LI E> R.AFIY OF THE UN 1VER.51TY or ILLINOIS 8^5 V.I Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2010 witin funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/williscauseofwoe01pemb WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. % WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE % Hofad, BY THE AUTHOR OF ALTOGETHER WRONG,' * DACIA SINGLETON,' 'WHAT MONEY can't do,' ETC. " Evil is wrought by want of thought As well as want of heart." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. Hontron : SAMUEL TINSLEY & CO., 10 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 1878. [^All rights resei-ved.^ WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTER I. Xear to Prawle Point, on the .south coast of DeA^onshire, there stands, at a short distance from the sea, on sloping, rcjugh, turfy land, a -. In a neatly furnislied room, wliicli was kitchen and parlom^ iji one, close to a o()()d fire, sat Miles Mason. His su])])er was being- prepared by his only child and his sole cohipanion, Cherr}' Mason. The savoury odour probably whetted the man's appetite, for after a few minutes' intent reading of a dirty-looking copy of the Western Morning NeicSj by the feeble, glinmiering light of an oil lamp, he suddeidy looked up and said^ — '^ Isn't it time we had our supper. Cherry ? " '' It wants five minutes to the hour, father," replied the girl, turning as she spoke to the large Dutch clock that hiuig against the wall at the further end of the room. "Five minutes more or five minutes les.s doesn't matter ; let \s have it when it 's ready. I 'm hungry to-night; perliaps it's instinct tells nu' I sliall want a good meal to kee}) out the cold. Do you hear the wind. Cherry ? '' "Yes, father, I hear it ; and, accustomed as I am to hear it, I camiot bear it. The sea is an awful thing I " exclaimed the girl, with a shudder. "To-night Avill ])e tlu^ last in this world for man\'. How I Avisli I had never known Avhat a shipwreck was! " AVILT. IS THE CAL'SI-: OF AVOE. -J '•Xonseiise, ' knew that by the sudden calm ; but she was too frightened to move. She stood shrinking up against the w^all, incajjable for the moment of mo^'ing, or even thinking reasonabh' ; but presently the fire, which had been deadened l)y the down- rush of smoke, began to send (jut a little flickering light, the wood crackled, and at last a bright flame showed the extent of damage done. A few broken plates were quite sutticient to cause the noise, especialh' when they were swejjt (jft' the table with knives and forks and tin nuigs, and a jug of cider. Cherry now bethought herself of getting a light ; and the lamp Tjeing only extinguished, and in no way injured, it was eas}^ to relight it, and, adding a little more oil, ^he secured her- self against a similar accident b}' placing it out of reach of harm, in case the door should again be opened with the tempest still raging. Then she set to Avork to put things to rights again, and in about half an hour all traces of the disaster were efl"aced, while the mere fact of having emphjyed her hands siithced to steady iier nerves. She almost smiled now at her 6 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOK. chikli.sli fears, and wondered why this night, more than any other, she should liavc so given Avay, and h^st all presence of mind. She placed the remainder of her father's supper near the tire, which, burning- cheerily, gave an air of comfort to the little room, increased rather than lessened l)v the furious storm with- out. Ten o'clock struck, but Cherry could not make uj) her mind to go to bed. ''Perhaps father will come back soon; he surely wdll not go to keej) his watch Avithout coming in for his storm cloak and hat, as he calls them ; as it is, he must get Avet through to the skiiL At any rate I will wait till the storm is over," she muttered, lialf aloud to herself. But the storm gave no signs of diminishing, for the sullen distant roll of thunder, now dimh' heard, foretold the probability of its becoming worse before abating. Presently a vivid flash of liglitning shot aslant the room, followed almost immediately by a crashing, cracking peal of thunder, that seemed as if it must by mere vibration destroy the little dwelliiig. Cherrv buried her face in her hands, and pressed lier head against the old arm-cliair she was sitting in. '^ Oil, if father would only come l)ack ! How awful I " she cried. WILL IS THE CVrSK OF WOE. ^ And anotlier flash lighted up the room with a bhie, unnatural, unearthly light, and another and yet another; the thunder never ceasing roaring and booming, as if the whole heavens were furnished with mitrailleuses, and thou- sands were being fired together. ( Jnce Clierry looked up and saw thrcnigh tlie curtainless ^^dndow. The scene that during tliat moment presented itself is almost past description. The sea a mass of bluish frosted silver, leap- ing in wikl fury against the gaunt, dark, l)ointed rocks, and encircling them witli its boiling foam like a fringe of down, rapidh' to disappear and as ra})idly return ; the sk}' densely black, with here and there a fleck of yellowish cloud ; the grass land that lay between tlie cottage and the sea looked like a swamp or morass, the water streaming down it to the shingly shore. But what in that .brief moment Cherry 3Iason saw most dis- tinctly was a black mass that seemed t(j l)c moving up^ivards from the sea, a grou}) tliat might have consisted of some eight or ten people, or it might be only a heap of some- thing, perhaps a boat drawn far out of the water and stood upright against some mass of stone ; or was it the large rock that at very knv tide and calm weather was visible V — tlie 8 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. folly of the latter thought did not strike her ; but with all her fancies of what it might be, she believed but in tlie first. Some catastrophe, some dreadful shipwreck, perlia])S only the dead to show what the living had suffered-^ for who could be cast on those jagged, sharp ])ointed rocks by one of those wild, mountainous- waves, and live to tell it ? Many a corpse lies buried in the 2:)retty little village churchyard, which from its secure height can look down and see the havoc created amongst the young and the old, the ready and the unprepared, that perhaps had just made their first start in life, all hopeful and promising, or with years- weighing lieavil}' on their slioulders 3^et pres- sing but softly on the heart, returning home to enjoy the reapings of hard toil and labour, cut sliort in their career suddenh'and violently, and,, torn from all to whom they were dear, hastened into eternity. There lie, in that little church- yard, the Imde of a da}^, tlie mother v/ith her infant in her arms, the orphan boy, the old grandfather, and the young girl ex2:>ecting so soon to become a wife — all lie there ; hopes and fears, friendship and enmity, love and hatred, buried with them. All met their untimely end at different periods at that fatal spot where now Cherry Mason rightly saw WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 9 some fresh victims approaching her secm-e and peaceful home. The girl listened with eager ears for the sound of nearing footsteps, but in vain ; it was impossible to hear anything but the howling Avind and the beating rain. The thunder now was more distant, but the rumbling, growling sound, echoing from rock to rock, Avas still unceasing. It was a fearful night, a night never to be forgotten by any whose evil destiny caused them to witness tlie elements wao'ino' Avar ao-ainst one another in that district. Cherry Mason Avas no coAvard, yet her heart beat now with intense fear ; she kneAV, she felt, something Avas going to happen ; slie pictured to lierself a droAAmed man or Avoman being Ijrouo'ht in ; or one that niio:lit still liaA^e a spark of life left, and hers would be the hand and hers the duty to helj) rekindle it. She fancied an accident to her father, she fancied it might be he A\dio would be borne in injured i)V perhaps dead, and then Avliat Avould become of Iter, alone in the world and friendless? But common sense after a little came to her aid. It Avas next to impossible her father should liave met AAath an accident : he kncAV ever A' rock Avithin miles ; he coukl o'o blindfold 10 WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. without running any risk ; then how could aught harm him in going down to see from whence the cries for help had come ? Yet why so shaken — why so trembling ? Poor Cherry ! Did a presentiment of anything in the future, of events that would be the fruit of this night's work, strike fear into her girlish breast ? It might be so ; but of what avail are presentiments ? what purpose do they fulfil ? No heed is paid to them, and it is almost im- possible there should be, for they are never understood — A^ague, meaningless, but terribly tormenting ; something like good advice when unsought and undesired. Could any one have whispered into Cherry Mason's ear what from henceforth her life was to be, its aim and its end, would she have put a curb on her lips or a rein round her heart ? I doubt it. Without being a fatalist, I Ijelievo that, knowing what would arise if we followed a certain line of action, we Avould follow it still, arguing (some- what obstinately, perhaps, in our determination to risk doing what we know must bring us many heartaches) that if we took the other course it might be Avorse still— and Avho could tell but tliat it might ? Live wliilst you can, be happy when you may, and leave the shadowy future to work out its worst. At any WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 11 rate, few of us can judge what is best for otliers; what may be a grief to me may be none to you ; what may torment you to death may not disturb me in the least ; we are all too apt to think that dispositions and characters are alike, and that wJiat one likes so wall another. And life withal is such a lottery — a game of chance pla}'ed b}' us all from morn till eve : a careless Avord, an unintentional look, ma}' turn the whole current of our existence ; golden silence sometimes making, sometimes marring us. Just as we lose all, or l)reak the bank, by obsti- nately staking on a certain number ; a trifling- action chancewise doing more tow^ards the ful- filment of our dearest wishes, than a premedi- tated deed, in the carrying out of wdiich all our l)est ener<'ies and clearest intellect have been unsparingl}' used, only most signally to fail in the accompliishment of our desires. In endea- vouring to fashion out our future according to our own notions of what is for our haj)})iness, we may often bring about a condition of things that becomes intolerable ; and then it is too late to remedy the evil our short-sighted finite ideas have wrought. Therefore we umst come to the conclusion that it is best to leave to an overruling Power the direction of our lives, and not meddle with wdiat we can in no 12 WILL 18 Tfii: cAi:si: of wok. way control, any more than Cherry Mason could still the tem2:)est that was working up for her a future more stormy and disastrous than she could have ever dreamt would fall to her lot. The }'oung- girl shuddered involuntarily as she was roused from her gloomy, nervous reverie by a loud knocking at the door. For a moment she did not move ; the next she endeavoured, with trembling hands, to open it. ''- Father is not with them," she thought, "or he would not have told them to knock." Who the "them" Avere she had not time to think, but she connected them with the dark mass tliat stood out so clear and distinct in the blue lightning. It was not easy to open the door, still less to keep it so, till two men, sliglitlyin advance of what was following, held it wide open by standing against it, and tlien they allowed the group to pass. Four men were carrying, to judge by their faces, a scmiewlmt heavy load. Miles Mason was one of them. " Get tlie mattress from off my bed, girl, and put it down there near the fire — make haste ! " he said, addressing his daughter. " Help her, my man," he continued, turning to one of the two, wlio had stood by the door, but who were now inside with the rest. WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 13 They were all drij^ping with the heavy rain, as well as from the sea-water that had washed over them, as, claml3ering over the rocks, they had endeavoured to save themselves or help to save others from a horrible death. ^' Is he dead ? '■ whispered Cherry, in a hoarse voice to the man who, at her father's bidding, followed her into the adjoining room to aid her in o'ettins: the mattress. '' We don't know, miss ; I think ho must be, though. Lord, how he was battered about among them rocks ! '' he replied, in an under- tone. The mattress was placed near the fire, and then the four men gently laid their burden down upon it. Cherry then at once removed the coat that one of the men had thrown over the face, and, without uttering a word, quickly, but very quietly, used tliose remedies for re- storing life to which she had on more than one occasion been a witness ; but never before liad she been the principal one to direct and take the lead. Young as she was — she was scarcely seventeen — she yet sliowed herself perfectly capable ; if her cheek was pale her hand was steady, no remains of nervousness were visible ; indeed, it was lier solitariness that had partially unnerved her. Whilst friction was being used 14 AVILL IS ^rilE CAr.SK {)F AVOE. and warm flannels aj^pliod, and tlie wet clothes cut awa}'j she prepared some hot brandy-and- water, and then endeavoured to put some between tlie lips of the lifeless man. It w^as about half an hour after the first attem])t to recall life had been made, and yet no signs of its return appeared; there was no warmth as yet in any ])art of the Ijody, tlie lips w^ere still blue and the face of an ashy hue, the blood had trickled slowly down from a wound in his head, adding: to the o-hastlv appearance; however, the}' still kept on, re- doubling their efforts as their ho])e seemed to wane. "A w^arm bath would be the best thing, 1 think," said one man. '' I 've Iieard it said it '11 succeed when nought else will." '' We have no bath," cried Cherry, disnudl}' ; "• and if we had, he w^ould l)e dead — or well enough not to need it — l)efore the water was made hot ; besides, souie say it is a dangerous remedy. If I could onh' iret some of tins down his throat"; and she tried now to put some pure brandy into liis mouth and rubbed his lips witli the spirit. '[ I think the hot flannels and rubbing quite as good," said another of the group, who as he spoke was heating a blanket at the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF Wr)E. l-'> iire and then placed it round the poor fellow's hody. There was silence now, each bus}' with his endeavours to restore life, except Miles Mason liimself, who was piling up the wet clothes and carrying them away to a shed at the Ijack of the cottage, and then, remoying his own coat, he put on his large storm cloak and hat, and was evidently preparing to go out once again. With his 2^ipe in his hand ready to light, he stood for a moment looking at the young man lying inanimate at his feet. It was a Ijeautiful face, delicate enough for a woman's, finely cut small featm^es, a slight moustache, and fair curling hair hanging dank and clammily around liis broad forehead. He was tall and slight, his hands and feet small. To judge of him as he lay there, he seemed of gentle blood, and little used to a rough life, either from clioice or necessity. '^Poor fellow! I fear it's all up with him. His mother — you say his mother lives near ways to this — will have a heavy heart before dawn. One of you men must go over to fSandcombe — it's there she lives, you said, I tliink — and break it to her." Miles Mason spoke softly, a>s if — though he thought him dead — he yet might disturb him. 16 WILT. IS THE CAUSE OP^ WOE. It is natural to all to speak gently in the presence of death, as it is to tread lightly when approaching the sick. '^ You may go yourself, Miles Mason," said one of the bystanders, a neighbour who with two others had gone, as Mason had done, to see and lend a helping liand in time of need ; ^' leastways, I won't. You could tell bad news better than I ; it 's the hardest thing in life to tell another of a sudden sorrow that is big enough to l)urst the lieart ; and when it 's about a son, and he too an only one, why — " ^^ Hush, hush! " exclaimed Cherry; ^'listen — I think he breathes. See, his lips move ! Ho is not dead — look, father — he lives I " And as the young girl spoke, a slight con- vulsive movement was visible about the lips and hands. With bated breath the bystanders gazed at the young man, who now began in truth to show that life was }^et within him. ^^ Thank God, lie 's not to l)e added to the number of dead belonging to that doomed ship ! My master, my dear young master, you 're safe ! and I pray you '11 never more go to sea again." . The man wlio spoke knelt down beside tlu^ poor young fellow wlio liad been so unexpect- edly snatched back from the brink of deatli ; WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 17 and, now that he thought all danger was over, he gave way to his pent-up feelings, and two big tears fell down his bronzed cheeks ; he brushed them rapidly away, fearing, yet hoping, none had seen his w^eakness ; but as if he thought they might, he said apologeti- cally, — '' You see, he 's my foster brother, and I 'd go to the death for Master Cyril, just as I did to sea, for I hate the water as I hate jDain ; Imt I went because he would go, and I couldn't bear for him to leave me behind. Master Tre- herne, can you hear me ? You 're safe, sir, and — and — well, I can't tell him we 're all safe," he muttered to himself; ^^ and the poor little cutter ! — I don't suppose there 's a bit of her left together, and he was so fond of her; but, the Lord be praised, he 's safe ! " '^ I don't think you need bother your head about tlie craft, when all hands, save you and I and he, are gone down ^vitli her, and they 've left women and children to cry for them, and we 've none it signifies to whether we be here or up there — " ''Haven't lie his mother? AVliy, Jim, you speak as if you were like to be sorry we 're not all drowned ! " ''Well, maybe I ami" sulkily rejoined Jim, VOL. I. u 18 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. turning" away. ^^ I tliink, master, I'll just go out and see if there be no chance of picking up some of our mates/' he continued, turning^ to Miles Mason. ^' Well, I must go out now, too," said Mason, ^' I ought to have been on my way before this; not that I fancy this is a night for much of my sort of work, dearl}' as they love a lowering- skv ; tliis is a little too much for the most desj)erate of them smugglers. So we can go together if ^^ou be so inclined. But take a drop of warming stuff first, it won't hurt, after all you 've gone through, if it don't do you no good. And, Cherry, my girl, Cooper will help you to get that poor gentleman on to a bed, and I dare say he and this here friend of his will sit by liim to-night," said Mason, turning to the man who called himself the foster- l)rother. '^'Deed, master, I'll never leave him, if you'll let me remain by him, and I want none to help me ; and I think, j)erliaps, it may be better not to let madam know of the — accident, and for nobody to go to Sandcombe to-night, since he 's like to be able to tell her all about it himself." Mason, the man Jim, and another now left, as did also, a few minutes after, the two neigh- WILL L>< THE CAUSE OF WOK. 19 bour.s, leaving Clieny and John Finch alone with their charge. They sat on either side of him, each chafing a hand, and every now and then Cherry put a teaspoonful of brandy-and- water into his mouth. His teeth were no longer clenched, and he swallowed with ajDparent ease. Presently he opened his eyes and looked vacantly from side to side, and then a softened expression passed over his face and he fixed his eyes on John Finch, and after a few moments he said, but turning towards Cherry, — '^ Where am I ? What has happened ? " '' You're here. Master Cyril, and it 'sail right; nothing 's happened, so don't think just yet." But Cyril Treherne, whose brain was still confused, and who felt as if. some dozen muffled drums were being played beside l)i« head, was, nevertheless, not of a nature to accejot such a reply even in his then helpless state, and look- ing at Cherry — liis tone of voice, though not loud, was perfectly distinct — asked where he Avas and who she Avas. Poor Cherry told him as best she could, for John Finch was making all sorts of signs to her, which she utterh' failed to read ; moreover she did not know w^hat reason there could be for not speaking rationally to a man quite in his senses, though he had just escaped death. 20 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^^And is the Margiierita totally lost?" lie asked. ^^ She is, sir; and all our poor fellows in her I fear, but Jim," said Finch, unable himself to resist speaking out. ^' And where is Jim ? " ^'He's gone out with the lassie's father, to see if they can hear anything of the others." '•I think, sir," said Cherry, '^ you had better not talk any more ; and if you would get into bed, it would be well. There 's the next room at your service, and it is all ready." Cyril Treherne fixed his eyes — clear blue eyes, that looked very soft and gentle just now — on Cherry's face ; he continued to watch her for a few seconds after she had done S23eaking, and then sighing, more as if to try if he could do so freely than from any triste remembrance, he said, — '^ You are very kind ; I do not know how I shall ever thank you for all you have done for me to-night. Yes, I will go to bed ; I am sorry you should be troubled with me, but to-morrow I shall be able to get home, I think." John Finch raised his young master up in his strong arms, and, carrying him as tenderly as a mother would her infant child, placed him down on the bed. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 21 CHAPTER II. But the morrow brought with it the certainty that for Cyril Treherne to return home would be out of the question. Miles ]\Iason, whose duties took him for twelve hours out of the twenty -four from home, his watch being alternately day and nightj came back at dawn. He went as gently as he could into the room where Tre- herne lay. He found him sleeping quietly ; and sitting on a chair near the window was his daughter Cherry, both her arms folded and restino^ on a little table, and her head lvin<>' on them. John Finch was beside the bed. Botli were fast asleep. So Miles left them ; and, climbing ujd the narrow wooden stairs, he went to Cherry's room, and, throwing off his coat, he lay on her bed, and in less than five minutes was asleep also. But the creaking of the stairs, the shutting of the door, not so 22 AVILl. IS THJ: CAU8E OF AVOE. carefully done as might have been, roused Cyril from his not over sound sleep. As he opened his eyes and looked round the humble room, v/ith its plain furniture ; the low, white- washed roof ; the four-post bed, devoid both of top and drajDer}^; the clean but old white curtains tliat hung at the window, the quaint little pictures of impossible ships in still more impossible positions, the two black profiles, stuck on white paper, framed and glazed, and hanging crookedly on either side of the mantelpiece, he wondered where he was and how he came there, and if the whole were not a dream. Presently his eye fell on the slee^Ding form of Cherrv Mason, and then he beo-an to remember tlie terrible events of the previous night. He looked at her long ; he did not seem to tire of letting his eyes dwell on her. Indeed, it was a pretty picture enough ; one that men not so fastidious as Cyril Trclierne would have thought very beautiful. Cherry, as I have before said, was barely seventeen ; she wanted a month or two yet ; with a small, slight figure, soiijjle and graceful, as could be easily judged by the ])ositi()n she was in ; a warm complexion, not very nuich colour, but it came very easily if aught were WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 23 said or done to call it forth ; a soft, smooth skin ; full red lips ; a small, straight nose ; large brown, startled-looking eyes, with black lashes, now lying as a fringe on her cheek ; straight, pencilled eyebrows ; and a quantity of dark, thick hair, now hanging down loosely •over her shoulders. She struck Cyril as being sufficiently pretty for him to bear for a time, if need be, ^yii\l his quarters, objectionable as they otherwise would be to him ; and he resolved, if really unable to get home, to remain where he was with a contented mind. He watched her so long that at last he came to the conclusion that it would almost be worth pretending to be worse than he was, that lie might try the experiment of being- tended by so pretty a nurse. He thought she would be Avortli studying. He wondered if she had the same feelings, the same tastes, the same disposition as other girls had in tlie sphere he had been accustomed to meet them in. He thought it would amuse him to find this all out. So Cyril Treherne la}', innocently plotting for his own anmsement at the risk of the girl's happiness to whose father and her own care he owed his life. It never occurred to him in this light. He was thinking only of a tempo- 24 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. raiy diversion for himself, of a method to while a few days or hours, as tlie case might he, away as pleasantly as mig-lit be. He tlms indulged in what is very often more hurtful to us than we ever realize — day-dreams. Day- dreams carr}^ us rajiidly on, for they are thoroughly under our control ; and for that reason we rarely attempt to curb them. They are generally j)leasant, so there is no desire to check them; but they are sadly harmful, sometimes to ourselves only, sometimes, and very often, as in Cyril Treherne's case, to others also. They were interrupted at last by John Finch, who now awoke, and, looking up to see liOAv his young master was, exclaimed, on see- ing his eyes open, — ^'Law, sir, to think of my sleeping and you wide awake ! Do you feel any pains, sir, or hurt about an^^iere?" Treherne looked round, and answered, — ^^I feel better than I have any right to expect, but horribly stiff and bruised. I fear I shall not be able to move to-day. Don't speak too loud, for you see she 's sleeping," and he pointed to Cherry; ''but tell me what o'clock it i^." Finch pulled out his great big silver watch.. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 25 He looked at it, then shook it, and tapped it in a way to drive any watch to go if it were possible ; then he placed it against his ear, but all to no purpose — not a tick to be heard, and the hands still ^^ointed to twenty-five minutes to seven — and he was quite aware, by the already advanced day, it must be more than that, for it was already early in the month of May. ^' The water has got into the works, I think, sir ; but I '11 go into the room alongside this, — there is a big clock there. Never fear, sir, I '11 tread so softly a fairy couldn't be disturbed." The man did tread softly for him ; but whether her ear was quick at strange footsteps, or whether the day was sufficiently advanced, notwithstanding the late hour she got to her, at best, uneasy rest. Cherry started up as Finch ojDcned the door. '' What do you want V " she asked, instantly. " I am so sorry I went to sleep. Please tell me what you want." '' Nothing, miss ; 1 thank you. The young master wants to know the time, that 's all." ^* I did not know you were awake," said Cherry, now standing over the bed, and look- ing anxioush' and inquiringly into ( /yriPs face. 26 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '' I liave been awake a long time," lie re- plied. ^^ How sorry I am I How weary you must have felt ! Why did you not call me? You will like a little tea, will you not ? " '^ I was not weary," he said, raising his e}xs to hers witli an expression in them she could not understand, but which instantly caused her to drop her own. '^I was not weary ; I was watching you, and thinking how — how you must be enjoying your sleep: you were so still, yet your position was not tlie easiest," he said, evidently checking himself in what he was about to reply. '' You asked me if I would have some tea. I do not feel inclined for anything ; but when you have your break- fast I will take a little. Well, Jolm, what time is it ? " '' Ten minutes to nine. Master Cyril. Now, what do you think of doing, sir ? " ^' In what way, John ? " '^ Why, sir, you see, madam " (Mrs. Trelierne was always called madam) ^ ' and the admiral are sure to hear of the accident ; and though the admiral will believe all 's riglit, and that we shall turn up safe, as lie thinks no sailor ever lives to be drowned, I don't think madam will be satisfied with his ojDinion, and she '11 be WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 27 nearly, if not quite, crazy till slie hears you 're safe ; and, sir, there be others, perhaps, may hear of it, and he sending up to the Court to inquire, and — " ^^ Yes, John, yes, you're right; I must let my motlier know I am all right. Have you seen Jim this morning ? " '' I have seen no one and heard nothing since last night, sir." '' Thmi don't xon think the first thing to do will he for you to ascertain exactly the state of things: what has happened, who of the poor fellows that were with us are lost ? I hope to goodness Tait is not gone, — it would be awful news for his wife and children." ''Well, sir, I *m much afeard he is. The last I saw of him was when the ship struck the great rock ; he shouted out to lower the boat for you and give you a chance ; then came that infernal wave that swept over all, and I recol- lect nothing after that till I found myself, half stunned, amongst a heap of loose rock; you were beside me, and presently I heard Jim give his long clear whistle ; I tried to answer it, but I couldn't hit off a silent moment as lie did. He gave cries of alarm, then came help, then I thouglit if I did not make myself heard we should be left there to die, as cverv moment a 28 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. huge dark wave seemed to rise up ready to swallow us up. So I shouted and bellowed, and then — but, O God, how long every second seemed I — ^then at last they came to us, and we found you, as we thought, dead. We managed to carry you up here. Jim's cries brought down the man from this cottage and three others, fishermen, I beHeve: and now, sir, you know all I do. No need to tell you what I felt on that spot where I had been dashed ; it wasn't pain — I didn't feel that till afterwards ; but I tried hard to say a prayer, and I wanted to say the Lord's Prayer, but I couldn't recol- lect the bemmino: of it, thoug:!! from the time mother taught it me I 've never missed saying it once in the day, and I couldn't bring to- mind anything but the old Catechism — ' What 's your name ? ' and ' Who gave you this name? ' And that seemed no manner of good under-the circumstances, so I gave it up and said ' God save us ! ' And it was enough. Lord, how odd it is people are so fond of such long prayers when the short ones do as well, and they tire neither God nor man I Well, Master Cyril, I know no more about it." Cyril was silent a moment; he seemed so full of thought that Cherry, thinking he might wish to send some loving message to his mother. