies struck upon 
 her ear, the girl's face changed again ; the 
 exaltation died quite away ; instead came a 
 look more human, more passionate, more 
 complex. Her head, instead of being thrown 
 back, was bent now — towards the player ; 
 the figure poised ready for movement moved 
 at last. She took a step forward. Anthony 
 played on, played the music, pagan, bewilder- 
 ing, maddening, that the world heard first 
 when Wagner began to write : and the 
 strange beauty of it, the evil and the powxr 
 that is in it, the sad sweep that pines through 
 the whirl of it, the strains of sweet, lost 
 hope that wail in it, stirred the girl's being, 
 aroused, mastered, overwhelmed it, and led 
 her trembling and helpless towards the man 
 who revealed it to her. 
 
 The instrument he played on was old,
 
 8o A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 inadequate, creaking, as Rhoda had said ; 
 only a great musician could have made it 
 produce the sounds he brought forth from it 
 that night ; only a great power in the player 
 could have availed to show anything of the 
 power of the music. 
 
 He played, and the girl came nearer to 
 him ; the music swelled and triumphed 
 through the room, and she came nearer 
 yet. He looked back at her, and saw the 
 momentous face, with the dawn of new feel- 
 ing in it ; and the spirit of the music was 
 in Anthony, too ; and he played on, and 
 she came nearer still. 
 
 She stood close behind him now ; her 
 quick breath brushed him as it came ; her 
 hand almost touched his shoulder ; her face 
 bent over him. A moment she stood so, 
 bending, almost suppliant, drawn to him, or 
 the music in him, by some power that was 
 stronger than her will : then suddenly she 
 stepped back, and rose up to the fulness of
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 8i 
 
 her height, and stretched her right arm out, 
 straiofht and firm. 
 
 * Stop !' she said. 
 
 And Anthony Dexter, obeying instinctively 
 the command in her voice and attitude, did 
 as he was bid, stopped in the crash of a 
 chord, and let his hands slip from the keys ; 
 and the music ceased suddenly, with jagged, 
 broken notes ; and the silence of the lonely 
 heath asserted its strength again, and entered 
 and filled the room. The glow of active 
 emotion was gone from Rhoda's face ; she 
 was very white, and she trembled. After a 
 minute her lips moved, and she spoke in a 
 whisper. * 
 
 * Is that music ?' 
 'Yes; 
 
 Anthony spoke in a whisper, too, and then 
 again there was silence. It was broken by a 
 sound from outside, a sharp tapping on the 
 window-pane ; the sash was thrown up 
 quickly, and a face showed itself, looking 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 forward into the light out of the darkness 
 behind. Anthony knew the face ; It had 
 greeted him on the heath ; he had observed 
 It In the wood. Rhoda looked round at it, 
 and said : 
 ♦ It's Paul'
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 God Cupid's shaft, like Destiny, 
 Doth either good or ill decree. 
 
 FULKE GREVILLE. 
 
 ' Shall I come In this way ?' said the voice 
 at the window. 
 
 ' No,' Rhoda answered ; ' go round to the 
 front.' 
 
 The face remained stationary for half a 
 minute, looking Into the room ; then It drew 
 back Into the darkness and disappeared* 
 Rhoda turned to Anthony. 
 
 ' Will you take the lamp back ?' 
 
 He obeyed her without speaking. She 
 shut down the window, waited alone for a 
 little space, and then followed him.
 
 84 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 There was a knocking at the outer door. 
 Rhoda went into the passage, and opened it. 
 Anthony could hear the talking of low voices, 
 and then she and the man whose face he 
 already knew came back to the room to- 
 gether. 
 
 ' This is Paul Garnet,' said Rhoda. 
 
 She stood by the new-comer as she spoke ; 
 she looked very fair, much fairer than she 
 really was, in contrast with his dark face. 
 They were two strange faces : his, inscrutable 
 with a conscious, deliberate inscrutability, as 
 though it said : I hide the soul behind me ; 
 hers, subtile, mysterious with possibilities, as 
 though the soul looked through and said : I 
 know not what I am, nor what I may be ; I 
 "have yet to awake. 
 
 ' Mr. Dexter and I have met before,' said 
 Paul Garnet. 
 
 His address and manner of speech were 
 those of a gentleman ; yet there was still a 
 trace, a very faint trace, of the covert in-
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 85 
 
 science with which he had spoken on the 
 heath. 
 
 Anthony bowed without speaking. 
 
 * I startled Mr. Dexter,' Paul went on. 
 
 * Undoubtedly,' Anthony answered, ' for a 
 moment. I did not expect the heather to 
 have a voice.' 
 
 * I apologize. Another time I will be less 
 abrupt.' 
 
 'Another time I shall be better pre- 
 pared.' 
 
 Paul Garnet turned to Rhoda. 
 
 ' Will you come out ?' 
 
 ' If you like.' 
 
 The girl spoke somewhat coldly. 
 
 ' Mr. Dexter will excuse us,' said Paul. 
 
 Anthony bowed again. 
 
 ' But do not Qfo,' he said. ' I mvself am 
 going outside for awhile, so I shall not dis- 
 turb you here.' 
 
 He left the room without waiting for an 
 answer, and passed through the passage and
 
 86 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 into the still, warm night outside, with the 
 star-flecked sky above, and before him the 
 dark stretch of the heath. 
 
 When he had gone, Paul Garnet turned to 
 Rhoda and kissed her ; then he put his hands 
 upon her shoulders, and looked down into 
 her face. His own face softened as he did 
 so, and a light came into his eyes. 
 
 * Is it well, dear heart ?' he said. 
 She answered him : 
 
 * Surely, now you are come.' 
 
 She was still pale, and there was trouble 
 in her eyes. Paul saw the trouble, but he 
 would not notice it. He looked down at 
 her, but for awhile he did not speak. 
 
 ' Rhoda,' he said presently, ' why did you 
 take your lodger into that room ?* 
 
 ' Because ' 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 ' You never let me go in,' he said. 
 
 * I did not take him in — as a man.' 
 
 She stopped again.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 87 
 
 * Oh, I am not jealous.' Paul laughed 
 scornfully. * Only I wondered why you 
 did it.' 
 
 ' I don't know,' Rhoda said, ' that you 
 would understand if I were to tell you.' 
 
 ' Indeed ?' There was an inflection of 
 sarcasm in Paul Garnet's voice. He paused, 
 and then added, ' Suppose you try me and 
 see ?' 
 
 Her eyes were on his. She did not with- 
 draw them, but she waited a little before she 
 answered. 
 
 ' I don't think I will,' she said. 
 
 ' No ? Well, I cannot, or, at any rate, I 
 will not, influence you now. When we are 
 always together, Rhoda, your spirit will be 
 open to mine, and we shall have but one 
 mind.' 
 
 The girl did not shrink from the piercing 
 gaze he fixed upon her ; her eyes met his 
 unflinchingly, yet with a certain absent look 
 in them. She answered half dreamily :
 
 8S A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' I wonder !' 
 
 Outside, beneadi the clear sky, Anthony 
 Dexter strode forward across the heath. He 
 walked quickly, driven on by the excitement 
 of the last half-hour, the fever of which was 
 still upon him. The spell of the music — and 
 music was the great factor in his existence ; 
 his enemy, inasmuch as the strong passion of 
 it in his spirit preyed upon and wore his 
 flesh ; his friend, inasmuch as the glory and 
 beauty of it made up for him the chief joy of 
 living — held him yet. The madness of those 
 last harmonies rioted through his brain and 
 leaped in his pulses ; and side by side with 
 the echoing sounds went the vision of a 
 mysterious face, with new consciousness 
 breaking through Its mystery, and a pathos 
 of startled emotion in its eyes. He did not 
 separate the sight from the sound , the two 
 were indivisible ; he could not think of one 
 apart from the other. 
 
 Suddenly through the silence came a little
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 89 
 
 obstinately penetrating sound, a short, dry 
 cough, repeated at quick Intervals. Anthony 
 stopped, and In the star-lessened darkness 
 saw a black object, thin and small, at no 
 great distance away from him, and slowly 
 drawing nearer. He felt, with something of 
 the same feeling that had held him In the 
 room the evening before, that it was old 
 Boniface WIchelow, and he stood still and 
 waited for him to approach. 
 
 ' My lodger ?' said old WIchelow when 
 within a few paces. 
 
 ' You are clever to recognise me In the 
 dark.' 
 
 * My eyes are poor — so poor that I do not 
 trust them much ; but I felt It must be you.' 
 
 There was a pause ; old WIchelow showed 
 no Intention of movinof on. 
 
 ' You have been to Breybrldge ?' said 
 Anthony. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' You got what you wanted ?'
 
 90 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Of course.' 
 
 There was another little silence ; then 
 Boniface WIchelow said : 
 
 ' Are you coming back with me ?' 
 
 ' I think not.' 
 
 * You had better.' 
 
 ' I do not wish to go back yet.' 
 
 ' I have something to say to you.' 
 
 ' No, I — I cannot come now.' The Idea 
 of walking back in company with the old man 
 was peculiarly distasteful to Anthony. ' No, 
 I must go on,' he said, and he broke away, 
 almost at a run, across the heath. 
 
 Old WIchelow turned quietly and went on 
 alone. 
 
 Anthony Dexter walked forward for nearly 
 half an hour longer ; then, as the excitement 
 died out of him, he began to feel that he was 
 very tired, and he turned his face homewards. 
 His fatigue grew Into exhaustion as he 
 plodded his way back ; by the time he had 
 come to his journey's end he was faint with
 
 A FACE OF LEOXARDO 91 
 
 weariness. When he reached Heather Den 
 the house was dark ; the front-door was firmly 
 secured, and his repeated knockings evoked 
 no sign of Hfe within. At last, angry and 
 exhausted, he found his way round to the 
 back of the house, and there, instead of the 
 blank dark mass of the front, a glow of light 
 gave some promise of aid. The light came 
 from one of the lower windows ; he knew 
 directly that it burned in Rhoda Wichelow's 
 room. He drew near the window ; it was 
 lightly curtained with some thin, muslin-like 
 material ; through it he could see a dim figure 
 that kneeled upon the floor ; listening, he 
 could hear faintly the sound of a voice that 
 rose and fell. He waited, thinking she would 
 presently rise ; but she did not rise, she 
 kneeled on, her body bending now and again 
 almost to the ground, and her voice now 
 dying away, now rising almost to a cry ; and 
 at last very gently he tapped upon the panes. 
 She did not hear at first, and he repeated the
 
 92 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 sound more loudly and several times before 
 her attention was aroused. When she heard 
 him she rose at once, came towards the 
 window, and drew the curtain aside. She 
 stood for a minute, her figure outlined against 
 the light behind ; she raised her hand and 
 made a gesture, pointing over her shoulder ; 
 then she drew back again, and Anthony 
 could see that she disappeared through the 
 door of the room. 
 
 He went round to the front-door again, 
 and, reaching it, heard sounds of the drawing 
 back of bolts and the liftinor of a bar ; then 
 the door was opened and Rhoda stood in the 
 passage before him, a lighted candle on the 
 stone floor beside her. 
 
 ' Did I startle you ?' he said. 
 
 ' No ; I expected you. I knew you were 
 not in.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry ' he began. 
 
 , 'What for?' 
 
 ' To have given you all this trouble.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 93 
 
 ' It is not much trouble.' 
 
 Anthony drew the bolts again and replaced 
 the bar across the door. Rhoda held out 
 the candle towards him. 
 
 ' Would you like to take this with you ?' 
 she said. 
 
 * You are not coming upstairs ?' 
 'No.' 
 
 < Then ' 
 
 ' I have a light,' she interrupted. ' Good- 
 night.' 
 
 ' Good-night.' 
 
 ' Stay !' she said suddenly. 
 
 He turned, and she stood looking at 
 him. 
 
 * And Paul Garnet ?' she said. 
 ' Well ?' Anthony answered. 
 
 ' What of him ?' 
 
 She was still looking at him. 
 
 ' Do you mean, what do 1 think of him ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' I do not like him.'
 
 94 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ^ He is to be my husband,' she said 
 slowly. 
 
 Anthony did not answer her ; he stood 
 looking at her face, on which the flickering 
 candle cast strange lights and shadows, till 
 she turned away from him into the darkness 
 of the room and left him alone.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Alone walking, 
 In thought pleynyng, 
 And sore syghyng, 
 Al desolate. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and the quiet of 
 Heather Den seemed to be Intensified. After 
 the early breakfast Rhoda disappeared, and 
 Anthony did not see her till nearly ten 
 o'clock, when, as he sat In the room, he 
 caught a glimpse of her going past the 
 window. He rose up quickly and followed 
 her along the rutted road that ran between 
 the heath and the wood. He soon overtook 
 her. She looked very prim in a narrow, 
 straight gown of gray and a close-fitting 
 bonnet.
 
 96 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Are you going to church ?' he asked. 
 ' No ; to chapel.' 
 
 * You like chapel best ?' 
 
 ' No, sometimes I go to church ; but many 
 of my people go to the chapel' 
 
 * May I come ?' Anthony said. 
 ' As you like.' 
 
 * What do you do all the afternoon ?' he 
 went on. ' Shall I see you then ?' 
 
 * All the afternoon I shall be with Paul.' 
 Anthony Dexter stopped. 
 
 *I think — I hardly think I will go to 
 chapel,' he said. 
 
 Rhoda said nothing ; she had stopped, too, 
 but after a moment's pause went on along 
 the road. But when she had gone a few 
 steps she stopped again, and turned towards 
 him. 
 
 ' This evening I shall sing,' she said, ' in 
 the woods.' 
 
 ' Am I to come ?' 
 
 She waited a little.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 97 
 
 ' It will be earlier to-night — about seven 
 o'clock,' was all she answered. Then she 
 walked on again. 
 
 Anthony stood and looked along the road. 
 His first impulse was to follow her ; but the 
 face of Paul Garnet rose up before him, and 
 he did not move. 
 
 'No, I will not go,' he thought; 'and I 
 will not go this evening to the woods. She 
 is interesting, and the music — it seemed 
 almost like the key ; I should like to have 
 seen how far it would reveal her. But 
 there ' — he shrugged his shoulders — ' I dare 
 say there isn't very much to reveal, after all, 
 and she will marry like an ordinary woman, 
 and be under the thumb of her husband.' 
 
 He turned and walked back towards the 
 house. How quiet it all was ! too quiet, he 
 began to think ; dull in its wide loneliness. 
 He had only arrived two days ago, and he 
 had begun already to tire of the solitude. 
 
 ' Farquhar was right,' he thought. ' I 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 shall never be able to stay out the month. 
 A week — if I stay till the end of the week, 
 that is about all I can manage.' 
 
 He wandered into the hayfield where he 
 had talked with Rhoda the day before, and 
 whiled away the morning idly ; smoking ; 
 sometimes reading a few lines in the book 
 he had kept in his hand when he had 
 hurriedly left the house ; thinking, as he 
 imagined, of many things ; in reality, only 
 of Rhoda Wichelow. Her face would not 
 leave him ; it floated in the wreaths of smoke 
 that rose from his pipe ; it peeped forth from 
 the printed page he tried to read ; it came 
 and looked over his shoulder with just the 
 same look it had worn when it had been drawn 
 closer and closer to him by the music's power. 
 
 Immediately after the early dinner Rhoda 
 left the house again. Anthony had strolled 
 up to the little mound whereon stood the 
 fir-tree, and leaning against the thin, straight 
 trunk, he could see the girl take her way
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 99 
 
 across the heath. As she lost her in- 
 dividuahty and became nothing more than 
 a black object whose every movement made 
 it smaller, he became aware of another 
 moving thing amidst the heather, something 
 that came in the opposite direction. He 
 watched the two specks as they drew nearer 
 and nearer to each other. At last they met, 
 seemed to pause for a moment, then grew 
 smaller and smaller as they moved on 
 together further and further away. 
 
 Anthony stood for some minutes after they 
 had disappeared, looking in a vague, un- 
 thinking way into the distance that held 
 what he could no longer see. He was about 
 to turn away, when, quite close to him, a 
 voice spoke. 
 
 ' Do you like him ?' it said. 
 
 Anthony started and looked round. Close 
 beside him, peering up with keen, malicious 
 eyes into his face, stood old Boniface Wiche- 
 low.
 
 loo A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Whom do you mean ?' Anthony asked. 
 
 'Him' — the old man pointed across the 
 heath — ' Paul — Paul Garnet that was here 
 last night' 
 
 * No,' said Anthony shortly. 
 
 ' Nor do I. I do not like Paul Garnet,' 
 the old man went on after a pause. ' He 
 will have all that I love — my house and my 
 lands. He Is to marry Rhoda.' 
 
 * Is that why you dislike him,' asked 
 Anthony — ' because he will succeed to your 
 property ?' 
 
 ' Surely. And he will take Rhoda away 
 from me.' 
 
 Anthony turned to him quickly. 
 
 ' Are you fond of your grand-daughter ?' 
 
 'Ay.' Old Wichelow began boring Into 
 the ground with his stick. ' And she saves 
 for me,' he added. 
 
 ' Well, If she didn t marry him she'ld marry 
 somebody else,' said Anthony, ' so It doesn't 
 much matter.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO loi 
 
 ' Anybody but Paul.' 
 
 The words were said in a low tone, but 
 with a concentrated vehemence that caused 
 Anthony to turn again quickly to his com- 
 panion. 
 
 ' Why do you consent to the marriage if 
 you dislike it so much ?' he said. 
 
 The old man pressed his lips tighdy 
 together ; he glanced up at Anthony out of 
 the corners of his eyes; then, without speak- 
 ing, he walked slowly away. 
 
 The afternoon wore on. Rhoda did not 
 come in to tea, and Boniface was engaged 
 in the smoking of his hardly-acquired tobacco, 
 so Anthony had the meal alone. He hurried 
 over it, anxious to escape from the eyes of 
 old Wichelow, who sat watching him through 
 a film of smoke ; and as soon as he could, he 
 went out on to the heath again. 
 
 The glare of the day was over ; the sun 
 was still hot, but no longer fierce ; the 
 shadows were long ; over the bare heath
 
 I02 A DA UGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 the light lay In a full, soft flood. Anthony- 
 Dexter sat down beneath the fir-tree, and 
 looked across the wide, unbroken stretch 
 before him. It seemed to him that the 
 distance that had swallowed those two black 
 specks held them still ; that far off in the 
 horizon, beyond the point where his sight 
 could reach, Rhoda Wichelow waited, hidden 
 from him, but never moving beyond the dim 
 boundary-line where the sky touched the 
 heath ; that she stood there, bound by some 
 spell of the man who had led her thither ; 
 that lost, motionless, enchanted, she lingered 
 in the hazy thread of space between the dark 
 earth and the light above, and had no power 
 to come back to Heather Den till Paul 
 Garnet should let her go. 
 
 His thoughts ran on dreamily. Could he 
 break the spell ? Suddenly his heart stirred, 
 and the blood came leaping up, and his eyes 
 were shining instead of dreamy. A sense of 
 power came to him, a certainty that he could
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 103 
 
 break Paul Garnet's spell with a stronger 
 force ; that he could charm the girl who had 
 faded away from him into the filmy distance, 
 back again from the man who held her there ; 
 that with the power of the music that reigned 
 in him, and could be aroused in her, he could 
 draw her face from the face that watched 
 it now, and make it confess the riddle in 
 it to himself. He sat there, exulting, 
 triumphant, possessed by his heated fancies, 
 till presently the fantastic nature of his 
 thoughts became clear to him, and he 
 jumped up with a short laugh that had some 
 bitterness in it. 
 