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 29 that he did not care to give before a stranger, slipped away. But it was not that ; he was thinking, had he been lost, as the poor men who were with him were, what would liave been the result ? Heartaches ? Yes ; but, after a little, perhaps forgotten : certainly the world would go on just the same. It was not a plea- sant thought, and there was no need to worry himself on the subject, since he was not dead. Then he thought of his yacht ; the wreck, if so complete as Finch described it, and the loss of life so great, his mother would be well-nigh dis- tracted, unless he let her learn his safety before the news reached her of the catastrophe. He also wished to prevent her coming to Miles Mason's cottage for him ; he was fond enough of his mother, but there was one point on which no sympathy existed between them, and that point was too often a matter of discussion at Treherne Court, and he was quite sure the present occasion Avould offer too good oppor- tunity for madam to let it pass without her favourite topic being forced on him, and this he desired to escaj:)^ But time was important; ill news travels rapidly; and so Cyril deter- mined on sending Finch first to gather all the jjarticulars he could, and to try and find Jim, and then despatch him to his father's house. 30 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. As soon as John was off, Cherry and her father went in together to the bed-room. Cyril held out his hand to Miles Mason ; he knew who he must he, and thanked him in a cordial manner for his hospitality and care. The tone was one calculated to win the heart of a man in Mason's position, and he replied as his feelings dictated, that anything he had done was amply repaid by the great pleasure ho felt in having helped to save a fellow-creature's life. '' I thought it was all over witli you, sir, and as I looked at you I thought of the sorrow the poor lady, your mother, would feel ; for you seem young enough to have been more with than absent from her. However, you 're safe, and except those few scratches on your head and face I don't think you 're much the worse. Cherr}^, if you were to get some warm water, and take off all that blood aljout the gentle- man's hair, it Avould be none the less comfort- able. I must be off now for an hour or two. Is there any breakfast for me, girl ?" "Yes, father, and the gentleman will have a cu]) of tea also." When Miles was gone, and Cherr}' had attended to her houseliold duties, she went in to see if Cyril Treherne woukl get up, or if he wanted anything she could got him. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 31 '■^ I think I Avill stay a little longer as I am, Miss — what am I to call voii ?" '^ Cherry, if you please, sir." " Miss Cherry—" '^ Not Miss, if you please,— simply Cherry." '' A\ ell, then. Cherry; it is a pretty name, and Miss before it spoils it. I think I will wait till Finch comes back. But Avill you sit by me and talk to me a little ? " Cherry Mason fetched some needle -work, and taking a chair sat down between the bed and the window. Cyril was able to watch her at her ease, and he did so till she looked up, and seeing how earnestly those clear blue eyes were fixed on her she coloured up and went on with her work. " What are you so busily employed about ?" he asked. '^It is a shirt of father's I am mending, sir." "• Are you an only child. Cherry ? " ^' Yes, sir." " Is your mother dead? Do you mind tell- ino- me somethino: about yourself ? It would amuse me if you would, and interest mc too Axny much; for you must recollect that you saved WW lih,', and therefore as long as I live I nuist think of you as a very dear friend, and we like to know all about those we are interested in." 32 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. Cherry looked up, her great brown eyes with a, surprised but pleased expression in them ; yet she did not ([uite understand her companion, not his words, tliey were simple enough, but the tone they were spoken in made her heart beat with a strange and new joy. '' Tliere is not much to tell you, sir. I remember very little that could amuse or interest any one. We have lived here almost as long as I can recollect ; at moments I have thought I could carry my thoughts back to the time I was alone with my mother in her native home — she was a Spanish woman, sir; her father and mother lived in Seville, and she went at the age of sixteen into the service of an English officer's family at Gibraltar ; it was whilst there she saw my father, and married him—" ' ' Well, why do you stop ? Tell me all }^ou know, — everything you can remember." '^ It seems so strange, sir, you sliould care to know anything about me." '' Strange that I should care to know the history of one who has saved my life ! Why, do you know. Cherry, — you told me I might <5all you Cherry, — tliat I could not repay you all I owe you but by devoting my life to you ?— it is yours, is it not ? " WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. • 33 '^ Xo, sir; I don't know, sir, exactly how. I am sure I did nothing that deserves such — such thanks." Cherry's face was now covered with blushes. The poor child felt shy ; she had never been thrown in a gentleman's company before, and she did not understand him ; she felt ashamed of her ignorance, she washed so much she knew how to answer him properly ; but there was something in Mr. Treherne that frightened her ; that made her heart throb so sharply that it seemed half to suffocate her. It w^as no doubt, she thought, because he w^as a gentleman, and she but a poor, uninformed girl, but it provoked her none the less. She thought him, too, so handsome ; she fancied if he were only ugly she might have been able the better to hide her awkwardness and stupidity. '' Then, when your father married, what became of him ? — he did not remain at Gib- raltar, I suppose?'' asked Cyril, not noticing the girl's confusion. , "()h, no, sir; my father's ship was only there for a short time. I don't know where he went ; but my mother remained in service till — ^till I was goinii- to be born, and then she went liome — " VOL. I. D *')4 WILL IS THE CAl'SE OF WOE. '^ To Seville — and you were Lorn there ? " ' ' Yes ; and we remained there three or four vears : till father wrote to m\ mother one day, and told her that he had left the sea, and got put on to tlie Preventive Service, and that we were to take a ship at Cadiz and go to Plymouth. So wo left Seville and came here, and m}' poor mother died ill tlie spring that followed her first winter in England." ^'Ah, this confounded climate of ours has killed more than her, Cherry. Poor little girl ! you must not look sad. Such 2:)retty eyes as yours should never glisten with anything but joy; they ought never to have tears in them." And as he spoke Cyril held out his white, well-shaped hand towards Cherr}', who was looking out of the ^^dndow, far away into tlie past, where the history slie luxd related luid taken her back into scenes and seasons that were well-nigh obliterated from her memory. She did not see the hand held out to her; perhaps if she had she would not liave under- stood it. . " Do you refuse to give me your hand. Cherry ? " He spoke as he niiglit have done to a child. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. oO ('lieny turned lier great Ijrown eyes on Cyril ; the sight of him recalled lier to her- seH. '^ 1 beg your pardon, sir; I did not hear you ask me to shake hands ; but — you 're not — going, sir, are you ? " The girl rose as slie spoke, and gave her little hand into his, a contrast in colour as well as in size, for .she had inherited from her mother the beautifully shaped hand and foot that is common amongst the Andalusians. " Xo, I am not going." He took lier hand and lield it. '^ If I could always have so kind and pretty a nurse it would make me satisfied to remain here for ever." He spoke without thought ; he only meant to show that he appreciated her care. ^^Have you ever been away from here, — I mean, to London ? " ^^ No, sir; I liave never been ten miles bevond Prawle Point since I arrived liere twelve years ago." ^' Not even to Plymouth ? " ''No, sir; never since the day we landed in England." '' Have y(ni man}- friends ? '' '' I sometimes hear from a brotlier of my mother's ; but I have forgotten Spanish, and so 36 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. I cannot read his letters, and I have to wait till father meets some sailor who is Spanish, and that can read it." "• I don't mean relations ; I mean friends — acquaintances ? " ^^ Oh, I know everybody hereabouts." A twinge passed over Treherne's face, which made Cherry ask if he were in pain. ^^ No, I am in no pain — it 's nothing.'' But he let the little hand drop, and Cherry- went back to her chair and her needlework, and there was no more talking till John Finch returned. He brought but scant news. Jim was there, in the next room. Two bodies had been recovered ; one was that of Tait, the skipper, the other the cook. The 3^acht was a perfect wreck ; it lay there on the rocks, with a tremendous hole through the side, and another through the bottom ; pieces strewn in all direc- tions — clothes, china, glass, pens, boots, shoes, linen, pieces of stone bottles, everything that could possibly have been on board, and that could not melt, was lying far and wide over the rocky shore for more than half a mile. Nothing had been saved ; nothing but the three men escaped destruction ! The morning was calm and bright and beautiful, rendering the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 37 liavoc created by tlie previous night's storm more sad to witness. '^ Xow, sir," said Fincli, '^ I think we ought to let madam know you 're s^fe. Shall 1 send Jim up to the Court, sir ? You see, madam Avon't forgive me if I don't let her know. Or don't you think you might di'ive home your- self this afternoon. Master Cyril ? " ''Not to-day. Finch. I will go to-morrow; ])ut I feel very battered about, and the drive might, perhaps, force me to remain shut up for two or three days, if I were to attempt it ; but to-morrow I shall be all right. You will let me remain here till to-morrow. Miss Mason ? '' asked Cvril, turnina- his face towards Cherry. '' Oh, certainly, sir ; you "re welcome as long as vou feel unable to move or feel inclined to — to stop, sir," replied Cherry, colouring up and stumbling over her words. She was surprised at his addressing her as Miss Mason, especiall}' after the little conversation they had had on the subject of her name. '' I would rather, then, that you went to the Court, John," said Cyril, ''instead of Jim. He '11 Avant to go home, 1 suppose ; besides, some one must watch b}' the wreck, so that perhaps he had better remain. He can send a o8 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. message by you to Sandcombe, and you can forward it on to his people." '^ Oh, sir, my fatlier is sure to see to the wreck for you," said Cherry^ 'Mie 's accus- tomed to wrecks." ^' Tliat 's true enough, miss. I believe, sir, that Mason has already taken care that a proper watch is over it, but I '11 tell Jim ; I doubt me but he '11 like to stop ; and I '11 go off to madam at once." ^' How will you go, John ? " "On my legs. Master Cyril, to be sure. I '11 be tliere in a little better than two hours from this, I '11 be bound." "■ Old Simpson has a trap, if you would prefer driving over, Mr. Finch," said Cherry ; '^ and he'll be glad to let you liave tlie loan of it, I 'm sure." '^ Thank you, miss, but I '11 like the w^alk." " Be sure and tell my mother I am quite well, and only fear a little — cold; yes, say cold, John, it will be better than talking of bruises and pains and a cracked head." " All right, sir ; I '11 make it smooth." And John Finch left the room to do his errand ; l)ut he had not left the rooni five minutes before he returned and asked, '' Is the close carriage to come for you to-nu)rrow, or — well ? WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 39 I don't think there is an or left : you must have it." '' T supjDose so, John, but empty — mind that. Don't let my mother be inside it. Ten miles in a close carriage with that dear, u'ood madam, and just after I have escaped being sent somewdiat hurriedly into the next world, is more than my nerves or my temper could bear." '' All right, sir. The close carriage — empty. It shall be so, or it won't be my fault." ^' How strange," thought Cherry, ^' that he should not like his mother to be with him I I wonder wliy ? " And the y(jung girl looked up at the man, who in a few hours had caused her to wonder more and to be more puzzled than she had •ever been in all her seventeen years' expe- rience. C}'ril 'I'reherne was buried in momentar}' thought, and did not see those large, strange, startled eyes watching him. In repose his face was very handsome — a face to make any one ponder over it. The Inroad white forehead, wdth thick curly fair hair around it, the clear blue eyes, that could look so earnest and thoughtful one moment, and tlie next full of the mischievous merriment of a boy, the well- 40 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. shaped nose, tlic beautiful moutli, and whitCj. oven teetli, partly hidden by a small moustache, made the sailor's simple-minded, innocent, ignorant daughter think, as he lay there and she gazed at hini, she had never before believed any one could be so beautiful ; and she was not the first who thought so. Cherry's first defined feeling for Cyril Tre- herne was fear ; a timidity arising from his being of a different class to that with which she had hitherto been accustomed to associate. She had often done for others as much as she had done for him, but never for one in his position. She had noA'er before come in con- tact with a gentleman, and so she felt that shyness that amounted to fear which young girls in her station do feel for those they know to be so far above them. Then, after a little, a feeling of regret arose that after the morrow she would never see him again ; he would go, awa3^, and she would know no niore about him. Regret gave birth to a desire that she might be his servant, that she might wait on him, attend to all his wants and wishes, think wliat he required before he had time himself to do so. He looked so handsome. It was the sheer beauty of the young man's face that attracted the girl ; she never once thought whether he WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 41 Avere g'ood or not. His face was of that type that one sometimes sees depicted in a painting ; notliing remarkable as to intellect, but never- theless strano^elv fascinatino-. The more she gazed the stronger became the charm, till, sud~ denly recollecting his words to John Finch, she said, making an effort to break tlie spell she felt o'ainino^ a masterv over lier, — '' You don't feel any pain, do you, sir? You said something about making the excuse of having a cold rather than say you suffered pain." Cyril started at her voice ; his meditations had taken him home to Treherne Court, and he was picturing to himseli the confusion there would arise when John Finch declared his errand. There were others besides his parents to whom tlie report of his death would be a terrible blow ; he trusted no rumom^s of the wreck would be spread till all particulars were known. ^^ Did }^ou ask if I suffered })ain ? Would you be sorry if you thought I Avere in pain ?" '' Sorry, sir! " exclaimed the girl, the colour rising, and her red lips quivering slightly ; ^' how can you ask such a ([uestion ? ■' '' AVhy, little one, you had no need to tell me of your Spanish origin. How easily you are moved I Your Southern blood shows itself 42 ^ WILT. Ts Tin: catt8e of woe. liotly enougli, and docs not seem to be tem- pered by a drop of English ! " ^^ I like to hear that, sir," exclaimed Cherry, looking up, softened. ^' I love my father A^ery dearly ; but I have a sort of deep, wild love for my mother's memory — a love that makes me worship everything connected with her or her coimtry — a sort of feeling that, I think, to visit her home, and to sec her brother, 1 could •even leave my father ! But I am talking non- sense, am I not, sir ? " she added, smiling, and looking very pretty from the momentary ex- citement. She was generally so placid and •calm in outward ap])earance. ''No, Cherry, I do not call that talking non- .sense — " '' There 's ni}^ father come home," she said, interrupting him, and at the same moment she thought how (juickly the morning had passed, and how idle slie had been ; there was the shirt very much in the same state it was when she began to mend it. '' Her mother's memory is, up to this, all that has filled the girl's heart ! " thought Cyril Treherne, as he sank again into a day-dream, Oherry having gone to prepare her fatlier's dinner. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 43 CHAPTER III. Standing on an eminence, and commanding a splendid view of Sandcombe Ba}' and the wave-beat rocky coast of that part of South Devonshire, is the house where Admiral and Mrs. Treherne resided. Its position and the building itself were very imposing. Built of the grey stone of Cornwall in the time of the Tudors, it stood out nobly amidst grand old trees that were the pride and delight of the admiral. They were now slowly bursting into life, and a pale, fresli green tinge spread over the splendid beeches that formed the finest avenue in the county. Spring is always too slow. We pine for the young leaves to gain strength and colour ; we watch the flowers that seem so long in bud, so backward in flowering, and wonder when the cold winds will cease, and the warm sun help nature forward by making its appearance. 44 WILL LS THE CAU8J-: OF WOE. Trelierne Court had been in tlie family for two liundred years, and tlie house dated back to 1505. l^efore the time of Admiral Tre- herne's ancestor, from whom he dated his descent, it was royal property, and was con- ferred on Colonel Treherne by Charles I. in 1642, as a reward for brave and valorous con- duct at Edgehill in that year. Admiral Treherne was the second son of his father, and it was not till his elder brother died in consequence of an accident while hunting that he left the navy, and, at his father's desire, settled at home, and turned his attention to wife-seeking. He was at this time about forty years of age, and held the rank of commodore. He had liad his periodical attachments, having fallen in love on every occasion of his return to ■England, and at most stations abroad where his ship was stationed for more than a week. Going to sea invariably had the happy effect of healing all wounds caused by sweet voices or soft eyes, and so he came home heart-whole, and perfectly ready to marry ; though then he, never having been in earnest, was more easily satisfied than now ; or it might have been that his father, a good man, and a thorough-going English gentleman of the old-school type, wear- ing knee-breeches and a blue coat with brass WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 45 buttons, made liim feel that to fall in love was one thing- and to many another. Old Mrs. Treherne, who rarely interfered in anything" outside household matters, hoped her boy — her only one now — would choose a Cliristian wife^ and she ventured to hint that she knew one who might suit, if she but succeeded in pleasing her darling. As her darling seemed anxious to please botli father and motlier before any one else, he ventured to inquire who the lady might be tliat was considered worthy of being the future mistress of Treherne Court, and was slightly disappointed on hearing Miss Morgan, the eldest daughter of Dean Morgan, was the best selection his mother could make. ''She's so d — d righteous ; mother!" ex- claimed the commodore. ''Hush, Imsh, Thomas I " said his motlier. ''You must give up that shocking habit of swearing sailors are so fond of, and speak simply, letting your yea be yea, and your nay nay." "T think then my nay will be nay, motlier, in this instance. 3Iiss .Morgan goes in so preciously for tracts and prayers that I don't think I could swallow it all." " But you won't liave to swallow anything that I can see, Thomas," said the squire, 46 WILL IS Tin: CAUSE OF WOE. '^ except a good fortune, wliicli won't do poor dear Trelierne any liarni ; there are many im- provements you might make if you marry a woman with money, and you must be content to leave it as it is if you don't add to your fortune. Rebecca Morgan is a fine young woman; aou might do worse, Thomas." " Well, father, if you and my mother like it, 1 will see if 1 can get up the steam and say something decently civil to Miss Morgan when I next see her. There 's no hurry, I suppose, about it ; next year will be time enough ? I can hardly 3^et realize that my life is really to go on as it does now, and that I must cruise on land for the future instead of on the sea.'' However, at the end of a }'ear Miss Rebecca .Morgan became Mrs. Thomas Trelierne, and ]ier twenty thousand pounds helped but very sparingly for the needed improvements at the Court, Avhile her tracts and prayers went very liberally to upset the daily peace and quiet contentedness of its inmates. The old squire and his wife were compelled to knock under from sheer want of moral courage, which often, after a certain age, ceases to exist with sufficient vigour to enable the old to battle with the young. So Mrs. Trelierne gradually acquiesced in the orders WILL IS THE CAU8K OF WOK. 47 that were issued by ]\Irs. Thomas for not only cold dinners on Sundays, but early ones also. The squire cared less about it than his wife, as- she cared on his account as Avell as her own, he, man-like, but for himself. As to the com- modore, when he found ilie tone matters were about to take, he managed to have very frequent engagements on Sundays, and he was therefore often to be seen at a riotous mess on board some of H.M. ships stationed off Ply- mouth, instead of being at liome and allowed to pass the day in comfort and respectable tranquillity. " If Thomas won't let me save his soul alive, the sin be on his head and not on mine ! " the young Mrs. Treherne was wont to exclaim, alluding to her husband. ''My dear, try a mediLim course," would suggest the old lady. ''There are no half measures to be taken with God," she would sternly retort. " To the devil only are they acceptable." Upon which her nujther-in-law sighed and gave up the attempted contest. Rebecca used such plain, hard-sounding expressions. About two years after this ill-judged mar- riage Mrs. Thomas presented her husband with an heir. For a week or two, therefore^ 48 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. the old Court seemed to resume its former aspect, with good dinners on Sundays, and at an hour when people like to eat them ; but this little holiday was soon brought to a close. Mrs. Thomas was not a woman to give way ; she was soon in her place again, working dis- comfort to all around her. Not even the baby could give her sufficient occupation to stop her from reading tracts aloud till the old -couple fell asleep, and she had driven her husband out of the room. There is no doubt their daughter- in-law shortened the old squire's life and liis poor wife's by some years, and but for the baby boy they must have been worn out sooner stilL It is a cruel thing that people, under the pretence of religion, are permitted to hunt tlieir fellow-creatures to death ; but this is not the only authentic case on record whicli it lias actually been done. The old squire went first. He had borne it the best in the beginning, but in the end he gave in entirely, and was crushed b}' the never- ceasing oppression that was brought to bear upon liim. He had to listen to three chapters from the Old Testament and the Psalms of the day before he dared sip a drop of tea in the mornina'. He was allowed to be seated for that; but at night, before going to rest, he was AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 49 obliged to go down upon his knees, and knees at seventy-six are not like knees with a lesser weight of years to bear. Tracts were found on a table beside liis bed, and after his death ^The Trail that Pollutes/ 'Look Up, the Churchyard 's Near,' and ' Milk and Honey for the Elect' were found under his pillow. His death was the last blow to his poor old wife. She died a week after. There was no need to regret thein. They were better off anywhere in eternitv than down here to be w^orn and fretted day after day by frightful prognostications of unknown horrors being their dower in the other w^orld if they did not do everything that was most repulsive to their inclinations in this, and never do anything that to an ordinary intellect seemed to be but an innocent and harmless pastime. The coast was now cleared for the smooth sailing of all Mrs. Treherne's religious notions, and they were such as at times to baffle the ingenuity of the commodore in his endeavours to escape from some prayer-meeting or other equally obnoxious entertainment. The boy was, of course, being brought up to his mother's views. The child l)ogan the day by a chapter being read to him and then VOL. I. K 50 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. thoroughly explained; after that he said his prayers, and they were such as to j^uzzle the brain of a boy three times his age. Then came the family prayers ; then the Ijoy was permitted to eat his breakfast. As soon as he was old enough to offer opposition to this method of bringing him up, he was generally missing at the hours that were set apart for devotion, which for him were three times during the day, — that is, before each meal. ^' I would rather go without my dinner, if I might go without my prayers," he said, one day, sitting on a chair, swinging his legs, and with a dogged expression in his face. He w^as always a pretty child, but his expression was becoming sour and sullen-looking. " Better go without your dinner for ever, Cyril, than forget to pray to the good God who gives it to you.'' " But I don't forget to pray, you take precious good care of that ; but you make mo sick of prayers, and pa too, he hates them as much as I do, and a bit more, perhaps ; then, he can sneak off ! " '^ Hold your tongue, Cyril ! If you show any more of such wicked feelings I will shut 3^ou up in your room for a week, and give you WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 51 notliirig but bread and water, and }'our Bible to read," said Mrs. Treherne, solemidy, '^ and then you wdll learn to love prayer, instead of talking of it as you do now." " Shall I, though ! A nice way to make me like a thing, to slmt me up with it for a week ! Why, I should hate toffee, jolly nice as it is, if I had nothing else for a week. Wait till I 'm big, that *s all ! I'll go to sea and never pray at all— and it '11 be your fault. Where 's pa ? " ^^I don't know, you bad boy I You ^^ill break my heart, I am certain you will ! Come, Cyril, don't talk of going to sea, there's a darling child ; you know I have but you, and yet you talk of leaving me." '' Then don't talk to me of prayers ! '' And so it used to be till Cyril Treherne was sent to Eugby, and thus for a time escaped the tight religious rein his mother loved so clearly to hold all within that she came near. But her early training sowed the seeds of irreligion, a dread of Sunda}', a horror of famih' prayers, and, from sheer opposition, a love of wrong instead of right ; and what, notwithstanding the strictness on the one point, helped to sow the seeds of a character not of a very desirable type was the blind indulgence with which he UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI.S LIBRARY 52 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. was treated in all other matters. Not a desire imgTatified, not a wish unfulfilled. No matter what the boy did, his mother found an excuse for him, and his father was too indolent, or perhaps too indifferent, to check him. Besides the man and the child had one grievance in common, one subject on Avhich they heartily agreed and that often drew them together, when perhaps common sense or some degree of dread of what the boy's future might be would have induced the commodore to stay him in his wilful, headstrong faults. They both hated the system Mrs. Treherne ado23ted wherewith to rule her household, husband and child included, for she did rule them both, after a fashion. As time went on and Cyril was able to be more of a companion to his father, he absented himself less, especially on Sundays ; this comj^elled him to put up with the cold one o'clock dinner. And with advancing years, so did his indolence increase ; this became worse still when he awoke one morning to find a letter, with the long-expected news that he was an admiral at last ; for, determined now to take life as easily as ])ossible, he became lazier and more apathetic than ever. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 53 Altogether, the training of Cyril during his early years was not the best fitted for any child ; and one less endowed witli good natui^al qualities would have been irretrievably ruined. Yet much that was fine in his character was destroyed ; he could not fail to be selfish when he found that everything and everybody was made to give way to him ; when hardly big enough to stand alone he was let catch flies against the windows, pull off their wings, and then crush them to death in his small fat hand; he was never told this was cruel, was never checked in an}^ jDastime that dealt harm and pain to others, and perhaps afforded him but little pleasure in return. It was not till his mind became enlightened by growing years, that he restrained himself; and then he felt inclined to rebel against the blind indulgence that had been lavished on him. Fortunately before the seeds sown could bear much fruit, or even have taken very deep root, he was sent to Rugby. He soon learnt that Cyril Treherne at Treherne Court and Cyril Treherne at Eugb}' were two very differently situated beings ; and so, as most of us do under a similar condition of affairs, finding he could not get his own way 54 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. by bullying or talking big, he gave in, and kept his bad qualities well in the shade. Thus, after a little, the boy became a favourite. He had two essentially good j^oints ; he was generous and had a good temper ; moreover he was very manly, very brave, and was handsome — handsomer than any other boy in the school ; so recognized was the fact that he had the sohriquet of Beauty Treherne. He was a thorough gentleman; Cyril could do nothing mean, as understood by boys ; he never told tales, and often, to save a boy from punishment, would allow himself to be considered the culjDrit. His religious duties at school were so trifling compared wdth his home experience that the question ceased to worry him till he again came within the shadow of his mother's system. At Eugby he found lie could do a lot of things whilst prayers were read, little amusements that occupied his fingers, which w^ere hidden from the master whilst thev knelt, and so prayers were over before he knew any- thing about them. Religion Avas made eas}- — by comparison— at school, w^hereas at home he looked on it as somethinir w^orse tl nuisance. .