 He looked at his watch. It was six 
 o'clock, just an hour before the time that 
 Rhoda would sing in the woods. But he 
 would not go ; those were mad fancies that 
 had come to him ; she had not, could not 
 have, anything to do with his life. He 
 would go for a walk ; and he strolled on 
 across the heath. He went forward for half
 
 I04 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 a mile or so, paused, and looked at his watch 
 again. It was a quarter past six. He went 
 on, more quickly now. The house of 
 Heather Den was sinking behind the little 
 swell of heath that sheltered it, when he 
 stopped once more ; it was half-past six : 
 and he strolled on yet further ; and it was 
 nearly seven. 
 
 Anthony Dexter looked over towards the 
 woods : the evening would be further 
 advanced in amongst the trees, he knew, 
 than out on the open ground : he seemed 
 to feel the soft hush that lay beneath the 
 close-leaved branches, differing from the 
 clear stillness of the heath ; and he seemed 
 to hear the hush stirred, sweetened, hardly 
 broken, by the sound of full, plaintive 
 notes, the voice of Rhoda Wichelow as she 
 poured forth the sorrows that her heart had 
 gathered in from the toil-worn people around 
 her. He stood, looking still towards the 
 woods ; and her face, raised to the evening-
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 105 
 
 light, with the glow of exaltation on it, as he 
 had seen it first, seemed to rise up out of the 
 mass of foliage, and the lips bade him come 
 to her. The great stillness of the evening 
 was filled for him with the sound of her 
 voice ; in all the stretching landscape he saw 
 only her face. He lingered awhile, listening 
 to the silent sound, looking at the unseen 
 face ; then he walked on, towards the woods.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My thoughts are all a case of knives, 
 Wounding my heart. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 A QUARTER of an hour's quick walking 
 brought Anthony to the path leading to 
 the open space. When he reached it, he 
 went more slowly ; he began to feel that 
 Rhoda was near him and to hesitate, and 
 Paul Garnet's face drove away the face that 
 had led him hitherto. He still moved on, 
 but with lingering, doubtful steps, as the 
 sober reality encroached upon his dreams ; 
 till at last he paused, not in doubt now, 
 but in trembling delight ; for through the 
 gray twilight of the still, listening trees
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 107 
 
 came once more the voice he had longed 
 to hear. 
 
 Hesitation was gone now ; he w^as in an 
 enchanted world again ; and he moved for- 
 ward rapidly, while the voice grew fuller 
 and stronger, till at last he stood on the 
 verge of the open space. He waited there 
 while the rough, harsh voices joined with 
 Rhoda's voice : 
 
 ' Yes, we'll gather at the river 
 That flows by the throne of God.' 
 
 It was a revival hymn they sang, and the 
 upward and downward heave of the voices 
 as they dragged out the swinging tune 
 reminded Anthony of the heave and wash 
 of waves breaking on a stony shore. 
 
 The smock-frocks were all clean this 
 evening ; the shirt-sleeves were covered ; 
 there were no rakes or pitchforks ; a prim, 
 clean, Sunday air was on the group that 
 stood round Rhoda Wichelow and listened 
 to and joined in her singing.
 
 io8 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Anthony still waited ; he had thought that 
 when the hymn ceased he would go forward 
 and show himself ; but when silence followed 
 the singing, his old hesitation came back to 
 him, and he did not move. But Rhoda 
 turned to him as he stood half concealed 
 amidst the trees : 
 
 ' You have come ?' she said. 
 
 There was hardly Inquiry so much as 
 assertion In her voice. 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered, and came forward till 
 he was clear of the foliage. 
 
 * Come here,' she said, ' nearer.' 
 
 He obeyed her, his eyes on her face. As 
 he advanced, the circle of men and women 
 opened and let him pass through. There 
 was no surprise on the people's faces, 
 hardly any Interest ; the dull round of a 
 working, unthinking existence breeds a 
 stolidity that has In it but little capacity 
 for wonder. The circle closed again : just 
 within it Anthony stood and faced Rhoda. 
 She glanced round the group.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 109 
 
 ' What would you like to sing ?' she said. 
 
 Nobody answered at first : the people 
 looked at one another : at last a voice 
 said, ' Burden.' Rhoda folded her hands, 
 and began to sing : 
 
 ' Oh come, sinners, come, 'tis mercy's call, 
 Here at Jesus' feet ; 
 Oh come, and, repenting, lay thy all 
 Down at Jesus' feet.' 
 
 She turned to Anthony. 
 
 * Sing,' she said. 
 
 Then she threw back her head slightly, 
 and standing thus with upraised face, in the 
 attitude that he knew, led the chorus : 
 
 ' Oh, lay it down, lay it down. 
 Lay thy weary burden down ; 
 Oh, lay it down, lay it down, 
 Lay it down at Jesus' feet.' 
 
 And Anthony Dexter did as he was bid, 
 and sang, his voice joining with the cracked, 
 nasal voices around hijTi, his eyes fixed on 
 the upturned face of Rhoda Wichelow. As 
 he sang, the rhythmic run of the tune, and the 
 sort of yearning that the melody threw into
 
 no A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 the words, and the words gave back to the 
 melody, stirred in him a curious emotion, 
 not wholly genuine nor altogether fictitious, 
 which increased with each repetition of the 
 chorus, and which gathered finally some reflec- 
 tion of the exaltation that lighted Rhoda's face. 
 
 When the hymn was over, there was a 
 little pause of silence ; then Rhoda said : 
 
 ' The time is getting on ; you will like 
 perhaps to be going home ?' 
 
 But Anthony broke in upon her words. 
 
 ' Not yet,' he said. ' Sing one more song 
 — the song you sang when I came here the 
 other night' 
 
 ' Which song was it ?' the girl asked. 
 
 Anthony sang the air of the refrain ; and 
 she bent her head, saying : 
 
 'Yes, I know.' Then, looking round at 
 the circle of faces, ' Will you stay for one 
 more song ?' she asked. 
 
 Several heads nodded, and some voices 
 said ' Yes ' and * Surely ' ; and the girl.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO iii 
 
 going back into her old position, broke into 
 the quaint, plaintive melody that she had 
 sung when Anthony had seen her first : 
 
 ' Sorrow and toil through all the weary day, 
 Sorrow and toil, and neither let nor stay, 
 Sorrow and toil till life shall pass away ; 
 But oh for the rest beyond !' 
 
 There was a great pathos in her voice as 
 she sang ; it chastened the beauty of her 
 upturned face ; it ran in a quiver of longing 
 through the notes of the refrain : 
 
 * But oh for the rest beyond 1' 
 
 Anthony Dexter followed where she led ; 
 the tide of her emotion bore him with it as it 
 rose ; in the last verse his voice sang with 
 hers, and his being thrilled as the two voices 
 swelled and sank, alone and together. 
 
 The last notes of the refrain died away ; 
 the people, in ones, and twos, and threes, 
 disappeared amongst the trees ; Anthony 
 and Rhoda were left alone in the cleared 
 space. The air was no longer quite still ;
 
 12 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 a little breeze wandered fitfully through the 
 wood ; the leaves stirred gently with a faint 
 rustling. 
 
 Anthony said at last : 
 
 ' I came, you see.' 
 
 ' Yes/ 
 
 Rhoda's face was still upraised, the eyes 
 looking skywards. Anthony stood by in 
 silence, content to watch her. Presently 
 she turned to him. 
 
 ' Shall we go home ?' 
 
 ' Not yet' 
 
 The man's worn, delicate features showed 
 something of the trouble within him. The 
 girl looked at him questioningly, and as she 
 looked the fervour died out of her face, 
 and the impalpable secret charm of her 
 ordinary expression stole back to it again. 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 ' Why do you marry Paul Garnet ?' 
 
 The impenetrable look on her face grew 
 stronger.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 113 
 
 ' Why should you ask me ?' she answered. 
 
 * You are right,' he said ; ' It was imperti- 
 nent in me to ask you.' 
 
 She made no answer, but, passing him by, 
 entered the Httle path that led back to 
 Heather Den, and walked in silence through 
 the woods. 
 
 Anthony paused a moment or two In in- 
 decision, then he followed her. All through 
 the woods the faint rustling of the leaves 
 was like a voice of the twilight singing 
 the day to rest ; from time to time a bird 
 called with a lonely note ; far off, on the 
 borders of the dim grayness that floated 
 between the trees, was a glow of golden 
 light. The hush, and the movement of the 
 leaves, the gold and the gray together, 
 the beauty and the mystery of eventide, all 
 seemed to Anthony to be Inspired by some 
 strange dream spirit, that swayed himself as 
 well as the woods, that breathed forth ecstasy 
 as well as longing, that found its embodiment 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 ^ DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 in the girl moving on with measured, silent 
 steps before him. He followed her, hardly 
 caring, after the first little while, that she 
 did not speak ; content only to walk on and 
 on so long as she moved before him. 
 
 But on the borders of the wood, where the 
 trees stood less close together and the sunset 
 light was full, she paused and turned and 
 spoke to him. 
 
 * You asked me why I am going to marry 
 Paul,' she said, 'and I would not tell you, 
 because, as I said yesterday, you do not 
 belong to my life, and what I do and do 
 not do is for me, and not for you, to 
 judge of. But now I will tell you all you 
 wish to know. Question me, and I will 
 answer.' 
 
 She leaned up against a little thin tree ; 
 she put her hands behind her, clasping the 
 trunk at her back ; her eyes looked at him 
 with almost a mocking look. 
 
 * I have asked my question,' he said.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 115 
 
 * You should know the answer.' 
 
 ' The answer, the right answer, should be 
 — for love.' 
 
 She smiled almost imperceptibly. 
 
 * That is the right answer,' she said. 
 ' You love him ?' 
 
 ' Of course.' 
 
 ' I do not believe it. You do not know 
 what love is.' 
 
 She looked at him with unfathomable 
 eyes. 
 
 ' What is it ?' she said. 
 
 ' What is it ? Do you mean ' 
 
 Anthony took a step forward ; the girl's 
 face was very beautiful with the sunset light 
 upon it. 
 
 She brought one of her arms forward from 
 behind the tree, and held up her hand with 
 a forbidding gesture. Anthony stopped — 
 more than stopped ; he drew back again to 
 his former place. 
 
 *I mean what I say,' Rhoda said. 'You
 
 i6 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 tell me I do not know what love is ; but how 
 can I judge if you are right, if you do not tell 
 me what it ought to be ?' 
 
 Anthony did not answer at once, and she 
 added in a lower tone : 
 
 ' If you know.' 
 
 ' If I know ' Anthony began, then 
 
 pulled himself up. * I cannot tell you,' he 
 said. 
 
 ' And you do not wish to question me any 
 more ?' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Then we will go on.' 
 
 Rhoda drew herself upright, and came a 
 step or two away from the tree. 
 
 'And yet,' said Anthony, 'there are 
 questions I should like to ask you — if I 
 dared.' 
 
 The girl took up her old position by the 
 tree, except that her arms hung before her 
 now, the hands loosely clasped. 
 
 * Dare,' she said.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO uy 
 
 * Then — if I dare — what is it you mean by 
 love? I cannot believe you know.' 
 
 She waited a minute, her eyes on the 
 ground ; her face had a doubtful, thoughtful 
 look. Presently she glanced up. 
 
 * If I answer by questions, will you answer 
 my questions ?' 
 
 'As far as I can.' 
 
 * Is there admiration in love ?' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * I admire strength ; and Paul is strong.' 
 There was a pause ; the light was growing 
 
 fainter ; the wind in the trees had a sighing, 
 mournful sound. 
 
 'Well,' said Anthony presently, 'and the 
 questions ?' 
 
 ' I cannot ask them, and I cannot answer 
 you. Leave me to my life !' 
 
 There was a break in the girl's voice as 
 she said the last words, and something both 
 of appeal and defiance in her eyes. She did 
 not give Anthony time to answer her, but,
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 turning suddenly, strode on towards the 
 house. Anthony followed her, but she did 
 not turn or look at him again ; and as soon 
 as they reached Heather Den, she went Into 
 the curtained room, and he did not see her 
 any more that night.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 And music lifted up the listening spirit 
 Until it walked exempt from mortal care, 
 God-like, o'er the clear billows of sweet sound. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 All through the week Anthony saw very 
 little of Rhoda WIchelow. The greater part 
 of the day she was In the fields working with 
 the haymakers, and every evening after 
 supper she went outside to her lover. Once 
 Anthony said to her : ' Have you known 
 Paul Garnet long ?' And she answered : 
 'All my life.' 
 
 But he had very little opportunity of 
 speaking to her. At mealtime old Boniface, 
 a silent, observing presence, was a constraint
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 on even the simplest, most ordinary, con- 
 versation ; and in any case Anthony would 
 have found it almost impossible to talk in 
 an ordinary way with Rhoda. F'or the first 
 few days he made no effort to see her : he 
 told himself that he could not be really in- 
 terested In a girl who was going to be 
 married to another man : and he did not go 
 into the fields to seek her, nor into the 
 woods to hear her sing. But on Thursday 
 morning he waited in the passage till she 
 should go out, and when he saw her coming, 
 he placed himself in the doorway, barring 
 her exit. 
 
 ' Do you still sing ?' he said. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' This evening, too ?' 
 
 ' Yes. But you must not come.' 
 
 ' Why not ?' 
 
 * I like better to be with my people 
 alone.' 
 
 She made a little movement forward as
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 121 
 
 though she wished to pass him, and he drew 
 to one side and let her go. 
 
 The great silence that had brooded over 
 Heather Den during the first few days of 
 Anthony's stay there was faintly broken 
 now ; all day long a breeze that came and 
 went stirred the leaves In the woods to a 
 gentle rustling every little while, and at 
 night with a sighing sound It crept about 
 the house. Very often he lay awake and 
 listened to It as It mingled with the murmur 
 of Rhoda Wichelow's voice In the room 
 below ; and as night after night the two 
 sounds mixed themselves In his ear, they 
 grew at last Into a melody that he heard, 
 sang, saw In his mind written out In har- 
 monies, and longed to play. 
 
 It was a quiet, gray evening; the light 
 breeze that had blown for many days was 
 still ; a thin haze lay upon the heath and 
 veiled the sunset ; the twilight came a little 
 earlier than Its wont. Anthony Dexter and
 
 122 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 old WIchelow sat at supper in the room : 
 Rhoda had not come in. The old man 
 hurried through his meal, and rose from 
 the table before Anthony had finished eat- 
 
 mg. 
 
 ' I must go,' he said. ' I have business to- 
 night.' 
 
 ' You are going out ?' 
 
 'Ay.' 
 
 * Have you far to go ?' 
 
 ' There is no house near at hand.' 
 
 The old man was buckling on a pair of 
 old weather-beaten gaiters which he kept in 
 the chimney corner, and wore always when 
 he went out. 
 
 ' It will soon be dark,' said Anthony. 
 
 ' I know my way in the dark as well as in 
 the light.' 
 
 ' I believe you can see in the dark,' said 
 Anthony. 
 
 Old Wichelow had finished putting on his 
 gaiters now, and rose up.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 123 
 
 * You do not want to see when you know 
 the way,' he answered. 
 
 He went out of the room, and presently 
 Anthony saw him pass the window with his 
 slow, somewhat halting gait. Anthony stood 
 gazing out on to the heath ; It looked very 
 lonely to-night, and the quiet of the place 
 was a burden. He began to long for sound 
 — any sound ; and In a minute his longing 
 was satisfied — and sweetly. From outside 
 came the sound of a voice singing, and, faint 
 though it was, he knew the voice at once ; 
 it was Rhoda Wichelow's. She sanor the air 
 that seemed to him part of herself, the air he 
 had first heard her sing ; and as she came 
 nearer, as she passed by the window where 
 he watched, he heard, or seemed to know 
 without definitely hearing, the words she sang: 
 
 ' Hearts tired with beating all the weary years ; 
 But oh for the rest beyond !' 
 
 Her voice ceased when she reached the 
 door of the house. Anthony heard her
 
 124 ^ DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 footsteps in the passage and then on the 
 stairs, and after a little while she came into 
 the room. He went forward to meet her. 
 
 ' The supper is cold.' 
 
 ' I do not mind.' 
 
 * If I had known you would be in so soon, 
 I would have asked Sally to keep something 
 hot for you ; but I thought you would not 
 come till your usual time — after the table 
 had been cleared.' 
 
 ' I do not mind,' Rhoda said again; 'and 
 I am very hungry.' 
 
 ' You did not come in to tea this afternoon.' 
 
 ' No ; I could not come.' 
 
 ' Your grandfather has gone out,' said 
 Anthony presently. 
 
 'Yes. It is Micah Yates's rent day.' 
 
 ' Does he go for the rent, do you mean 
 — at this hour ?' 
 
 ' Micah would not be in before this hour.' 
 
 The girl went on eating her supper. 
 Anthony watched her from his corner by the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 125 
 
 window. In the dusk he could only see the 
 outline of her figure, as she sat by the table ; 
 her face was dim. 
 
 'You must be very tired,' he said at last. 
 
 ' Not very ; I do not tire easily. But I 
 am tired.' 
 
 ' Shall you go out to-night ?' 
 
 ' Of course.' Rhoda paused a minute, and 
 then added : ' It is the only way of seeing Paul.' 
 
 ' He could come in to-night,' said Anthony. 
 ' Your grandfather is out, and I can go away.' 
 
 Rhoda had risen ; she came over to the 
 window, and stood not far from him looking 
 through the panes. She did not speak, and 
 presently he said : 
 
 ' You need not go out.' 
 
 ' I would rather go out.' The girl leaned 
 her head against the frame of the window ; 
 her face was turned towards Anthony, but 
 in the half-light he could not see it plainly. 
 * It is more natural to see Paul outside,' she 
 said. ' He is like the heath.'
 
 126 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' How — If I may ask ?' 
 
 'It is wild and desolate' — she turned 
 again and looked out of the window — 'but 
 there is strength in it, and it holds you to it. 
 Paul is like that.' 
 
 As she finished speaking, a whistle 
 sounded through the stillness outside, and 
 a dark figure came out of the haze towards 
 the window. Rhoda Wichelow turned and 
 left the room. Anthony, still standing by 
 the window, saw her come out of the door 
 on to the flagged space outside, saw Paul 
 Garnet come near to her and kiss her, saw 
 the two figures walk side by side on to the 
 heath and disappear in the haze and the 
 twilight, back again into that shadowy region 
 of distance, wherein, his fancy told him, her 
 lover held her with a spell. 
 
 He stood without moving, still looking out 
 into the thickening night, till the room was 
 quite dark, and only the last wan gleams of 
 daylight still lingered on the heath. The
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 127 
 
 house seemed weird in its loneliness ; he 
 listened, and could hear no sound ; he 
 crossed the room, found his way along the 
 passage to the outer door, and went forth 
 into the less oppressive solitude outside. 
 He stood still a few minutes, looking up 
 at the sky that was a little clearer now ; then 
 he walked on, not over the heath, but round 
 by the back of the house towards the fields. 
 
 The fields, too, lay under the spell of 
 silence that seemed almost part of the place ; 
 only now and again came the faint tinkling 
 of a bell, as some cow or sheep in the 
 pasture-meadows changed its place or posi- 
 tion ; the still, filmy air was weighted with 
 the scent of the hay. Anthony Dexter stood 
 leaning against a gate, looking up the dim 
 slant of the hill ; and the melody that had its 
 rise in the mingfled murmur of the wind and 
 of Rhoda's voice throbbed and wailed in his 
 brain, till the longing to hear it, to embody 
 it in outward sound, to pour out his heart in
 
 128 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 the playing of it, grew strong to a strength 
 that was torment. He sang it aloud, but his 
 voice sounded weird and ghostly in the midst 
 of the dark silence, and the harmonies that 
 moved below the air still craved for utterance. 
 
 He turned from the gate, and walked back 
 rapidly towards the house. The desire of 
 his art was upon him, the desire to bring 
 forth, to clothe in concrete form his own 
 creation ; and all the passion, the exaltation, 
 the keen joy and pain that creation brings, 
 possessed and commanded his being. One 
 way of deliverance, at any rate, he would 
 find for the thing that struggled within him. 
 He had brought with him no materials for 
 the writing of music ; but In some way, how- 
 ever rudely and roughly, he would put down 
 on paper, at least, the melody that cried in 
 his heart and brain ; with the harmonies that 
 gave to each note the just tone and spirit 
 and delicate shade of meaning. 
 
 He hurried on towards the house ; he was
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 129 
 
 near It now, close to its walls ; he walked on 
 towards the corner of the building to make 
 his way round to the front ; he passed close 
 to the window of Rhoda WIchelow's cur- 
 tained room : and then he stopped and drew 
 a long breath, for the window was open. A 
 sudden thought came to him and made his 
 heart beat faster. The piano was old, creak- 
 ing, inadequate ; but it had a voice, poor and 
 insufficient though it was, and he could make 
 it speak ; and the desire to find some means 
 of telling out the music that struggled for 
 expression was strong and full and desperate. 
 But Rhoda? Could he dare to enter un- 
 bidden the room that was a sort of temple of 
 her Inward, hidden life, that knew perhaps 
 the mystery lying behind the face he could 
 not read, that was sacred from the intrusion 
 even of the man she acknowledged as her 
 lover? The idea of entering it at her bid- 
 ding carried with it something of profana- 
 tion ; to enter it without her knowledge or 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 I30 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 her will would be an outrage, a sacrilege. 
 He hesitated ; the thought of her face in 
 aneer or in scorn counselled him to flee from 
 the temptation that beckoned to him through 
 the open window ; but the thought of her 
 face brought the thought of her voice, 
 and her voice belonged to the desire that 
 clamoured for fulfilment. 
 
 And the desire conquered ; It grew in 
 strength with the possibility of satisfaction ; 
 it rose up in a mighty flood of longing, and 
 drove all other thoughts and feelings before 
 it. Anthony Dexter did not wait long in 
 parley with himself; he put his hands upon 
 the sill, drew himself up, and in two seconds 
 he was in the room. It was dark, but he did 
 not want light ; he knew where the instru- 
 ment stood ; he found his way to it and sat 
 down. It was open ; he felt with his hands 
 over the keys, and began to play. 
 
 As he played, heaven opened to him, the 
 heaven of the artist whose god Is his art ;
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 131 
 
 and to all artists there are times when the 
 God who created the gift of creation moves 
 before them invisible, in a cloud whose 
 vapours are ideals unexpressed, and a pillar 
 whose fire is ecstasy. Through the open 
 window the sounds that swelled up and filled 
 the room floated out into the dark silent night ; 
 to Anthony Dexter the room and the night, 
 the heath and the loneliness, and Rhoda and 
 Paul, became as nothing, or as featureless 
 parts of one indefinable, rapturous emotion. 
 The melody that had striven within him so 
 long found voice at last ; the harmonies that 
 had blended themselves in his brain came 
 forth in full spreading chords : in the melody 
 was the sob of the wandering wind ; in the 
 chords the impalpable sense of mystery that 
 floated in the rhythm and wail of the air as 
 it had sung itself into being. 
 
 He played on and on, varying the 
 harmonies and the key, and the march and 
 phrasing of the melody ; now letting the
 
 132 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 chords ripple beside it in quick, fleeting 
 notes ; now piling them together in full, rich 
 strength ; now robbing them note by note 
 till harmony was almost dead ; now letting a 
 discord break and flash upon their satisfying 
 beauty. As he played, the old faulty instru- 
 ment beneath his hands seemed to gather 
 power and sweetness of tone ; his spirit 
 seemed to enter into and possess the strings ; 
 richer, fuller, grander, stronger, more eloquent 
 of passion and of longing, were the sounds 
 that floated out to the woods and the heath 
 and lost themselves amongst the trees or in 
 space ; and the heart of the man throbbed 
 with delight, and his soul rejoiced. The 
 time went on, but he held no count of time ; 
 the emotion that swayed him, like all emotion, 
 when it rises above a certain height, carried 
 him beyond time into a state wherein time 
 stands aside, while eternity shows itself 
 behind the ages. 
 
 There were other sounds amidst the night's
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 133 
 
 silence, and there was light not far from the 
 darkness amidst which he played ; but he 
 was conscious of nothing but his music ; and 
 the thought that it was getting late, and that 
 the owners of the house would be coming 
 back, never stirred his brain. But at last 
 there came a sound that broke in upon his 
 abstraction, the swishing sound of metal rings 
 drawn rapidly along a rod ; and the door was 
 opened, and a figure, dark against the light 
 behind, stood in the doorway, the pushed- 
 back curtain falling thickly at one side of it. 
 Then Anthony Dexter came back into time, 
 and the life of Heather Den : suddenly the 
 music stopped, and his hands slid off the keys, 
 and he sat abashed, confused, and silent. 
 
 Rhoda Wichelow stood in the doorway, 
 silent too ; but behind her a voice said : 
 * You are an accomplished musician, Mr. 
 Dexter ;' and the face of Paul Garnet looked 
 in over the girl's shoulder. 
 
 Anthony rose, and came out of the dark-
 
 134 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ness Into the light of the room. Old Wiche- 
 low sat on the settle, blinking his eyes. 
 
 'You're favoured,' he said, pointing with 
 one finger to the doorway across which 
 Rhoda was drawing the curtain. ' Neither 
 the old man, nor ' — he looked at Paul — * nor 
 the young one, is allowed in there.' 
 
 ' I went in,' began Anthony ; ' I ' 
 
 He broke off; there was nothing that he 
 could say. 
 
 Rhoda had come away from the doorway, 
 and was standing now with her face towards 
 him ; but she did not speak ; she moved a 
 little closer to Paul Garnet's side. It was 
 Paul who broke the silence. 
 
 ' The organ, I believe, is your instrument, 
 Mr. Dexter ?' he said. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'There is an organ at the Hall. It would 
 give me great pleasure if you would come on 
 Sunday afternoon and show me how it ought 
 to be played. I say Sunday, because that is
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 135 
 
 the only afternoon that Miss WIchelow con- 
 siders herself free, and I know that she would 
 like to hear you play.' 
 
 * You are very kind,' stammered Anthony ; 
 'but I — I will not intrude upon you.' 
 
 ' Intrusion and an invited guest can have 
 nothing in common,' said Paul Garnet. ' I 
 shall take it amiss if you do not come. And 
 besides,' he went on, a half-smile lighting his 
 dark face, 'you owe Miss Wichelow some 
 amends for the— shall I call it intrusion? 
 which your genius has led you into this 
 evening. You cannot refuse compensation.' 
 
 ' Miss Wichelow shall command me,' said 
 Anthony stiffly. 
 
 He looked at Rhoda. She put a hand on 
 Paul's arm, and standing thus, and looking 
 back at Anthony, said : 
 
 ' Come.'
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The fire i' the flint 
 Shows not till it be struck. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The night had come ; the lights were all 
 put out at Heather Den — all but two. One 
 burned in Anthony's room, and one in the 
 room below, where Rhoda, kneeling on the 
 floor, prayed in quaint, cant phrases to be 
 delivered from the devil's wiles. Overhead 
 Anthony listened to the low murmur of her 
 voice. He sat by the open window ; the 
 murky sky made the night dark, hiding the 
 stars, and there was no moon. He was 
 overwrought, tired, depressed, miserable ; 
 the reaction from the burning mood of the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 137 
 
 evening was upon him ; and he lived again 
 and again through that minute when Rhoda 
 Wichelow, standing in the doorway of the 
 sanctuary he had violated, had made him no 
 reproach but silence. 
 
 The wind was still to-night ; the woods, 
 whose rustling leaves had whispered to him 
 in melody during many past nights, were 
 still too ; everywhere a stretching-out of the 
 silence that would neither blame nor forgive ; 
 and through it all the low, vague murmur 
 of the voice he longed, yet dreaded to hear, 
 in louder speech. The man's strong, 
 nervous hands gripped the window-ledge 
 as he sat ; he suffered, not appreciating the 
 full meaning and purport of his suffering; 
 not understanding either the depth or the 
 nature of the feeling that Rhoda Wichelow 
 had awakened in him ; not knowing that the 
 interest which had arisen in curiosity had 
 developed into something of more imperative 
 force. The reaction from strong emotion
 
 138 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 made him weary ; the presence of fresh 
 emotion, humiliating and bitter, made him 
 restless ; he paced to and fro, seeking relief 
 and finding none, waiting till bodily ex- 
 haustion should bring ease to his tired mind. 
 And still the murmur of the voice below, and 
 still the quiet in the woods, and the unstir- 
 ring calm of the air. 
 
 But at last there came a break in the 
 silence with the sound in it ; the voice was 
 hushed, and the stillness was freed from the 
 note of complaining that had seemed to fill 
 it. Anthony was close to his door when the 
 voice ceased. He stopped his restless walk- 
 ing and listened ; then hastily, with a sudden 
 impulse, he opened the door and stepped 
 out on to the landing. He stood hesitating ; 
 the candle he held cast a flickering, uncertain 
 licrht out into the dense darkness ; the house 
 was full of great black shadows, thick as 
 substance. Then, far off, he heard the 
 sound of a faint footfall on the stone floor
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 139 
 
 of the passage, and saw beyond the black- 
 ness the ghost of a Hght struggHng to rise 
 from below. Rhoda was coming. 
 
 Anthony did not pause to think ; he 
 moved forward quickly along the length of 
 the landing to the head of the staircase and 
 beofan to descend. He met Rhoda about 
 half-way down. She stopped two steps 
 below him ; her face looked up at him out of 
 a deep darkness : the light of his candle 
 shone down upon It and showed It plainly ; 
 her own candle threw an upward light upon 
 her throat and chin. 
 
 They stood through a little space of 
 silence. Her eyes were calm, and held a 
 spirit of peace : Anthony's eyes were 
 troubled, and his lips moved nervously. 
 
 'You will never forgive me,' he whispered 
 at last. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said. 
 
 ' I was mad,' he went on, ' when I did It.' 
 
 * No, not you ; It was the music'
 
 I40 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 'You can never understand how it was,' 
 he persisted. 
 
 She narrowed her eyes, looking up at him. 
 
 * I can understand.' 
 
 ' Can you ?' 
 
 It was as if a spirit moved across the face 
 of his mood, troubling the humility, the 
 abject self-abasement, that lay there ; and 
 from the depths beneath there rose to the 
 ruffled surface other impulses — less pure than 
 the one that had led him hither, other 
 thoughts — more selfish. 
 
 ' Can you understand ?' he said. ' Can 
 music indeed conquer you ?' 
 
 One hand resting on the banisters, the 
 wavering light of the candles playing on her 
 face, she still looked up at him, but did not 
 answer. But the peace in her eyes was 
 broken, and the mystery of her face came 
 forth. 
 
 ' Is it true?' he said — 'is it true that there 
 is in music something that calls — commands 
 you ?'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 141 
 
 She still paused. A quiver moved her 
 lips, and then at last : 
 
 ' Alas !' she said, ' it is true.' 
 
 'Why alas?' He came down a step, a 
 little nearer to her. ' Why should it be alas ?' 
 
 Her eyes had a sort of fear in them ; she 
 answered in a broken voice : 
 
 ' Because the thing — the power is evil.' 
 
 * How so ?' 
 
 His voice, his air, grew more authoritative 
 as hers became feebler. She answered him 
 obediently : 
 
 * Before you came it was beauty — all that 
 I knew ; and I had power over it.' 
 
 ' And now ?' 
 
 * Now the beauty has a terror and a horror 
 in it, and the power ' 
 
 ' Yes .?' 
 
 * Is in it, not me.' 
 
 ' I almost thought so.' 
 
 He spoke with a slow triumph. 
 
 * Let me go,' she said. 
 
 ' Not yet. Is it all evil ?'
 
 142 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 She answered quickly : 
 
 'Oh no! If it were -' 
 
 ' Yes ?' 
 
 ' I could conquer it.' 
 
 ' There is good too ?' 
 
 ' Let me go,' she said again. 
 
 He barred her way. 
 
 ' You must answer me.' 
 
 'Then I will tell you,' she said with 
 sudden, fierce energy, ' that in the music 
 that you make there are heights and depths 
 I never knew or dreamed of. It is worship, 
 and it is hell.' 
 
 Then all at once her candle was out, and, 
 with a quick movement that took him un- 
 awares, she had reached up and grasped his 
 hand that held the light, and it was all 
 darkness. In the darkness she fled by him 
 up the stairs, and he was left alone, and the 
 quiet swept through the house again.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 If any strength we have, it is to ill ; 
 But all the good is God's, both power and eke will. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Fanelands Hall lay low In a hollow near 
 the edge of the woods. The trees came 
 close to it on all sides but one, where narrow 
 fields led down to a stretch of common land. 
 The house had a neglected air : the shutters 
 were closed in most of the windows ; the 
 creepers that climbed the stained, red-brick 
 walls hung drooping in untrained disorder ; 
 in the garden the grass grew rank and tall, 
 and weeds rose side by side with such hardy 
 flowers as came up and bloomed untended 
 year after year.
 
 144 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 The trees nearest to the house were the 
 abode of many rooks, and all day long their 
 cawing voices made a melancholy accompani- 
 ment to the empty solitude of the place. 
 
 Paul Garnet's father had been a gambler, 
 and the son lived frugally, wiping off year 
 by year the heavy mortgages which had 
 descended to him together with the estate. 
 
 On Sunday, the third of July, the brilliant 
 sunshine, the rich, full green of the foliage, the 
 glory and beauty of a summer's day, drove 
 away the look of desolation from the garden, 
 and grave a certain air of warmth and life 
 even to the house with its closed windows 
 and weather-beaten walls. Paul Garnet and 
 Rhoda Wichelow came out of the woods and 
 took their way to what had once been the 
 flower-garden. It was partially enclosed by 
 a wall, and against the wall was a wooden 
 summer - house, covered with straggling 
 creepers ; they entered It and sat down. 
 The air was full of summer sounds : the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 145 
 
 chirping of grasshoppers, the hum of insects, 
 the song of birds ; and behind these sounds 
 was the hoarse, constant cawing of the rooks. 
 Rhoda sat looking out at a tangled growth of 
 half-wild roses opposite the summer-house ; 
 Paul looked at Rhoda's face. 
 
 'The time is coming near,' he said at last. 
 
 * What time ?' 
 
 'The time when you and I will have one 
 name, one life, one being. I am no longer 
 so hard pressed, Rhoda ; I can marry you 
 now.' 
 
 ' Now r 
 
 'When you will ; it is for you to decide.' 
 She turned to him quickly. 
 
 * Let it be soon,' she said. 
 Paul rose up. 
 
 ' Come into the house ; I have something 
 to show you.' 
 
 He walked on through the narrow, over- 
 grown paths, and Rhoda followed him. He 
 entered the house, not by the chief entrance, 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 but by a smaller door at the side, opening 
 into a narrow passage. The passage led 
 into a large hall, shaped like the letter L ; the 
 chief part of it was the height of the whole 
 house, and along one side, high up in the 
 wall, was a row of little windows, lighting 
 a corridor above ; the smaller part was only 
 the height of the neighbouring rooms, and 
 from it the staircase opened, winding round 
 and round to the upper story. The hall 
 was lighted by a high window on each side 
 of the front-door, and by another facing the 
 door, big, mullioned, filled with stained glass. 
 All round the walls doors opened off into the 
 several rooms, and opposite the open fire- 
 place half-way down the hall was a large 
 organ. 
 
 Paul Garnet opened a door near the 
 fireplace, and Rhoda followed him into 
 the room into which it led. The shutters 
 were folded back in this room, and the warm 
 sunlight streamed in upon white - panelled 
 walls. Rhoda looked about her in amaze-
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 147 
 
 ment. The windows were draped with 
 curtains of rich old damask ; a soft, thick 
 carpet covered the floor ; furniture, carved, 
 inlaid, of various styles, but all beautiful and 
 costly, stood against the walls and out in the 
 room ; there were ornaments on the mantel- 
 piece, and books and china in the cabinets. 
 
 ' Do you like it ?' asked Paul. 
 
 ' What is it ?' the girl said in a low, almost 
 awe-struck voice. 
 
 ' It is salvage,' answered Paul — 'the little 
 that escaped from the wreck. From the 
 resources of the whole house, Rhoda, I have 
 only been able to furnish you one room.' 
 
 Rhoda still looked about her ; a flush of 
 pleasure rose to her face. 
 
 * Oh, I like it !' she said. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, ' I knew you would like it. 
 And the pictures,' he went on, ' do you like 
 them too ? They are the only ones I did 
 not sell.' 
 
 There were only three pictures in the 
 room. One was large, a full-length portrait
 
 148 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 of a woman, .with a young, sweet, rather 
 dreamy face : the others were small ; a land- 
 scape and a woman's head. . Rhoda looked 
 first at the portrait. 
 
 • Who is it ?' she asked. 
 
 ' My mother. They say it is like her ; I 
 never knew her, as you know.' 
 
 ' And this one ? Ah !' 
 
 Rhoda had turned to the picture nearest to 
 her : it was a view of the heath and the 
 woods near Heather Den, and the painter 
 had caught something of the spirit that 
 brooded over the heath and haunted the 
 woods, and so had made a picture with life 
 and truth in it. The girl looked at it in 
 silence ; at last she turned, and her eyes 
 glanced round the room again. 
 
 * There and here,' she said in a low voice. 
 
 ' Here is waiting for you. When will you 
 come ?' 
 
 ' But for my grandfather,' she answered, 
 ' and the people, I would come to-morrow.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 149 
 
 * Your grandfather ! What is he to you ?' 
 
 * It will go hard with him to let me go.' 
 
 * 1 will engage that he shall let you go.' 
 Rhoda looked into his eyes. 
 
 * Yes,' she said ; then she added, ' But the 
 people. If I am not there to stand by them ?' 
 
 ' And I — am I nothing ?' 
 She looked at him again ; his eyes seemed 
 to draw and hold her gaze. 
 ' You know,' she said at last. 
 