^ ,, ^ .iian ^^^LL is the cause of woe. oo When mil parents learn tliat forcing religion do^\ai a child's thi-qat is a terrible mistake, and is a certain way of driving them to use deceit as theii^ sole refuge to escape what has become intolerable to them ? and the probability is, it will lead to a future that few mothers or fathers would dare to contemplate. Yet how many secure their children's temporal destruction by theii' terrible system, however little (fortunately for the families of those who think as did Mrs. Treherne) they may have power over their hereafter, which, according to their way of vie win o; it, must inevitablv be all fire and brimstone ! Cyril Treherne left Rugby with tolerable honours for a boy who did not require to study for the sake of pushing his way on in the world. From Eugby he went to Oxford, where it so happened he fell in amongst a set of men whose views were so liberal that they passed the limit usually placed by broad thinkers. Thus he had but little chance of arriving at those medium opinions which on all subjects are, as a rule, the safest and surest. When all Cyril's studying and reading days were over, and he returned to Trelierne (jourt for good, he was of an age, and had seen 56 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. enough of the world, to take a decided tone with his mother on the vexed question of his childhood and boyhood. He had a good heart; but by his mother's mismanagement it belonged more to his father than herself, and after his father in his affections came his great, big St. Bernard dog, Lion. His mother worried him ; her very love for him bored him, and it was too much trouble to him to hide it. Truly she had not a happy way of saying or doing things ; she generally had the ill-luck to mar most matters she attempted to interfere in. Some people have a knack of spoiling every- thing, even with the best intentions. Cyril had always been in the habit of sleep- ing in a room exactly over Mrs. Treherne's ; but one day, soon after his return home, he expressed a desire to change it, so that he might have a room communicating with another, which other he wanted for a ^^ den," wliere he could smoke without annoying any one by the smell. This was not feasible in the jDart of the house he had hitherto occupied. Another reason for his desiring a change was that now his mother could hear him go in and out, and he had a dislike to the idea of being thus watched. Now in the west wing there ^VILL I>S THE CAUSE OF WOE. 57 were the rooms exactly suited to him, and he jiroposed to have them fitted up, and remove into them. It was settled, and nearly completed, when Mrs. Treherne one morning, just after break- fast, in sj^eaking of the smoking-room, said, — *^ And it vnll be so nice for me, dear Cyril, because, though I can't hear you as I used, I shall be able to see you." ^^ Just what I would rather you couldn't do, mother; and so, if you please, I will go to the east wing, where I can neither be heard nor seen, and, moreover, I can have a key to let myself in with at any hour by passing tlnough the tower." ^^ But, Cyril, m}' dear boy, you surely do not intend to stay out at night without my knowing it ? It could only be evil that could induce you to do so, and I shall always be glad to sit up for you, my dear, and, of com^se, all the servants shall ; so pray, dear, don't — " ^^ Don't bother me, mother." '^ Oh, Cyril, if I could but make you see things differently ! If you would but follow our Lord and jVlaster's glorious examj^le, and be subject to your parents ! " 58 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '^ For Grod's sake, madam, stop tliat Immbug ! I can't stand it, and won't, that 's more. I '11 go to sea, and you shall never see me agahi if I am to be bullied in — " ''Don't, Cyril, don't!" whined out his poor mother, whose religion, staunch as it was, was not jDroof against her son's threats of going to sea. "I w^on't say another word, dear; go where you like, stay out as late as you like, and do what you like, — only don't leave me!" And the fond, foolish woman went up to her idol, and put her arms round him and tried to kiss him ; but Cyril was out of temj^er, and he turned away, then jumped up, and so prevented her. A sharp pain, like a needle piercing it, passed through her heart, and with quivering- lips she went out of the room. She was already reaping pretty richly the fruits borne by her method of training her child in the way she thought he should go. The admiral was always silent on these occa- sions ; but, when alone with either after, he usually said, in his bluff, straightforward way, if to his son, — ''You're hard upon your mother, boy"; or to his wife, — "Can't you leave the boy alone ! he is old enough to go WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 59 out and come in when lie likes, and to choose his own companions. You '11 drive him away if you don't leave off that sort of canting- talk. It did when he could not helj) listening to it, but it 's different now." This remonstrance generally brought do^vn a Avholesome reproof on the admiral, of which, however, he rarely heard a word : he went on reading his Times, heedless of the voice that Avas preaching sound doctrine with an earnest- ness worthy of the cause. 60 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHArTER IV. There was a fair proportion of society in the neighbourhood of Sandcombc, — some good old families, many of them wealthy and fond of entertaining, so there was no lack of dinners, with balls occasionally, and carpet dances frequently during the winter, wliilst in the summer many pleasant liours were passed at archery meetings, croquet parties, picnics, and so on. l^lymoutli, too, was not at so great a distance as to prevent social communion with it. So that Mrs. Treherne had no fear of Cyril getting weary of the Court on the score of dulness, still for all that it was very evident he wanted something more than that he had. He rarely Avent out without coming back what his father called discontented, his mother thoughtful. One day he and his father were walking together after dinner, up and doAvn the beautiful beech avenue, smoking- their cigars, when Cyril said, — WILL LS ^ITE C.M'SE OF WOE. 61 '^ I wislj 1 had g-one in for a profession. I wonder, fatlier, you never put me into some- thing-. Your father did yourself ; it's horribly stupid to bo doing nothing." "• You forgot I was a second son; it made all the difference. The moment my poor brother died, however, I left the service and came home. You are an onlv son, and tliereforc have no need to do anything." "Yes, I liave; for the sole purjjose of floing something." '' Well, beg-in now ; it *s not too late." " What, at three-and-twenty ? " ^^ Aye, or at three-and-thirt\', if }'ou have the inclination." '' But I am t(jo old, sir I " said Cyril, testily. '^You're tor) old for tlio arin\' or the navy ; but there ar(^ other professions. There is the i]ar and—" '^ The Church I Y(,'s, that would be a fine thing. Would not madam go crazy ? " And father and son joined in a laugh at the idea of poor Mrs. Treh erne's joy at such a step being contemplated. ''1 should have to study too long for the Bar," he continued; "and so I .should for anything, indeed." ^'Well, you have plenty to interest you, 62 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. surely, and to occuj^y you too, what with hunting, shooting, fishing, yachting, and no end of jDarties." ^^ Yachting! I have precious little of that How can I, without a yacht ? I don't like always accepting a fellow's invitation and never asking him in return." ''But you can ofter hospitality on shore to any extent." '' Oh, that's not the same tiling." ' ' Then would you like a yacht of your own ? If so, have one. I will give you one, and go in her with you on your first cruise." Cyril thanked his father warmly, and they now turned their conversation to the best way of setting about the purchase of their new toy at once. It is hard to say which was most pleased, father or son, for the old Admiral seemed suddenly to have regained some of the energy of past times, at the A'ii^ion he conjured up of once again being on the rolling deep. The thought of a profession or ''something to do," simj^ly for occupation, was alread}' forgotten by Cyril, and it was only on their Hearing the house and seeing Mrs. Treherne standing at the mullioiied window of the breakfast-room, a room which, being smaller than the re?t, they usually sat in in the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 63 evenino' when alone, that they recollected she would be probably as sorry to hear of her son becoming the owner of a yacht as she would liave' been gladdened by the news of his Ijecoming more orthodox — a necessary prelimi- nary to his adopting the Church as his pro- fession. But, as Cyril saw no cause for his mother's oft-repeated dread of the sea, he blurted out his news at once. Poor Mrs. Treherne natu- rally turned round on her husband, and what Cyril termed pitched into him for having led her boy into doing what he knew she had always declared the ver)' idea of was sufficient to nearly break her heart. ''You knew he had a fancy for the sea, }'ou knew it as well as I did, and yet you do the only thing that is possible now to enable him to gratify it. Why, he might as well bo in the navy as have a yacht ! '^ '' How can you talk such nonsense I Don't you know I was years away, and sometimes without being heard of for months ; and now the outside he will be absent will be a week or two ; he has no desire to go round the world. Besides, you must not expect to keep him tied to your apron-string all his life." ' * I don't want to keep him tied to anything. 64 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. But there is no use arguing with you. I only know I am a miserable woman ; but ' whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth ' I " '^ Well, my dear, that is a very consolatory statement ; but," he mumbled to himself as he left the room, '' I would just as soon believe God can love me without the rest." So the yacht was bought — the ill-fated Marguerita, as pretty a craft as ever floated, fitted up to perfection, like a lady's boudoir. A sybarite could not have desired anything better; and Cyril, all impatience to test her powers, determined to make the usual hackneyed tour that probably every yacht ever built in Great Britain has made some dozen times. His father felt as much delight on again feeling himself pitched and tossed and rolled about as any ^^oung sailor on his first voyage who was unconscious of sea-sickness. The old admiral and his son spent a very happy three weeks, and regretted much when they put into Sandcombe Bay on their return home. During their absence, poor Mrs. Treherne })uzzled her brain to conjure up some new pastime that would divert her son's thoughts from this senseless yachting, as she termed it ; and finally, in utter despair that her own WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 65 intellect would instigate lier to discover the right thing, she resolved to consult her dear friend, Mrs. Henderson. The thought no sooner suggested itself than she determined to follow it, and, ordering her carriage she went off at once to Sandcombe House, the residence of that lady. Mrs. Henderson was the widow of an Indian €ivilian, who had, as many did at that time, made a large fortune, and left it to his wife and daughter, an only child, now, at this period, about six-and-twenty. Mrs. Henderson loved money and titles and grandeur of all kinds very dearly, but Mrs. Henderson was nevertheless a very religious woman, and she and Mrs. Trelierne called themselves bosom friends, though they were never heard to speak too well of each other; this is not very un- common amongst very dear and religious people. Sandcombe House Avas about three miles from Treherne Court ; the drive was very jDretty, through narrow lanes with banks yellow and purple with primroses and violets, till you came to a steep hill ; on the top there stretched away a piece of table-land, well sheltered on all sides but the south ; on it stood the house, which was large and well built, but nothing VOL. I. F 66 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. noteworthy in its architecture. Mrs. Hender- son fixed on Sand combe as a residence from its peculiarly mild climate. When Mrs. Treherne was announced, Mrs. Henderson and her daughter were sitting in the drawing-room, which opened with French windows on to the lawn. The room, if not pretty and to every one's taste, was remarkable as being furnished and decorated with every- thing Chinese, even to the paper on the walls. Mrs. Henderson was a thin, wiry-looking little woman, dark, active, and sharp, always neat in her dress, and, but for the tall daughter by her side, she might have been a spiteful .old maid, to judge simj)ly by appearances ; but she was not really ill-natured, though she had the mis- fortune to not only appear so, but for many to think her so. This prevailing opinion arose from those strange religious princij^les that in some unaccountable manner sour the sweetest temper and harden the gentlest heart. You cannot s^Deak well of people of whom you think ill, and if you are Methodistic you can- not fail to think ill of every one who does not share your ideas and convictions, and as — thank God, for it — Low Church views are not universal, but are, on the contrary, confine4 to but a handful of people, so to speak, it stands AYILL IS THE CAI:SP: OF WOE. 67 to reason that bitter things are .said and sharp arrows sent at random, but generally striking the most sensitive, by this charitable sect, that believe themselves to be the only real Christians. Miss Henderson was a fair specimen of her kind, as Cyril Treherne was of his, of tlie in- fluence such bringing up has on the heart and disposition. Being a girl Harriet Henderson could not kick, either metaphorically or in fact, against her mother's mode of educating her, as Cyril liad. She, on the contrary, from her ear- liest childliood, took to it kindly ; it seemed to suit her narrow mind — or, we may do her an in- justice : her mind was narrowed, and then she rather liked the system. Her heart was never permitted to expand, except for herself, so there could be no blame fairly attached to her if she displayed a want of generosity for others. But she w^as a vu^tuous, conscientious Clnristian w^oman, as the lieverend Samuel Snape, minister-in-chief of the Methodist chapel at Sandcombe, had said ; and what gi^eater praise could a mother of the Henderson type desire ? Mrs. Treherne was greeted with a quick, sharj) embrace from her dear friend, and equally affectionately by the daughter ; only one might, if a mere looker-on, have fancied 6S WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. Mrs. Trelierne had been guilty of some mis- demeanour, for w^liicli Mrs. Henderson was intending to admonisli her, but tliat was her manner only. She began, cordially enough, — ^' What a warm day ; but how kind of you to drive over ! I wonder, now, if you came to have a chat about this new project of dear Mr. Snape's in connexion with our branch of the missionary society ? " ^' No, my dear ; I have not seen our dear Mr. Snape for some time; you must tell me all about it. We may feel sure that whatever Mr. Snape suggests the Lord will help in carrying out, for he is truly one of His elect, and he is so good and so humble, and sets such a blessed example to all his poor, erring flock." ''Yes, indeed he does!" chimed in Miss Henderson. ' ' Only yesterday I heard him tell little Tommy Rose to go home and tell his mother that he must stop her allowance alto- gether now, as he was obliged to contribute all the money he had in liand to send out good men to teach the wicked heathens about Christ ; and when Tommy cried, and said his mother would die, that kind, good Mr. Snape shook the little fellow till he nearly tumbled over, and then told him it would be a blessed privilege if the Lord allowed his mother to starve, because WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 69 of the money that had hitherto kept her alive going to so great and grand a purpose. ' Better the body to ^^erish than the soul ' — so beautiful, wasn't it ? and he said it in such a lovely tone. And Tommy, of course, was con- vinced, for I heard him afterwards telling Freddy Day that Mr. Snape ' wouldn't eat no more, nor nobody else, till everybody believed in Christ.'" ^^ It would be a heavenly consummation if Tommy's words were true. I suppose, then, Mr. Snape is getting up a subscription ? " asked Mrs. Treherne. ^' To be sure he is, my dear," replied Mrs. Henderson. '' The dear, good man's wish is, to fit out and send from Sandcombe, entirely at his own expense, two missionaries ; and if he do he gets a medal, or something of the sort, fi'om the Society. I have given a hundred pounds, and Harriet fifty. I think he Avants five hundred." '' Five hundred, to fit out two men only ! " ^* They have to live when they get there, and there is their passage, and — well, I don't know, but Mr. Snape does, and he is sure to be right. I dare say he will explain it to you if you will have any doubt as to the correctness 70 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. of his estimate of the expenses, but I should not like to ask him." Mrs. Henderson spoke more sharply than usual, and Mrs. Treherne, not beino^ in a con- tradictory or quarrelsome mood, let the in- tended reproof pass, and turned the conversa- tion to her own affairs, which for the moment, at any rate, interested her most. '' I want your advice, my dear Mrs. Hender- son. I came over to-day to talk to you about my dear boy. I am very anxious about him, and I know no one whose opinion on all sub- jects I value more than yours." ^^My dear friend," exclaimed Mrs. Hender- son, enchanted, as most people are when tlieir vanity is flattered — and nothing succeeds better than asking advice — '' if in my poor way I can help you or comfort you, believe me, I will. The Lord will direct my lips aright." '^ You know, my dear, my son has long shown that he lias the same liking for the sea his father had as a young man ; and I have been most terril)ly distressed by the admiral's having encouraged him in it to the extent of his giving him a yacht. Imagine the good the money spent on that foolish vessel Avould have been to Mr. Snape ! I would not have cared liad it been spent in a handsome drag and four fine WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 71 horses ; but a ship ! and for wliat ? — to take him away from home. Now, my clear, I want to find something that mil wean him from this senseless and profitless manner of j^assing liis time, and I have come to ask you what you think will be the best way of succeeding." '^Get him a wife; marry him as soon as 3^ou can/' said Mrs. Henderson, sharply: ^'a wife of your way of thinking, one who will view the great question of faith as you do ; one whom you can guide, and who will be amenable to your Tvashes ; one who has been brought U23 to look ujd to parents as beings sent by a merciful Father to \ie\]) and direct children, and to whom obedience is due ; one who has learnt to love prayers and good works better than operas and balls ; one, also, Avho has a fortune sufficiently ample to marry into your family, for, as you know, my opinion is that in this world money is as necessary as breath is to life." '" But where am I to meet such a paragon as you have drawn ? Look around at our circle ; it is truly a large one, but where is there a gii'l to be found such as you describe ?" Mrs. Henderson hemmed and liawed a little, and then turning to lier daughter, who during this discussion had kept lier eyes intently fixed 72 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. on a piece of embroidery she was supposed to be working, but whose thoughts, having travelled more rapidly than her mother's words, rendered her lingers incapable, she said, — '^ My dear, kindly go to my room and look over that list Mr. Snape brought me yesterday, and see if I did not promise to go and read to poor Mrs. Dawson this afternoon, and to take some tracts to Billy Brand ; I think he leaves to-night. Just see, my dear; and, if I am right^ will you attend to it ?" ^' Certainly, mamma," replied Miss Harriet ^ dutifully, and at once rising she left the room. '' I could not speak before that dear child so freely as I wisli ; but it has more than once flashed across my mind that she would make your son exactly the right sort of wife. By his marrying a true Christian his soul may be saved; for you know well, my dear friend, painful though it may be for you to dwell on it, that ^^our son has strangely wrong views, and there is no time to be Avasted if he is not to be lost eternally; Think of the everlasting torments he is storing up for him- self in the next world if lie do not see Christ in this ; if he do not let himself be washed in His precious, cleansing blood!" Mrs. Treherne, with all her deep-rooted Low WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 73 Churcli A^ews, did not care to hear of her son's short-comings and probable sufferings in the next world if he did not mend in this, so she interrupted her dear friend, and said, some- what snaj^pishlj, — '^Well, young men will be young men, and I do not think my son is worse than any other. I know he is hot tempered and obstinate in his opinions at times ; but, no doubt, when a man ceases to be a boy he will form his own theories and have his o^\m convictions." ^'Dear Mrs. Treherne," now broke in Mrs. Henderson, thinking she had gone a little too far, and would lose her prize before she had fairly won it, "it is because I have such a deej) affection for dear Cyril — as I must still call him — ^that I spoke as I did. You must feel that I could not possibly have entertained the thought of my Harriet ever becoming his wife if I did not think he had the germ of good in him, and that it only wants a gentle, tender, womanly hand to lead him into that narrow but blessed path that will conduct him to glory. But, come, tell me what you think of my suggestion." '^ I think well of it, my dear friend, if we can bring it about. I know how good dear Harriet is, and I am sure she would make Cyril more what I wish him to be if she once ":ained 74 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. influence over liim ; but there is the difficulty. However, we can but try, and it will be a good Avork, so we may hope the blessing of the Lord may rest upon our ])oor endeavours. We are but helpless, short-sighted children ; we must pray, my dear; we must humble our- selves before the throne of Christ and implore His help and guidance." ^' My own feelings, exactly!" whined Mrs. Henderson; and then, recollecting she had a large stake in the balance, she bethought lier- self to suggest that the young people should be brought together as soon as possible. She did not, with all her faith, entirely cast aside material aid in the shape of human con- trivances for advancing her desires. ''Come and stay with us, my dear Mrs. Treherne, and j^erhaps the peacefulness of our daily life, our simple habits and early hours, may draw the wandering sheep again into the fold. Oh, how blessed will be the day when we can exclaim, ' Now is there joy in heaven for the sinner that has repented' ! " Mrs. Treherne could not be outspoken, or she might have said one or two unpleasant truths to her dear friend. It is not agreeable to hear your own child — and an only one — called a sinner and a wandering sheep. And as to WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 75 Cyril going to stay at SanclcomlDe House, lie would as soon pass a week or ten days inside the county gaol. So Mrs. Treherne answered, in a mild tone, — ^^ It is very kind of you, very kind indeed ; but for dear Harriet's sake it might be better if you came to Treherne ; besides, we should ])\it you out of your usual quiet ways : men in a house make such a difference." ^' Oh, it would not in the least disturb us, I assure you," replied Mrs. Henderson, never for n moment intending to be put out of her ordinary ways for any one, ' ' not in the least ! Still, if you would like us to go to Treherne, I will, of course." And so it Avas agreed that as soon as the Marguerita returned to port Mrs. and Miss Henderson were to go to Treherne. Whilst diiving home, though tolerably satisfied with the result of her AT.sit, some conflicting thoughts arose which slightly upset the <3quanimity of Mrs. Treherne's mood. In the first place she liked neither Mrs. nor Miss Henderson in her heart. She thought the mother took too much on herself, gave forth her opinions in a set-me-down sort of manner that was most offensive ; gave advice when it was neither asked nor wanted — though in this 76 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. instance she did her the justice to admit she had sought it; and, lastly, she thoug'ht far too well of herself to be attractive to others. As to the daughter, she was precisely what her mother hud made her : prim in manner and ajDpearance, thinking that every one, saving her mother and herself, ran fearful odds of being damned, that talking good was quite as advantageous to her own soul as doing good, and that wholesome advice went, in the sight of God, as far as wholesome food — what it went for in the sight of the hungry recipient was not worth considering. And this was the girl Mrs. Treherne was consenting to accept as. her son's wife ! At any rate, she would give him other chances, she thought, as she drove in at the beautiful old ivy-clad archway tliat led through the beech avenue up to the house. And then, after all — she went on to think — Cyril could choose for himself. She had not compromised him in any way; he need not marry Harriet Henderson if he did not like, and something assured her — and it was not an uncomforting assurance — that he would not like. Mrs. Treherne ended by being vexed with herself for confiding in Mrs. Henderson, and fidgeted and worried till she had arranged in WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 77 her mind to invite the Howards and Thorpes and St. Anbyns, and one or two of Cyril's favourite friends, and so have the house full for a week. ^^ Surely,'' thought the poor perplexed mother, ^^ he will take a fancy to some one; and if all are not such perfect beings as Miss Harriet is, they are most of them certainly more attractive," and perhaps, she continued to aro^ue, under her care and direction the one chosen may turn out as pious and good as she could desire. The next day Mrs. Treherne received a letter from the admiral telling her that she might expect them home on the following Saturday ; so without delay she sent off her invitations for the Monday succeeding. ^'If Cyril would only marry one of these Howards, I think I should be happy," thought his mother, as she sealed the letter that asked all the family to come. '^ Or Miss Thorpe," she continued, as she concluded her letter to that young lady's father. Any one, in short, but Harriet Henderson ! 