 * Look at the other picture,' said PauL 
 She moved along by the wall till she faced 
 
 the picture of the woman's head ; she stood 
 looking at it in silence, and Paul, standing 
 near her, looked at both it and her. 
 
 * It is the most valuable picture of the 
 whole collection,' he said at last. 'My 
 grandfather got it by a curious chance when 
 he was quite a young man travelling in Italy. 
 It is said to be an original, but whether it is 
 or not, it has all the spirit, all the character- 
 istics, of Leonardo's work.'
 
 ISO A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Rhoda still looked at the picture, and did 
 not answer. 
 
 * I could have sold it for a larger sum than 
 many of the other pictures,' said Paul. ' Do 
 you know why I did not sell it ?' 
 
 She answered, without taking her eyes 
 from the picture : 
 
 ' It is like me.' 
 
 ' You see the likeness ?' 
 
 ' I feel it. The woman there,' Rhoda went 
 on after a pause, ' had the same feelings in 
 her that I have. She might have been ' 
 
 ' An angel,' said Paul, as she hesitated, 
 as all women are.' 
 
 'Or ' 
 
 Rhoda stopped again. 
 
 'A devil, as all women might be.' 
 
 ' In the face there,' Rhoda said, * the devil 
 has won.' 
 
 Paul laughed gently. 
 
 ' I think so.' 
 
 The girl turned to him suddenly.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 151 
 
 ' Am I really like her ?' 
 
 He still smiled. 
 
 ' Potentially.' 
 
 ' You can see the devil In my face ?' 
 
 ' I hope so.' 
 
 She gave a little quick cry. 
 
 ' Ah ! if I could cast it out.' 
 
 Paul Garnet put his hands upon her 
 shoulders, and bent his face close to hers. 
 
 ' Don't try,' he said. ' I believe that your 
 potential wickedness is that which chiefly 
 feeds my love. You could never have 
 grown into my being till you had become 
 what you are — part of myself, if your nature 
 had been as simple and stainless as your 
 outward life has been.' 
 
 ' You do not know,' she answered. ' If it 
 should lead me, drive me, this devil that you 
 say you love, away from you ?' 
 
 He smiled again. 
 
 ' It cannot ; I am stronger than the 
 strongest part of you.'
 
 152 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Are you sure ? And you are not always 
 there !' 
 
 ' I soon shall be. But even so, in the 
 meantime, I have no fear ; and I like to 
 try, to prove my strength.' 
 
 Her eyes looked up at him doubtfully. 
 
 ' You have always ruled me,' she said ; * but 
 you do not understand me quite.' 
 
 'Do I not?' 
 
 ' The bad in me '— she spoke dreamily, 
 slowly, pausing for her words ; her eyes 
 had very much the expression of the picture's 
 eyes, Paul thought — ' the bad and the 
 strongest part of me have quickened into 
 life together ; they are joined, or circum- 
 stances have joined them, and it — that 
 something that holds my highest and my 
 lowest — is something you cannot enter 
 into.' 
 
 ' You are quite sure ?' he asked. 
 
 She gazed at him, a vague trouble in her 
 face.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 153 
 
 * Ah, Paul !' she said suddenly ; ' I fear it.' 
 
 ' Fear what ?' 
 
 She had not time to answer ; as he spoke, 
 the door was thrown open and Paul's house- 
 keeper announced * 
 
 ' Mr. Dexter.'
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 He feels he has a fist, then folds his arms 
 Crosswise and makes his mind up to be meek. 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 The low sun streamed through the stained- 
 glass window in the hall, throwing strips 
 and patches of colour on its dark floor. 
 In the deep seat below the window sat 
 Rhoda and Paul, side by side, he a little 
 turned towards her so that he could see 
 her profile, she looking straight down the 
 hall. Anthony Dexter sat at the organ, 
 and the hall was filled with the sound of 
 the music that he made. He had been 
 playing for half an hour, and all the time 
 Rhoda had sat quite still, listening, her
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 155 
 
 hands lying quiet in her lap, her eyes look- 
 ing into a world of music, in which were 
 no clear thoughts or distinct pictures, but 
 all was vague and indefinite ; and always 
 Paul looked at her with a sort of watch- 
 fulness in his look. Litde Rufus Stock- 
 bridge, with a clean collar and a sweating 
 face, worked away steadily at the bellows. 
 He thought the great swelling sounds that 
 came from the instrument very grand and 
 beautiful, and that he was the chief aeent 
 in producing them. 
 
 Anthony had played Mozart, Bach, a suite 
 of Corelli's, and a toccata of Galuppi's, and 
 through it all Rhoda had sat quite still. 
 Now and again her colour changed and 
 her breath- was drawn more quickly ; but 
 the old music, simple in spirit though 
 elaborate in form, created in her an emotion 
 so gentle that its flow was rest, so solemn 
 that it carried her out of and above the 
 everyday atmosphere of her thoughts and
 
 156 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 feelings, and made peace between her spirit 
 and her nature. Then came a pause, and 
 she knew that she was sitting beneath the 
 great stained window at Fanelands, that 
 Paul was watching her, and that it was 
 Anthony Dexter who had called forth the 
 sounds now dying away in the corners of 
 the hall. 
 
 Paul rose from his seat and walked down 
 to the organ. 
 
 * You are tired perhaps, Mr. Dexter ?' 
 
 ' Oh no.' 
 
 The light of the music was in Anthony's 
 eyes. He had begun to play simply as a 
 man who had a professional knowledge of 
 his instrument and his art ; now the musician 
 was awake in him, and he forgot for the 
 time that he had come to Fanelands against 
 his will, and that his host was to him as an 
 enemy. 
 
 ' Will you play on, then ?' Paul said ; and 
 Anthony played on. 
 
 Still the ancient music, solemn or blithe-
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 157 
 
 some ; and still Rhoda listened, self-contained 
 and enjoying ; and Paul listened, with the 
 appreciation born of knowledge and culture. 
 But when the next pause came, Paul rose 
 aeain and went over to the musician's side. 
 
 * Play something modern,' he said. 
 
 Anthony looked up at him. There was a 
 curious expression on Paul's face — of defiance, 
 with a touch of the old Insolence. As 
 Anthony met his gaze, his own expression 
 altered, and a challenge sprang up In his 
 eyes. He bowed his head without speak- 
 ing, and before Paul had reached his seat 
 again, the hurrying notes of one of Schu- 
 mann's wildest moods were pressed forth 
 from the organ's pipes. 
 
 Paul sat down and looked at Rhoda. The 
 girl's colour had risen, and her hands, lying 
 so peacefully before her, moved gradually, 
 bit by bit, one towards the other, till each 
 clasped and held Its fellow ; then, as the 
 fantastic whirl rushed on, she sat upright 
 instead of leaning back against the cushions,
 
 158 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 and a brighter light burned in her eyes. 
 Still the music, though it called to her and 
 her emotional nature answered to the call, 
 left her master of the excited spirit within 
 her, and Paul, watching her, saw that her 
 self-possession remained to her yet. When 
 the tumult was stilled, and Anthony with 
 soft modulations passed during a minute or 
 two from key to key, he leaned towards her. 
 
 ' Do you like it ?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 * Look at me, Rhoda.' 
 
 She turned to him. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, ' the Leonardo eyes tell me 
 that you do.' 
 
 ' Are they ■ 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Anthony had 
 reached the key he sought, and now, after a 
 moment's silence to let the sound of his 
 own chords perish, he struck the opening 
 chords of the overture to ' Tannhauser.' 
 Slow and strange the sounds swept out and
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 159 
 
 filled the hall, swept up its length through 
 the fading, coloured light from the stained 
 window, fell upon Rhoda Wichelow's ear, 
 and struck some answering chord in 
 her being that throbbed and thrilled and 
 almost winced at the touch. The colour 
 died out of her face, and left it pale ; her 
 lips trembled ; her hands, unclasped, clutched 
 at the folds of her dress. The magic, sig- 
 nificant harmonies followed one upon the 
 other in the slow, weighty march of the 
 melody, and Rhoda listened with a wonder 
 that awed and troubled her, yet left her 
 quite still ; but when the chord sounded 
 that comes at the beginning of the thirteenth 
 bar, she uttered a sharp, low cry ; the com- 
 bination of notes smote her as with physical 
 pain, and she half rose from her seat. Then 
 Paul, very gently, touched her arm with his 
 hand. She turned on him a momentary 
 glance, and sank back on to the seat. He 
 still kept his touch upon her, and she sat
 
 i6o A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 bending forward, her eyes looking out of 
 the light into the dusky space in the middle 
 of the hall, where the dim form of the 
 musician bent over the organ's keys ; and 
 as the slow majesty of the opening passed 
 into the passion that grows and grows as 
 the overture proceeds, she felt something 
 of the wild emotion, saw something of the 
 weird unearthly scenes, that Wagner felt and 
 saw when he wrote ' Tannhauser.' 
 
 The music ceased at last ; only the ghost 
 of it lingered in the air. Rufus Stockbridge 
 wiped his brow, and began to think that 
 though music was a fine thing, and mighty 
 easy in the making, a lad had enough of it 
 after a time. Anthony Dexter sat with 
 hands that drooped beside him, his face 
 aglow. Rhoda was motionless, a cold re- 
 action trampling down the fever of her 
 emotion, though her heart still quivered and 
 throbbed. Paul took his hand from her arm, 
 but kept his eyes upon her face. Then
 
 A FACE OF LEOSARD i6i 
 
 suddenly Anthony raised his hands to the 
 keys again, and leaned forward ; Rufus 
 Stockbridge with a sigh set manfully to 
 work, and once again the silence fled before 
 the organ's voice. 
 
 And now Anthony played the air that he 
 had played two nights before in Rhoda's 
 curtained room ; the air that had been born 
 in him from the mingling of her voice with 
 the wind, that seemed to him to bear a part 
 of her and all himself in it, that yet made him 
 almost forget himself and her and all the 
 world as the spirit in it found utterance. It 
 was very different, this great organ, from the 
 creaking, limited piano ; now his conception 
 came forth in a body of sound that gave it 
 adequate expression ; and he clothed it with 
 all the shades of passion and of meaning of 
 which he was consummate master. And 
 Rhoda sat still at first, with an intense, 
 almost apparent, stillness that told of eftort 
 and constraint. 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 i62 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 The dusk was deepening now ; the colours 
 on the dark floor were growing dim ; through 
 the tall windows on either side of the big 
 door the sky showed pale and gray. Then 
 once again Rhoda rose to her feet, and once 
 again Paul touched her arm. This time she 
 did not turn to him, nor did she go back to 
 her seat ; she only stood still, and, motionless, 
 seemed to wait, to hover between two con- 
 flicting Influences that drew her, one forward, 
 one back, and held her powerless between 
 them. 
 
 The patches of colour grew paler and 
 paler as the light faded ; the dusk grew in 
 the centre of the hall ; the bending form of 
 Anthony Dexter was dim and undefined. 
 He had piled up a mass of chords about the 
 melody that he played ; he had almost hidden 
 it In a torrent of rushing notes ; he had let 
 it peep forth from a network of intricate 
 variations ; now he let It die quite away, 
 while with one hand he played a few slow.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 163 
 
 faint notes. In that little pause Rhoda drew 
 a deep breath, and the intense stillness of her 
 attitude was relaxed. 
 
 Then Anthony reached up and drew out 
 another stop, and once more the melody 
 arose, breathed forth in slow simplicity. 
 The wailing sound of it was intensified now ; 
 the cry and the sadness in it bore an added 
 strength : Rhoda obeyed that mysterious 
 part of herself which answered instinctively 
 to certain tones and harmonies ; she took a 
 step forward. 
 
 Paul's hand was still upon her arm, and 
 he tightened his grasp. She paused, and in 
 the pause Anthony altered the time and 
 rhythm of the air ; the voice of the organ 
 sang it now with a lilt and a restless, 
 striving passion that had in it something 
 both of mocking and despair. Then Rhoda 
 forgot everything but the music's power. 
 Paul rose, and his hand pressed heavily upon 
 her ; but she did not heed him, hardly noticed
 
 i64 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 that he tried to hold her back ; she still 
 moved on ; and Paul, with a curious look 
 upon his face, drew back, and let her go. 
 On she went, step by step, down the darken- 
 ing hall, nearer and nearer to the dim, bent 
 form : and when she had nearly reached it, 
 Anthony Dexter turned his face towards her 
 and smiled. 
 
 From the window-seat Paul Garnet, a dark 
 blot against the faded colours of the irregular, 
 leaded panes, watched the two shadowy 
 figures : he could not see the face of either 
 of them, but he could see that Rhoda drew 
 nearer and nearer to the organ and to the 
 man who played it. She was very near 
 now ; she bent towards him ; and he played 
 on, looking back at her, the smile still upon 
 his face. 
 
 Then he altered the time again, and the 
 stops, and now it was a march of devils 
 that she listened to. All the wailing, 
 all the sadness of despair, was gone : the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 165 
 
 music was full of turbulent triumph, of wild, 
 intemperate impulses, of unholy rejoicing ; 
 and as Rhoda listened, her eyes grew furtive, 
 and a half-frightened, half-reckless look came 
 into her face. 
 
 Anthony's face was white ; his lips moved 
 slightly ; the smile still lingered as he whis- 
 pered : 
 
 ' Will you come ?' 
 
 ' Where ?' With a little backward move- 
 ment Rhoda said the word. 
 
 ' Wherever I choose to lead.' 
 
 Paul Garnet had risen from his seat ; he 
 strode down the hall ; he stood by the 
 organ's side, half hidden from view, and 
 watched Rhoda's bending figure and 
 Anthony's face, gleaming white amidst the 
 shadows. 
 
 ' Wherever I choose to lead,' Anthony 
 said ; and the onward rush of the music 
 seemed to expect and compel an answer to 
 his will. Would Rhoda give it ? She bent
 
 i66 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 a little forward ; her lips parted ; and then 
 Paul came forward. 
 
 He stood by Rhoda's side ; he put his 
 hand under her chin, and turned her face 
 towards his own ; but he did not speak. 
 
 The music went on, fiercer, sadder, rising 
 in a tempest of mad abandonment, sinking 
 into a low cry of despair ; and the two 
 upright figures remained motionless ; and the 
 musician still looked back, the smile set and 
 hard on his pale face. 
 
 Paul's dark eyes grew confident as he 
 waited. Presently he took his hand from 
 under the girl's upturned face ; still she did 
 not move, and the confidence in his eyes 
 deepened. 
 
 Then at last he spoke : 
 
 * Come.' 
 
 He turned and walked slowly away, and 
 Rhoda followed him. 
 
 When they reached the window-seat, there 
 was no sound but the sound of their own
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 167 
 
 movements ; suddenly the music had ceased, 
 and a great desolate silence filled the hall. 
 Silence and loneliness ; the two came side 
 by side, for when Paul turned and looked at 
 Rhoda they were alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The thorn comes forth with the point forwards. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 When Anthony Dexter reached Heather 
 Den, he found old WIchelow sitting In the 
 room smoking. It was dark, for Anthony 
 had wandered a long time on the heath 
 before seeking the shelter of the house ; but 
 a sort of Instinct, aided by a smell of tobacco, 
 assured him that the old man occupied his 
 usual seat on the settle, and in a moment, 
 and as Anthony was about to leave the room, 
 Boniface spoke. 
 
 ' Well ?' he said. 
 
 * Oh, you are there, Mr. WIchelow ?'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 169 
 
 Anthony answered. ' 1 am going upstairs, 
 so I will not disturb you.' 
 
 ' Do not go ; I want to talk to you.' 
 
 * I am too tired to talk,' said Anthony 
 irritably. 
 
 He spoke truly ; he was more than tired, 
 he was exhausted by the emotional excite- 
 ment and the mental conflict he had passed 
 through. The reaction brought him unstrung 
 nerves, and a sense of bitter humiliation. 
 
 'I know,' said old Wichelow, 'that you 
 do not like the darkness. You shall have 
 
 light; 
 
 He rose, and began to feel along the 
 mantelpiece for the matchbox. 
 
 * No, I do not want light. To-night the 
 darkness is better.' 
 
 Anthony sat down, lacking the energy to 
 resist Boniface Wichelow's importunity. 
 
 ' Ah !' said the old man, ' you have told 
 me what I wanted to know.' 
 
 ' How ? What do you mean ?'
 
 I70 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Anthony spoke languidly ; there was no 
 room in his mind for any interests but his 
 own. 
 
 ' I know,' said Boniface, 'why Paul made 
 you go to Fanelands to-day.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' asked Anthony 
 again, but his words now were sharp and 
 quick. 
 
 * He thinks himself — the old man spoke 
 slowly, pausing now and again between his 
 words to take a whiff of his pipe — 'he thinks 
 himself the strongest — the strongest of all.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you.' 
 ' No ? Well — but I thought you were not 
 all fool.' 
 
 ' I am obliged to you.' 
 
 * I suppose so.' 
 
 The old man was silent for a little, and 
 Anthony also did not speak. 
 
 ' All people are fools,' Boniface said after 
 a time, * who care much about anything — 
 except money. That you have by you, and 
 you can count it and keep it.'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 171 
 
 ' Till you die.' 
 
 ' I am speaking of life, not death,' said old 
 Wichelow, with a sudden sharpness in his 
 voice. 'And, besides, what else can you 
 take with you when you die ? Not music, 
 or — love.' 
 
 Anthony gave a short laugh. 
 
 ' Certainly not love.' 
 
 ' Rhoda's mother,' Boniface went on, 'she 
 was just such another — all for music and 
 reading and flightiness.' The old man's 
 voice sank suddenly. ' It couldn't save her 
 at the end. If she had put by, it would have 
 been different.' 
 
 ' She was in want ?' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no, no ! She lived here. I gave 
 her everything — the neighbours will tell you 
 — everything she wanted. And Rhoda will 
 tell you — she was fifteen ; five years ago it 
 was — Rhoda will tell you all I spent and 
 gave her. For the books, nobody could 
 blame me for selling the books. It was such 
 a long illness.'
 
 172 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Anthony sat and listened abstractedly ; 
 the old man's sudden garrulousness wearied 
 him. But the outburst of talk was succeeded 
 by a long spell of silence, and by-and-by, as 
 a fuller consciousness of the present broke 
 in upon his thoughts, Anthony began to 
 wish that his companion would speak again ; 
 anything was better than the sense of 
 watchfulness that always seemed to accom- 
 pany Boniface Wichelow's dumb presence 
 in the darkness. But before the silence had 
 grown oppressive the old man broke it. 
 
 ' So it is not strong enough,' he said — ' the 
 music ?' 
 
 ' For what ?' 
 
 ' To woo her away.' 
 
 Anthony's heart beat a little faster. 
 
 ' Did you hope ' he began, and 
 
 stopped. 
 
 ' Yes, I hoped it might.' 
 
 * Do you mean,' said Anthony after a little 
 pause, and with a half - laugh, 'that you
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 173 
 
 wished — hoped that I might induce this girl, 
 who has bewitched me, to give up her lover 
 for me ?' 
 
 'Ay. If you had,' old Wichelow went 
 on after a minute, ' I would have given you 
 a half or — or a third of my savings.' 
 
 ' You have not done much,' said Anthony, 
 * to further your hopes.' 
 
 'There is a sort of justice in Paul, but no 
 mercy,' was all the answer old Wichelow gave. 
 
 There was another space of silence, and 
 then Anthony rose to his feet. 
 
 ' I leave you to-morrow,' he said. 
 
 ' You must pay for the week,' said Boni- 
 face. 
 
 Anthony did not answer. He went up- 
 stairs to his room and shut himself into a 
 lonely darkness ; then he abandoned himself 
 to a passion of misery and self-reproach. 
 He knew now that the feeling he had 
 towards Rhoda Wichelow was not curiosity 
 or interest, but love ; the knowledge had
 
 174 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 come to him fully In that moment when, 
 looking back from the organ into the dusk 
 behind, he had seen her moving with slow 
 steps towards him ; and with the knowledge 
 had come the temptation to see how far the 
 power of the music would lead her ; whether 
 it were strong enough in its wildest, if not 
 in its highest, form, to win her from the 
 lover she had known all her days, to himself, 
 the lover who appealed to her through the 
 emotional instincts which his art had 
 awakened and excited in her complex 
 nature. He suffered now with all the keen- 
 ness that a vain nature endures when it falls 
 below its own opinion of itself ; for Anthony, 
 though his standard of the conduct of life 
 was not high, being that of the ordinary man 
 of the world, felt that he had sinned against 
 the accepted code of honour : he suffered 
 from the mortification of failure ; and failure 
 in a contest with Paul Garnet was unspeak- 
 ably bitter to him : he suffered from the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 175 
 
 hopelessness of a love that had all the fiery 
 passion of a highly-strung, emotional tem- 
 perament. All night he did not rest, or even 
 seek to rest : his desire and his one dread 
 equally was to leave the place that was filled 
 for him now with humiliation and suffering, 
 and yet had held for him keener happiness 
 than any he had hitherto known outside his 
 artistic inner life. 
 
 The night wore away and the morning 
 came, and in its gray light the strained 
 physical powers gave way to the exhaustion 
 that inevitably succeeds violent emotion ; and 
 Anthony fell asleep on the floor, his head 
 lying close to the little table on which, 
 before his arrival, Rhoda Wichelow had 
 placed a glass of flowers to greet the musician 
 of her dream.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 And, behold ; at eveningtide trouble. 
 
 Isaiah. 
 
 The next morning Anthony and Rhoda did 
 not meet. The hay had all been carried 
 now, and there was no need for the girl to 
 continue to help the workers In the fields ; 
 but when Anthony came down to breakfast — 
 rather late, for he feared, while he yet hoped 
 to see her — she had already gone out. His 
 intention had been to leave Heather Den 
 early in the morning ; yet he could not make 
 up his mind to go ; and when dinner-time 
 came, he had begun no preparations for his 
 journey. 
 
 Rhoda did not come in ; Anthony sat at the
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 771 
 
 table hardly tasting his food, his eyes casting 
 continual glances at the window, his ears 
 straining to catch some sound of her coming. 
 ' You leave to-day ?' said old Boniface, 
 lookinor at him across the table. 
 
 o 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' You should have started after breakfast, 
 then. The only fast train in the day leaves 
 Breybridge at twelve o'clock.' 
 
 ' Why didn't you tell me that before ?' 
 
 ' You wouldn't have started any the earlier 
 if I had ; you would have stayed on just the 
 same.' 
 
 ' No, I ' began Anthony, and stopped ; 
 
 he knew that old Wichelow spoke the truth. 
 
 ' I will wait now till to-morrow morning,' 
 he said presently. 
 
 'You will not see Rhody,' said the old 
 man ; and after a pause he added : ' The 
 slow train goes at five.' 
 
 ' You mean that your grand-daughter will 
 not come back till I have gone ?' 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Old Wichelow, slowly munching a bit of 
 bread, nodded his head with an almost im- 
 perceptible nod, but did not speak. 
 
 ' I will stay at Breybridge to-night,' said 
 Anthony. ' I shall be out of Miss Wiche- 
 low's way this afternoon.' 
 
 He rose from the table, and went up to 
 his room to pack his clothes ; but instead of 
 packing, he sat down on the window-ledge 
 and looked out at the sloping fields and at 
 the woods, and let the time drift by un- 
 heeded. It was a changeful day : from time 
 to time the sun shone brilliantly, then was 
 hidden by gray, chasing clouds ; the wind 
 blew with moderate persistent strength that 
 swelled now and again to little angry gusts ; 
 there was a feeling of coming rain in the air. 
 Anthony looked at the fields with the fleeting 
 lights on them, and round the bare, poorly- 
 furnished room, and it seemed to him that he 
 had been a very long time at Heather Den, 
 that the whole of his life, his real life, had 
 been lived there, and that all that had gone
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 179 
 
 before had been but a dream, whose unreality 
 only became apparent now that he was awake. 
 He thought of the past years vaguely ; his 
 struggles, first for a livelihood, then for fame ; 
 his passionate pursuit of his art, and his 
 delight in It, strong enough at times to 
 supply the place of fame, almost of bread ; 
 the success that had begun to dawn upon 
 him ; the sweetness of being recognised ; and 
 it all seemed to him now but dust and ashes 
 in comparison with Rhoda Wichelow's love. 
 The artist in him was sunk in the man, and 
 the artist was far finer and greater than the 
 man part of this man, so that as he sat 
 and thought his heart was full of bitterness, 
 and he could not look beyond his own suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 He was roused at last by a knocking at 
 the door, and by Sally's voice telling him 
 that tea was ready. The whole afternoon 
 was gone, and he had done nothing. He 
 called out to the woman that he wanted no 
 tea, that he was about to start, and rising up
 
 i8o A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 hastily, he began to pack his clothes into his 
 portmanteau with all speed. A sudden long- 
 ing came upon him to get away, to escape 
 from the surroundings whose every detail 
 held a memory of the happiness of the last 
 ten days, and of the sufferings and mortifica- 
 tion that had followed it ; and he made his 
 preparations with feverish haste. Still, it was 
 some time before he was ready, and when at 
 last he went down to the kitchen to give 
 Sally directions about sending on his luggage, 
 the light had begun to fade. He stood for a 
 minute outside the door of the room ; there 
 was no sound within, and he did not know 
 whether Boniface Wichelow were there ; but 
 he did not wish to see the old man, and was 
 about to pass on, when a voice said : 
 
 ' Come in, Mr. Dexter.' 
 
 Anthony barely crossed the threshold. 
 
 * I am just going,' he said. 
 
 * I know.' 
 
 The old man was sitting in his usual
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 position on the settle ; its high back kept the 
 Hght from his face. 
 
 'You have used a great many candles,' he 
 said, * sitting up at night — more than I 
 counted on in the agreement.' 
 
 ' Will a shilling pay the difference ?' 
 
 Anthony put his hand in his pocket. 
 
 ' Ye-yes.' 
 
 Anthony put down a shilling on the table. 
 
 'Good-bye, Mr. Wichelow I' he said, and 
 turned and left the room. 
 
 The old man rose from the settle, went 
 over to the table, and, taking up the money, 
 rung it once and again to satisfy himself that 
 it was good. 
 
 Anthony Dexter meanwhile went out of 
 the house, and crossed the road between the 
 heath and the woods. He had to call at the 
 little inn in Fanelands village to order a cart 
 to bring his luggage over to Breybridge, and 
 he took the same path he had taken the after- 
 noon before, when at Paul Garnet's invita-
 
 1 82 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 tlon he had gone down to play the organ 
 at the Hall. There was a fluttering wind 
 among the trees, and the leaves had an 
 ominous rustle ; the sunset was clouded to- 
 night, and the dusk was making way under 
 the thick curtain of foliage. A solitary bird 
 piped now and again a single plaintive note : 
 it reminded Anthony of the nightingale he 
 had heard singing alone, on the evening of 
 his arrival, when he had first entered the 
 woods ; and the thought of that other sound 
 that had followed it, the singing of a clear, 
 far-off voice, became so strong that he stopped 
 and, turning his face in the direction of the 
 open space, listened, almost expecting to hear 
 it again. But the voice was dumb ; there 
 was no sound to-night but the heave and 
 sough of the wind amongst the trees ; and 
 suddenly he covered his face with his hands, 
 feeling that he should never hear that sound 
 again. And with his closed, darkened eyes 
 he saw the form and face of Rhoda Wiche-
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 183 
 
 low ; he saw her standing in the midst of her 
 grandfather's labourers, singing, as he had 
 seen her first ; and he saw her as he had 
 seen her under the music's spell, when the 
 mystery of her face had seemed about to 
 reveal itself in w^ord or act. And then, with 
 a groan, he let his hands drop quickly, and 
 he turned about again, and he saw her stand- 
 ing before him. 
 
 Her eyes had a startled look, her lips were 
 parted ; it seemed as though she had turned 
 the angle of the path, and had come upon 
 him suddenly, unawares, and in the moment 
 in which he looked round. They stood and 
 looked at one another, and neither of them 
 spoke. Then at last Anthony drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 'You must have known,' he said, 'that I 
 loved you.' 
 
 She bent her head very slightly ; she 
 made no sound, but her lips moved and 
 seemed to form the words ' I knew.'
 
 184 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' And I love you, must love you, through 
 all the hell that life will be without you ; 
 and I shall never see you again.' 
 
 Still she did not speak ; only her lips 
 made * No.' 
 
 He stood and looked at her, his mouth 
 trembling. 
 
 ' Do you know,' he burst out suddenly and 
 fiercely, ' that you have spoiled and wrecked 
 my life ? Till I knew you, the music w^as 
 enough, and more than enough, for me ; I 
 lived in it, and with it, and for it, in a glory 
 and a happiness that belonged only to it and 
 
 me. And now ' He broke off 'Why 
 
 did you do it ?' he cried ; ' I say, why did 
 you do it ?' 
 
 Then she spoke. 
 
 ' Ah, why ?' Her voice vibrated as though 
 some trembling hand swept the chords that 
 gave her speech ; her eyes had a pleading, 
 wonderful look that he had never seen in 
 them before. 'I warned you,' she said; 'I
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 18 = 
 
 told you that you must not come Into and 
 stir my life. I was not made for you, nor 
 you for me.' 
 
 ' By God !' he said ; ' but we were made 
 each one for the other. The stuff whereof I 
 am fashioned, of that are you fashioned too ; 
 the music that holds for me life, and the 
 meaning of life, works in your being too ; 
 the God that shows Himself to me in sound, 
 raises you in sound to heaven too ; the devil 
 that is the shadow of that God, calling to me 
 in harmonies of madness, calls to you too. 
 Is It so, Rhoda ? Do I speak the truth or no ?' 
 
 ' You speak the truth,' she said. 
 
 * And we were made the one for the 
 other ?' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' I was made for Paul.' 
 
 ' But if ' 
 
 She stopped him. 
 
 'You are the musician of my dream,' she 
 said, 'but only of my dream. In the life
 
 i86 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 that I have always lived, and shall still live 
 on, I belong to Paul. Hear me,' she went 
 on, as he would have spoken. ' From my 
 babyhood he has ruled me ; even during the 
 years when he was away at school and travel- 
 ling, he was still the centre of my life ; from 
 my childhood I have never thought of, never 
 wished for, any husband but Paul. There is 
 an affinity between us that ' 
 
 ' That ceases where the strongest part of 
 you begins.' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 * Is it not true that the part of you that 
 music touches you have kept shut away from 
 him ?' 
 
 She bent her head. 
 
 'And in that part,' he said, 'the keynote 
 of your nature, you belong to me.' 
 
 * In that, perhaps,' she said, ' but in nothing 
 else.' 
 
 ' You could not love me — as a man, not 
 apart from, but beside the music ?'
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 187 
 
 She looked at him with her most secret 
 face ; for a long time — it seemed to him a 
 very long time — she did not speak ; and 
 while she waited, the wind, rising in a gust, 
 swept through the trees with a rushing sound. 
 
 * To be with you,' she said at last, 'is like 
 a dream, a delirium ; to be with Paul is rest. 
 He holds the tempest part of me in check ; 
 with him I shall live long years of peace, 
 confident in his strength.' 
 
 ' And with me ' 
 
 She made a litde movement with her 
 hands. 
 
 ' With you It would be ecstasy — for a very 
 litde while, and then— I do not know. It 
 could not last.' 
 
 'Choose the short ecstasy,' he cried, 'and 
 come with me now. Come, Rhoda ! and let 
 it last or die. A short, full joy is worth an 
 eternity of dull, gray peace.' 
 
 He came quite close to her ; he reached 
 out his hand to touch her. She was very
 
 i88 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 pale ; the pupils of her eyes dilated, looking 
 forth from beneath the lids that drooped, half 
 hiding them ; in her face lay all the compo- 
 site charm, all the strange possibilities of the 
 face that had won his curious admiration in 
 the print in his room at home. Her breath 
 came quickly and heavily, her bosom heaved ; 
 almost she seemed to lean, to draw towards 
 him ; then suddenly, and with a cry, she 
 started back, and threw out her arms and 
 turned her face skywards. 
 
 ' "And I looked and behold a pale horse," ' 
 she said; *''and his name that sat on him 
 was Death, and Hell followed with him." ' 
 
 She stood, looking up through the waving 
 leaves to the sky, her arms outstretched as 
 on a cross ; and on her face gradually the 
 troubled, complex look gave way to the 
 exaltation that Anthony had seen there when 
 he first saw the face ; and he drew back, and 
 stood abashed and waited. At last her arms 
 dropped, and she turned to him.
 
 A FACE OF LEONARDO 
 
 'All the night,' she said, 'I was on my 
 knees. I knew that though I went away so 
 as not to see you, I still should see you ; and 
 I knew how it would be. And I knew ' — 
 her voice dropped — ' that if I went with you 
 it would mean a dying of my soul, and that 
 hell would follow.' She moved a step for- 
 ward. 'Good-bye, Anthony Dexter,' she 
 said. ' Our lives part here.' 
 ' Must they part ?' he asked. 
 His low voice trembled so that the words 
 were hardly audible ; she did not heed, 
 perhaps did not hear, them. 
 ' Let me pass !' she said. 
 He drew to one side, and she passed him 
 by, and was lost to him amongst the trees. 
 
 He stood for a long time after she had 
 gone without moving, looking still along the 
 path by which she had left him ; and all the 
 time the wind blew, rustling the leaves ; and 
 it seemed to him that it was the rustle of her 
 garments that he heard as she fled on and
 
 190 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 on, further and further away from him. At 
 last, faint, far off, like the echo of the voice 
 he had known, he seemed to hear sweet 
 notes that came to him, scant and broken, 
 in the pauses of the wind. He bent his 
 head to listen ; and then he knew that in 
 the space amidst the trees, divided from him 
 by a distance that had no measurement in 
 space, Rhoda Wichelow stood amongst the 
 toiling people whose lot she tried to share, 
 and sang the song that he had first heard 
 her sing ; for dimly, but with a fulness of 
 sound that travelled more surely than the 
 scattered single notes, rose the longing cry 
 of the refrain : 
 
 ' But oh for the rest beyond I' 
 
 Then he turned, and walked on through 
 the woods ; and so Anthony Dexter left 
 Heather Den.
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE. 
 
 Fuor della queta, nell' aura che trema ; 
 E vengo in parte ove non e che luca. 
 
 Dante.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 What thou seest 
 Is but the ghost of thy forgotten dream, 
 A dream itself, yet less perhaps, than that 
 Thou call'st reality. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 In the late autumn Rhoda Wichelow and 
 Paul Garnet were married ; and it was 
 through almost leafless trees that Rhoda 
 walked up from Fanelands Hall to pay her 
 first visit to Boniface Wichelow at Heather 
 Den. The house was all shut up when she 
 reached it, the windows securely fastened, the 
 door barred, and it was some time before she 
 could gain an entrance. At last, by dint of 
 tapping on the kitchen window, she brought 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 Sally forth from the scullery, and presently 
 the back-door was opened. 
 
 'Why, miss — ma'am!' exclaimed the 
 woman. ' I never thought to look on you 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' And why not Sally ?' 
 
 * Married but two days ? I thought surely 
 you 'Id take a week to settle in.' 
 
 'The settling was done beforehand.' 
 
 * And looking just the same ! The same 
 frock — nobody 'Id believe it had took 
 place.' 
 
 ' Did you think I should come in my bridal 
 gown, Sally?' asked Rhoda. 'How is my 
 grandfather ?' 
 
 ' Him mopes.' 
 
 Rhoda stepped into the kitchen ; she had 
 been standing on the threshold during the 
 short interchange of questions and answers. 
 
 ' Is he in ?' 
 
 ' For sure.' 
 
 Rhoda stood for a minute holding out her 
 bare hands towards the feeble blaze of a small
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 195 
 
 fire in the midst of the large hearth ; then 
 took her way out of the kitchen, across the 
 stone passage, and into the room. 
 
 Old Boniface sat on the settle ; he did not 
 move or speak as the girl entered ; coming a 
 step or two nearer to him, she saw that he 
 was asleep. There was no fire in the room ; 
 a charred piece of wood lay black amidst 
 white ashes between the iron dogs ; the air 
 felt damp and chill. Rhoda took a few rapid 
 steps, and laid her hand upon the old man's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Grandfather !' she said. ' Grandfather, 
 wake up !' 
 
 Old Wichelow started, and sat suddenly 
 upright, turning his head from side to side, 
 and beating the air feebly with his hands. 
 
 'Help!' he cried, in a quavering voice. 
 ' Help ! Ah, Rhody !' — a look of relief came 
 into his troubled face, followed by one of 
 scowling displeasure — ' why did you fright 
 and startle me, girl ?' he said. 
 
 'I did nothing to frighten you,' Rhoda
 
 196 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 answered. ' It Is bad for you to sleep in this 
 cold air.' 
 
 She left the room, and presently returned 
 with her arms full of wood. She kneeled 
 down by the hearth, and began to rake the 
 ashes together. 
 
 ' I will not have a fire, Rhody !' cried the old 
 man. ' It is too warm ; the winter is not yet.' 
 
 ' It is biting cold,' Rhoda answered, 'and 
 damp.' 
 
 ' I cannot afford ' 
 
 ' It is dangerous,' said Rhoda, 'to sleep in 
 the cold, for an old man like you : you might 
 never wake again.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no ! Then light the fire, Rhody 
 • — ^just a little — not all those logs. And yet 
 — I don't know ; now that Paul has taken all 
 that money away from me, I can't afford it ; 
 firing costs much, very much.' 
 
 Rhoda did not answer till she had kindled 
 a flame, strengthened it with the bellows, 
 and fed it with many logs ; then when a 
 leaping blaze made the whole dull room warm
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 197 
 
 and bright, she came and stood by the old 
 man's side. 
 
 'The Httle money that you gave to Paul,' 
 she said, ' belonged to me of right. My 
 mother left her books to me ; you sold them ; 
 the money they fetched is mine.' 
 
 ' Her illness,' the old man broke in — 'her 
 long illness ' 
 
 ' She served you well when she was in 
 health,' said Rhoda, 'as well as I have served 
 you, and I know that I have earned all you 
 have ever given me. You have wealth 
 enough, I know, to have lived in the position 
 in which you were born ; but yet, because 
 my father left us penniless, my mother and I 
 submitted to live according to your will, and 
 we earned what you chose to give us. My 
 mother's books were hers to leave to me ; I 
 hold the price of them rightly, and it is not 
 much.' 
 