78 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTER V. As Mrs. Trelierne did not like to choose the Sabl)ath day for the discussion of the following- week's entertainment, she kept her husband and son up till the hand of the clock pointed to within a minute or two of midnight on the Saturday of their return home, to confer with them as to how their expected guests were to be entertained. '' Why, motlier, wliat 2)ut it into your head to ask all the county in this way ? If you had only waited till Ave returned home and con- sulted us about it ! It 's a horrible bore ! I '11 go off on Tuesday in tlie Marguerita," said Cyril, leaning back in his chair and tilting it backwards and forwards on its hind le^s. "Well, well, boy," remarked his father, ''you need not be put out; as your mother has asked all these peoj^le, we nmst not desert WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. i \} lier ; we must try and help lier through with it ; always stick to your colours, you know." And the admiral laughed a good-natured, forced laugh, for he saw nothing funny ; but he loved peace, and would buy it at any price. ^' And they are all such nice people," chimed in Mrs. Treherne. '' As to that," mumbled her husband, ^^ it's a matter of opinion." "Why, admiral," cried Mrs. Treherne, who could always settle her husband, however diffi- cult she found it to deal with her son, "you know you think the Howards charming girls, and every one thinks Miss Thorpe so pretty that, of course, you must do the same, and the St. Aubyns, one of our oldest families ; really, admiral, I am astonished you should attempt to say it is a matter of opinion." "Well, I am astonished myself, my dear; but still, is it not a matter of opinion ? How- ever, you have asked them all, and so we must do o\iY best to make their visit agreeable." "And — the — the Hendersons are coming too," said Mrs. Treherne, very hesitatingly, and looking sideways at her son. ' ' Those d— d Methodists ! Why, motlier— " " Hush, Cyril I How shocking to hoar you swear in that dreadful manner ! Don't do it, 80 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. Cyril ; it makes my blood rmi cold, and I feel afraid of going to bed." ''My swearing cannot possibly hurt you, mother," said Cyril, unable to refrain from laughing; ^' but I won't do it," he added, '' so clon't look so d — so awfully frightened. And, as I am not afraid of going to l)ed, I am off, for I am horribly tired, and so must you be," he continued, turning to his father. Cyril thus, so far as he was concerned, pu.t an end to any further discussion by leaving the room ; but the husband and wife arranged as best they could to give their guests a fitting welcome, and to have two or three large dinners during the week they were to be at the Court. Mrs. Henderson and her daughter were the earliest arrivals on the Monday. They were evidently very confident and perfectly satisfied with the plan they had drawn out for the assault on Cyril Treherne's heart and fortune. '^Remember, Harriet," were Mrs. Henderson's instructions to her daughter as they neared the house, ''remember, you are not to heed his irreligious talk, and even hide your own feel- ings : to save his soul you must risk something; so appear to agree with him ; if he scoff at our dear Mr. Snape, laugh a little too ; you must Avait till you are his wife to let him become WILL L^ THE CAUSE OF WOE. 81 acquainted witli all your great and good qualities ; and the Lord mil reward your obedience to ni}' word. Avoid as much as joii can all talk of praters or prayer-meetings, or any of those subjects we know he hates; and — here we are, my dear. How my heart beats I May the Lord hear my prayers, and may you leave this house but to retm-n as its mistress I '' Miss Harriet listened ; but on the whole she did not feel quite comfortable ; the advice her saintly parent had tendered her seemed, to say the least of it. ([uestionable. She was too simple-minded, or perhaps not }et Snape-ridden enough, to accept it as she ought : however, she bore it in mind, and had she had the chance, or it had signified, she probably would have followed it, for the best of us are always more apt at wrong than right. There is an inde- scribable charm in doino- what one feels one ought not to do, in seeing what is forbidden, in going where none are permitted to tread, in hearing what none are allowed to know ; tlic very prohibition suffices to create desire. But Miss Henderson had no cliance ; her tall, thin, prim person was only noticed as a kind of set- off to others more favoured in appearance and manner. She was wanting in savoir dn'c and sacoir fairc. It must be admitted she liad to VOL. I. G 82 WILL 18 THK CAU8K OF WOE. contend with formidable rival.s. The two Howard girls were handsome, dasliing- — a little fast — London hred beauties, not over amiable, tliinking a great deal of themselves and very little of others. Miss Tliorpe— Willie Thorpe-^ was altogether a different style ; she was a thorough type of a well educated, A\'ell brought- u]) English girl. Gentle, loving, unselfish, sweet-tempered, with a Hebe face, her red, full lips when parted showing her fine, even, pearly teeth, and her joyous, merry girlish laugh, were Avorth a fortune to see and hear. What a lovable face it was! Her dark l)luo eyes, her clear complexion, neither fair nor dark, her soft brown hair, which she wore in a thick roll coiled round her small, well -shaped liead, her face rather round than oval, her pretty nose, the least degree retro 'issc\ lier little hands and feet, her slight, graceful figure — -she Avas not tall — the wliole formed a picture such as tlie severest critic woidd delio-lit to look on. An onl)' child, the idol of her father, wluj was a, widower, she had never been h^ft to be ruined l)y either servants or governesses, for she was with them only when necessity requi^-ed it, and never during her leisure moments. Mr. 'J'horpe was a Devonshire squire* with a tolerable fortune and a ver\' prett}' place a WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. R^> few miles from Trelioriie Court. He liad lived almost entirely abroad duriiio- his dau<2^1iter's eliildhood. He could not bear the thought of having a resident governess ; he had tried it Avlien iirst her education was beginning, and found his home ceased to be one but in name, his child was so rarely with him ; so he shut up Yardley Wood and taking Willie and the ser- vant wdio had been with her from her birth, he resolved to remain on the Continent till such time as liis daughter could return and head his table and keep his house Avitliout other super- intendence. So between Paris, Dresden, and Florence, which they made respectively their headquarters for educational purposes, they remained abroad till Willie had completed her seventeenth }'ear. Then Mr. Thorpe resolved to return once more to liis liome, and there remain till death put an end to any farther questions on the subject. But Vhomme j)ro2>ose ct Dieu disj)()Se^ and events occurred which overturned Mr. Thorpe's proposed ])lans for peace and rej)Ose. Sir Gilbert and Lady St. Aubyn, witli their only son, (Jharles, an old colleg-e clium of CatII Treherne's, were in no case likely to cause any rivalry amongst the assembled guests at the Court, as Lady St. AubMi, though she had (S-l: WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. been a beauty, was one no longer, and only attempted to claim attention when dowagers were at a premium. She was the daughter of a man who was supposed to have a large for- tune, and was sought after accordingl}', but when it came to the closer question of £. s. d, the aspirants for some reason withdrew ; yet for all that she married very well in the end, and money was forthcoming, — in a smaller degree, it is true, than w^as expected, still she had not so bad a fortune for a girl who had, moreover, two sad defects — her hands were large and red and bony, and her voice lui- musical. But Sir Gilbert, an ordinary kind of man, yet rather conceited, thought her per- fection, and only saw her pretty face ; one eye was shot awaVj that might account for his de- fective sight, though both his ears Avere in order. However, they got on very well, and were very proud of their only son, a good-natured fellow, witli no great amount of brain to boast of, and w^ith a difficulty in pronouncing the letter x, which generally he turned into th ; but he w^as an eligible, being heir to a good old baronetcy and a fine estate, Stanmore Park, about six or seven miles from Treherne. There were, in addition to those already named, two or three men, Major Kingsford, WILL LS THl-: CAUSE OF WOE. So Captain Mayiie, and Captain Tluu-ston, plea- sant, agreeable fellows for filling- up (Kid corners and to talk nonsense, dance, sing, or at any rate turn over the nmsic, play round games, and ready to be useful as well as ornamental. They came over from Devonport, where the}' were stationed. Though all the guests knew each other more or less intimately, the first evening passed oft' rather heavily. They had been unfortunately l)laced at dinner, and they seemed obstinately to adhere to each other afterwards in the same ill-matched couples. The admii-al, Sir Gilbert St. Aubyn, and ]\Ir. Thorpe were standing on the rug discussing the weather and the eifect of it on the crops ; C}Til entertained his listeners about his yacht and her matchless beauty ; the Miss Howards sang and played duets ; Captain .Mayne succeeded in getting ]\Iiss Thorpe to look over a sketch-bo(jk Avith him ; and Charles St. Aubyn talked unintelligible rubbish to jMiss Henderson. Tlie three matrons were discussing dress, a subject Mrs. Henderson thought frivo- lous, and almost injurious to the Christian mind. She never Avore tlowors — imitation flowers; she thought it wicked. She always dressed very plainly on ])nnci|)lc, mid of course Harriet did the same. 86 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOK. '' I tliiiik it ver>' shocking," she said, looking at tlie grand disphiy of flowers and laces on the dashing Miss HoAvards, '' for girls to dress in that manner. Look at their liair, too — why, it is quite dreadful ! Where is the sinijjle In-aid- ing of the hair, tlie modest apparel, the shame - facedness and sobriety that St. Paul tells us is necessary in a woman professing godliness?" '^ ]\[v dear Mrs. Henderson," replied Lady St. Aubyn, who did not quite like a reproof to others that struck home to herself, for she was a handsome dresser, ' ' depend on it St. Paid never saw a decently dressed w^oman in his life, and so did not the least understand wliat he w^as talking about." Now Lady St. Aub}^n was a very good wonuin, 1)ut not one of the elect according to the ideas of her two listeners, and both these ladies put their hands up to their ears as they heard her daring to speak of St. l^aul in so monstrous a manner. To them it sounded almost l)lasphemous, and, after a "hush" from botli, ^Frs. Henderson went on to say, — " St. Paul is the greatest master after Iris Master that we have ; all he says is inspired ; all he teaches beautiful in the extreme. ( )h, dear Lady St. Aubyn, do not speak flippantly on sucli mighty subjects ! " WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^< '' Wluit, dress ? Dear me, I w(jiilcl not sj)eak flippantly about it. Look, ]\Irs. Treherne, at that pretty Willie Thorpe. Wiat a lovely face slie has 1 " said Lady St. Aiibyn, determined to ^lose the discussion on St. Paul. '^ She has, indeed," replied Mrs. Treherne; '' but slie is too foreign in her manners to please me : and she is not the least shy. I like to see young girls shy.'' ''So do I,'' joined in Mrs. Henderson, •Mnodest and silent. WhA' do they call lier Willie? it^solikeabov!'' '"^ Her poor mother's name Avas Wilhelmina, and she was always called Willie, and when .she died Mr. Thorpe resolved the child should be named after her. Willie Thorpe is not shy n(jr is she silent ; Init she is modest and gentle, and thoui>-h educated abroad is as free from all that could be thoug-ht forward or unnuiidenly as any girl I ever met vdth in all my life. She has all the prettiness and fascination of foreign manner without any of its drawbacks. And surely her dress is simple enough to please you, ^Mrs. Henderson, or even St. Paul himself." Mrs. Henderson, however, did not hear the latter part of Avhat Lady St. Aubyn had said, for her eye caught sight of Cyril Treherne standing by her daughter and talking to her ; 8S WILL IS TJIi: CAL'SE OF WOE. he liacl not done that with either Miss Thorpe or tlie Miss Howards, and lier heart beat with pleasurable hopes. She looked at Mrs. Tre- lierne, but she was talkhio- to Lad}' St.. Aubyn. Presently the music ceased, and the clock struck eleven, and then there was a general move, candles were lighted, and the ladies ascended the broad, old oak staircase, and when they were quite out of sight the gentlemen went off in another direction to the- billiard-room. Mrs. Henderson was very furious at tho interruption. She questioned her daughter vey closely as to Avliat Mr. Treherne had said to her, and she did not feel more amiable on learning that he was merely extolling the beauty of that detestable little thing Willie Thorpe. A day or two after, when all had shaken down into an easy friendly footing, and Cyril seemed quite to have recovered his annoyance at liis mother having invited people to the house without consulting him, she was standing in the dining-room looking over the hatches, matches, and despatches column in the Times, waiting for her son to come and arrange with her what was to be the order of the day ; as on the previous evening a picnic to the High Rocks had been suggested, but he WILL IS THE CAUSE OE WOE. 89 Lad bog-rrecL lier to sav no more about it till he had talked to her himself. 80 when breakfast was over she waited for his coming, which he did at last, full of spirits and looking so joyous that his mother wondered what had occurred to give rise to so much 23leasur(\ " It's all right, mother, avc are going to the High Rocks; so 2)lease have some hampers pre- pared," he said. ''We had better start about elcA'en or a little after, we shall arrive about half -past (me, and with a couple or three hours there we can be back at six." " Wlio is going? " asked Mm. Treherne. ''Oh, all, I suppose; but T really don't know : aou can see about that. I will drive Miss Thorpe in the pony-carriage, and I think it would be a good plan to order the barouche, it will take four, and one on the box, and then the saddle-horses ; and let those who can't find room stay at home." '' But Cyril, my dear, do you think Miss Thorpe will like going Avitli you in the Jjony- earriage? You know you cannot take any one else, it will only hold two." "That's just the reason: yes, she will go with me — she has just promised." "Oh, very well." Mrs. Treherne made her answer in rather an 00 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF VYOE. absent tone. 81ie was wondering, as slie spoke, Avliether that l)riglit, laughter-loving' girl would be a suitable wife for her boy. She wondered. Parents are always wonder- ing and hoping, Avishing and praying, and all to no purpose ; }"oung j)eople follow their own l)ent, be it for apparent good or palpable evil, and none cmi stop tliem. Cyril Treherne tliought he had never seen anything more fas- cinating than the lovely, lovable face of Willie Thorj^e. Her piquant Avinning manner, her utter disregard of what are termed ilie rules of society, Avhen they in any way clashed Avitli lier childlike yet gentle, pretty ways, made every one like and admire her. There w^as not a man at Treherne who did not think her the most attractive and eliarming girl he had ever met, but it was so e^ddent after the first evening tliat the }'oung squire intended to try his best to win her, that out of iniro courtesy they resolved, at any rate whilst they Avere his father's guests, not to run in the same raccAvith him. And Willie lierself Avas ready to receiAX^ all his devotion ; frank, free, AA^arm-hearted, and im23etuous, she let a liking for Cyril take root, Avitliout casting one thought as to the Avisdom <^>f doing so ()!' not; ami had slie possessed the WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOK. 1)1 experience of years, which will .sometimes make a Avoman pause on' the threshold ])efore opening her heart to kjve, she coiikl but have admitted Cyril Treherne to have Ijeen a very eHoible voung man — a good match for auA' girl. But had he been in a different position, had he been jjoor and a nobody — a thorougli detri- mental — she would n(jt have cared, she would have given him lier little lumd, and her large, true lieart, with perhaps a greater feeling of .satisfaction, if possible, than now. But beyond a little quickening of the })ulse and a brighter hue on the cheek, Willie Th()r2:)e knew nothing as }'et of what love meant. 81ie thought Cp-il very handsome ; she thought his voice soft and musical when lie si)oke to her, and his l)luc eyes full of ex])ression ; and she liked him to be with her ; in short, there was nothing a1)out him that she did not lik(\ and the future ncAxr troubled her. Cyril could l)e ver}' fascinating; he knew it, and he exerted himself to be so to the utmost now; so no wonder the drive to the High liocks was very delightful, and whenever Mr. Thorj)e caught sight of his darling's face, as occurred once or twice, he following with Sir Gilbert St. Aubyn and ]\[ajor Kingsford in the dog-cart, he thouglit how radianth' happ\' she lookiMl, 92 WILL 18 -rHE CAUSE OF WOE. and perhaps a hope crossed his fond heart that his treasure might pass througli the storm}" era of a woman's existence Avithout those sorrows or regrets that most of them are called on to endm-e. He wondered, as Cyril's mother had done a few hours before, if he would be a suit- able husband for his onh' one — ^liis sole earthly treasure. He knew in a worldly sense he was all a father could desire, Ijut was he a man likel}^ to secure her happiness, not for a week or a day, Init for life ? and then he resolved to watch liim carefully, and to learn all he could concerning him, especially his character as a S(m. So on thev drove, and at last thev readied that grand pi-ece of wild rocky coast near to Bolt Gaol, that artists have made familiar to us all. It was a beautiful day ; the sea was calmer and bluer than its wont, its ripples sparkled in the bright sunshine, the white clouds studded in patches over the blue sky, like 2:)earls of all shapes in enamel, and just enough of them to make the heavens seem of a deeper hue. The High Itocks stood out dark and majestically, for the tide was low, and being so calm the water scarcely touched them. The carriages and horses were left in charge of the servants just beyond where the sand WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 93 bet^in.s ; deep, soft Stiiid, so unpleasant to walk on, but wliich must Ije tramped through before the hard pleasant ground is reached, which was a mass of firm, even ridges, telling of the soft ri])])ling waves that liad washed over it, for a rouo-h, boisterous sea leaves smooth sands. Tliey walked down all together to the water's edge. It took time for the party to separate in twos and threes, besides, luncheon liad to be gone through. ^^ Stupid work, eating ; isn't it, Miss Thorpe ? '' remarked (^'aptain Mayne, a hand- some young man with black haii-, fair sldn, and pink cheeks — sometliing like the wax heads in a hairdresser's sho}|. ^' I don't think so," replied that ^^oung lad}', whose drive bad given her an appetite; ''that is, if you are hungry." ''I thought young ladies were never hungry."' '' Oh, indeed! Of course I can only answer for mvself: but 1 am hungry three times a day. What a stupid nu\n ! " thought Willie, walking away, and stooping to pick up a shell. '' How excessively matter of fact she is ! " thought the captain. Then there followed anr)ther remark ; it came irom the eldest Miss Howard. ''What a terrible flirt Miss Thorpe is! 1 1)4 WILL IS THK CAl'SE OF WOE. Avoiidcr if it arises froin licr foreign 'educa- tion." '^ It arises from the want of a mother's care," said Mrs. Henderson. "Well, certainly," remarked Miss Mary How^ard, turning to Lady St. Anbyn, who was chajjeroning the two sisters, their mother not raring to join the party, " a mother's care has pretty well crushed out any flirting proj^ensity, that is proA^erbialh' inherent in wonuui, in ]\Iiss Henderson, has it not ? " Lady St. Aubyn smiled. Then, turning to Mrs. Henderson, she said, — ^' You are rather hard on Willie Tliorp(\ She is as little given to flirting as any girl 1 = 'ver saw. She is natural, if you like." " Well, then, flirting is natural, that is all ! " said Miss Howard. " What are you ladies talking about?'' said Cyril, coming from behind the largest of the High Rocks, where he and i\[iss Tliorpe had l^een superintending tlie spreading of the luncheon ; and not waiting for a repl}', he con- tinued, '^ If you are so disposed, will you come and take something to eat ? " In a few minutes all, even Captain Mayne, were doing full justice to the contents of the w^ell-filled hampers, though one or two were WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 9'> not sorry when luncheon was oxer, and they were able to stroll about and enjoj the wild and grand scenery around them. '' Let us agree to meet here at four o'clock," said Cyril, ^^in case we get parted. It is now a quarter to three, and I have ordered the car- riages to be ready by four." All assented, and in a few minutes the}' wore on tlie move in fours and sixes. It required a little time to wander away in couples ; it wa.s accomplished very rajiidly, however. When both are willing it is easy to separate from the rest, so Cyril and Willie soon found themselves alone, scrambling up the sides of rocks that at a little distance seemed almost impossible. '' Give me yom^ hand, Miss Tliorpe," said Cxril, being a little in advance of liis com- panion. And the girl gave her hand, wdiich was lield in a firm grasp, till the}' both reached tlie summit, and then, looking down into her bloom- ing face, he asked her if she felt tired. "Not in the least. I am so fond of this sort of excursion and I so enjoy rambling about that if even I were tired I should not feel it; besides, I am accustomed to climbing, though I do not think I displayed any wonder- ful capacity for it just now ! " 96 WILL LS THE CAU8K OF WOE. There was silence between tlieni n(jw for a few minutes ; a l3usy silence, though ^ for the mind was so active that they hardly knew themselves whither their thoughts were leading them. A ^^ilence more dangerous than any spoken words. At last it Avas l)roken l)y the girl, who, looking up, witli a merry laugh in her deep-blue eyes aiid on her lips, said, — ^' Really, ^Mr. Treherne, you are so quiet that I am afraid I am boring you to death. And do you sec where we have placed our- selves? — look at the sea! The tide is rising, is it not?" '' It is indeed. But we have plenty of time. Let us sit here a few minutes longer, and enjoy this peace and calm. You Avere not boring me. Miss Thorpe," continued Cyril, as she, comply- ing with his request, sat doAvn again, whilst he half sat, half lay at lier feet. " You Avere not boring me, and you know it. I Avas thinking of you." Willie coloured up, and her eyes fell, mor<^ at the tone than the AA^ords. She made no ansAver ; for tmce the tongue that always had a read}' reply found nemo noAV. She played Avith the tassel attached to her parasol, tAAdsting it round her little gloved hand till the glove looked as if both it and ihc finger must get cut. Cvril WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 1)7 took it gently from her, and, moving a little nearer, lie held her hand for one moment in his. Then life said, — "Miss Thorpe, tell me yom- thoifghts now. What are they at this moment ? " '^I cannot tell you. They are stupid thoughts — not worth repeating. Something about the sea, and about the weatlier, and — about papa, and — I don't quite know wliat else." "You were not tl linking of me, then? 1 tliou2'ht vou were." "And so 1 was I " broke out poor Willie, touched by the humble tone and downcast look. " I was, and it was very mean of me not to say so at once, and vexy stupid, too. But — oh, Mr. Treherne, look at tlie 4sea ! Look where we are I What shall we do?" And as Willie spoke she sprang to her feet, and stood up on the rock, looking round with a blanched cheek and a beating heart. Cyril was by her side in a moment, and as quickly saw their position. The sea had advanced rapid!}', and tlioy were surrounded by it. ' " Good God I wliat madness made me forget as to wluTc I liad brouglit you I Never mind, VOL. I. H 9cS WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. Miss Thoipe, trust 1o me. Do not be alarmed^ there is no danger, only inconvenience." ^'I am not afraid," said Willie, putting lier hand on his arm in her terror, for ner Avords were belied by her looks. WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 99 CHAPTER YL ^' No danger,'' said Cyril Trelierne to his companion J yet his heart misgave him as he looked aromid and saw how they were situated. Perched on a rock Avhicli, at liigh tide, was a hundred and fifty yards out at sea, with several feet of water over it ; the waves, A\^hicli a slight breeze caused to roll in witli more than tlieii* usual vigour, were now rapidly nearing it on all sides. At best the}- must walk through enough of water to take them in ankle deep, and amongst rocks wliicli tlic}' must at almost every step come in contact witli. ' x\nd there was no time to he lost ; every moment rendered tlieir position more ])erilous, to sa\' the least of it. ^' You must trust yourself to me, ]\liss Thorpe, and I will get you safe out of this dilemma, hut we nmst move at once." 100 WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. ' ' Wli}'j of course wx must. But can't you get a boat ? Is there no one near who could hear you if you called ? Try — do. Why did you come here ? You must have known the tide Avould soon be up and surround the place, rendering it unsafe. Why, my boots will be wet through ^' Your boots I Yes, they Avill, indeed, mdess — you will let me carry you. Let me carry you, Miss Thorpe ! " " I shall not ! I am much too heavy; but }'ou said there was no time to be lost, yet you stand there talking." Poor Willie, both frightened and cross — cross because she was frightened — jum^^ed off the rock, held up her dress, looked at her pretty little French kid boots with regret, and bravely started to walk right into the sea. ^'Take your l)oots off. Miss Thorpe. I'll put them in my pocket." " No ; tliey are not valuable enougli for that," she answered, laughing, lier courage beginning to rise a little. " Give me your hand ; or take my arm, that will be better. The tide is strong, and it is not easy to walk through deep water." So' she took liis arm, and together they waded tln^ough the water, wdiich was deeper WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 1 01 than they had anticipated, the roughened waves bringing up the sea A^er}' rapidly. Ever}' noAv and then they had to stand stead}' and firm to do battle T^ith the receding water which threatened to take tliem back as fast as they advanced. They still had some distance to go, and Miss Thorpe already began to show symptoms of fatigue. Cyril saw it, but hardly knew what to do. He silently reproached him- self for his stupid folly, and began to feel anxious a*s to how it would end. She looked a strong, healthy girl, but she was but slight and fragile for all that. "Could I rest a moment?'' she asked, presently, feeling her strength failing, and a strange singing in the ears. " A Kttle f mother on — yes. Between those two pointed rocks, wdiicli are one at the l^ase, there is a seat, and once Ave are there we shall be tolerably safe, as at high tide the Avater is not more than a few inches deep ther(\ You look pale. You are not feeling ill, are you ? '' "Xo," she replied, faintly, and leaning heavily on Cyril's arm; " and yet 1 feel any- thing but comfortable. Those tAA^o tall rocks in front, do you mean ? Wliat a distance to go! And my dress is so heavy Avitli tlie water." 102 AVILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. Poor little AVillie, she was in a piteous condition; l)ut she struggled on courageously till within a step or two of the rocks, and then her strength gave way, and she fell sense- less into Cyril's arms. He was strong and powerful, fortunately, and he took her up, car- rying her to the rocks, and then he placed her on them in a lying position. A pleasant state of affairs, truly ! Not a soid within hail to help him. , He took the little hands in his and chafed them ; he removed her hat and pushed back her hair, smoothing it gently ; he called her by her name ; he j)ut his hand to her side to feel if her heart still beat; he was beginning to be desperately frightened, and very much in love. Supposing anything happened to her ! and a pang shot through him at the bare idea. How pretty she looked, he thought, even with \\\^ rosy lips and cheeks blanched, and the laughing blue eyes closed, though that but served to show the long, sweeping eyelashes. Yet lie could not stand there watching the beauties of the unconscious girl. He must do some- thing, and the only thing that suggested itself was to take her in his arms and carry her as best he could to dry land. He succeeded in raising her, nnd, Avith her head leaning against his shoulder, lie took her on through more WILL 18 THE CAT^E OF WOE. 103 water, till at last they reached a spot where the tide ceased to rise. And iiQw that he felt she was safe, so far as being drowned went, he became doubly anxious to obtain hell) when he found she still remained unconscious ; yet he could not leave her, so he sat by her with his arm supporting her, till at length she began to show symptoms of return- ing life. Her lips parted and she said some- thing, but Cyril could not tell what. He bent down his head to listen, and, as he did so, an irresistible temptation took possession of him to kiss that pretty mouth. And why shoidd lie not? he asked himself; it could hurt no one, for no one, not even herself, would knoAV it ; and so his head went down a little lower, and he pressed liis lips to hers, slowly, gently, almost timidly, as if lie feared to rouse her from her state of insensibility. But the temptation Avas too great; for a numient he gave way, for a moment human passion was stronger than reason, and C}^ril Treherne had never attempted, in great things or small, to curb his inclination ; and he took the half-conscious girl in his arms, held her to him, and kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her hair, till, struggling to life and to free herself, she brought him back to his sensc^s. AVillie Thorpe was too bewildered at first to 104 WILL LS THK CAUSE OF WOE. understand clearly what had happened ; and Av^lien she, by his own words, began to under- stand it, she was too confused and ashamed and ano;'ry to know what to say. '^ Miss Thorpe, forgive me I Willie, forgive me I I was half mad with fear and love. You are angry — what can I say ? I was wrong ; I know it ; but — forgive me — " Willie looked up. Cyril looked so penitent and so in earnest that the girl could not bear I dm ill-will very long; l)esides, she liked him ; she liad liked him, independently of this day's work, and her liking took another form during the drive in tlie pony-carriage ; her heart, for the first time, beat Avith a feeling very near akin to love, therefore she was not disposed ta feel hostile very long : moreover, she remem- l)cred he had saved her life, without one tliought arising as to liis having first placed it in jeopardy; so she muttered something; the words were not very distinct, nor was she very sure herself that she answered, but the tone and manner were more intelligible, and Cyril was satisfied ; and then, with a little more tenderness on one side, and a little more shyness (m the other, they appeared in view to the assembled jjarty as wretched a looking couple as it was possible to picture. WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 105 Mr. Thorpe was - terribl}' clistre.s.scd, and wa.s extremely anxious to get his child quickly back to Treherne Court. " It A^dll be a marvel if it do ]iot kill her; she is very delicate — ne\'er had wet feet in her life. Xo I no I not in the pony-car- riage,'' he said, as Cyril was j^utting her in; ^■^ let her go in tlie l)arouche. I dare say one of you ladies will kindl}' change places mth her y " '^My daughter will, with pleasure," quickly answered Mrs. Henderson. '^Harriet dear, go with Mr. Treherne in tlie pony-carriage." '^ And, Thurston, do you take the reins : I '11 go on the l)ox of tlu^ barouclie," said Cyril^ instantly. '' How dreadf ull}' wet you are, Miss Thorpe ! Why, you must be wet up to yoiu' knees," said Mrs. Henderson, who was very cross at the failure of her daughter's tete-d-tete with Cyril, and doubly so at having such a dripping mass against her silk dress. ^'I will put tliis shawl round me," said Willie, seeing the distress pictured on Mrs. Henderson's face, '^and then 1 shall not touch you. Don't look so gloomy, papa," she ccm- tiiiued, turning to lier father, Avho was standing at the carriage-door, seeing her safely packed 106 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ill. ^' You know sea-water does not t>ive cold ; I shall 1)0 all right to-morrow." And tlie}^ drove off, Willie Thorpe leaning hack and closing her eyes. She thinks over Cyril's kisses and Cyril's words ; then, open- ing them for a moment, she looks up at him, and closes them again, thinking how handsome he is, and what beautiful curly hair he has ; and, after all, she need not have been so angry with him ; and then she hojoes her father likes him, und will receive her news with pleasure : and so the drive was not so long, and they arrived at Treherne Court, and Cyril was by her side helping her out of the carriage and whispering something as she passed, of which she only caught the word ^'darling," before slie thought they were more than half-way home. A slight cold, a spoilt dress, ruined boots, and a heart lost and w(m, were the results of the picnic to the High Rocks, so far as Willie Thorpe was concerned. Hopes frustrated, dreams rudely shaken into reality, was Mrs. Henderson's portion. .Vs to her daughter, she was one of those blest mortals who thouglit, with Po])e, that "whatever is, is right," there- fore she did not really understand what dis- a])})ointinent meant ; and then there are people — and she Avas one of tliem — who are positively WTT.L IS THi: CAUSE OF WOE. 107 incapal3le of feeling anything more than the little palpitation of the heart produced by a sudden fright ; susceptibility is iitterh' unknown to them ; they even sneer at it in others, being thoroughly devoid of even a reflection of it themselves. 80 Harriet Henderson heard of the engagement between Miss Thorpe and Cyril Trelicrne with the same stoicism she would a })roposal from him to marry herself. Not so the Miss Howards: they tossed their heads and declared poor Willie to be a wretched little flirt, and that ]\lr. Treherne would soon be sorry for having made choice of such a childish, silly, empty-headed thing. It was two days after the picnic- that Mrs. Treherne summed u]) courage to confide the news to Mrs. Henderson ; and ]\Irs. Henderson, in rage and vexation, told dear Mrs. Howard, making her own connnents at the same time on the unfortunate choice C^yril Treherne had been f(K>l enough to make; and so it was that, within an hour after Mrs. Treherne first spoke, every one in the house knew the important fact. Cyril had t(jld his father the same even- ing, Avhen smoking their last pi])e togetlu^-, all the others having gone to bed. ^'Well, my boy, she is as pretty as the first flower in s])nng, and her father is one of 1()(S WILL LS THE CAU8E OF WOE. my oldest friends, so, as far as I am concerned, I can say, God bless you both, and the sooner you are married the better. I don't suppose she is sufficiently ' goody ' to please your mother, but if she please you, that is the main point." ' Mrs. Treherne was and was not satisfied. '' It would be better if she loved the Lord a little more, and dress and the world a little less," she said toiler husband. '' Of course, as far as family and fortune go, we may be satis- fied." ^^Uffhl and in eA^ervthine: else" muttered the admiral. ''She is good and gentle; and let us hope she is a long wa}' off from the next world ; there 's plenty of time to mend if any- thing is amiss with her." " x4l1i, but we must not leave till the eleventh hour what we — " " No, no, — that is, yes, yes, — 1 know all about it, my dear," and the admiral slij^ped out of the room. When Willie, stannnering and blushing, told lier father jMr. Treherne had asked her to be- come his wife, she explained, in a manner, that he did not actually sa}' those words, but she knew tliat was what he meant ; and that she thought slie should be ver}' happy always to be AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 109 with Cyril, and tliat she hoped lier father would like it, and that slie thought he had better speak to Mr. Treherne ; and she went on witli a few more remarks, with pauses in between, till, folding lier fatlier remain silent, and that she could not go on talking any longer without the help of a rejoinder, she began to twist her breloques about, and in her nervousness she broke oft* the forefinger of her little coral hand, a charm against the evil eye, which, in her girlish folly, she thought was a bad omen, and she looked up quickly at her father to see whether she read au2^ht in his countenance to bear out her fears. It Avas a sad-looking face, but she met sucli an expression of deep love that she instantly, following the promptings of her heart, went up to liim and, twining her arms round liis neck and kissing him witli tlie old fondness of lier childhood, said, — ^' Dearest papa, if you don't like him, if you are not happy about it, never mind ; I '11 give it up, and we will go home, and we ^^'ill forget all about it, and ' Treherne Court, and — and everythino^ and everybody but each otlierl" Bravely spoken ; but just at tlie last there seemed a difficulty in getting out the words ; as Cyril's face rose before her, her courage failed, but for all that she spoke distinctly ; and then 110 WILL LS TllK CA rsL OF WOE. she buried licr head on lior father's slioulder and tightened lier arms round him, as if by so doino- slie could kee]) l)aclv the tears she felt were welling- up. "• Ma^ own dear child ! '' murmured her father, ^' A our hap])iness is my only anxiety ; to secure it I would give my life, as I would to save a'ou from a heartache. But, Willie, marriatye is a serious thing ; it is the most important step taken in a woman's life ; by it you alter the Avliole teiiour of your existence. Your duties, vour liopes, yoiu^ fears, your affections, all — all become changed. You leav(^ your father'.s home for ever, or, at any rate, it is with that hope, as it is, generally s])eaking, but sorrow tliat brings a child back — tlu^ sorrow of death, or — worse still, the sorrow of disgrace. Then, again, your first thought, yoiu' hrst carc^ is, and ought to be, your husband : therefore, my precious child, it is neccsssary you should love that husband with all the deptli and intc^nsity of which you are capable ; and thougli 1 dare say nine out of every tvu girls tliat nuirry think tlie\' love, it is very rare but that cnght out of tliose nine discover, wlien too Inte, that tliere was more imagination tlian affoction guiding tliem. Moreover, love alone is not sufficient for a wife's happiness; to be secure she must WILL IS THi: CAUSE OF WOL. Ill resjjGC-t, lioiiourj and look up to the inau to whoiri she resigns life. Now, AVillie, before A'oii decide on becoming CVril Trelierne's ^Wfe, aWH you wait a year ? Will you, by so doing, test n(jt only your own feelings, but his also ? You know, my dear one, I never left a wish you ever expressed ungratified, and therefore, if you tell me now — after thinking over what I have said, badly said, poorly expressed, but my lieart is too full, too anxious, for me to talk to you as I could to another — after ponderino- over our conversation }'ou still prefer engao-ing- A'oursolf to him, I will n(jt oppose it ; onl}^ you must not think of marr^'ing till you have coFiipleted your eigliteenth year. I j)romised your mother, Willie, if you were spared to me, 1 would fulfil her wish in that ; it was one of lier dying requests to me, child, one that you Avill, I am sure, put no obstacle to mv ful- filling." ^'Dearest papal you ma}- depend on me. I will never do anything without your consent, still less go counter to your wishes. I won't engage myself for a year, and I will telT My. Treherne — or perhai)s you had better.'' ^Ir. Thorpe stooped down and kissed his daughter. Something like a pang passed through him as he thought that other li])s than 112 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ]iis would touch tliat jDrctty mouth ; the frcsli girlish bloom must soon ho bruslied off those cheny lips. But if Cyril proved worthy of so great a prize lie w(^uld not grudge her, and living at Treherne Court she would, at any rate, be near ; better far than for her to marry a man with a profession that might remove her from him altogether. These ideas flitted through his mind as he looked at the l^looming face of this, his earthly idol. ''Another reason, my Willie, why delay is advisable, independently of your age : you know very little of Treherne." " Oh, yes, papa, I know him better than any- one else you can name. Look at the numbers of times we have met, and how he always danced with me whenever we met at balls." '' My child, you have been home scarcely a year, and you have not been to more than two balls." '• Well, is not that enough ; and is not a year a tremendous time? I think so. Not that I w^ant to make you change about waiting, only don't say, papa, that T do not knoAv him. And don't you like the old admiral, papa ?" '' Yes, dear, I do ; and I think him as honest and upright and honourable a gentleman as I over knew. But tlie father is not the son." WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ll-S ^^ No, of course not : but he may be just as good." ''' Let us hope so. I not only hope it, but I have no reason for thinking otherwise. But, WilUe, those are not points you can quite understand how to judge. Leave all to me. And now I am going to ask you to give me a promise — -only one^ and not a difficult one ; at least, hitherto you have not found it so." ' ' What is it, papa ? of course I will promise you anything." It is never to have a secret from me till you iire a wife, no matter with whom or under what circumstances. Will you promise me ? " '' I will ; but 1 am not likely to have .secrets." ^^ You do not know ; we none of us can tell what may arise ; often tlie most improbable, unforeseen events take place, those we least anticipate, and are least prepared to meet. However, I am satisfied. And now, my dearest child, I will see Treherne and his father, and Iiear wliat they have to say. I may tell thciu you have acceded to my wish, and no engage- ment is to take place for another year ? '' Yes, papa." And Willie ran off to hor room, her heart brimful of happiness and ho[)e. There was VOL. 1. 1 114 WILL IS THE CAU.Si: OF WOK. I none of the overj^owering' joy that to be felt nnist liave liad doubts and fears, uncel'tamties and suspense, to contend against, where love has seemed hojDoless, where jealousies have been roused and nurtured. Desolation, misery, desjjondeney, almost to desperation, must have Ijeen endured first, if that overwhelming, stirring, tlirilling joy is to be felt ; but Willie's was a quiet, girlish happiness that dimpled her face witli smiles, and made her eyes beam and sparkle. After looking out of her window, and twist- ing and jJuUing some flowers to pieces that lay on ]ier table, then tumbling over her dresses, and upsetting ever^^thing that before had been in perfect order, she thought her father must luive had his talk out, and that she might go down. Why she should stay in her bed-room because her fatlier was probably in the library, was a question that never occurred to her. l)ut when she determined on going down, her courage failed he. Wliere should she go ? She might see Cyril, and that would be awkward, slie would not know what to say t(^ him ; and —she might not see him, and that would be worse. She would be horribly bored if she ]iad to talk on common topics, or about Mr. Snape and the missionaries, to the ladies. WILL L-i THL CAUSE OF AVOL. 115 Better stay where she was than tliat : no she recommenced the turning over of her drawers, and then looked to see what she sliould wear that night. For the first time in lier life she felt anxious about lier appearance : }'et there was no need to fear on that score ; her bright, beautiful face required little to set it off ; the quantity of rich 1)rown hair she had was suffi- cieiit ornament for the head, and her pretty i>irlish fio'urc looked "graceful in anvthini>- ; she was like a flower, and one perfect of its kind. Presently there was a knock at her door, and her maid brought in a note, that is, a wisp of paper tightly screwed up. ItAvas not from her father, she kneAV, so she felt it must be from Cyril. What a thing for a first love-letter! And the cut let it be •once a montli, if you like." V20 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTEli VII. So it came about that C} ail Trelierne started off in the Marguerita Avith the intention of cruising about for a week or ten days, and that on the third dav he came to arrief at Prawle Point, as we have seen. Mrs. Treh erne's sensations as she walked from the breakfast-room to the large Ioav dark groined-roofed hall, where the servant told her John Finch was waiting to speak to her, were such as to call forth sympathy, even by her sincerest ill-wisher. Ever}'thing as slie passed seemed to be swimming before her eyes ; she trembled in every limb ; a cold shivering feel- ing (^ame over her, her l)reath seemed suddenly tightened ; she knew she was to hear some- tliing horrible; she knew Jolni Finch had gone with his master in the Marguerita, and now he came back to tell her — what ? WILL LS THE CAl'SL OF WOE. 121 She was tliere before liiiu now, lii.s great burly form swinging from side to side, vnth his head — and hat in hand — all bo^\'ing together. She could not see distinctly, so she did not remark that his face l)ore rather a pleased expression than the stamp of ill-tidings. ^' Quick I Tell me at once. Finch — what has happened? All, the worst at (mce — quick, man ! '' But poor Finch was too surprised to be (piick. He had never seen Mrs. Treherne so strange looking before; it was a mystery to him what Avas wrong with her ; it never occurred to his thick head that his mere ap- peiirance there omened evil. ^^ The worst, madam,'' began Finch, ^^is that the beautif ullest little craft in the world is gone to pieces — right to smashes, and — " " And — well, quick ! — and what ? " If Mrs. Treherne could have sworn at John Finch, she certainly would, and it would have done her good. What was the craft to her ? she always hated it, and was indifferent to its fate. '^ And the young master is down at a cot- tage yonder; he 's all right, but shook a bit.'' '' There — that will do for a mouient. Stop a minute, Finch ; don't speak — thank God 122 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. tliaiik God! " And, puttiiio- licr liands to her face to liide tlie tears of o-rateful joy that woukl force themselves up, she sat down and waited a moment to recover lierself before she coukl conniiand her voice sufficiently to speak. "Where did you say he is, Finch, and where did it happen ? " Find I noAV gave a succinct account of the wliolc matter ; and, just as lie had concluded, in came the admiral from smoking his first pipe. " God bless my soul, what has brought you here ? '' lie asked. " Did you not go with Mr. Treherne after all ? " '" That is .so like you, admiral ! " exclaimed Ids w^ife, irritated at his not being alarmed as she had been, and glad of any one to quarrel with ; for after a great fright no one is amiably inclined. " First to take the Lord's name in A^ain, and then to take it for granted, because you scu^ Finch here, that he did not go with Cyril, lie did go, and a fearful accident has befallen theuL I told you yesterday w^hen the wind Avas hoAvling so aAvfuUy that I Avas afraid some CAdl Avould hap})en, but you pooh-poohed all I said ; I am ncA^er rjght — of course 1 am not — noA^er ! " And ]\rrs. Treherne's tears again rose to the .surface, ]>ut this time Avitli A^exation. She was WILL IS THK CAU8E OF WOE. 123 not a woman given to cry, but she liacl received a terrible sliock, and it certainly had upset her. For a moment the admiral looked anxious, but the next he was reassured ; nothing could have hap])ened to the boy, or his mother would not be blowing him up. '^' Well, John, what is it? You don't seem the worse, at any rate, whatever may have occurred.'' " How cool he is!" thought John, '^a regular one to ])ut people in their right senses when they go_ wr(jng. I thought he wouldn't care like madam." And so the admiral was misunderstood, as most people are Avho are unselfish enough to smother their feelings in order to save others unnecessary j^ain ; and though in this instance he was the only sufferer, his wife knowing all, he had through life made it a rule to hide any emotion that by indulging would cause anxiety or fear, so it had become to him almost natural. John Finch soon told him all lu^ had related to Mrs. Treherne. For a minute or so the three remained silent, then Mrs. Treherne said, — ''I will go over and see him. T nmst go, and at once, admiral. How far is it. Finch ? " '^ Well, madam, a(*ross tlie fields and over hedges 1 was a good hour and tln'ee-()uarters. 124 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. I don't think round by tlio road it can be less tlian twelve good miles ; and it 's late now, madam, and tlie roads are riglit bad about tliere, and with all this rain they be like a bog. Better wait to see the young master to-morrow; he is aM right, and got a sweet pretty nurse to look after liim. He begged me to tell you he had nothing but a slight cold, and if you Avould send the close carriage for him to-morrow em- — ^empty, madam — he doesn't like close car- riages, you see." Mrs. Treherne fortunately did not hear or heed the latter part of the request. 8he was hesitating about herself : twelve miles in a bad road, and with horses that were well fed and little Avorked ; night too v^ould come on before she could get back — and he was safe. ^' You are sure he is not hurt ? You are certain no bones Avere broken Avlien he Avas throAvn on the rocks ? " " Bless you, no, madam. The Avaves played at ball Avith him, Init he isn't tlie Avorse for it tliis morning." '' 1 Avill ride over, llebecca," said the admiral, in a kind tone, '' and I Avill re})()rt to you l)v dinner-time." He thought if he should like to see his boy his motlu^r mi^-ht Avell be excused for a similar WILL LS THE CAU8E OF Woi:. 125 weakness ; at the same time he saw the impos- sibiHty for her to go now ; the day was too far advanced, and the roads w^ere not iit for their carriage, if it were to go at any other than a foot-pace. ^'Take the do^'-cart, sir; voii '11 <>-o faster, I think," said Finch. ' ' Very well ; go round and order it for me : tell them to make liaste. You return with me, I suppose '? " ^^ Oh yes, sir, I am going back, of course." ''Now you see, admiral, wdiat mischief you have brought about b}' encouraging Cyril in his taste for such senseless and dangerous amusement. Oh, how I wish Mr. Thorpe would let Willie marry at (mce ! and then he w^ould stay at home and give up such reckless folly." "I don't believe he would I " muttered the admiral. He had a peculiar way of muttering wdienever he sjjoke, as if he had his mouth too full of words — an easy, good-natured sort of in- distinct nnnnbling ; and yet one generally understood him. '' I don't believe any number of wives would keep a man on land if lie have a liking for the sea." '' You gave it up, Thomas." ''JBut I had had some hve-and-twenty years 120 AVILL TS THE CAl'SK OF AYOl]. of it, — 1 luid liatl quite euoii<;'li of it; still I eiijovcd 111}^ tri]) tlic other day with the boy immensely." '' Oh, men are all alike I " sighed Mrs. Treherne : " self first, and then whatever comes hest next ; it may he shooting', it may be limit- ing, or it ma [J be the wife, but she rarely comes> in second I " ^'Well, Avell, yow have nothing to complain of, at any rate. Here is tlie cart, so I '11 be oif , It is 2^ast two now, so do not look for nie bef(n'e six or half jjast. Good-lne, old lady; don't iidget ; the boy is all right, de})end on it." It was a rare occurrence for the admiral to speak affectionately to his wife — people do not as a. rule after a quarter of a century of matri- mon}-^ : but their child's esca])e was a connnon joy to them ; and joy, like sorrow, Avill cbaw hearts together. So he left Treherne with a warmer feeling at his heart for his wife than he liad felt for many long years. Tlie drive was not an easy one ; more than once the wheels of the light dog-cart got into ruts, and threatened to jolt Finch ofP: he sat belnnd — a perilous seat for any one not accus- tomed to it, especially with such roads to go over. But sailors have a ])eculiar knack of hold- ing on to anything; though they are wretched WILL IS THE CAU.SE OF AVoH. T J < lior.senien, they are rarely thrown ; so Fiiicli sat there as if he were screwed on. ^'There's the cottage, sir/' said Jolm, as tliey reached the high ground where stands the Httle village of Shelton, and from whence you can see far across the broad oj^en sea, with the picturesque coast. The A^llage is wild, straggling, and uncultivated, with nothing of interest about it but the little piece of ground, where, as I have alread}' told you, lie so many of those who have met their death amongst the rocks below. '' How can we reach it ? There seems no road," said the admiral. '' Yes, sir, there is. You must drive between th(jse two cromlechs ; and then we nuist go over that turnip field, which will take us on to a kind of road that leads up to the cottage." '' Ugh! — a nice drive this, for a carriau'c and pair!" They had now to proceed at a foot-])ace, for the mare was OAxr her fetlocks in mud. It was rough driving till they came to Avithin a few yards of the cottage ; but they reached it without any accident. ^'I had better go in and tell tlie young nuister vou are here, sir," said Finch. 128 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^*Wliy he's not ill, man, is he ? " asked tlie admiral, quickl^^ "No, sir, not tluit I I (mly thoug-ht— " ''Nonsense! His nerves will stand his seeing his old father, I'll be sworn. Here, hold the mare's head, and see and get some of the mud out of her shoes. I ought to have brought Tom with me. 1 forgot you were not f'omin which Cyril Treherne was to leaA'c her to the full consciousness that she loved liiui with a h)ve of the existence ^ancl })ower of Avhicli slie had never even dreamt. 8he la}- in her Ijed in a dream}' state, thinking simply of the fact : as to what could or niio^ht arise throuo-li such a state of things she never gave it a thought, nor if slie liad would she have cared; for though young- enough not to think of the futm-e Ijeyond that of the coming day, she was yet old enough, and mth her Spanisli blood impassioned enough, to let her feelings have full play. The old Dutch clock from downstairs noAv struck six; every stroke seemed to jar upon her; at hist, when the houi' was struck, she jumped out of bed, but only, it appeared, to recom- mence the same unprofitable employment as Ijefore. Could Cyril have seen her now, he miglit have been pardoned had she f(jr a few minutes driven the memory of Willie Thorpe from him. She was sitting on the edge of her bed — a ANretclied old four-j)ost, without any top, but eacli post having a spike sticking out of it ; her naked feet did not touch the ground — they were crossed, as were lier hands, her long, l)lack hah- falling like a mantle over her niglit-dress, lier large brown eyes gazing out of tlu^ win- 144 WILL IS THE caiisp: of woe. clow ; but she saw notliiiig of the great blue sea, the giant rocks, the vessels moving now so smoothly over those silent waters that seemed as if notliing could stir them into life, and which yet, like her feelings, would soon be raging and surging with the violence of a storm. The passions of the heart are as varied amongst mankind as peculiarities of complexion and expression ; hardly two beings in life are like in any oi them, and what may stir one up into wild frenzy may leave another uimiovcd. Cherry Mason was one of those girls who, with a calm exterior, was yet endowed with deep- rooted passions, though as yet they had never been called forth, and she was ignorant of their existence. She had never loved before, so she knew none of the workings of love ; jealousy, hatred, revenge, envy, had never heen known to her otherwise than l)y name, yet they were there — it only required circumstances to call them to the surface. George Cooper's quiet, silently proffered affection was all Avliich as A'et Cherry had knowledge of in the form of love, and tluit liad never made her heart beat one pulse the quicker. Now it was different: she had already felt the nitluence of the real feeling; her colour came and went, her heart throbbed with the first breath of WILL IS THE CAUSP: OF WOE. 145 a new-born love, tender, delicate, and fragile in its first liom^s of life, but so soon to gain strength and force with the nursing it but too surely ever receives when it were better it should be stifled in its birth. '^Cherry, what are you after this morning, girl ? It 's just upon seven, and you are not down!" Her father's voice roused her to herself, awoke her from her day-di^eam to the solid household cares which are rarely very palatable when the heart becomes occupied with less material matters. ^'I'm coming, father, directly!" she replied, and then, performing her toilet as quickly as j)ossible, she again entered on the every-day cares that hitherto had afforded her a not impleasing occujDation. When Miles Mason was about to go off on his usual duty he went in to his guest to bid him good-bye. '^ Well, sir, I 'm right glad to see you about to leave om* little place ; for I needn't mind telling you now that I never expected }'ou would go out of it alive." ^' Thanks to vou, Mason, first, and vour daughter's care afterwards, I am all right ; but I suppose it was a near thing." VOL. I. L 146 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '^ Indeed it Avas, sir ! Well, good-bye, sir." ^^ Good-bye, Mason. Give me your hand. You will let me come over and see you some- times ? " ^'We shall be honoured, sir. But what's this ? " And Mason looked at a piece of paper Treherne had left in his hand. ^' It 's not money, sir, is it ? " ^' Simj)ly a little present. Mason. I have been a great trouble to you, and — " ^'No, sir, not money. I can't take money, thank you." And Mason laid the bank-note down on the table. ^' You are not annoyed, I hope ? " said Cyril, to whom it was difficult to understand a sailor having feelings sensitive enough to be hurt by being offered money as a reward for a good action. *^No, sir; I won't exactly call it annoyance, but I am sorry you thought it necessar}' to offer me payment." Mason's tone of voice, however, told very plainly how much he was hurt. "Well, then, forget I did so," said Cyril, thinking the man was a great fool, and did not know what he had refused, for ten-pound notes do not find their way every day into the pockets of such men as himself. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 147 Cyril stood at tlie cottage-door, watching Mason walk down tlie grassy, sloping road towards the sea, till, the man taking a short turn, he lost sight of him. C}rril was leaning against the door, and seemed buried in thought. He stood so for some time ; when, suddenly turning round, he saw Cherry gazing at him with pensive, dreamy eyes. She was not startled when he spoke and asked her of what she was thinking ; it seemed a continuation of her reflections that he should speak and ask her her thoughts. She answered, simply, — ^^I was thinking of you, sir." '' Of me. Cherry.? Wiy, I thought by yom' eyes your mind must have been far, far away, in your own sunny land, thinking of beautiful Seville." '^ Ah, sii', I cannot think of Seville so as to dwell on it, for I cannot recollect it." '' Then, wdiat about me were you thinking ?" Cherry was silent. Her thoughts had been on the prol)ability of her again seeing Mr. Treherne ; and whether, if lie never came to Shelton, could slie go to Treherne Court to see him. She could not tell him this. '' You Avon't tell me. I suppose it is that you are glad 1 am going away. You will not have all your time taken up by waiting on 148 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. me, and you will be able to see tliat — what 's his name ? — George something, mthout being troubled by my presence in the next room; and he will make love to you, and — " ''Stop, sir, oh, pray stop! 1 hate Greorge Cooper ! I never cared for him, and now I hate him ! " Cherry spoke with flashing eyes and height- ened colour, and with a ring of truthfulness in her voice that augured ill for poor George Cooper's hopes on the day that, with raised waores, he offered her his name and hand. ''Well, never mind George Cooper," said Cyril, coming towards her, and amused at the vehement tone in which she proclaimed her worse than indifference to the quarryman. " But tell me. Cherry, are you sorry I am going, or glad ? " " You know I am sorry, sir," replied the girl, with quivering lips. " And you said yester- day you would come and see us once a week ; will you, sir ? " " I will. What are you doing?" he asked, after a pause, and lifting her hand from her work; " cannot you leave that for a little and take a walk with me? I should like to go down to those rocks before I leave, and see where it was I so nearly lost my life, and ^^^LL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 149 what remains of tlie poor Marguerita, if it be not too far." Of course Cherry could leave her work, and did so but too gladly. In a few minutes she was ready, and together they strolled down to the shore almost in silence, for Cyril did not any longer feel so strong when once he began to walk, and Cherry did not like to disturb her comjDanion. Now and then he said a word about the weather or the wild scenery, and then relajDsed into silence. At last they reached tlie huge sharp-pointed rocks, and then the spot where the Marguerita and three of her crew came to their ill-timed end. '^ Let us sit here," said Cpil, as they came to a smooth, small bed of rocks, and away from the debris that strewed the greater part of the coast where the rocks were higher. Tlie tide was low, and the sands hard and diy. ^^ You are tired, sir, I am afraid?" ^^A little; a few minutes' rest mil put me right. Do you often come and walk about here, Cherry ? " '^No, sir; I don't like these great black giants, — they almost frighten me. I like the green fields and meadows best, where the flowers grow, and the birds sing." ^' There is not much of that sort of thing 150 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. about here, I should think. The birds seem all sea-gulls, and the only flow^ers sea-weeds. I wonder you have not gro^vn to like all this." '^ The storms are too frequent, and the danger to the shijDs too great, even w^hen the weather is calm, for me ever to like it." They were silent again. Cyril thought of the last time he sat on a rock as he was now doing, and how, with pretty, Hebe-faced Willie Thorpe, he sat talking till the waves sur- rounded them, and the result of that misad- venture was his becoming her affianced hus- band; at any rate, though not allowed to be called so, he was tacitly acknowledged as such. And, thinldng of her, he longed to see her, and to hasten home and find some word from her with the permission to do so. It was a pleasant reflection, that of having gained the love of this bright, pretty girl — one that any man might be proud to call his oAAm ; but it made Cyril exclaim, in a tone of impatience almost amounting to irritabilit^^ — ^' How long the morning is ! " For the first time in lier life Cherry felt one of those passions so strongly rooted in her Southern nature rise into life ; but as yet she knew not the meaning of jealousy, though she was feeling its effect. There was a gnawing V WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 151 sensation at lier heart, a sinking weight that seemed to draw her voice downwards, and dejjrive her of giving utterance to the words that were on the edge of her lips. '' My father said the dog-cart woukl be over by two ; it is nearly one ; we can walk back, and perhaps it may, after all, come a little sooner." '' Yes, sir," said Cherry, her voice hardly above her breath. Cyril did not perceive anything ; he w^as too occupied with himself and his own thoughts to heed the lowering countenance of the usually cheerful, happy -looking girl ; and in complete silence they returned to the cottage. The whole time Cherry was j^uzzling her jDOor head to know what could possibly have made Mr. Treherne so suddenly anxious to get away. Not his mother, she felt sure ; she remem- bered well his injunctions to John Finch not to let her fetch him. Not his father, for he had seen him yesterday. Perhaps a sister, it might possibly be a sister ; and she resolved to ask if he had one. Tlie dog-cart had not yet arrived, and they were sitting with the cottage-door open, so that when it approached he could see it instantly. Cherry was seemingly busy with her needle, . 