 ' It is pounds,' said Boniface — 'pounds and 
 pounds.' 
 
 ' Forty-three pounds,' said Rhoda. She
 
 198 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 bent down to the old man so that she could 
 see his face. ' Paul has given it all to me,' she 
 said, ' and I will give it back to you shilling 
 by shilling, if you will have a fire here all 
 day till the spring — a shilling for every fire.' 
 
 The old man's eyes grew brighter. 
 
 'All day, Rhody? it burns a lot all day.' 
 
 ' The wood belongs to you ; it costs 
 nothing, and it is there, cut and piled up, 
 ready for burning.' 
 
 ' Have you brought a shilling for to-day, 
 Rhody ?' 
 
 ' The day is more than half over ; but I 
 will begin to-day.' Rhoda took a shilling 
 from her pocket. ' The fire must be big,' 
 she said. 
 
 The old man took the coin eagerly, and 
 held it tightly clasped in his left hand. 
 Rhoda went over to the hearth, and put on 
 another log ; old Wichelow writhed in his 
 seat as he watched her, but he kept his lips 
 tightly pressed together, and said nothing.
 
 PAUL GARXETS MARRIAGE 199 
 
 By-and-by Rhoda got up from the hearth 
 and walked across the floor to the curtained 
 doorway. 
 
 ' Where are you going ?' said old Wichelow 
 from his settle. 
 
 The girl did not answer, but drew aside the 
 curtain, and went into the room that had 
 been her own. It was very bare now ; the 
 rugs had been taken from the floor, and the 
 books, with the shelves that held them, from 
 the walls ; only the old piano remained, and 
 one chair standing lonely before it. Rhoda 
 stood just within the doorway, and looked 
 into the desolate room ; the dusk was thicken- 
 ing and half hid its emptiness, but a chill 
 loneliness filled it from floor to ceiling ; rain 
 had begun to fall, and beat gently against the 
 window with a soft, pattering sound. She 
 did not stand still long ; she had come with a 
 definite purpose ; and soon she moved over 
 to the piano and felt along the top of it with 
 her hand. Her hymn-book, the one from 
 
 ;k^.
 
 200 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 which she had chosen most of the hymns she 
 sang with the labourers, had been left behind 
 at Heather Den when her other possessions 
 had been taken down to the Hall ; it should 
 still be lying in its usual place, and she had 
 come over now to find it. She passed her 
 hand gently along, and found what she 
 sought, and then she turned to go back to 
 the door. But as she turned, her foot came 
 in contact with some hard substance that 
 rolled away as she touched it ; she stooped 
 down, and, feeling on the floor, found presently 
 something thin and long, which she took 
 back with her into the room. The blaze of 
 firelight let her see that it was a pencil-case, 
 and she knew at once to whom it belonged, 
 for she had seen Anthony Dexter use it. 
 
 ' Grandfather,' she said, ' where does 
 Mr. Dexter live ? Do you remember ?' 
 
 ' You've done with Mr. Dexter now,' 
 answered old Wichelow sourly. 
 
 ' I have found something belonging to
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 
 
 him,' Rhoda said. ' I suppose I should send 
 it to him.' 
 
 ' What is it ? Is it of any value ?' 
 
 ' I don't know.' Rhoda held out her 
 hand. ' It is this.' 
 
 ' It is silver,' said the old man, taking the 
 pencil-case, and bending forward towards the 
 light of the fire. Mt is w^orth money ; he 
 ought to pay a reward for it.' 
 
 ' Give it back to me,' said Rhoda quickly. 
 
 She almost snatched the pencil-case from 
 her grandfather's grasp, and put it into her 
 pocket ; and in the same moment came a 
 sharp knocking at the outer door. 
 
 Old Wichelow started ; Rhoda crossed the 
 room to go out into the passage. 
 
 ' Who is it ?' cried the old man. ' Don't 
 open, Rhody, till you have looked out and 
 seen who is there.' 
 
 ' It is Paul,' Rhoda answered ; ' I saw him 
 pass the window.' 
 
 She went on along the stone flags and
 
 202 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 unbarred and unbolted the door ; it took 
 her a minute or two to do, for the bolts 
 were stiff, and the bar a heavy one. Paul 
 entered with the rain dripping from his hat 
 and lying In close moisture on his coat. 
 
 ' You are wet,' said Rhoda as her hand 
 brushed his sleeve. 
 
 ' It Is raining heavily,' he answered. 
 
 ' Why did you come ?' 
 
 ' For that reason ; because you would have 
 been soaked through before you got half-way 
 home.' 
 
 They entered the room, and Rhoda saw 
 that he carried her thick cloak across his 
 arm. 
 
 'Thank you, Paul,' she said. 
 
 He looked at her with a smile — the smile 
 of possession. 
 
 'Come and dry yourself at the fire,' said 
 old Wichelow. ' It is a fine fire.' 
 
 ' No, we are going home now,' Paul 
 answered.
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 203 
 
 He put the cloak round Rhoda's shoulders 
 as she stood in front of the hearth. She 
 turned to the old man. 
 
 ' Good-night, grandfather,' she said. 
 
 'Good-night. Good-night, Paul.' 
 
 Paul nodded from the other side of the 
 fireplace. 
 
 'Good-night. Come, Rhoda.' 
 
 ' Rhody ! One minute,' the old man called 
 as the girl passed through the doorway. 
 
 'Go on, Paul,' she said, and turned and 
 came back to the settle. 
 
 'Stoop down — close,' said old Wichelow. 
 ' Shall you be back to-morrow ?' 
 
 ' Hardly.' 
 
 'And the shilling? I cannot have a fire 
 if you do not bring the shillings.' 
 
 ' I will bring them, a shilling for every fire, 
 when I come again. Sally will tell me if 
 you have kept your promise.' 
 
 Rhoda walked hastily across the room and 
 out into the passage ; the outer door was
 
 204 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 open, and Paul's head and shoulders were 
 outlined against the rainy sky, the lower 
 part of his figure indistinguishable against 
 the dark background of the heath. 
 
 ' What a dreary evening !' Rhoda cried. 
 
 * Would you rather be staying safely here 
 instead of coming home with me ?' 
 
 Paul turned back from the door as he 
 spoke ; the fading, uncertain light came In 
 and fell upon Rhoda's face. She looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 * Safely ?' she said. ' Safety lies with you.' 
 Pier face took on its softest look. 'Ah, 
 Paul !' she said, ' surely you know I am glad 
 to go with you.' 
 
 She pulled the hood of her cloak over her 
 head, and stepped out on to the doorstep. 
 Paul followed her, and together they went 
 forth, two dark, muffled figures, struggling 
 through the wind and the rain.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Bring home the bride again ; 
 Bring home the triumph of our victory. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 In the woods the moisture was already be- 
 ginning to drip from the bare branches, as 
 the impatient wind tossed them up and dowm. 
 Paul went first along the narrow path between 
 the trees, and Rhoda followed him. Suddenly 
 he stumbled, drew up short and almost fell ; 
 a fallen bough lay in the way, and in the dim 
 clouded light he had not seen it till he touched 
 It with his foot. 
 
 ' What is it, Paul ?' Rhoda asked, a startled 
 tone In her voice. 
 
 ' That branch,' Paul answered, ' that I have
 
 2o6 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 told your grandfather about so often, it has 
 come down at last.' 
 
 The two figures stood for a minute side by 
 side before stepping over the bough ; it lay 
 in an angle of the path, which at this point 
 took a sharp turn to the left. It was along 
 this path that Rhoda had come on the 
 evening on which Anthony Dexter had left 
 Heather Den ; it was on the spot on which 
 she now stood that, with a passing, desperate 
 courage, she had gained the strength to cast 
 him out of her life. The scene came back to 
 her now ; the impression of it was so strong 
 that it mingled with and dimmed the con- 
 sciousness of her actual present state. This 
 man standing beside her, was it Anthony or 
 Paul ? She held her breath ; something of 
 the horror and the sweetness of those 
 moments of indecision took life again ; some- 
 thing of the positive physical sense of giddi- 
 ness and confusion produced by a great 
 temptation set her brain awhirl. Then Paul 
 moved ; and she let her breath come forth
 
 PAUL GARNET'S MARRIAGE 207 
 
 with a rush, and put out her hand and 
 touched his arm. 
 
 * Paul,' she said quickly. There was al- 
 most a question in her tone. 
 
 * There is no danger now,' he said. 
 
 She knew that he spoke of the fallen 
 bough, yet his words seemed an answer to 
 her thoughts. 
 
 * No, the danger is over,' she answered. 
 Paul raised her in his arms, and lifted her 
 
 over the branch. 
 
 ' Walk beside me now,' he said ; ' the path 
 grows wider here.' 
 
 Rhoda walked on by his side ; and as she 
 went, the sense of confidence which his 
 presence always gave her, the consciousness 
 of a strength of will and purpose greater and 
 more consistent than her own, quieted the 
 sudden emotion that had risen up within 
 her, and soothed her into calmness. 
 
 It w^as dark when Paul and Rhoda reached 
 Fanelands Hall. The wind was more sullen 
 and less boisterous in the low-lying, sheltered
 
 2o'8 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 land about the house than on the heath and 
 the high ground about Heather Den ; the 
 rain fell with less of driving force. The 
 husband and wife went through the garden 
 round to the side door, and entered the 
 narrow passage leading to the hall. The 
 hall was dimly lighted ; only one lamp on 
 a table near the fireplace sent forth beams 
 that did not reach to either end. But the 
 firelight helped it, and in the glow made by 
 the burning logs Rhoda stood and shook the 
 rain from her cloak. Her face was aglow 
 with the wind ; little drops of moisture shone 
 on the ruffled hair about her brow ; her eyes 
 were both soft and bright. The hood was 
 still on her head, making a dark, soft frame 
 for her brilliant face. She shook her head 
 to loosen it, and looking up, met Paul's eyes. 
 
 ' What do I look like ?' she asked, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 He answered her : 
 
 ' Like Paul Garnet's wife.'
 
 PAUL GARXETS MARRIAGE 209 
 
 The hood fell back from her head ; she 
 unfastened the cloak, and let it slip off on to 
 the floor ; she came close to her husband, 
 and stood before him, looking up into his 
 face. 
 
 * Paul,' she said, ' I was meant to be your 
 wife, and you were meant for my husband. 
 I love you : I could never love any man but 
 you.' 
 
 Paul looked at her strangely. 
 
 'You could,' he said, 'but you never shall.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' she asked. 
 
 'If I had been quite sure of you,' he 
 answered, ' I should never have loved you so 
 deeply — nor so long. I sometimes wonder 
 how you found it possible so to fulfil my 
 ideal of what a woman ought to be.' 
 
 ' I do not understand,' she said. 
 
 ' You know the ordinary heroine of the 
 ordinary man ?' he asked. 
 
 She shook her head slighdy. 
 
 'Tell me.' 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 A DA UGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' The ordinary heroine is faithful,' Paul 
 said. ' She loves one man, once and for 
 ever, and whether he is near or far, alive or 
 dead. You are not faithful.' 
 
 ' Am I not ?' 
 
 She spoke gravely, as though she accepted 
 his verdict, yet with a touch of pleading in 
 her face, as though she deprecated its positive 
 assertion. 
 
 ' The ordinary heroine is submissive,' Paul 
 went on. 
 
 ' That I am,' she broke in quickly. 
 
 ' Is submissive,' Paul continued, ' because 
 it is natural to her and her duty — being a 
 woman. You are not made so.' 
 
 ' How am I made ?' Rhoda asked, with a 
 dawning smile. 
 
 ' The ordinary heroine of the ordinary 
 man,' Paul said without answering her ques- 
 tion, ' is never tempted from the side of the 
 man — the ordinary man — to whom she has 
 given her allegiance, Is never ruffled by
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 211 
 
 passions that clash with duty, has no wild 
 impulses, no capacity for evil, is a good 
 woman, conveniently calm, and coldly 
 pure.' 
 
 'And I?' Rhoda said after a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 ' You are not faithful ; you are not sub- 
 missive ; you are not good with the unfailing 
 goodness that knows no temptation to sin. 
 If you had been, I should have loved you, 
 inevitably, for your beauty — though in that 
 case your beauty would never have had the 
 distinction it carries now ; but it would have 
 passed, the love, and quickly. But, as you 
 are, you are a woman that is never won. 
 You submit to me now, because you feel 
 that I am stronger than you ; but if I became 
 less strong, would you hold to me ? Not 
 you. You love me now, or almost love me, 
 and you will continue to love me, and to lead 
 a life free from reproach or blame. But If 
 you were thrown into the midst of tempta-
 
 212 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 tion, and if I were not by, could I be sure 
 you would come forth unscathed ?' 
 
 ' Could you be sure of anybody ?' she 
 whispered. 
 
 ' Yes, for temptation is relative ; there are 
 some people for whom it hardly exists. But 
 you are not one of them, and it is just for 
 that that I love you. I never could be quite 
 sure what you would do ; there would be 
 always something to control and conquer in 
 you. You are not most men's ideal, dear 
 heart, but you are mine ; and I will keep you 
 safe in the place where you are set.' 
 
 ' I know,' she said, ' I know you will.' 
 
 All the laughing mirth was gone from her 
 face now ; its usual inscrutable expression 
 covered it again, mingled with a touch of 
 meditative sadness. She turned away from 
 her husband, and went slowly out of the hall 
 and up the staircase. Passing along the 
 corridor above, she could see through the 
 little inside windows, into the hall below.
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 213 
 
 Paul, standing by the fireplace, was just 
 beneath her, and so was hidden from her 
 view ; but the lamplight, and the leaping, 
 varying light of the fire, fell upon the large 
 organ, mute and closed. Its pipes rose up 
 high, to the level of her gaze : she looked 
 across at them wdth a curious feeling in her 
 heart : they were to her like live things, 
 prisoned in a silence that was allied with 
 death. 
 
 But she looked at them only for a very 
 little while ; very soon she passed on to the 
 end of the corridor and entered her room. 
 It was large and square, with one window 
 looking out to the front and another to the 
 side of the house. Just now it was dark, and 
 the two windows showed spaces of heavy, 
 fleeting clouds. Rhoda found matches and 
 lighted a candle. She put it on the dressing- 
 table, and stood before the mirror, looking 
 at the reflection of her face, illumined by the 
 flickering upward light.
 
 214 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC 
 
 ' Paul is right,' she said to herself: ' I am 
 weak. But he is strong, as he said, and the 
 grace of God — surely it is strong ; I shall 
 be safe. And, besides, it is all over.' 
 
 She turned away from the mirror and 
 crossed the room ; she put her hand into her 
 pocket to find the key of the locked drawer 
 in which she kept the money that Paul had 
 induced her grandfather to give up to her. 
 She found the key, and something else with 
 it — the pencil-case belonging to Anthony 
 Dexter. She had foro-otten that it was there. 
 When she saw it she let it fall upon the floor, 
 and stood a few paces away from it, looking 
 at it with a kind of fear. 
 
 ' I ought to send it to him,' she thought. 
 ' Yet how ? And I have forgotten the name 
 of the street he lives in.' 
 
 She seemed to hear a sound far off in the 
 house, a footstep on the stairs. She went 
 forward quickly and picked up the pencil- 
 case ; then, unlocking a drawer in the ward-
 
 PAUL GARNETS MARRIAGE 215 
 
 robe, she laid It far back out of sight, behind 
 the Httle heap of gold that Paul had given 
 her. The sound on the staircase died away 
 again ; nobody came near the room. Rhoda 
 went over to one of the windows, still un- 
 curtained, and stood looking out at the dark, 
 gloomy sky. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, I'RINTtRS, GUILDFORD.
 
 Uclegrapbfc HM>ics3 : 
 
 Sunlocks, London, 
 
 21 Bedford Street, w.c 
 
 March /Sg4 
 
 A LIST OF 
 
 Mr. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S 
 
 Publications 
 
 The Books mentwfud in this List can 
 ie obtained to order by any Bock- 
 seller if not in stock, or tvill be sent 
 by the Publisher post free on receipt 
 oj the published price.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 mew ipublicationa. 
 
 IN THE TRACK OF THE SUN. 
 
 READINGS FROM THE DIARY OF A GLOBE-TROTTER. 
 
 By FREDERICK DIODATI THOMPSON. 
 
 With many Illustrations by Mr. Harry Fenn and from Photographs. 
 In One Volume, 4to. Price 25s. 
 
 Si. Jatnes's Gazette. — "A magDificently appointed itinerary and companion 
 for tourists who may desire to circumnavigate the earth. As for illustrations, 
 there are nearly eighty of full-page dimensions and any number of smaller ones, 
 and all are excellent. In fact the book is a handsome and superbly illustrated 
 volume." 
 
 MEMOIRS. 
 
 By CHARLES GODFREY LELAND 
 
 (HANS BREITMANn). 
 
 Second Edition. In One Volume, 8vo. With Portrait. . 
 Price yj. dd. 
 
 The Times. — From first to last a very entertaining book, full of good stories, 
 strange adventures, curious experiences, and not inconsiderable achievements, 
 instinct with the strong personality of the writer, and not unpleasantly tinged 
 with the egotism that belongs to a strong personality." 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF AN EMPRESS. 
 
 catherine ii. of russia. 
 By R. WALISZEWSKI. 
 
 Translated from the French. In Two Volumes, 8vo. With Portrait. 
 Price 28J. 
 The Times. — " This book is based on the confessions of the Empress her- 
 self; it gives striking pictures of the condition of the contemporary Russia 
 which she did so much to mould as well as to expand. . . . Few stories in 
 history are more romantic than that of Catherine II. of Russia, with its 
 mysterious incidents and thrilling episodes ; few characters present more curious 
 problems." 
 
 A FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE AND COUNT FERSEN. 
 
 By PAUL GAULOT. 
 
 Translated from the French by Mrs. Cashel Hoey. In Two Volumes, 
 8vo. With Two Portraits, Price 24^. 
 The Times. — " M. Gaulot's work tells, with new and authentic details, the 
 romantic story of Count Fersen's devotion to Marie Antoinette, of his share in 
 the celebrated Flight to Varennes and in many other well-known episodes of 
 the unhappy Queen's life."
 
 MR. WILLIAM FiEiNEMANM'S LIST. 5 
 
 A COMMENTARY ON 
 THE WORKS OF HENRIK IBSEN. 
 
 By HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN, 
 
 Author of "Goethe and Schiller," " Essays on German Literature," &c. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d. nef. 
 
 VILLIERS DE L'ISLE ADAM: 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 
 
 From the French of Vicomte Robert du Pontavice de Heussey, 
 
 By lady MARY LOYD, 
 
 With Portrait and Facsimile. Crown 8vo, cloth, los. 6d. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU. 
 
 CHRISTIANITY NOT AS A MYSTIC RELIGION BUT AS A 
 NEW THEORY OF LIFE. 
 
 By count LEO TOLSTOY. 
 
 Translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett. 
 
 Library Edition, in 2 Volumes, crown 8vo, los. 
 Also a Popular Edition in One Volume, cloth, 2i. 6d. 
 
 CHARLES III. OF NAPLES AND URBAN VI. 
 
 ALSO 
 
 CECCO D'ASCOLI, 
 
 poet, astrologer, PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Two Historical Essays. 
 
 By St. CLAIR BADDELEY. 
 
 With Illustrations, 8vo, cloth, 105. 6d. 
 
 THE PIPER OF HAMELIN. 
 
 A FANTASTIC OPERA IN TWO ACTS. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 With Illustrations by Hugh Thomson. 
 
 4to, cloth, 2s. 6d. net.
 
 6 MR. WILLIAM HEIN EM ANN'S LIST. 
 
 jfortbcomiuQ Morhe* 
 
 A NEW VOLUME OF POEMS. 
 
 By Edmund Gosse. 
 
 LETTERS OF SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 
 
 Edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge. With Portraits. and Illustrations. 
 
 MY PARIS NOTEBOOK. 
 
 By the Author of "An Englishman in Paris." 
 
 LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 By Richard Garnett, LL.D. With Portrait. Crown 8vo (uniform with the 
 translation of Heine's Works). 
 
 LITTLE JOHANNES. 
 
 By Frederick van E'eden. Translated from the Dutch by Clara Bell. 
 With an Introduction by Andrew Lang. Illustrated. 
 *** Also a Large Paper Edition. 
 
 STRAY MEMORIES. 
 
 By Ellen Terry. In One Volume. 4to. Illustrated. 
 
 THE PLAYS OF GERHART HAUPTMANN. 
 I. LONELY FOLK. II. THE WEAVERS 
 
 Translated by the Rev. F. J. Nellen. 
 III. HANNELE [zuith Illustrations). Translated by William Archer. 
 
 A NEW PLAY. 
 
 By Bjornstjerne Bjurnson. Translated from the Norwegian. 
 
 SONGS ON STONE. 
 
 By J. McNeill Whistler. A Series of lithographic drawings in colour 
 by Mr. Whistler, will appear from time to time in parts, under the 
 above title. Each containing four plates. The first issue of 200 copies 
 will be sold at Two Guineas net per part, by Subscription for the Series 
 only. 
 
 There will also be isst.cd 50 copies on Jaf>anese paper, signed by the 
 artist, each Five Guineas net. 
 
 THE NOVELS OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON. 
 
 UNIFORM EDITION. 
 
 THE NOVELS OF TURGENIEFF. 
 
 Translated by Constance Garnett. 
 UNIFORM EDITION.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEIN EM ANN'S LIST. 
 
 ^be (Brcat Ebucator^. 
 
 A Series of Volumes by Eminent Writers., prese7'iting in their 
 entirety "^ BiograpJiical History of Education P 
 
 The Times.— ^' A Series of Monographs on ' The Great Educators ' should 
 prove of service to all who concern themselves with the history, theory, and 
 practice of education." 
 
 The Speaker.— "T\i&\t.\%7i promising sound about the title of Mr. Heine- 
 mann's new series, ' The Great Educators." It should help to allay the hunger 
 and thirst for knowledge and culture of the vast multitude of young men and 
 maidens which our educational system turns out yearly, provided at least with 
 an appetite for instruction." 
 
 Each subject will form a complete volume, crown 8vo, 5X. 
 
 Now ready. 
 
 ARISTOTLE, and the Ancient Educational Ideals. By 
 Thomas Davidson, M.A., LL.D. 
 The Times.— " h. very readable sketch of a very interesting subject." 
 
 LOYOLA, and the Educational System of the Jesuits. By 
 Rev. Thomas Hughes, S.J. 
 Saturday Review.—" Full of valuable information If a school- 
 master would learn how the education of the young can be carried on so as to 
 confer real dignity on those engaged in it, we recommend him to read Mr. 
 Hughes' book." 
 
 ALCUIN, and the Rise of the Christian Schools. By 
 Professor Andrew F. West, Ph.D. 
 
 FROEBEL, and Education by Self-Activity. By II. Court- 
 hope BowEN, M.A. 
 
 ABELARD, and the Origin and Early History of Uni- 
 versities. By Jules Gabriel Compayrb, Professor in the Faculty of 
 Toulouse. 
 
 In preparation. 
 
 ROUSSEAU ; and, Education according to Nature. By 
 Paul H. Han us. 
 
 HORACE MANN, and Public Education in the United 
 States. By Nicholas Murray Butler, Ph.D. 
 
 THOMAS and MATTHEW ARNOLD, and their In- 
 fluence on Education. By J. G. Fitch, LL.D., Her Majesty's 
 
 Inspector of .Schools. 
 
 Volumes on Herbart, and Modern German Education ; and Pestalozxi ; 
 or, the Friend and Student of Children, to follow.
 
 8 MF. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 THE PROSE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 HEINRICH HEINE. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, M.A., F.R.L.S. 
 
 (HANS BREITMANN). 
 /« Ei^ki VohiJJics. 
 
 The Library Edition, in crown 8vo, cloth, at 5^. per volume. Each volume of 
 this edition is sold separately. The Cabinet Edition, in special binding, 
 boxed, price £2 10s. the set. The Large Paper Edition, limited to 100 
 Numbered Copies, price 15^. per volume net, will only be supplied to 
 subscribers for the Complete Work. 
 
 I. FLORENTINE NIGHTS, SCIINABELEWOPSKI, 
 THE RABBI OF BACHARACH, and SHAKE- 
 SPEARE'S MAIDENS AND WOMEN. 
 
 II., III. PICTURES OF TRAVEL. 1823 -1828. In Two 
 
 Volumes. 
 IV, THE SALON. Letters on Art, Music, Popular Life, 
 
 and Politics. 
 
 v., VI. GERMANY. In Two Volumes. 
 
 VIL, VIII. FRENCH AFFAIRS. Letters from Paris 1832, 
 
 and Lutetia. In Two Vols. 
 Ti7nes.—"'\Ve can recommend no better medium for making acquaintance 
 at first hand with 'the German Aristophanes' than the works of Heinrich 
 Heine, translated by Charles Czodfrey Leland. }U. Leland manages pretty 
 successfully to preserve the easy grace of the origmal." 
 
 Saturday Revieiv. — " Verilv Heinrich Heine and not Jean Paul is der 
 Einzi^c among Germans : and great is the venture of translatmg him which 
 Mr. Leland has so boldly undertaken, and in which he has for the most part 
 quitted himself so well." 
 
 Pall Mall Gazfife.—*' It U a brilliant performance, both for the quality of 
 the translation of each page and the sustained effort of rendering so many of 
 them. There is really hardly any need to learn German now to appreciate 
 Heine's prose. English literature of this country- does not contain much prose 
 more striking, more entertaining, and more thought provoking than these now 
 placed before English readers." 
 
 Daily Telegraph.— "'i<lr. Leland has done his translation in able and scho- 
 larly fashion." , , , , , 
 To he follo'Med by 
 
 THE POETIC WORKS OF HEINRICH HEINE. 
 THE BOOK OF SONGS. 
 NEW POEMS. 
 
 ATTA TROLL, GERMANY and ROMANCE RO. 
 LAST POEMS.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANS'S LIST. 9 
 
 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. A Study of His Life and 
 
 Work. By Arthur Wacgh, B.A. Oxon. With Twenty Illustrations 
 from Photographs specially taken for this Work, Five Portraits, and 
 Facsimile of Tennyson's MS. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, gilt edges, or uncut, 6s. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF MIDDLE LIFE. ByFRANCiSQUK 
 Sarcey. Tra.. blared by E. L. Carey. In One Volume, 8vo. With 
 Portrait. 10s 6d. 
 
 PRINCE BISMARCK. An Historical Biography. By 
 
 Charles Lowe, M.A. With Portraits. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 THE FAMILY LIFE OF HEINRICH HEINE. Illus- 
 
 traled by one hundred and twenty-two hitherto unpublished letters ad- 
 dressed by him to different members of his family. Edited by his nephew 
 Baron Ludwig vox Embden, and translated by Charles Godfrey 
 Leland. In One Volume, 8vo, with 4 Portraits. 12s. 6d. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF COUNT LEO TOLSTOY. 
 
 Togetlier with a Letter to the Women of France on the " Kreutzer 
 Sonata." By C. A. Eehrs, Translated from the Russian by C. E. 
 Turner, English Lecturer in the University of St. Petersburg. In One 
 Volume, 8vo. With Portrait, los. dd. 
 
 THE LIFE OF HENRIK IBSEN. By Henrik J:€ger. 
 
 Translated by Clara Bell. With the Verse done into English from the 
 Norwegian Original by Ed.mund Gosse. Crown Svo, cloth, dr. 
 
 QUEEN JOANNA I. OF NAPLES, SICILY, AND 
 
 JERL'SALEM ; Countess of Provence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont. An 
 Essay on her Tim'.-s. By St. Clair Baddeley. Imperial Svo. With 
 Numerous Illustrations. 16s. 
 
 DE QUINCEY MEMORIALS. Being Letters and other 
 
 Records here first Published, with Communications from Coleridge, The 
 Wordsworths, Hannah More, Professor Wilson, andothers. Edited 
 with Introduction, Notes, and Narrative, by Alexander H. Japp, LL.D., 
 F.R.S.E. In two volumes, demy Svo, cloth, with portraits, 30J. net. 
 
 THE POSTHUMOUS WORKS OF THOMAS DE 
 
 QUINCEV. Edited with Introduction and Notes from the Author's 
 Original MSS., by Alexander H. Japp, LL.D, F.R.S.E., &c. Crown 
 Svo, cloth, 6j. each. 
 
 I. SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS. With other Essays. 
 
 II. CONVERSATION AND COLERIDGE. With other 
 
 Essays.
 
 lo MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN. A Collection of some 
 
 of the jNIaster's best known Dramas, condensed, revised, and slightly re- 
 arranged for the benefit of the Earnest Student. By F. Anstev, Author 
 of "Vice Versa," " Voces Populi," &c. With Illustrations, reproduced 
 by permission, from Punch, and a new Frontispiece, by Bernard Part- 
 ridge. i6mo, cloth, 3^. 6d. 
 
 FROM WISDOM COURT. By Henry Seton Merriman 
 and Stephen Graham Tallentyre. With 30 Illustrations by 
 E. CouRBOiN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 35. 6d, 
 
 THE OLD MAIDS' CLUB. By I. Zangwill, Author of 
 " Children of the Ghetto," &c. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 3J. 6(/. 
 
 WOMAN— THROUGH A MAN'S EYEGLASS. By 
 
 Malcolm C. Salaman. With Illustrations by Dudley Hardy. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 3J. 6d. 
 
 STORIES OF GOLF. Collected by William Knight and 
 
 T. T. Oliphant. With Rhymes on Golf by various hands ; also Shake- 
 speare on Golf, &c. Enlarged Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, -zs. 6d. 
 
 THE ART OF TAKING A WIFE. By Professor Mante- 
 GAZZA. Translated from the Italian. Crown Svo, cloth. [In the Press. 
 
 GIRLS AND WOMEN. By E. Chester. Pott Svo, cloth, 
 
 2S. 6d., or gilt extra, 35. 6d. 
 
 QUESTIONS AT ISSUE. Essays. By Edmund Gosse. 
 
 Crown Svo, buckram, gilt top, 7^. 6d. 
 
 *^(^ A Limited Edition on Large Paper, 25^. net. 
 
 GOSSIP IN A LIBRARY. By Edmund Gosse, Author of 
 
 " Northern Studies," &c. Third Edition. Crown Svo, buckram, gilt top. 
 7*. td. 
 
 *#* A Limited Edition on Large Paper, 25^. 7iet. 
 
 THE ROSE : A Treatise on the Cultivation, History, Family 
 Characteristics, &c., of the Various Groups of Roses. With Accurate 
 Description of the Varieties now Generally Grown. By H. B. Ell- 
 WANGER. With an Introduction by George H Ellwangek. i2mo, 
 cloth, IS. 
 
 THE GARDEN'S STORY; or, Pleasures and Trials of an 
 Amateur Gardener. By G. H. Ellwanger. With an Introduction by the 
 Rev. C. Wolley Dod, i2mo, cloth, with Illustrations, 5^. 
 
 THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES. As 
 
 pleasingly exemplified in many instances, wherein the serious ones of this 
 earth, carefully exasperated, have been prettily spurred on to indiscretions 
 and unseemliness, while overcome by an undue sense of right. By 
 J, M'Neill Whistler. A New Edition. Pott 4to, half-cloth, lo^. 6d. 
 
 THE JEW AT HOME. Impressions of a Summer and 
 Autumn Spent with Him in Austria and Russia. By Joseph Pennell. 
 With Illustrations by the Author. 4to, cloth, 55.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 THE NEW EXODUS. A Study of Israel in Russia. By 
 Harold Fkederic. Demy 8vo, Illustrated, i6s. 
 
 TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE SECRET SERVICE. 
 
 The Recollections of a Spy. By Major Henri le Carox. With New 
 Preface. 8vo, boards, price 2S. 6d., or cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 *»* T/te Library Edition, with Portraits and Facsimiles, Zvo, 14J., is still 
 on sale. 
 
 THE GREAT WAR OF 189— A Forecast. By Rear- 
 
 Admiral Colomb, Col. Maurice, R.A., Captain Maude, Archibald 
 Forbes. Charles Lowe, D. Christie Murr.a.y, and F. Scldamore. 
 In One Volume, large 8vo. With numerous Illustrations, i2S. td. 
 
 IDLE MUSINGS: Essays in Social Mosaic. By E. Conder 
 Gray, Author of "Wise Words and Loving Deeds," &c. S:c. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth, 6j. 
 
 STUDIES OF RELIGIOUS HISTORY. By Ernest 
 
 Renan, late of the French Academy. In One Volume, 8vo, -js. 6d. 
 THE ARBITRATOR'S MANUAL. Under the London 
 
 Chamber of Arbitration. Being a Practical Treatise on the Power and 
 Duties of an Arbitrator, with the Rules and Procedure of the Court of 
 Arbitration, and the Forms. By Joseph Seymour Salaman, Author of 
 " Trade Marks,'' etc. Fcap. 8vo, 3^. 6d. 
 
 THE COMING TERROR. And other Essays and Letters. 
 
 By Robert Buchanan. Second Edition. Demy Bvo, cloth, 12s. 6d. 
 
 ARABIC AUTHORS: A Manual of Arabian History and 
 Literature. By F. F. Arbuthnot, M.R.A.S., Author of" Early Ideas," 
 "Persian Portraits," &c. Bvo, cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE LABOUR MOVEMENT IN AMERICA. By 
 
 Richard T. Ely, Ph.D., Associate in Political Economy, Johns Hopkins 
 University. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5^. 
 
 THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS. By Professor R. L. 
 Garner. Crown 8vo, 7.?. 6rf. 
 
 THE WORD OF THE LORD UPON THE WATERS. 
 
 Sermons read by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Germany, wliile 
 at Sea on his Voyages to the Land of the Midnight Sun. Composed by 
 Dr. Richter, Army Chaplain, and Translated from the German by John 
 R. McIlraith. 4to, cloth, qs. 6d. 
 
 THE HOURS OF RAPHAEL, IN OUTLINE. 
 
 Together with the Ceiling of the Hall where they were originally painted. 
 By Mary E. Williams. Folio, cloth, £■2 2s. net. 
 
 THE PASSION PLAY AT OBERAMMERGAU, 1890. 
 
 By F. W. Farrar, D.D., F.R.S., Archdeacon and Canon of We'^tmin'^ter, 
 &c. &c. 4to, cloth, 2j. td.
 
 12 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 THE LITTLE MANX NATION. (Lectures delivered at 
 the Royal Institution, 1891.) By Hall Caine, Author of "The Bond- 
 man," "The Scapegoat," &c. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3^. 6d.; paper, 2S, 6d. 
 
 NOTES FOR THE NILE. Together with a Metrical 
 
 Rendering of the Hymns of Ancient Egypt and of the Precepts of Ptah- 
 hotep (the oldest book in the world). By Hardwicke D. Rawnsley, M. A. 
 Imperial i6mo, cloth, 55. 
 
 DENMARK: its History, Topography, Language, Literature, 
 Fine Arts, Social Life, and Finance. Edited by H. Weitemeyer. Demy 
 8vo, cloth, with Map, 125-. 6d. 
 *** Dedicated, by permission, to H.R.H. tJte Princess of Wales. 
 
 THE REALM OF THE HABSBURGS. By Sidney 
 
 Whitman, Author of " Imperial Germany." In One Volume. Crown 
 Svo, 7 J. dd.- 
 
 IMPERIAL GERMANY. A Critical Study of Fact and 
 Character. By Sidney Whitman. New Edition, Revised and Enlarged. 
 Crown Svo, cloth -zs. 6d.; paper, ■zs. 
 
 THE CANADIAN GUIDE-BOOK. Part L The Tourist's 
 
 and Sportsman's Guide to Eastern Canada and Newfoundland, including full 
 descriptions of Routes, Cities, Points of Interest, Summer Resorts, Fishing 
 Places, &c., in Eastern Ontario, The Muskoka District, The St. Lawrence 
 Region, The Lake St. John Country, The Maritime Provinces, Prince 
 Edward Island, and Newfoundland. With an Appendix giving Fish and 
 Game Laws, and OfiScial Lists of Trout and Salmon Rivers and their 
 Lessees. By Charles G. D. Roberts, Professor of English Literature in 
 King's College, Windsor, N.S. With Maps and many Illustrations. 
 Crown Svo. limp cloth, 6s. 
 
 Part II. WESTERN CANADA. Including the Peninsula 
 and Northern Regions of Ontario, the Canadian Shores of the Great 
 Lakes, the Lake of the Woods Region, Manitoba and " The Great 
 North-West," The Canadian Rocky Mountains and National Park 
 British Columbia, and Vancouver Island. By Ernest Ingersoll. With 
 Maps and many Illustrations. Crown Svo, limp cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE GUIDE-BOOK TO ALASKA AND THE NORTH- 
 
 WEST COAST, including the Shores of Washington, British Columbia, 
 South- Eastern Alaska, the Aleutian and the Seal Islands, the Behring 
 and the Arctic Coasts. By E. R. Scidmore. With Maps and many 
 Illustrations. Crown Svo, limp cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE GENESIS OF THE UNITED STATES. A 
 
 Narrative of the Movement in England. 1605-1616, which resulted in the 
 Plantation of North America by Englishmen, disclosing the Contest 
 between England and Spain for the Possession of the Soil now occupied 
 by the United States of America ; set forth through a series of Historical 
 Manuscripts now first prmted, together with a Re-issue of Rare Contem- 
 poraneous Tracts, accompanied by Bibliographical Memoranda, Notes, 
 and Brief Biographies. Collected, Arranged, and Edited by Alexander 
 Brown, F.R.H.S. With 100 Portraits, Maps, and Plans. In two volumes. 
 Royal Svo, buckram. £-i 135. 6d.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 13 
 
 1Flew 3f ictiom 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 A SUPERFLUOUS WOMAN. 
 
 BENEFITS FORGOT. By Wolcott Balestier. 
 
 AS A MAN IS ABLE. By Dorothy Leighton. 
 
 A COMEDY OF MASKS. By Ernest Dowson and 
 
 Arthur Moore. 
 