152 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. though few were the stitches she made ; and Cyril was twirling the key of his watch aboiity and looking out over the ojDen sea, wandering in thoughts — pleasant, happy thoughts — of the future, in which Willie formed the principal feature. He was interrupted at last by his> companion. '' Have YOU a sister, sir ? " ^^ A sister, Cherry! No. What made you think I had?" '^ I don't know, sir ; I fancied you had." '^ I am an only child; I never had either sister or brother." Then Cherry began again to Avorry her brains as to why he seemed so anxious to leave, when the looked-for dog-cart drove up to the door. John Finch, who had remained at Shelton with his master, now suddenly appeared: clearly, he too had been, though invisible, on the look-out. ''When will you be ready to start, sir?" asked John, coming forward. '' The mare ought to have a feed and half an hour's rest, the groom says." '' Very well, then, in half an hour's time I shall be ready to go. Don't be later." '' All right, sir." And away went the cart and men to the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 153 Coventry Arms, and once more left Cherry and Cyril to themselves. ^'You seem very anxious to go, sir," Cherry ventm'ed to say at last. '' Well, it "s natm^al, Cherry, is it not ? After such a misfortune, and yet to have come out of it without harm, it is natural I should wish to see my — mother ; and she, of course, is fidget- ing to see me. Had I the sister you fancied I had, then, perhaps, she would not care so much for me ; hut as it is I am her spoilt child." '^ And 3-et, sir," said Cherry, vnth a mixture of determination and hesitation, '^ you were not so anxious }^esterday ; you rather dreaded ha™ig to pass two hom's alone in your mother's society." ''Ah, that is quite a different thing. I hate- shut-up carriages, and still more if a lady be with me, for they all seem to have the most unaccountaljle love of chattering in carriages ; and the greater the rumble, the more they seem to like talking. I suppose it nuikes a pleasant accompaniment, but to me it is very disagreeable." Then, presently, as the time was passing and Cherry made no rejoinder, l)ut with her lieightened colour and full pouting lips, the mouth slightly falling at the corners, 154 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. was looking wondi^ously pretty, he said, "Yet, though I shall be glad to get home, little one, I shall be sorry to leave you. I do not like saying ' good-bye ' at any time, and very often escape without it ; but I cannot do that with you ; I must say good-bye, and we part as friends, Cherry, do we not ? " "A gentleman like you, sir, can't think of a poor girl like me as a friend." " And yet you say that in a tone. Cherry, that would lead any one to think your ideas Avere very different. I want to be your friend — if you will let me. I want you to feel and believe that anything I can do for 3^ou at any time will be as much gratification to myself as benefit to you." Cyril spoke earnestly and kindly, yet the tone displeased the girl. " You are very kind, sir, especially as I have no claim on you." "But you have; and I told you so before. Now, will you believe me. Cherry — will you trust to me, and if ever you have a wish I can gratify, will you let me know it ? " He was standing close to her now ; she was Btill sitting with her work, lier head so bent he could not see her face ; but she had given up pretending to use the needle, she Avas simply WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 155 pinching up into tiny plaits the calico she was manufacturing into some useful garment. ^' Yes, sir," she said, at last. ^^ I clo not think you would say ' Yes ' if you meant ^ Xo,' though your answer is rather con- cise — but I think I hear the trot of the mare's feet," lie added, limTiedly, '^ so say good-bye to me, Cherry ; you know we are friends, and friends always part — so." And he raised her from her chair, and, lifting up her head, which reluctantly she let him do, and looking into her great brown eyes, that now seemed more abashed than wondering, he Idssed her half-parted red lips three or four times, rapidly, impetuously, as if to gratify her, yet get it over, more than from any tender feeling he himself experienced ; then, before she had recovered herself, before she had time to follow him to the door, he had sprung into the dog-cart and was gone. When Cherry regained her senses sufficiently to think at all, she found as it were another being in her place ; her home was imchanged, her dress was the same, all smTounding her unaltered, but herself, the self of old, Avas no more there ; she could no lonu'cr recognize in the thouglits and hopes and fears and uu- defined sensations that kept her lieart and 2)ulse 156 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. beating in an uncontrollable manner, the Cherry Mason of even twenty-four hours ago. She sat clown again on the chair from which he had raised her, and, closing her eyes, went over and over and over again the scene of the last quarter of an hour, and with each rej)etition her blood warmed and her breathing became short and quick ; every nerve in her body vibrated with the passionate feelings that foolish, thoughtless embrace had roused within her. It was time for something to happen to divert her mind, and 2)revent her dwelling longer on such a shallow, superficial cause for happiness, and it came in a form that, if not welcome, was at any rate, under the circumstances, very whole- some for her, for it brought her back, though somewhat rudely, to herself. It was the tall, bony figure of George Cooper that appeared on the threshold of the cottage, and thus broke on the wild and dangerous dreams poor Cherry was recklessly indulging in. '' Law, Miss Cherry, how flustered you do look I Have I startled vou ? " ' ' No — yes, I think — I was so busy with my work." '^ Well, I won't hinder of you; but I just called in to tell you tluit this very morning I have lieard tliat in a few weeks I shall iiet a WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 157 rise in my wages, and you know, Miss Cherry, I always wanted to wait — for that time — time to — to — just before — you see, before I — " '^ Before you gave your mother that new dress you told me you wanted me to choose for you,'' interrupted Cherry, ^^^^'^^^^^ly restored now, and, with a lively perception, quite under- standing what poor George Avas trying to say. ^^ Well, no, not exactly that, Miss Cherry. I find it difficult—" ^^ Never mind, Gfeorge, I will choose it for you whenever you like ; 1 think it was to be green, wasn't it ? " ^'I'msm-e I don't know; I don't recollect. I seem as how I had most forgotten every- thing." And then to himself he said, ^^I had arranged all so well to speak it, and she 's drove it all right away out of my head. I must leave it now for another time." Then again, aloud, '' Mother bid me tell you she 'd ])e glad if you'd go over and see her soon ; she 's a bad walker, even for so short a distance, and it pleasures her to see you." '•'Yes, I will go and see her, George; but you may tell her I seldom leave home but for marketing ; I don't seem to care for going out like other girls." ''No, you're not a bit like other girls. Miss 158 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. Cherry, and, though they call you the little foreigner, they'd all of them jump out of their skins if they could be like you." Cherry smiled. ^' I know few like me. I dare say it 's my own fault, but I can't help it. Are you going by the Rectory, George ? " ^^ I wasn't ; but if I can do anything there for you, it won't take me a hundred yards out of my way. I am going to the quarries ; I have just come from having my dinner." '' Your dinner I Is it dinner-time? Three o'clock ; good gracious me I I had no idea of the time." ^' And haven't you had no dinner ? " ^^No." ^' Well, if that isn't a rum go ! Why, who- ever would believe any one could forget their dinner ! " And George laughed heartily — a laugh that was coarse and loud, and grated on Cherry, whose ears had learnt very quickly to like the soft, musical laugh of refinement and good breeding. '^ You will be late at the quarries," she said, after he had done, and was silently watching her. '' Yes ; I must be off, or I shall be fined. What is it you want done at the Rectory, Miss Cherry?" ^VILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 159 ^ ' Just to leave that parcel for me. I promised it to Mrs. Jackson in the beginning of the week, but I could not get it done sooner." '' Perhaps she knows you've been occupied. She nmst have heard of the ^\Teck, of course." ^'I don't know. Maybe she has; but she does not often know what goes on. It is not as if she could walk about like other people, poor lady." ^' The young gentleman 's gone. Miss Cherry, ain't he ? " '' Yes." '^Wellj good-bye, miss. I'll leave your parcel ; and you '11 come and see mother soon ? " ^'Yes. Good-bye." '•'' And then," he thought, as he walked away, ^' will be my time, if I 'm at home, to tell her what stuck so in my tln^oat just now. AVliat an ass I am, to be sure I Any other fellow would have fired away, and not been scared by the mention of a green dress. Law, bless me ! what will the old woman think when I tell her she 's the cause of my failure to-day ? But, at any rate, there 's not anotlier ]\Iiss Cherry likes, I think, if — ah, that 's a horrid thought ! Yet I couldn't lielp fancying yesterday something was up ; and then to-day she — she was odd, and 160 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. forgot lier dinner. Lord, Lord ! if that fair-haired gentleman were to wrong her, I could tear him to pieces mth my own two hands ! " And Greorge Cooper gromid his teetli and clenched his hands with rage at the bare thouglit of such a consummation being pos- sible. When George left her, Cherry congratulated herself on the escape she had had. At any rate for the present, she had j)ut a stop to his offering her his big heart and big hand ; then she took a piece of dry bread, and drank off a large tumblerful of cold water, and considered her dinner done. She had no appetite, yet she feared to go without food entirely, in case her father asked her, as he often did when he was absent during the mid-day meal, whether she had made a good one. Then, again, she began that sorry, profitless work of thinking, and she sat thinking on till her father's return. Then her duty and affection for liim gave her the power to rouse herself from her reverie and exert herself to see to his requirements and comforts. WILL LS THP] CAUSE OF WOE. 161 CHAPTER IX. Yardley Wood was a very pretty place. The house was built in the Italian style, and looked as if it had dropped down into Devonshire from the banks of the Thames, where, between Kings- ton and Hamjjton Comi, there stands, on the Surrey side of the river, a house very similar to it. White, low, and spreading, a centre with two wings, it stood on table-land, witli a beautifully mown, velvety lawn sloping down to the nar- row, winding river Yardley, little more than a rapid stream where it passed through Mr. Thorpe's property, but very beautiful as you saw the glistening waters shimmering in the bright sunlight througli the trees. It made the place always appear gay ; tliere was a joyous sound in the echo of the Avaters rusliing and leaping over big pieces of rock that mcjst unac- countably found themselves in the most eccen- tric positions, rendering it imp(jssibk\ however, vol. I. M 162 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF AVOE. to use a boat of any kind whatever. Indeed,, it looked an unlikely river altogether for any- thing but fisliing ; and the reputation of its trout was such that Mr. Thorpe had to keep a sharp look-out to prevent poaching in the por- tion to which he laid claim. The old house that formerly stood there was destroyed by fire some thirty years ago ; and, as the home of his childhood was gone, Mr. Thorpe determined to build a house entirely different ; and certainly, however beautiful of its kind, it was utterly unsuited to the country and position it was in. However, there it was ; and, during the years he passed abroad for his child's sake, he never lost an opportunity of purchasing works of art which, independently of gratifying his own taste, he knew would precisely suit his English home. Though Willie Thorpe hardly recollected Yardley Wood, she yet loved it with a strangely clinging affection. Till the time of their last visit to Treherne Court, when she had learnt another sort of love, she had never, from the day she had returned to her native land, desired to leave it : all she cared for on earth was there. Friends she had few — at any rate, in her own country ; relations she had still fewer ; and all that the most indulgent of fathers could do to WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 163 gratify her every fancy or desire was done, so it is not to be wondered at that hitherto she had found Yardley Wood perfect. In a long narrow room, stretching from one end of the centre part of the house to the other, and called the gallery, were some fine paint- ings and some . beautiful pieces of modern sculpture. Lombardi's celebrated ' Susannah ' was among them, Willie's favourite statue, and one she never tired of lookino- at. The indic^- nant, proud gaze of the beautiful face, with its exquisitely formed features, the graceful bend- ing figure, the fine, delicately shaped limbs, all combined to create a subject which the least artistic in their taste must have liked to dwell on. The room was hung AAdtli rich crimson silk, and luxurious seats dos-d-dos down the centre, covered with the. same, throwing a warm colom^- ing over the pure Carrara marble. The draw- ing-rooms, two long rooms taking up the entire depth of the house in the east wing, were all a mass of white and gold, with Dresden china mouldings framing the looking-glasses, the furniture satin-wood with purple velvet. Orna- ments of all kinds were studded about, with several gilt cabinets full of shelves covered with the rarest and most valuable specimens of old cliina, the whole striking one on first enter- 164 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ing as more like a fairy palace than an English home. At the opposite end of the gallery, the west wing, was the dining-room, where Willie's pet picture, and the most valuable in the collection, Imng, — a Madonna and lamb, by Murillo. The library, Mr. Thorpe's '' den," led out of this. Here he generally sat all the morning alone, and all the evening, when the weather was the least chilly, with his daughter ; for it was an excessiA''ely warm, cosy room, and in summer too much so. Willie's own sanctum was upstairs, and there, when indoors, she passed her morning, reading, writing, or playing with her pets, — a little dog, a blue Sky e terrier, called '' Dust," and an owl, a white serio-comic owl, taken from the nest out of a tree in Yardley Wood, and called ^' Snow." He had been taught to change his ordinary habits, from at any rate screeching at night to screeching in the evening ; he was allowed to remain up till the last in the house, and then he was consigned to the servants' hall, where he was supposed to sleep — at any rate, he could if he chose ; he had no cage, but a pole like a parrot's, with bars across. He knew Willie so well that he always endea- voured to get close up to her, and, if allowed his freedom, used it only to sit close by her. WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 165 or percliecl on her shoulder, if she would let him. Snow and Dust were happy specimens of pets. Dust, the gentlest, most intelligent of little dogs, with but one palpable sensation at the heart, and that w^as pure, unadulterated devotion to his mistress, led a life of unmingled pleasure, and the two favomites were no bad friends. They had their little squabbles, but they learnt to cede certain points one to the other ; for instance, when Willie, as she some- times would, went out on an expedition to the Yardley with her two pets. Snow was bound to remain, with his strange, almost si^'ht- less eyes, quiet and resigned, whilst Dust indulged in what Snow doubtless thought most insane gambols in the water. Dust, on the other hand, had to stand at a resjDCctful dis- tance on the lawn when Snow was searching for some rare homines houches in the shape of worms, and to remove very far from that round beak if he desired to make use of the grass as a towel to get rid of some of the Avater which his long thick matted hair sopped in and retained like a sj)(mge. Of late — that is to say quite recently — Willie Thorpe had somewhat neglected her j^ets ; they ceased to fill tlic important offices they had 166 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. liitlierto done; they no longer ministered to her amusement as before. Her Hebe face was not sad, but it no longer wore the bright, joyous look it was wont to do when Dust bounded into the water, or when Snow, if angered by his companion, perclied himself on his back, refusing to move for all tlie barks to which Dust in his indignation gave v^ent, till Willie went to his rescue. There was a more sober expression, a more thoughtful look, that made her seem none the less lovely, but that destroyed for ever the last remnant of child- hood. ''I sometimes think, Willie," said Mr. Thorpe, when they were sitting together in the library on the afternoon of the day on which Cyril Treherne was expected, after his escape in the Marguerita, ^^ I sometimes think you regret the promise I asked you to give me." ^' About what, papa ? " ' ' Not marrying for a year. It may seem selfish to you, child, and as if I had stipulated for another twelve months for my own sake ; yet it was not so, my child, but my own solemn promise to your mother, Willie: I never thought of self in the matter." ^^ Indeed, dear papa, I am sure you did not; ^'ou have no need to tell me so. And I do not WILL IS th:-: causk of woe. 167 regret it ; I don't indeed, papa.'- Willie coloured up as if her conscience accused her of not speaking with her usual strictness to truth. '^ And I am sure you are right," she continued. '' Time goes so quickly, too. At any rate, do not think, dearest papa, I am wanting to leave you." '^ No, my own child, I am sure of that I " Still there was an inward warning tliat made Mr. Thorpe aware his time for l:)eing first in Willie's heart was nearly, if not already, oyer. She loved him no doubt as dearly as ever, only she had now learnt that love which is stronger than any felt by a child for a parent : it passes all other affections ; it stands alone, powerful to crush every other feeling but itself. It makes the weak woman strong, and the strong it ^^^.ll make weak. There is no describing it ; it is like a second soul to the human body, giving life to many, yet ofttimes destroying it. Wlicn first it biu'sts forth, a new existence at once seems to open before one, full of 'hope and j(jy ; how often those hopes are marred, how often fulfilled, daily life around us tells. Willie Thorpe's face was one that somewhat falsified her nature ; to look at it, you would think nothiuii' could irloom over that briiihtness, 168 WILL IS THE CAUSK OF WOE. or, if it did, it could but resemble a cloud in the summer sky — a few heavy tears and then all sunshine again. To look at her face you would never dream that she could love with a deep, intense, passionate love. The merry ringing laugh, the trifles that had hitherto sufficed to amuse her, the light-hearted voice that was so constantly carolling through the house, told nothing of the warmth and force and power of her nature. Though not quite of the opinion of those who consider first love idle nonsense, second love something to believe in, and third love the only one really to be relied on, I still think as a rule first love is empty, vapid, and meaningless ; also, as a rule, at sixteen the heart may receive its first lesson, but the fancy is generally conceived for some stupid boy, just gone into stand-up collars and tail coats. In Willie's case her first love was of a different type, and was the exception that forms the rule. Tliough she had known Cyril Treherne only since her return to England, she had seen a great deal of him, and her love had grown imperceptibly. She knew little about it till ho spoke to her, perched as she was, half in her senses, half out of them, on those wild, mcked rocks. Then it at once burst into full bloom, the blossom Imd grown strong in its hidden WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 169 state, and only required the word to bring it to perfection; and Mr. Thorpe's questionable plan of keeping tlie two as much apart as possible, and not permitting of an acknow- ledged engagement, but tended to increase the girl's love. The very fact of haraig her liberty made her long for the bondage that, for all she said, 3^et seemed such a long way off. Then she felt a great fear come upon her when she heard of the narrow escape Cyril had had ; it made her face the possibility of death coming in between them and dividing them for ever. But, for all that, she found the courage to speak the words she had to her father, his remarks and questions l^eing prompted by the first shadow he had ever noticed on his child's countenance — a shadow that, when once it liovers over a woman's face, rareh^ leaves it, but settles down on it for ever. Willie was sitting near the window ; she could see every arrival from where she was, the library being what is termed on the front side of the house, tliat is the entrance side. Slie puslied the heavy, hot velvet curtahis aside and placed her chair in the furthermost corner; she was enabled now 1)y her position to see some little distniice down the drive. '^ Is that three striking, papa? " 170 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ''No — yes; 1 think it luiist be. No, lialf- past two." Mr. Thorpe was reading his paper and was indifferent to the hour. He removed his glasses in a moment, looked at his daughter, then put them on again, and continued his occupa- tion. ''That nmst be three, jjapa ; 1 hear the stable clock striking, I am sure," said Willie, a few seconds after. '' Well, I dare say it is. Where is your own w^atch, Willie?" " I forgot to wind it up last night." ''Very careless of you; 1 advise yom- wind- ing it up now." Willie seemed not to heed this piece of advice ; but she took out a crumpled letter from her pocket — an oft-read letter apparently — and she glanced over it again, till she satis- fied herself as to the horn- of Cyril's arrival. She was sm^e enough before looking that he had said three, but there was a pleasure in being douljly assured. It was the first time in her life that Willie felt nervous or anxious, and noAv she was both. A few minutes of this novel kind of discomfort, and she heard the distant rumbling of wheels, then tlie squeak}', scraping noise of the carriage coming up the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 171 gravelled roaclj with the clatter of the horses' feet. '^ Oh, papa, I hope to goodness Mrs. Tre- herne has not come," exclaimed Willie, as she saw the great lumbering family coach coming along. ^' Well, my dear, if she lias, you surely will be glad to see her. I hope you have ordered a proper dinner ? " '' I have done nothing of the kind. I only said Mr. Treherne was coming over and ^vould probably stay to dinner. It is not the dinner I care about." ^^ Admiral Treherne; ^Ir. Treherne." A relief to poor Willie when she heard this announcement. The admiral she did not mind, on the contrary she was pleased to think that if she went for a stroll mth Cyril her father would have a companion; but the idea of being compelled to entertain Mrs. Treherne, to be obliged to play the hostess to her, wdien she would be wanting to listen to Cpil's account of his accident, and to do so by herself, A\'ould have been more tlian she could patiently have borne. A silent pressure of the hand, a faltering attempt a minute after to sa}' how anxious she had been and liow -, but girls in her grade of life know much more than those more carefully educated. She knew per- fecth' well that gentlemen did not niarr\' mrls in her position, but she also knew they sought them none the less, and that the end of that seeking was generall}' sorrow-, disgrace, shame, and, 23erhaps, comiolete and crushing ruin. Yet Cherry had allowed lier feelings to open the gate througli whicli, if she once passed, slie 192 AVILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. €()ul(l never again return ; once in, the door is irrevocably closed. She was still on the threshold J and if Cyril Treherne never more rode over to Shclton the door would of necessity >shut itself; but if he returned, he knew, and siie felt, that escape would be next to impossible; and feeling* it, she yet asked him to do so. '^ Come again, sir; only once! It seems so hard to think one is to part and never meet again, and without knowing it is the last time beforehand. I can think of it now, and Avill tr}^ then, never to think of — of that dreadful stormy night again." ' ^ This day week, then — is it to be so. Cherry?" his good resolutions once again shaken. '^Yes, sir; or — this day fortnight vail be better still." ^' You arc a strange girl, Cherr}'," said Cyril, looking Lit her. '^ Why do you wish it to be a fortnight, instead of a week hence ? " ^^ It is a w^eek more to think about it." Cherry had a conviction there was no use in not speaking out the truth, as he read her every thought. There Avas a pause for a moment. Cherry Avas looking on the ground, Cyril w^atching her ; presently he said, — ^' Come here. Cherry, close to me — closer WILL IS THE CAUSE* OF WOE. 193 still ; there, now ,uivo me both your hands, and now — kiss me ; now again — once more ; there, child, that will d(j ! " (>vTil put tlie girl from him, and, without another word, ^\dthout even another look, he unfastened his hiorse, uKranted, and rode away at a quick trot. As soon as he got on to the sand-hills he gave his horse his head, and let liim gr) off at his own })ace. The rapid motion througli tlie fresh air cooled his heated brain, and brought him Ijack to himself. It was time. Ho felt how near he had been to tlie edge of the precipice, and, becoming calmer, lie S THE CAU.SE OF WOE. 197 first secret weio'lied nioro lieavih' on licr than she expected. Her father's silence during his supper repelled any confidence, and so the evening passed ; and, as was his wont when he had not any night duty, he went to loed earl}^. As he wished his child good-night, he said, in a more softened tone and in a kindlier manner, ^^Xo one is happy, girl, if he fails in his duty, no matter what it may be, and yours is not difficult ; but keep true to yourself, Cherry. Be assured of this — if your poor mother was living you Avould not break her heart sooner than you v/ill mine if you don't turn out worthy of being her child. God bless you!" And Miles Mason kissed his daughter's fore- head ; she bent her head low, a double feeling strui4:f?lino: within her. She could not ])ear so soon for other lips — even her father's — to wipe away the freshness of those intoxicating kisses, and she did not wish him to sec the conscious Ijlush that overspread her face. She was young at deceiving ; slie could not, with tlie lie slie felt herself already to be acting, look her father in the face — that good, kind fatlier who had ever been so careful and fond. Miles Mason went to sleep with a shadow on the wall for the first time since his wife left him and her child alone in tlie world. He felt 198 WILL IS THL CAUSE OF WOE. certain tins ni^'lit that all was not rio-lit with Cherry ; the clear perception of a father's love made him at once sec a change in her. There was a nervous haste in her movements, a qnick and more than ordinarih' startled look in her eyes, a forgetfulness of the veriest trifles ; and as he tossed on his bed, restless and wake- ful Avith this new care, he determined, if a rapid change to the old state of things did not soon take 23lace, to send lier away for a time ; or if, as he suspected, George Cooper was mindful to make her his wife, then to marry her to liim at once, young though she was. This last idea seemed to quiet him a little, and as daylight iDogan dimly and slowly to define the objects around him lie once more fell a.sleep ; but this time it Avas a heavy slumber that lasted some time over his usual hour for rising. A few days after Cyril Treherne's visit Cherry was endeavouring, for two reasons, to get back into tlie old groove and fulfil her daily duties as was her vront ])efore Cyril had crossed lier path : the one was that her love for her father was strong enough to induce her to make tlie exertion, and the other — and the stronger of the two — that time })assed more rapidly when she had any occupation on hand, and her great longing was to drive on time as quickly WILL L^ THE CAUSE OF WOE. 109 as possil)]c, to ])ring round the day — though she Iiad lierself put it off a week — when Cyril would once more, and for tlie hist time, be with her. Mrs. Jaekson had sent Iier some more needle- work, requesting her to complete it as soon as ])ossible, as she liad lierself undertaken to send it hack to her sister, who lived in London, in a fortnight at latest. Cherry knew this, and determined to oljlige Mrs. Jackson, if feasible ; and, after getting through her trifling household inatters, bravelv set to Avork, resolved not to let licr thoughts interrupt her. Yet, unfortunately for Cherr}^, lier brain was able to 1)6 as busy as her iiiigers, and it went on in a ri(^tous manner Ijack to the old stor)', thh iking of the last visit and counting the hours till the next, wearing and tearing herself to pieces with the wildest C(nijectures as to the hour of his coming, and vvhether he really meant never to see her again, and, if he did mean it, whether life woidd be liearable to her. The liead and hands v/ere tlais both emplo} ed, when a knock at the half- open door made her start from imaginar}-^ to real life. Her heart gave a great bound as she ii)Y one sec(md thought it might be Cyril ; but the next a feeling of anger tool: possession of her, as George Cooper asked if he might come in. 200 WILL IS THE CAUSE OE WOE. '^ I won't disturb you, Miss Clieny," lie said^ lueeklvj "so you can go on Avitli that bit of work" — George tbouglit be could even say wbat be bad to say better witli tbose great brown eyes b)oking away from bini — '' but T just wanted to tell you — I 'ye wanted to tell vou for a long time, but — " "If it is an}^tbing I can do for you/' said Clierry, as be besitated, "I sball be glad to do it." " It is, miss; it's a great deal you can do for me." And George now felt be could speak out ; be bad gained the courage be bad again lost, as on tbe previous occasion, and so b.e resolved at all bazards to go on tbis time to tlie end, and say wbat be wisbed. " I told you, not verA^ lon<>- aa'o, tbat in a few weeks nw wages would be raised: well, I liave been in- formed now tbe rise will begin on tbe first of tbe montli; and I am bcre tbis morning, Cberrv" (be ventured to drop tbe "Miss'-'), " to ask you if you will l)ecome my wife." George stood near tbe window^ w^lien be began to speak ; but be came nearer to ber now, and, bending sligbtly over ber, be pleaded bis cause in an earnest tone. " I can give you a borne, Oberry, as comfortable as you are in now, and soon it sball be ])etter, for witb }'ou to work WILL L< THE CAUSE OF WOE. 201 for no work T\dll .seem hard, and I ^viW .strive to make you liappy. You don't know the- strength and capabilities your love will give me. Tell me, Glierry, you will accept me ; give me your Iiand, darling, and let me feel .sure it is to he mine." George's voice was not so firm at last. Clierry's head remained dow^i, and her fingers worked on nervou.sly and rapidly ; slie never ceased a moment, and never moved. The timc^ had come at last that she so dreaded ; she liad felt sure it vvTjuld not he long delayed — more sure than ever after George had had to play the groom for Cyril Treherne. She knew she must .speak in the end, .she knew her answer — her refusal — nmst he given, yet .she went on Vv'orking as if he had not even been present. He stood tliere with his hand held out, w^aiting, expecting, hoping; yet, knomng Ids hopes were vain, he had hardly dared to indulge them .since tliat dark dav to him — tliat dark da}^ to lier — that Cyril Avound the circlet of love .so tightly around Cherry's Iieart that the mere loosening it would prove a Avounding process, done ever so gently. '' I can't, George,'' .slie wlii.spered out, at last. A feelini'- of .sonu^tiiiiiu- clutcliiiiii- Ids lieart 202 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOP]. a swelling in liis throat, stopped liis replying for a moment. But men know better than Avomen liow to master their emotions, and the young quanyman was not long before he gained sufficient control over himself to speak ; though any other than she to wlnmi he ad- dressed himself would have noticed the hesita- tion every now and then, the sudden pauses he Avas forced to make, if he would not that she should hear his voice falter. '^ Is that the only answer you can give me, Cherry ? Will you not tell me the reason ? You do not — love another, do }'0u ? Oh, tell me — tell me if it ])e so ! Tell me, and then I must never more lu)pG to win you. But if it be onh^ that you do not love me, don't you think. Cherry, 3^ou might some day ? I wjil wait, wait even patiently, if you but give me a little hope — ever so little will give me courage. 