 THE HOYDEN. By Mrs. HUNGERFORD. 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC. By G. Colmore, Author of 
 " A Conspiracy of Silence," &c. [/« March. 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF KILLOGUE. By E. Downey 
 
 F. M. AlleN;. Author of " Through Green Glasses," &c. [/« April. 
 
 THE POTTER'S THUMB. By F. A. Steel, Author of 
 
 " From the Five Rivers," &c. [/« May. 
 
 THE MANXMAN. By Hall Caine. {_I 71 Reparation. 
 
 A NEW NOVEL. By Mrs. Riddell. \In preparation. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF MARGARET BELLAR- 
 
 MINE. By Adeline Sergeant, Author of " The Story of a Penitent 
 Soul," &c. In Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, \2.s. 
 
 A NEW NOVEL. By W. E. NORRIS. [_Ik preparatioti. 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 THE HEAVENLY TWINS. By Sarah Grand, Author 
 
 of "Ideala," &c. Twenty-Ninth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 IDEALA. By Sarah Grand, Author of "'The Heavenly 
 
 Twins." Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 OUR MANIFOLD NATURE. By Sarah Grand. With 
 
 a Portrait of the Author. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE KING OF SCHNORRERS, GROTESQUES AND 
 
 FANTASIES. By I Zangwill. With over Ninety Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS. By C. J. Cutcliffe 
 
 Hy:;e. Crown Svo, cloth, 6v. 
 
 THE COUNTESS RADNA. By W. E. Norris, Author of 
 
 " Matrimony," &c. [^In preparation. 
 
 JOANNA TRAILL, SPINSTER. By Annie E. Holds- 
 wort h . [In prepa ra tion. 
 
 THE STORY OF A MODERN WOMAN. By Ella 
 
 Hepworth Dixox. {In preparation. 
 
 THE WINGS OF ICARUS. By Laurence Alma-Tadema. 
 
 [/« preparation^
 
 14 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 fftcttom 
 
 Six Shilling Volumes. 
 
 THE LAST SENTENCE. By Maxwell Gray, Author of 
 
 "' The Silence of Dean Maitland," &c. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 APPASSIONATA : A Musician's Story. By Elsa D'Esterre- 
 
 Keeling. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6^. 
 
 FROM THE FIVE RIVERS. By Flora Annie Steel, 
 
 Author of " Miss Stuart's Legacy." Crown 8vo, cloth, 6^. 
 
 RELICS. Fragments of a Life. By Frances Macnab. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth, 6^. 
 THE TOWER OF TADDEO. By Guida, Author of " Two 
 Little Wooden Shoes," &c. New Edition. Crown Svo, cloth. Illus- 
 trated. 6s. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE GHETTO. By I. Zangwill, 
 
 Author of " The Old Maids' Club," &c. New Edition, with Glossary. 
 Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE PREMIER AND THE PAINTER. A Fantastic 
 Romance. By L Zangwill and Louis Cowen. Third Edition. Crown 
 Svo, cloth, 6^^. 
 
 THE NAULAHKA. A Tale of West and East. By Rudyard 
 
 Kipling and Wolcott Balestier. Second Edition. Crown Svo, 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
 AVENGED ON SOCIETY. By H. F. Wood, Author of 
 "The Englishman of the Rue Cain," "The Passenger from Scotland 
 
 Yard." Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 THE O'CONNORS OF BALLINAHINCH. By Mrs. 
 
 HuNGERFORD, Author of " Molly Bawn," &c. Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 PASSION THE PLAYTHING. A Novel. By R. Murray 
 
 Gilchrist. Crown Svo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 A BATTLE AND A BOY. By Blanche Willis Howard. 
 
 Author of " Guenn," &c. 6s. \_In preparation. 
 
 Five Shilling Volumes. 
 
 THE SECRET OF NARCISSE. By Edmund Gosse. 
 
 Crown Svo, buckram, 5J, 
 
 THE PENANCE OF PORTIA JAMES. By Tasma, 
 
 Author of " Uncle Piper of Piper's Hill," &c. Crown Svo, cloth, 55. 
 
 INCONSEQUENT LIVES. A Village Chronicle. By J. H. 
 Pearce, Author of "Esther Pentreath," &c. Crown Svo, cloth, ^s. 
 
 VANITAS. By Vernon Lee, Author of "Hauntings," &c. 
 Crown Svo, cloth, 5^. 
 
 Two Shillings and Sixpence. 
 
 THE DOMINANT SEVENTH : A Musical Story. By 
 
 Kate Elizabeth Clarke. Crown Svo, cloth, 2s. 6d.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 15 
 
 IDeiuemann's Jnternatioual Xibrar^* 
 
 Edited by EDMUND GDSSE. 
 
 New Rein'ew. — " If you have any pernicious remnants of literary chauvinism 
 I hope it will not survive the series of foreign classics of which Mr. William 
 Heinemann, aided by Mr. Edmund Gosse, is publishin;: translations to the great 
 contentment of all lovers of literature." 
 
 Each Volume has an IntroductioJi specially ivrittcn by the Editor. 
 Price, in paper covers, 2S. 6d. each, or cloth, 3^. 6d. 
 
 IN GOD'S WAY. From the Norwegian of Bjornstjerne 
 
 BjORNSON. 
 
 PIERRE AND JEAN. From the French of Guy de iMau- 
 
 PASSANT. 
 
 THE CHIEF JUSTICE. From the German of Karl Emil 
 
 Fkanzos, Author of " For the Right," &c. 
 
 WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE LIGHT. From the 
 Russian of Count Leo Tolstoy. 
 
 FANTASY. From the Italian of Matilde Serao. 
 
 FROTH. From the Spanish of Don Armando Palacio- 
 Values. 
 
 FOOTSTEPS OF FATE. From the Dutch of Louis 
 
 COUPEKUS. 
 
 PEPITA JIMENEZ. Fiom the Spanish of Juan Valera. 
 
 THE COMMODORE'S DAUGHTERS. From the Nor- 
 wegian of Jonas Lie. 
 
 THE HERITAGE OF THE KURTS. From the Norwegian 
 
 of BjiJKNSTJEKNE BjOKNSON. 
 
 LOU. From the German of Baron Alexander von Roberts. 
 DONA LUZ. From the Spanish of Juan Valera. 
 THE JEW. From the Polish of Joseph Ignatius Kraszewski. 
 UNDER THE YOKE. From the Bulgarian of IVAN Vazoff. 
 FAREWELL LOVE. From the Italian of Matilde Serao. 
 
 In prc/'aration, 
 
 A COMMON STORY. From the Russian of Goncharoff. 
 ABSALOM'S HAIR. From the Norwegian of Bjornsternb 
 
 IJjtiKNbON. 
 
 NIOBE. From the Norwegian of Jonas Lie.
 
 i6 MR WILLIAM HEIN EM ANN'S LIST. 
 
 popular 35, 6^. IRovels. 
 
 THE SCAPEGOAT. By Hall Caine, Author of "The 
 
 Bondman," &c. Nineteenth Thousand. 
 
 THE BONDMAN. A New Saga. By Hall Caine. 
 
 Twenty- fifth Thousand. 
 
 DESPERATE REMEDIES. By Thomas Hardy, Author 
 
 of "Tess of the D'UrberviUes," &c. 
 
 A LITTLE MINX. By Ada Cambridge, Author of "A 
 
 Marked Man," &c. 
 
 A MARKED MAN: Some Episodes in his Life. By Ada 
 Cambridge, Author of "Two Years' Time," "A Mere Chance," &c. 
 
 THE THREE MISS KINGS. By Ada Cambridge, Author 
 
 of "A Marked Man." 
 
 NOT ALL IN VAIN. By Ada Cambridge, Author of "A 
 
 Marked Man," " The Three Miss Kings," &c. 
 A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE FEATHER. By Tasma, 
 
 Author of "The Penance of Portia James," "Uncle Piper of Piper's 
 Hill," &c. 
 
 UNCLE PIPER OF PIPER'S HILL. By Tasma. New 
 
 Popular Edition. 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE O'MAHONY. By Harold 
 
 Frederic, Author of " In the Valley," &c. With Illustrations. 
 
 IN THE VALLEY. By Harold Frederic, Author of 
 
 " The Lawton Girl," " Seth's Brother's Wife," &c. With Illustrations. 
 
 PRETTY MISS SMITH. By Florence Warden, Author 
 
 of "The House on the Marsh," "A Witch of the Hills," &c. 
 THE STORY OF A PENITENT SOUL. Being the 
 
 Private Papers of Mr. Stephen Dart, late Minister at Lynnbridge, in the 
 County of Lincoln. By Adeline Sergeant, Author of " No Saint," &c. 
 
 NOR WIFE, NOR MAID. By Mrs. Hungerford, Author 
 of " Molly Bawn," &c. 
 
 MAMMON. A Novel. By Mrs. Alexander, Author of "The 
 
 Wooing O't," &c. 
 
 DAUGHTERS OF MEN. By Hannah Lynch, Author of 
 
 " The Prince of the Glades," &c. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE CAPE FRONTIER. By Bertram 
 
 MiTFORD, Author of "Through the Zulu Country," &c. 
 
 'TWEEN SNOW AND FIRE. A Tale of tlie Kafir War of 
 
 1877. By Bertram Mitford. 
 ORIOLE'S DAUGHTER. By Jessie Fothergill, Author 
 
 of "The First Violin," &c. 
 
 THE MASTER OF THE MAGICIANS. By Elizabeth 
 
 Stuart Phelps and Herbert D. Ward. 
 THE HEAD OF THE FIRM. By Mrs. Riddell, Author 
 of " George Geith," " Maxwell Drewett," &c.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 17 
 
 Ipopular 3b. 6t>. IFlovels. 
 
 ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN. By Am^lie Rives, Author 
 
 of " The Quick or the Dead." 
 
 KITTY'S FATHER. By Frank Barrett, Author of 
 
 "The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane, ' &c. 
 
 MR. BAILEY-MARTIN. Bv Percy White. 
 
 A QUESTION OF TASTE. By Maarten Maartens, 
 
 Author of "An Old Maid's Love," &c. 
 COME LIVE WITH ME AND BE MY LOVE. By 
 
 Robert Buchanan, Author of "The Moment After," "The Coming 
 Terror," &c. 
 
 DONALD MARCY. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 
 
 Author of "The Gates Ajar," &c. 
 IN THE DWELLINGS OF SILENCE. A Romance 
 
 of Russia. By Walker Kennedy. 
 LOS CERRITOS. A Romance of the Modem Time. By 
 
 Gertrude Franklin Atherton, Author of "Hermia Suydam," and 
 
 "What Dreams may Come." 
 
 A MODERN MARRIAGE. By the Marquise Clara Lanza. 
 
 Sbort Stories in Qnc Uolume. 
 
 Three Shillings and Sixpence each. 
 
 THE COPPERHEAD ; and other Stories of the North 
 during the American War. By Harold Frederic, Author of " The 
 Return of the O Mahony," &c. 
 
 CAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON, The Blind Mother, 
 and The Last Confession. By Hall Caine, Author of " The Bondman," 
 "The Scapegoat," &c. Sixth Thousand. 
 
 WRECKERS AND METHODISTS. Cornish Stories. By 
 H. D. LowRY. 
 
 WRECKAGE, and other Stories. By Hubert Crackan- 
 
 thorpe. Second Edition. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE MISS, and other Stories. By Henry 
 
 Harland, Author of " Mea Culpa," &c. 
 
 THE ATTACK ON THE MILL, and other Sketches 
 
 of War. By EmileZola. With an Essay on the short stories of M. 
 Zola by Edmund Gosse. 
 
 THE AVERAGE WOMAN. By Wolcott Balestier. 
 
 With an Introduction by Henry James. 
 PERCHANCE TO DREAM, and other Stories. By Mar- 
 
 GAhET S. Briscoe. 
 TRUE RICHES. By Francois Copp£e. With an Intro- 
 duction by T. P. O'Connor. [In tlu Press. 
 
 popular Sbillino JSoofts. 
 
 MADAME VALERIE. By F. C. Philips, Author of "As 
 
 in a Looi<ing-Glass," &c. 
 
 THE MOMENT AFTER: A Tale of the Unseen. By 
 
 Robert Buchanan. 
 CLUES ; or, Leaves from a Chief Constable's Note-Book. 
 
 By Willia.m Henderson, Chief Constable of Edinburgh.
 
 1 8 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 IDramatic Xtterature. 
 
 THE MASTER BUILDER. A Play in Three Acts. By 
 Henkik Ibsen. Translated from the Norwegian by Edmund Gosse 
 and William Archer. Small 410, with Portrait, 5^. Popular Edition, 
 paper, is. Also a Limited Large Paper Edition, zis. net. 
 
 HEDDA GABLER : A Drama in Four Acts. By Henrik 
 Ibsen. Translated from the Norwegian by Edmund Gosse. Small 410, 
 cloth, with Portrait, 5^-. Vaudeville Edition, paper, is. Also a Limited 
 Large Paper Edition, 21s. net. 
 
 BRAND. A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts. By Henrik Ibsen. 
 
 Translated in the original metres, with an Introduction and Notes, by 
 C. H. Herford. Small 4to, cloth, js. 6d. 
 
 THE PRINCESSE MALEINE: A Drama in Five Acts 
 (Translated by Gerard Harry), and THE INTRUDER : A Drama in 
 One Act. By Maurice Maeterlinck. With an Introduction by Hall 
 Caine, and a Portrait of the Author. Small 4to, cloth, 5s. 
 
 THE FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT: A Comedy in 
 Four Acts. By Count Lyof Tolstoy. Translated from the Russian by 
 E. J. Dillon. With Introduction by A. W. Pinero. Small 4to, with 
 Portrait, 55. * 
 
 KING ERIK. A Tragedy. By Edmund Gosse. A Re-issue 
 with a Critical Introduction by Mr, Theodore Watts. Fcap. 8vo, 
 boards, ss. net. 
 
 THE DRAMA: ADDRESSES. By Henry Irving. With 
 
 Portrait by J. McN. Whistler. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, ^s. 6d. 
 
 SOME INTERESTING FALLACIES OF THE 
 
 Modern Stage. An Address delivered to the Playgoers' Club at St. 
 James's Hall, on Sunday. 6th December 1891. By Herbert Beerbohm 
 Tree. Crown 8vo, sewed, 6d. net. 
 THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO. With Intro- 
 ductory Notes by Malcolm C. Salaman. i6mo, paper covers, is. M., 
 or cloth, -zs. 6d. 
 I. THE TIMES : A Comedy in Four Acts. With a Preface 
 by the Author. 
 
 II. THE PROFLIGATE : A Play in Four Acts. With 
 
 Portrait of the Author, after J. Mordecai. 
 
 HI. THE CABINET MINISTER: A Farce in Four Acts- 
 
 IV. THE HOBBY HORSE : A Comedy in Three Acts, 
 
 V. LADY BOUNTIFUL: A Play in Four Acts. 
 
 VI. THE MAGISTRATE : A Farce in Three Acts. 
 
 VII. DANDY DICK : A Farce in Three Acts. 
 
 VIII. SWEET LAVENDER. A Drama in Three Acts. 
 
 IX. THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. A Farce in Three Acts, 
 
 To be followed by The Weaker Sex, The Second Mrs. Taiiqueray, 
 Lords and Commons, and The Squire.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S LIST. 19 
 
 poetri\ 
 
 TENNYSON'S GRAVE. By St. Cl.\ir Baddelry. 8vo, 
 paper, is. 
 
 LOVE SONGS OF ENGLISH POETS, 1500— 1800. 
 
 With Notes by Ralph H. Caine. Fcap. 8vo, rough edges, 3J. 6</. 
 *J^ Lafge Paper Edition, liviited to loo Copies, los. 6d. net. 
 
 IVY AND PASSION FLOWER: Poems. By Gerard 
 
 Rexdall, Author of " Estelle," etc. &.c. i2ino, cloth, 3.J. 6d. 
 Scotsman. — "' Will be read with pleasure." 
 
 Musical JVorid.—" The poems arc delicate specimens of art, graceful and 
 polished.' 
 
 VERSES. By Gertrude Hall. i2mo, doth, 3^. 6c/. 
 
 Manchester Guardian. — "Will be welcome to every lover of poetry who 
 takes it up." 
 
 IDYLLS OF WOMANHOOD. By C. Amy Dawson. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, gilt top, 5^. 
 
 IfDeinemann's Scientific IbanbbooF^s. 
 
 MANUAL OF BACTERIOLOGY. By A. B. Griffiths 
 
 Ph.D., F.R.S. (Edin. , F.C.S. Crown 8vo, cloth, Illustrated. 7^. 6^. ' 
 P/tarntaceiiticaljoini.al. — "The subject is treated more thoroughly and 
 
 completely than in any .--iinilar work published in this country It should 
 
 prove a useful aid to pharmacists, and ail others interested in the increasingly 
 important subject of which it treats, and particularly so to those possessing little 
 or no previous knowledge concerning the problems of micro-biology." 
 
 MANUAL OF ASSAYING GOLD, SILVER, COPPER, 
 
 and Lead Ores. By Walter Lee Brown, B.Sc Revised, Corrected, 
 and considerably Enlarged, with a chapter on the Assaying of Fuel &c 
 By A. B. Griffiths, Ph.D., F.R.S. (Edin.), F.C.S. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 Illustrated, 7.5-. 6d. 
 Colliery Guardian. — "A delightful and fascinating book." 
 Financial IVorld. — " The most complete and practical manual on everything 
 which concerns as.saying of all which have come before us." 
 
 GEODESY. By J. Howard Gore. Crown 8vo, cloth. Illus- 
 trated, 5J. 
 
 i>'t. James's Gazette.— "The book may be safely recommended to those who 
 desire to acquire an accurate knowledge of Geodesy." 
 
 Science Gossip. — " It is the best we could recommend to all geodetic students. 
 It is full and clear, thoroughly accurate, and up to date in all matters of earth- 
 measurements." 
 
 THE PHYSICAL PROPERTIES OF GASES. By 
 
 Arthur L. Ki.mi;ai,l, of the Johns Hopkins University. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth. Illustrated, 5J. 
 Clutnical Ne-os. — " The man of culture who wishes for ageneral and accurate 
 acquaintance with the physical properties of gases, will rind in Mr. Kimball's 
 work just what he requires." 
 
 HEAT AS A FORM OF ENERGY. By Professor R. H. 
 
 Thuksto.n. of Cornell Univer>ity. Crown Svo, cloth, Illustrated, 5^. 
 Manchester Examiner. — "Bears out the cli.inicter of its predecessors for 
 careful .ind correct statement and deduction under the light of the most recent 
 discoveries."
 
 20 MK. WILLIAM IlEINEMANN'S LIST. 
 
 THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. 
 
 The London Office of this old established Review has 
 been removed to 21 Bedford Street, where copies can 
 be obtained regularly on publication. Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE NEW REVIEW. 
 
 With January 1894 The New Review entered upon a New 
 Series, and, whilst continuing to devote its space to the 
 great problems of the day in a serious, competent, and 
 popular fashion, it will give monthly a short Story, and 
 Illustrations will be added to one or more papers in 
 each issue. Price is. 
 
 cz 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 WILLIAM H E I N E M A N N, 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
 
 UNIVERSITY Of ILUNOIt-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 056528737