8peak to me, oh, speak to me, and tell me that in a few months, a year, even two, you will, perliaps, be my wife I " Cherry's hands fell ; her fingers refused to liold tlie needle ; and, looking up for one mo- ment at George's face, almost handsome witli its mournful, earnest, pleading expression, she remembered C^yrirs words, — '' I don't like him; you are too pretty to throw yourself away on WILL LS THi: CAUSE OF WOE. 203 that awkward lout/"' and she regained the in- difterence that for a moment had been replaced hy regret at the thought of giving pain. ^^ I shall never marrv,'' she said : her voice sounded harsh, even to herself, and she en- deavoured to soften it — to speak with more feeling, more gentleness. ^^ Do not liope, (jreorge, for I feel sure time will not alter me ; and it is better, you know, not to hope at all than be disappointed in the end. I am very sorry," she continued, presently, as he remained silent, '' for vou have alwavs been kind to me, and father likes you. It is a pity you ever thought of me, for I am afraid it will make all uncomfortable." '^ Xot you, Cherry, I hope," said George, moiu'iif ully ; '^ not you. I may not, then, even hope that time wdll make a change ? " He went on, in his despair, making one more attempt to soften her, never thinking — as at the moment none ever do — liow utterly A^ain it always is seeking to change the lieart's feeling through compassion. If love does not exist, commiseration will nOt give birth to it. Love alone never begets love : it is senile sympathetic feeling calls it into existence; you cannot force its growth or retard it. 204 WILL IS THE CAl'8E OF WOK. ^^No use," replied Clieny, shakiii<^- her head slowly. So George Cooper left her. This first blow in his life fell heavily on him ; he seemed stunned by it. The world seemed suddenly to be a thing apart from liim ; he walked on with a weary burden, a Aveight to carry on his heart for many a long day. On and on he went, without thinking of turning towards his liome^ but always onwards till he found himself amidst the gaunt-looking rocks Avith sea-gulls hovering round him, and then he throAv himself down close to the pale green sea, and, Avith no human eye to pry into his grief -laden heart, he gaA'e Avay as men do give way once in their Ha^cs, and the strong, square-built form of the young man shook beneath the couAailsions of his sorrow. The sun was fast sinking into the out- stretched arms of the broad Atlantic when George Cooper rose up and shook off, AAath a sullen, determined A\dil, the paroxysm of agonizing grief he had endured — shook it off Avith a manly resolve to conquer his misplaced loA'e, and not, like a weak woman, alloAV it to crush all his future. It Avas a good resolution, at any rate, Avhether he Avere able or not to curr}^ it out, for it WILL IS THE CAl'.SE OF WOE. 205 helped liini tlirougli witli the first wean' days and weeks of his disappointment. The onh^ change those about him remarked was that he had grown somewhat taciturn, and preferred being alone to joining his friends in a walk, as liad been liis habit during the summer evenings, after his work was over. 206 WILL 18 THE CAi:SE OF WOM. CHAPTER XL '^ My dear Cyril/' said Mrs. Trelierne, one morning, ''vnll yon not go to London for a few days, or do sonictliing to clieer you up? You seem so dull that I tliink perhaps you want a little change." Madam was anxious about lier son, for, notwithstanding liis occasional outbreaks with her on the one subject, which, now that he was of a more reasonable age, were half in joke, he was decidedly of a cheerful and good temper, but lately he had become irritable and gloomy. Mrs. Trehernc had spoken to the admiral, but the dear, good man never saw an^'thing wrong- in any one. Cyril, no doubt, and very naturally, was worrying at old Tlior})e's persistency in permitting no engagement, w^hich virtuall}' closed the doors of Yardley Wood to him as a lover, and admitted him only as an acquaintance. '' Or," mmnbled out WILL LS THE CAU8E OF WOE. 207 the admiral, ''ho was perhaps bemoaiiiiig the hjss of his yacht ; and, if so, tliat evil was easih' remedied, if madam would not make a row about it." But she seemed on the instant to a'ive strong' evidence of intending' to do so if the idea were mooted. So then the admiral muttered something about women's folly, and offered no further suggestion. It was then Mrs. Treherne proposed Cyril's going to London, which, however, he som.ewhat indig- nantly declined, reminding his mother that August was not the time of year for London. ''Can't you ask the St. Aubyns over? and then the Thorpes will perhaps come," said Cyril. "Ask them for the first of September, It will get through a week or ten days, at any rate. I must travel either bv land or sea this winter : I cannot go on with this idle life." " I don't know what sort of life you vv^ould lead, Cyril," said his mother. " You are rarelv at home more than two or three days tocrether. You only yesterday returned from Plympton ; before that you were with Major Kingsford ; and you can, if you clioose, be visiting from month's end to month's end, or invite any one you choose here. If }^ou want to travel, you surely can be satisfied with Great Britain;, you need not cross the sea." 208 WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^^ There is nothino- to do in Eno-laiid. TIu^. seaside places are crammed with snobs and children. You w^ould not recommend my making- a tour of the j^i'ii^^'ip^l towns of England, mother, would you?" asked C}Til, wdth a smile. '^You might do worse. You kno^v nothing of your OT^ai country, and there are some beautiful spots in it. At any rate, I should Iiave thought you had had enough of tlie sea with your last attempt. By the ^yo-J, that reminds me of those people who took you in. I saw John Finch the other day, and vras asking him about them. I have always been wishing to go and see them, and take the girl a present of some sort.'' ^^ Oh, there's no need, madam; and it's a devil, of a way from here," said Cyril, care- lessly. ^^ Hush, C\Til! Do not use such shockino; expressions ! I have almost gi^^en up talking to you about religion, for 3^ou are so hasty, and try to stop me in so — so sharp a manner that it is very ])ainful to me ; but I cannot hear a'ou say such wicked words and not tell you of it." ^' The devil may Ije wicked, if there be one, but I can't see that the word is. However, never mind him, mother ; atju knov>' neither I WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 209 nor my father can j^lease you on that one knotty j)oint, so I '11 go, as I don't feel in the humoiu- for discussing such nonsense." '^ No, dear, don't go I You know I am never so happy as when I get a little chat with you, and it is so seldom I do. I won't talk any more on that subject, onh^ if }^ou can manage not to use those words it — well, well I won't ; there, sit down, I won't say another word. I should like to go over and see those good people, Cyril ; will }^ou come Avith me ? " '' I don't think I need go," he said, hesi- tatingly. '' I will if you particularly Avish it — it is s(miet]iing to do, after all," he added, getting up and pushing his fair curly hair off his Inroad forehead ; and then, putting his liands in liis pockets, he went out of the room, whistling. Again then, with all the best intentions not to see Cherry an}' more, was Cyril almost driven to do so. He liked to think it was but right he should accompany his mother ; it would seem strange and even ungrateful, after all their kind care of him, if he refused to go vnth her and jointly give them the tlianks that were so thoroughly due. So it was settled tliat the first fine afternoon they were to start early and drive over. T]ie next morning Cyril Trelierne rode into VOL. I. p 210 WILL IS THE CAILSE OF WOE. Kingsbridge, the largest town within ten miles of Treherne Court, with the object of getting some little gift for Cherry. If his mother gave her a present, he ought not to go empty- handed. He made for the jewellers — no Storr & Mortimer or London & Ryder, yet a very decent shop for all that, and mth a very fair choice, so he was sm^e of finding something quite pretty enough for what he required. After the whole contents of the shop had been displa} ed to the best advantage, Cyril ^^icked out a plain gold locket, A^dtli a pearl horse-shoe on it, and a chain. First wrapped in white silver paper, and then put into a nest of pink wool, and finally into a white cardboard box mtli gilt edges, with B. Baker, jeweller. Kings- bridge, in gold letters on it, Cyril placed it in Ids waistcoat-pocket, and rode back to Treherne thinking of Cherry's large eyes, and wondering if that strange startled expression in them A\'()uld give place to one of pleasure when he gave her the locket, or if he should again see that look of deep love, the same as when he last bade her farcAvell. Poor Cherr}' ! Her love w^as deep — a hungr}', craving love, and she had tasted its sweets, and now would never rest till she di-ank down to the bitter dregs. When CSTil reached home he found Lady St. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF AVOE. 211 Aubyii and her son with his mother ; they liad driven over to see if Mrs. Treherne w^ould con- sent to 2:0 over to the annual school feast which was crenerallv g-iven at Stanmore diirinji^ the month of AuoTist. Mrs. Treherne was exces- sivel}' fond of school feasts, and rarely refused ; but she was just telling Lady St. x4ubyn as Cyril entered that she was on the point of writing to her to ask her to spend a few days at Treheriie, taking in the last day or two of August and the first week of Se^Dtember, and she feared that the feast might clash with the arrangement, as the month was already nearing its close. ''Why so, madam?" asked Cpil. ^^ The school feast is next week, you say ; what day, Lady St. Aubyn ? " ^'Wednesday.'* '' Well, then, surely you can go over to Stan- more on Wednesday, mother, and you can all come to us the next day. Lady St. Aub}Ti, can't you : "No, Cyril, I am afraid not, for the liouse will be full. Tlie Delafields and Dawsons and my sister and her husband and the Tliorpes are coming.'' Cyril bit his lips with vexation . The Thorpes were to be at Stanmore instead of Treherne, 212 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. and that owing to Ids mother's tardiness in ask- ing them ; and the j^leasant days he had antici- pated during the September shooting were slipping away from liim. It was very pro- voking, especially to Cyril, for no man hated being thwarted more than he did. ^^Biit, Thyril," said Charles St. Aubyn, '' you can come and stay with iith. It would be precious hard lineths if you could not when Willie Thorpe ith to be there." " Well, Charles, I am afraid — vexing as it is to me — I dare not second your invitation. Mr. Thorpe begged me not to ask Cyril w^hilst Willie was with us." '^ What a jolly old papa ! " exclaimed Charles. a ^ere I you, Treherne, I 'd come in thpite of him. Milady may keep to her promith, if she gave one ; but I may athk a friend if I like, I thuppose, and if you don't come, old felloAv, it'll be your own look-out." ^^ Well, Cyril," said Lady St. Aubyn, '^ come with your mother at any rate on Wednesday, :and then we will try and get Mr. Thorpe to ask you himself." " Much obliged, Lady St. Aubyn, but I would rather accept Charles's invitation than Mr. Thorpe's," replied Cyril, annoyed at Mr. Thorpe's precautionary measures. '' However, ^\^LL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 213 I will be with you on Wednesday, when your company is exi^ected, I suppose, to distribute tea and buns till the other comj^any bursts ; then we may begin to think of amusing our- selves.'' " Really, Cyril," said Mrs. Treherne, '' Lady St. Aubyn must think you have very little feel- ing for your fellow-creatures ; for we are all one, remember, in the sight of God, the rich and the poor, the high and the low ; and to talk of feeding them till they burst ! — not a pretty word in any case ; and it is very uncharitable, very un-Christianlike. I think our dear Mr. Snape would feel ill were you to speak so in his pre- sence." '' That is what I am never likely to do. Your dear Mr. Snape and I will never hit it off, you may be very certain. But, Lady St. Aubyn, when does the cramming begin ? " '' The children are to come at two," replied Lady St. Aubyn, smiling, '' and they arc to have fruit to begin with ; then follow all sorts of games, which w411 last till five ; then will com- mence what you term the cramming, which, 1 imagine, will last fully an hour ; then from six to eight the}' may amuse themselves in the gardens ; and at eight there will be sandwiches and negus ; then all go home ; so that 1 hope 214 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. by nine the grounds will be cleared and tlic gates closed. There is the progTamme." ^^And if they can't go home? It is very- possible, after all that eating and drinking, that tliev will not be able." " Then they muth be carried," said Charles, ^' and you and I will help, Thyril ; we '11 thee to that ! " ^' So then I may reckon on you all?" said Lady St. Aubyn — "' the admiral as well ? " ''Here he is to answer for himself," said Mrs. Treherne, as at that minute her husband entered. ''My dear, you will go with us to the school feast at Stanmore next Wednes- day ? " " Of course, of course. It's all so mucli in my^ line, }'ou know; and I enjoy the sight of a lierd of uncouth boys and girls eating to suffo- cation. If I went it Avould be to li'o roimd afterwards and distribute a olass of senna tea to each gorged child. No, it 's a horrible sight ! Leave me at liome to myself. I will go some other da}'. I should only be in the Avay of every one, and every one in mine. How is Sir Gilbert, Lady St. Aub}ii ? " " Quito well. You are just like liim, admired. He would run out of the place if I did not make it a serious point Avith him to WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 215 ►stay. It is a bore, I really begin to think ni}'- self; still one must do tliese things, and do them so that the poor 2:)eople should imagine it to be a pleasure to us as well as themselves. Tlien om- rector would be luut if he fancied we were realh^ put out by giving it. So I put the best face on the matter I can, and try to induce as many of our neighbours to come as possible, to give an appearance of united enjoyment. I need not tell you, liow^ever, I shall wake up this day week relieved to feel Wednesda}' is over.'' "• Then how^ have you the conscience to ask me y " said the admiral. ^^ Ladies have elastic consciences, have they not, Mrs. Trehernc ? Besides, we are old friends, and I tliought I might ask you to come when I should not have had the conscience to ask one I did not know or like as I do yourself." '^ There's a cunning woman I After that, hoAv do you suppose even a rough old sailor like myself can refuse you ? Wliy, not alonc^ must 1 go, l)ut I nmst w^ork too, I suppose." '' I shall 1)0 satisfied with your coming," said Lady St. Aubyn, rising and preparing to leave. '•' I have indeed gained a victory," she added, smiling; ^^so now I had better go with 216 WILL TS THE CAUJ^E OF WOE. triumph in iiu' train, and not stay longer, for fear of giving you time to change your mind." '^ Why, do you think we sailors resemble our favourite element ? Do }^()u think we are tossed from resolution to indecision as the billowy sea is changed with ever}' Avind ? " ^'I do not know that instabilit}' behmgs to sailors more than others ; but 1 think that once you have succeeded in getting a man to arrive at a happy determination it is as well to leave him, and not tempt Fate by o^jening a possible way for change ; and one never knows where C(^nversation may lead us, or what lightly fall- ing' word mav arrest him in his o^ood intentions. If I stayed on much longer chatting with you, how do I know what horrible bugbear I might give rise to in your mind that would effe(;tually keep you away from Stanmore on Wednesday next ? No, no ; I am one of those people who like to leave well alone. So good-bye, my dear Mrs. Treherne, till Wednesday." '^Well, Thyril, old fellow, don't you let yourself be that uj)on by Papa Thorpe. He 'tli a good thort of man, no doubt, ath a whole parent, but ath a half one he nmth be hor- rible. Take my advithe and come over nexth week and stop witli uth, regardleth of the old gentleman." WILL IS THE CAUSP: OF wop:. 217 ^^ Thanks, Charle}', wo '11 soo wIkjjj I am there. I A\dll come over ANi'tli m}' fatlier and mother on AVedne.sday, at an}' rate. When do the Tliorpes go to }'ou. Lad}' 8t. Aubyn V " ^' N(jt till Tuesda}'. There are more visitors for \'oii, Mrs. TreheiTie. \V(^ reall}' nnist go, Charley, or we sliall not Ijo lioino in time for dinner.'' As Lady 8t. AuIah and lier .son were leaving, Mrs. and Miss Henderson walked in. I'hey exchanged a few Ijasty ^\'(jrd.s of greeting in the old o'dk Jiall, aud then each went their way. Mrs. llendersoij ^v'ouderin^^- wli ether, Cyril Treherne having slipped tln-ow^li Lor iiugers, Cliarles St. Aubyn would jj(;t bo an equally good p^t/rti for lior Harriet; and a sudden thought that he would made her tuni round to sa}' something more, which something was intended to bring aljout a more fi^iendl}' feeling between tliom. But it was too late; Lady St. Aubyn was just stepping into lier carriage, helped by Cyi-il, who, the instant the carnage drove off, passed round b}' tlie stables to the little private entrance leading to his o^^^l rooms, thus escaping Mrs. Henderson and her daughter altogether. The admiral was equally alert. He passed out through the drawing-room into the librar}', going out from there b}' the window^ 218 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. and then he joined his son in liis sanctum. So Mrs. Trelierne had to entertain the two ladies by herself ; hut it was not a difficult task. She liked the conversation in which Mrs. Henderson invariably indulged, and though there was a certain amount of jealous}^ between them, especially when they differed in opinion, still they could easily manage to pass an hour together without the aid of others to help them through the time. ^^I wanted to ask you, my dear friend, if you would join me in rmdertaking the district of West Sandcombe ? " said Mrs. Henderson, after having discussed the weather and Lady St. Aubyn's dress till both would have been threadbare, could words wear anything but the human mind. '' I mean, of course, Mr. Snape's district. He came to me yesterday, and asked me if I could help him. There are, it seems, fifty families, and all starving, soul and body ; and our dear Mr. Snape says he will look after their souls if we will attend to tlieir bodies." '^ You mean, I suppose, if we feed and clothe them, he will preach to them and give them tracts to study?" said Mrs. Treherne. ^^Yes, exactly; that is it," replied Miss Henderson. " So good of him, you know, to WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 219 give liis time up to siicli j^eople ; and tliey are such a miseralDle, wicked set. Just think, only yesterday afternoon that little good-for- nothing Tomni}' Rose stole a loaf of oread from Hook the baker, and, wlien he was caught, he cried out that he stole the bread because his mother was starving, and she would die if she had not even a bit of bread. So Hook, on hearing that, refused to give the boy in charge. You see Hook does not attend chapel, and is a worldly, godless man ; but Mr. Snapehad Tommy shut up in the school-room coal-cupboard for twelve houi's, and only gave him one j^iece of dry bread and a little water ; and when he was let out this morning it was horrible to hear all he said, — it made poor dear Mr. Snape shudder, and to silence him he told him if he did not hold his tongue the de^'il Avould come in the night and carry liim off Avlien no one Avould be near to save him, and that he w^ould burn and burn everlastingl}\ Then he said if his mother died, he, !Mr. Snape, was the nuu'derer ; tliat he had robbed his mother of her allowance to send out a couple of })ick-pockets to steal from the lieathens all they had ; but he did not seem ([uite to know what that was, for when asked lie said, ' Tlieir ignorance, to be sure ; what 's the use of upsetting their contentment ? ' Then 220 WILL 18 THE CAU8E OF WOE. lie Aveiit on to say lie had heard Mr. Parker sa}' nothing* was more cruel than to let a person see a little light, and leave them ever after in their former darkness, and that ' that was what Snape did ' ! " '^ And can you imagine, my dear Mrs. Tre- herne, the insolence of that boy, speaking to that good, holy man, and to his very face, as Snape ! " said Mrs. Henderson, interrupting her daughter, who, she thought, had been talking quite as much as she had any right to do, and even more than her rightful share. ^^ It was excessively ill bred and unbecoming in Mr. Parker to speak of him as ' Snape ' ; but, for that Tonnny Eose, he ought to be ])eaten into better behaviour." " That is just what ]Mr. Snape said," put in Miss Harriet. ^' So you see," proceeded her mother, ^^the set we should have to look after. Tommy is only a type of the rest ; not a very promising lot, I fear. Harriet and I have just been to see if the How^ards would like to join us ; but they are not a serious or righteous family, I am afraid, and the girls not well brought up. Miss Howard has a dashing, showy figure and an off-hand manner that may be taking with wild, fashionable men: but it is not that which attracts WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 221 a .sober, .steady, religious young man ; it would frigliten him. And .so, when they declined, saying they thought they were not fitted for it, I was very much inclined to agree mth them ; and that Mr. Snape Avould he driven out of his senses if he saw a mass of bright colours and clouds of tulle and mu.slin tilling up one of our modest little cottacres. Miss Marv said poor people always had catching diseases, and she .should be afraid; besides, .she hated dirt, and they were always dirty. I tried to talk to her of tlie dirt of our own evil natures, of our duty to our fellow^-creatm-es, of the sweet example of the be.st of Christians, (jur dear Mr. Snape, who never allows distress or disease in any form to stay him in liis work ; and I pointed out the infinite pleasure of trA^ng to make others do right. But I do not think they heeded me much ; I fear, at least, the}' did not." "' 1 am .sure tliey did not, niannna ; for Miss Howard was counting the money she had in her purse, and then said something about ' that horrid dressmaker's bill,' and that her fatlier was very mean and would not help her ; and Mi.ss Mary was nuiking most (extraordinary faces at some one, — I could not see whom, for it was onlv her face reflected in the glass that I 222 WILL IS THi: CAUSE OF WOK. saw. Perhaps the faces were at the thoughts of the poor." '^ Ah, they will come to some shocking end, if the}' do not alter ! I wish Mr. Snape would trv to take them in hand." '' I heard he was going to buy, or had done so, a pon}" and carriage ; is it true ? " asked iMrs. Trehernc. '^ Yes, I helievc it is," said Mrs. Henderson, ratlier shortly. ^' But how can he possibly afford it on his ' no income,- as he always calls Avhat lie has to live on ? " ''I do not know," was the curt reph'. '^ People know eacli their own aifairs and means. 1 suppose he has come into a little money." '^ Very j^robably." And Mrs. Treherne recollected that five hun- dred pounds had been collected some little time back for sending tw^o missionaries out to (Jliina, and perhaps it did not take the live hundred (}uite, and j)erhaps — And here a wicked thought suggested itself, as wicked thoughts Avill suofo^est themselves to the l)est of us ; but it was instantly crushed, and the poor old admiral came in for abuse in consequence, for she invariably argued, ^'I never should have \VILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 223 tliouglit .such ^^dckeclness possible liacl the admiral not so often dinned into mv ears that people did do those sort of things ; trul}- ' eA'il commiinieations corrupt i^ood manners ' ! '' After a little more conversaticm, in which Mrs. Treherne consented to helji Mrs. Hender- son in visiting tliis Snape district as far as it lay in her power, for she was not, as she re- minded her friend, a free agent like herself, the Hendersons left. As they drove away, the mother remarked to the daughter, — '^ How thankful we ought to he, Harriet, tliat we are as we are, and have remained pure and uns^Dotted from the world I I fear poor Mrs. Treherne is falling into the ways of the devil, like all the rest of them ! " " Yes, mamma, I think you are right. She is less anxious about the precious doctrines of our good Mr. Snape, and I did not see a single Bible on the table, — not even a tract was there lying about. She still keeps to the cold dinners on Sundays, though ; and you know, manmia, we have given that up, unless there is any one ^^dtll us to see it.'' ' ' Yes, dear ; example is better than precept. Eating cold dinners with no one to see you practising self-denial is no better than precept 224 WILL IS THE CAIJSE OF WOE. but doing so when you have visitors staying with you is example." ''Oh!" And mother and daughter relapsed into silence. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 225 CHAPTER XII. Five clays more before Cyril Trelierne could ho]3e to see Willie. A long time when the heart is anxious ; then the hours seem longer than their rightful sixty minutes, and the days seem to have eight-aiid-forty hours in them at the very least; still, for all that, the sun goes to rest at the usual time, and rises to bring in another day to the world not one second later than he should ; he goes on his even, stead}^ course, regardless of human passions and human desires. '' Will you drive over to Shelton to-day, madam ? " asked Cyril on the Saturday morn- ing, Friday having proved doubtful as regarded the weather, and it was too long a distance to go with a showery sky, threatening rain every half -hour. '' I can't to-day, Cyril. 1 am so sorry, dear, but Mrs. Henderson sent up a note to me this VOL. I. ' Q 226 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. morning, begging nie to be witli her by tbree,. and I sent back word I would." " Wliat is tliat canting old lunnbug Avanting with you ? " '' Do not call her such horrid names, Cyril. She is a good woman, a holy. Christian Avoman, devoting her time and means to good works ; and she wants nothing with me, it is only that I undertook to help her with some poor people in the neighbourhood, and it is but right I should. We ought to helj) our poorer brethren more than we do. I sometimes think I am growing a very wicked woman, I do so little for others." '^ I only hope you are not going to let your- self be led by that Methodist and her grenadier daughter ! " ''Do you not admire Harriet Henderson^ Cyril ? " asked his mother, in simple surprise. '' Admire her ! " and he laughed at the bare idea — a natural, joyous laugh, for it Avas geimine. '' Can 1, mother, possibly admire a gawky, hard creature like that? — a female, if you like, but hardly a Avoman I " '' I do not knoAv Avliat you mean," retorted Mrs. Trelierne, in an offeiided tone. ''I thought a woman Avas a female." '' Yes, generally they arc; but a female need WILL IS THE CAi:SE OF WOE. 227 not of necessity be a woman. But never mind tliose two. So you cannot go with me to Shelton ; it is a fine clay for a ride, so I will ask my father to go with me to Dartmouth." '' Dartmouth is a long wav, Cyril. If Mon- day be fine, I Avill go with you to see these people, if that will do." " Oh, perfectly ! " Cyril went out of the room whistling, to seek his father. But the admiral could not go with him to-day either; he had some people coming from Exeter touching the sale of a farm, and he nuist be at home when they arrived. So Cyril, thrown back on himself, ordered his horse to be saddled and determined to ride over alone to vShelton ; it would, at any rate, occupy the remainder of the da}', and bring him one nearer to the wished-for Wednesday. He remembered, also, that the fortnight elapsed that ver}' day ; and he had promised poor little Cherry to see her once more at the end of that time — once more, and no more I And now, how delighted she would be to hear that on Monday she would see him again I tliougli lie would not tell her that till after a while ; she should imagine his mother only was to go. Then his little gift ; he felt glad he shourd be able to give her that Avlien 228 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. alone with her; if any one were present he would not be able to see and enjoy her pleasure. So all things combined to make him think it would be advisable for him to go over to Shel- ton that Saturday afternoon. It was a pleasant ride for a bright August day over the wild sandhills, and then down into tlie narrow lanes, where the banks on either side were laden with summer flowers ; then up again on to the heights looking down on the broad blue sea, and watching the white- sailed ships skimming over its shimmering Avaters. Cyril Treherne never saw the sea without longing to be on it. It was a pity he was not a sailor by profession ; he would have made a good one. As it was he never grumbled at any roughing when afloat, however he grumbled at the least Avant in his daily com- forts ashore. He would throw himself down in his berth, and with a rug over him sleep as soundly as a child; yet at home if there happened to be a fold in the sheet his mother was sure to hear of it at the first meeting the following morning. He walked his horse along the edge of Oswald Hill, which rose up j)erpendicularly from the great extent of sand that about a mile further on joined the Shelton sands, WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 229 whither lie was hound. It was a dangerous path in AAinter — indeed at any season when the wind blew off the land. But all was calm now, even the fine grains of sand lay still amidst the hard, harsh grass groA\dng out of it here and there, giving a verdant hue over the hill when seen from a distance. '' Why should I not go somewhere for a month or two?" thought Cyril, as he sauntered along, his eyes fixed on a little ship, not unlike his own ill-fated Marguerita. '^ It is true, Willie has asked me not, but that is all folly ; if I could always be with her, or even see her wdien I liked, it w^ould be another matter. Why, I am not even allowed to be invited to the St. Aub}'ns' because she is to be there ; it 's simply absui'd I I really will have it out ^\i\\\ old Thorpe on Wednesday, and either he .shall give in a bit or I '11 be off to the Medi- ten^anean." Cyril, having come to this determination, turned his horse off from the brow of the hill ; and, touching him lightly with his spurs, rode quickly on till he came in sight of the little cottage, then he reined in, and walked slowly up to within a few yards of the door. As on his last visit, he dismounted before getting to the window, so that he saw before he was 230 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. seen. There was no George this time, but Miles Mason was at home; however, Cyril went up and knocked with the head of his whij:) against the door. The coastguardsman looked round ; for a moment a dark expression crossed his face, but it was soon swept away by a look of welcome. '' I 'm glad to see you, sir ; it 's very kind of 3^ou to think of coming all this distance ; or perhaps, sir, it 's something I can do for you. Com e m, sir ; come m. 75 Miles had stood filling up the doorway at first, as much as to say he had no intention of admitting his guest. ^'I merely came to shake hands with you, Mason, and to see how you and your daughter are. I can't forget, you know, that I owe my life, perhaps, to you. How is Miss Cherry ? '' Miles turned round. " Chcrrv, where are you, girl ? She was there this moment, sir ; I didn't notice her leaving tlie room. She's well, I thank you." Then, in a' louder and, to ears familiar with the man's usual voice, an angry tone, he called to his daughter, ^^ Cherry, come here ; you 're wanted." A moment after Cherry opened the door — the one that led into the room Cyril had occupied. Her face was flushed, but her hair WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 231 liad evidently just been smoothed, and her dress was perfectly fresh, clearly just put on. Her father looked at her with an expression that boded nothing pleasant. " AYliat have you been about ? AVhat 's this for? Do you mistake Saturday afternooi with all your work on hand, for Sunday? Go and 23ut on the frock you had on just now, and take off this red piece of finery," he con- tinued, Avith a pull at the little ril3bon poor Cherr}' had hurriedlv twined round her hair, and which seemed to have as enraging an effect on Mason as a red rag has on a bull. All this while Cyril, wlio was standing inside the cottage, but holding his horse's reins over lus arm, felt extremely annoyed. He pitied poor little Cherry with all his heart, and longed to comfort her ; but even by a look he oould not do so, for her great brown eyes were fixed on her father, and she never re- moved them till lie finished speaking. Then, with an efiort suppressing the angry feel- ings his words had aroused, she spoke very calmly, — '^ I thought Mr. Jackson was coming, and I was not fit t(j be seen." '' You 're lying, girl ! " slioutcd i\rason ; and he neared his daughter in a menacing manner. 232 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. The girl never stirred ; but Cyril quickly fastened liis horse to the handle of the door,, and came inside. ^' Don't be angry with her, Mason," he said. ''' After all it is no great crime to like a little dress, and all girls are the same ; and if she expected Mr. — Mr. Somebody, why, it was but natural she should try to look as well as she could." '' But it 's a lie, sir I She knows as well as I do that Mr. Jackson is busy writing his sermon on Saturday afternoons, and that he never comes at this hour on any day." '^ Because he never has is no reason why he never should," replied Cherry, crossly ; ^'and if it isn't Mr. Jackson it is Mr. Treherne, and I suppose I am best tidy, am I not, whoever it is ? " '^ If you put it on that, why, it's another thing," said her father, his passion moderating, meeting with a spirit in his child he had never seen before astonishing him. Had she ai^peared frightened, he woidd have waged war still fm^ther, but finding ojDposition and a defiant manner rather cowed him ; besides, he recol- lected he was perhaps making a great fool of himself before this gentleman, as, if there were 310 reasons for the sus2)icions that had for some AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 233 time been taking root in liis jjreast, lie was creating a cause for them really to exist. ^' This is not a very agreeable welcome to you, sii'," said Mason, presently; ^'but you see I must look after her; she has no mother, no female relation, to take care of her, and she 's no longer a child. Won't you take some re- freshment, sii' ? " ' ' I am very tliirsty ; if you will give me a glass of water — " ^' You can manage that. Cherry, I think," said her father. Without a word, the girl went and fetched it and brought it to Treherne — the tumbler, a show glass, with little balls of crystal studded over it, and the water looking so clear it was hardl}^ ^dsible. As Cyril took it from Cherry's hand, he managed to touch hers without her father noticing it, though he saw the look the girl gave as he did so — a look, rough sailor though he was, he understood but too well. He read it as correctly as did Cyril, and the father's heart sank within him. It was no longer anger he felt, it was fear, and the worst form of fear, for he feared for the loss to his child of that which is dearer far tlian life, the loss of peace of mind, and — virtue. He sat a few minutes without speaking, his hands 234 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. clasped between his knees and his head sunk. ^^ Are you ill, father ?" asked Cherry, as her eyes rested on his pale face. She spoke kindly ; she had softened, and was again her own self ; the mere touch of Cyril's hand sufficed for that. ''No, child! oh, no, I'm not ill I What made you think of such a thing ? " He tried to laugh, but it was useless ; it was a miserable attempt only. Cyril understood it all, and was pained at the poor man's but too evident distress, and repented, as he had done once before when Willie was by his side, of his folly. He was vexed, too, at the father's clear- sightedness ; better far had he been blind, especially in his position. But fathers and mothers, too, are apt at times to be blessed with understandings and eyesight utterly out of keeping with their positions. It may have Ijeen very annoying for a coast-guardsman to see the love that was growing up in his daughter's heart past her management, whatever a Mr. Tliorpe might do, nor need he have read the expression of those wondering eyes which, with all the years Miles Mason had watched over his child, he had never seen in them before, and it was that which struck such cold terror in his breast, and whicli made liim curse the storm WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 235 that led to his sheltering Cyril Treherne in his humble, honest home. The hour for his returning to his duty was come and past ; still he could not go and leave Cherry by herself with that man, who must know what the girl could not, and seemingly did not, attempt to hide from him. Now how he longed for a wife or a sister to look after her ; he felt so helpless. '^ Do you go back by Oswald Hill, sir, or by the lower road ? " asked Mason, looking up at the big Dutch clock. '' I came by the hill," replied Cyril, '^but I thought of returning by the other way ; it is quite chilly uj^on those downs after five o'clock." '^I am going that way, sir, and could walk a bit with you, if you would allow me." '' By all means," said Cyril, wishing at the same time some blessed chance would take him off, for a minute only, that he might have a word with Cherry, and give her the little trinket; then, recollecting he would see her again on Monday, he tliought it would be best to communicate his mother's intention to Mason. " Mv mother has been intendino- everv day, for weeks, to drive over and sec a'ou, but one 236 WILL IS THE CAi:SE OF WOE. thing or anotlier has occurred to prevent her. She hopes, however, on Monday to do so." '^ I am very much obliged, and feel honoured by the intention. But we' are but poor, hard- working people, and I think it does ns no good, sir, to see too much of the gentry ; it makes ns dissatisfied with our lot, and we don't work so easil}-^ when we are discontented ; and may- be it would be better if your lady mother didn't come, sir, nor — you either, sir. You see, it can't do me nor my girl an}^ good? ^^^^ it may do us harm. I hope you don't think me — think me rude, sir ? and — I 'm ready, sir, if you are." ''No, Mason, I do not indeed think you — rude, or anything but honest and straightfor- ward ; but I think it might pain my mother if I told her you refused to accept her thanks for all the care you took of her son ; so, if you will see her on Mondav, she shall not trouble you any more." ''It isn't trouble, sir, — that's not it; and — it's not your lady mother, of course; but — of course I 'm honoured in seeing her — but, but — well, sir, shall we go ? " Cyril could hardly help smiling at poor Mason's anxiety to get rid of him. There clearly was no chance of having a word with WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 237 Clieny this time, or of giving lier the k)cket. Well, perhaps it was best ; and as Mason was standing at the door, waiting for and watching him, he held out his hand to the yomiggirl, and bade her good-bye, tlien, mounting his horse, he and Mason went away together. When they were gone, Cherry, with her finger resting on her rosy, pouting lip, and her foot tapping the floor with angr}' disappoint- ment, tried in vain to console herself witli the knowledo^e that she would see him ao-ain on Monday. But, then, on Monday his mother was to be with him, and of course her fatlier would be there ; moreover, by her father's manner and words she was perfectly aware he guessed at the truth, and would he, therefore, ever give her a chance of seeing Cyril again alone ? The whole time of his visit had l)een a torture to her. She had not had a word, not a look, from him, only that one little touch of the hand, which was like an electric shock to her, and, for a second, sent a thrill of pleasure tlu'ough her. He looked so handsome, so well dressed ; tlie fine cloth, the white Hnen, the polished boots, tlie well-fitting glo\'es, all lielped in their way to increase the girl's mad infatuation. Tears of vexation rose and glistened in her large eyes, as she mourned the 238 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. opportunity lost of liearing liini say some loving word to her. Then a sudden idea flashed through her brain ; if he went home by the lower road she might overtake him if she went by way of the rocks — for road there was none, but l)y climbing over those dreadful jagged rocks she came in, at the distance of about a mile, almost four miles ahead of the road he took. She knew her father Avould be on his beat, so on that score she felt safe ; and as quickly as her nervous fingers would permit, she prejDared to put her plan into execution, and see Cyril, come what might. She closed the door of the cottage, and, putting the key in her j)ocket, she started. It required the alacrity and activity of the chamois to clamber up and down the sharp- pointed rocks over which her way lay, but she did it with a quickness and securit}' that seemed almost unnatural. In twenty ininutes from the time she left home she found herself overlooking the road by which she knew Treherne must pass, with only a hedge between her and it. She thought at flrst of getting over it, and waiting in the road itself, but then a foolish dread of a very improbable occurrence decided her on remaining where she was. Her father, she thought, might be with him yet, WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 239 and in tliat case she should see him in time to jjrevent herself being seen ; so she stayed where she was. So impatient was she, or Cyril was really long in coming, that she began to think he must already have gone by. She wondered at last how long she might safely wait there. She could not stoj) till evening. Her father's movements were sometimes uncer- tain, he would come in when unlooked for, and not, perhaps, when he was expected ; in short, she was beginning to get frightened at her o^vn temerity, and almost to wish herself back again, for it seemed as if, after all she had done, she was not to be rewarded witli a sight of him. " He must have gone by Oswald Downs," she thought ; ' ' and I might as well have spared myself all these scratches and bruises, that in my luuTy I coukl not escape. If I only knew the hour ! '' After stretching her neck, and looking as far do-wai the road as she could, she was about to turn back, with a heavy heart, the wa}' she had come, when she heard the distant .sound of a horse's feet echoing up the road. Her pulses jjeat almost as fast as the quick tread that liad sent the blood up into her cheek. In a few seconds she saw C}'ril coming along at a quick 240 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. pace, and alone. Now she must scramble over tlie hedge, so as to prevent his passing without seeing her, which, at the rate his horse was trotting, was not an unlikely occurrence. She looked right and left in the hopes of seeing a gate or an opening by which she could pass, but in her fear and anxiety she saw neither, so she made an attempt to get over it, and was in its very midst when Cyril came up. He was passing on, looking neither to the right nor left, when the young girl's voice arrested him. ^^ Mr. Treherne ! " Then much louder — '' Mr. Treherne ! " He saw her now. '' Oh, if you please, sir, stop a minute ! I want to speak to you." ''Cherry! how did you come there?" He reined in his horse, and then went close beside the hedge. "Is it really you ? And w^hat are you doing in the middle of that hedge ? " All scratched, and her best frock torn almost to shreds, poor Cherry looked an object for commiseration. She felt, too, in such a stujiid, awkward position, she hardly knew whether to cry or to laugh. "Here, let me help you," said Cyril, dis- mounting, and going to her rescue, for she found it impossible eitlier to advance or recede. WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 241 After a scramble and breaking of branches to an extent that would have driven the owner of the field the hedge enclosed distracted, seeing a hole remained big enough for Cherry to pass out with ease, she stood on the road beside Cyril, with her eyes down, and her hands gathering together the tattered frock, that sm^ely must have been made for the express purjiose of getting into difficulties. Poor little Cherry ! Like many others, she had yet to learn that ■will is the cause of woe. "Well, have you nothing to say. Cherry? Don't look so cast down : I will give you a new di'ess. But what brought you into that hedge ? Surely I left you at home, so how you got there is a mystery to me. You must have mngs hidden somewhere under that little cape. Let ine see — " "I haven't mngs, sir," said Cherry, in a petulant tone. She had expected sympathy foi' her troubles, and Mr. Treherne sj^oke rather too cheerfully. She Avished she had not come. '^I walked over by the rocks; it's a near way — and — now I 'm going 1)ack again." ''Wait a moment. It is impossible you crossed those rough, slipperv rocks for the solo purpose of getting fixed intr> a hedge and tear- ing your frock to pieces." VOL. I. R 242 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. " I don't care for my frock." '^ I did not say you did; but if your object was merely to destro}^ it, you could have cut it to ribbons at home." ^' 1 didn't want to destroy it. Oh, why," she broke out at last, with her lips quivering, and her eyes filling, ^' why will you tease me! I came — I came to see you, sir, because — " ^' Well, Cherry, because—?" '^Because you said, a fortnight ago, this would be the last time, and I could not bear the thought of it ! " ^ ' But did I not tell you I should bring my mother over to see you on Monday? I did intend it to be the last time ; but you see we cannot always do the right thing even when Ave try. The devil seems wonderfully fond of affording us w^ays and means of indulging one's inclination. I wonder if it is very wrong, Cherry, to follow one's desires when they — " '^1 don't know, sir," said Cherry, interrupt- ing liim. "I hope it isn't; that is, if your desire is to come over to Shelton sometimes," she added, naively. ^^ But I must go, sir," she contiimed, glancing up at him for a moment. ^^ I have a long way to go to get home ; the tide is /•oming in, -I can't go back by the rocks." ^'Foolish child! And did you positively \ WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 243 come here mereh' to learn if I were coming- on Monday ? " ' ' Not altogether, because I don't count Mon- day like seeing you ; hut to ask you to come once more — ^just once ! " she added, her beau- tiful eyes pleading even more than her words. Cyril seemed to hesitate a moment, and then he gave in ; the temptation was too strong for him, and he promised. He was walking by her side slowly — they were going the right way for her — when she exclaimed, suddenly, — '' There 's some one comino: ! How long^ is it since father left you? Which wav did he f>T)?" '' Don't be alarmed: your father left me quite half an hour ago ; and he turned o& to the left, going straight towards the sea. Look, it is not your father ; the man is dressed in black. He is some one that does not know you, depend upon it." '^ Don't leave me, please, sir, till he's passed." So they continued tlieir walk, and in a couple of minutes came on the man w^ho had frightened Cherry down to pale cheeks and trembling limbs. He stared at both, and then at once addressed himself to C}'ril. *' Can you tell me if I am cm the light road for Sandcombe ? Oh, Mr. Treherne, I think — I am not mistaken, vm 1 ? '' 244 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^^ No, — I am Mr. Treherne ; but you have the advantage of me, sir, for to my knowledge I never set eyes on you before. If you continue straight on you will find a sign-j)Ost about a mile or a mile and a half further on, indicating the road to Sandcome." The person, the individual, the stranger, anything you like to call him, except gentle- man, tliat addressed Cyril Treherne, was a man of middle stature, stout, with a sensual face, yet wdth an expression of humility and meek- ness pervading it. His features were small, with the exception of his mouth, and that was large, with thick, moist lips ; his face was cleanly shaven ; his hair — greasy and straight — was dark ; his hands — none of the cleanest — were fat and podgy, with dimples where knuckles should be visible. He was dressed entirely in black, with a white necktie ; the trousers were very glossy at the knee, perhaps from constant praying, perhajDS from a trouble- some habit of always rubbing his knees Avhen- ever he was sitting down. His Avhole appear- ance was anything but preposse^^sing, — even worse, it was such that most, women would have made the same request Clierry did — not to be left within his power. It is hard to explain what tliere is in some WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 245 faces so attractiye, and in others so repulsive. You liave only to look at some j^eople without even sjDeaking to them, single them out in a crowded room, and feel you can both like and trust them. So likewise can you in a glance point to those who repel, and give rise to mistrust and doubt. Such a one was the Reverend Samuel Snape, the i\Iethodist minister of Sand- combe, and guide and director-general of Mrs. Henderson and her household, who, having had some hint that he might obtain some addition to his missionary fund in the direction of Shelton, had gone in search of it, and was now on his road home with a five-pound note more in his pocket than when he started. He accosted Mr. Treherne more with the object of finding out who that gentleman was, leading his horse and walking in a suspiciously slow way with (even in the distance he could tell) a young girl, than to learn his road, and before finishing his question he recognized the heir to Treherne Court; and, having sho^vn his knowledge, he volunteered the same information concerning himself. He lifted his hat as he spoke, whether as a mark of respect to himself, or Treherne or Cherry, it would be difficult to say, but it seemed quite unnecessary ; as he did so he showed the top of his head to be of a shiny 246 WILL IS THE CAUSE OE WOE. baldness, and his forehead no bad shape. The man was evidently no fool — probably a knave. ^'I have heard your name, sir," replied Cyril, haughtily. '' That is your way, sir," and the young- man pointed with his finger down the road lie himself had just ridden over. '' You are not returning to Treherne, I sup- pose ? " asked Mr. Snape, with a bland smile, thinking it would be a great stroke of fortune if he could be seen walking into Sandcombe with the young Squire of Treherne — an event that might possibly lead to that other so long desired of being invited to the Court. ^^I am not accustomed to be questioned by tr — " (^Hramps" he was going to say, but stopped himself in time) ''strangers as to which way I am going. Good evening." '' Good evening, sir, good e^XBning." The Reverend Samuel bowed again, and smiled too, showing a set of long narrow teeth, that seemed to have descended from the gums nearly to the roots. That smile boded mis- chievous intentions; whether they would be effective or not remained to be seen ; but he resolved if the fates were not against him to pay off that haughty young man who dared to talk to him in so arrogant a tone. However he walked on, and when a few minutes after- WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 247 wards Cyril turned round lie was no longer in sight. '^ Now, Cherry, vou are safe, and I will leave you. How long will it take you to get home ? " '' Half an hour, if I run all the w^ay,'' rej^lied Cherry, dolefully. ^ ' But you must not run all the way. Y(ju will not breathe properly for twenty -four hours at least if you do such a foolish thing." " But I must, though, or I shall not get liome till after six, and father may come in before that — he does sometimes." "Then be off at once!" said Cpil, kissing lier, as a matter of course ; but very differently to the last time, and to Cherry it seemed cold and indifferent — a kiss mthout love, which in truth it was ; for, though Cyril had won tlie girl's heart past reason or restraint, he loved her not himself. For all his folly and his thoughtlessness, his lieart was true to WilHc Tliorpe. So, on the whole, Cherry's escapade liad not been fraught with pleasure. She walked on alone now, her lieart heavy and lier hopes dis- appointed; though she would have found it hard to say why, even to herself. Cyril liad promised, independently of Monday, to see lier 248 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. again, so she might have been satisfied ; but there Avas something in his manner, something wanting, that hm^t her, and a cheerfulness about him she, in her sorry pHght, had been unable to share or even like. Perhaps Miles Mason's outbreak had helped to bring him to his senses, and cooled dowm his ill-placed admira- tion, and so his embrace lacked the warmth the girl expected. He might have thought it well to go so far and no further, when he became aware of the depth of love poor Cherry was capable of feeling. It is easy to arouse passion, but not so easy to allay it, and he perhaps began to see he was on a dangerous path ; however, whatever it was Cherry felt the dif- ference, and was sad and weary accordingly. She forgot all about running ; her one trouble quite deadened her others, and so she walked quietly, if not sloAvly, homewards. About a quarter of an hour after Cyril had parted from her she again heard the ring of a horse's hoof along the road, coming at a rapid pace ; as the sound neared, she turned to see who it was, and to her joy she recognized Cyril. She stood still, and he was soon by her side. '' See here," he said, taking the little box containing the chain and locket from his- AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 249 pocket, ^^I actually came over on purpose to give you this, and yet went away entirely for- getting it. Come close — do not be afraid, Bob won't kick — and I will put it on you." Cherry, once again full of joy and hope, and her heart beating mth happiness, received Cyril's gift with a blushing, smiling counte- nance. ^' Oh, I thank you, sir; I thank you more than I can find words to express. This mil ever be the most precious thing I shall possess." And she kissed the locket as she spoke. ^' You might kiss the donor, I think," he said, smiling. But too ready to give obedience, Cherry's lips were held uj), and he stooped down and met them. ^' Is your hair in it ? " she asked, suddenly. ^^No, little one, of course not! " '' Oh, do, do give me a little curl — do not refuse me ; just one little bit to put in ! You have plenty; you need not grudge it me." '' But I can't tear it out of ni}' head. I '11 bring you a piece on Monday." "No, no, no; now; perhaps on Monday you may not have an opportunity of giving it me." 250 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^' Well, then, on that next occasion." ^^ Oh, no ; please now I Have you not a knife ? " Cyril had a knife, so she asked him to bend down his head whilst she cut off a curl. It was soon done, and a dozen such might have been taken without their being missed from his head. One of his beauties was the quantity of rich-coloured yet fair hair. Cherry noAV went home happy, and for the moment thoroughly satisfied. She had ad- vanced another step on that road that seen in perspective aj)pears so fraught with bliss, but which has an invisible end — a deep gulf of misery, a gulf from which there is no escape but the grave. Cyril had now to put his horse into a fast trot; he was late, and wished to get home. Within a few yards of where he had just parted with Cherry his eye caught sight of the figure of a man that he could have sworn was that of Snape, had he not, more than half an hour ago, seen him going at a good walking pace in advance of him ; still he felt so convinced that he took the trouble of reining in his horse, and turned his head round to see. True enough, there was Mr. Snape, now coming briskly along ; but he would have passed by without WILL IS THE CAUvSE OF WOE. 251 appearing to see Cyril, if he had not himself been addressed. '' You seem to have made progress towards Sandcombe crab fashion, Mr. — Snake." '^ Snape, sir, if you j^lease; but, I beg your pardon, I am not clever at jokes." And Snape raised his hat. " No, perhaps not, nor at minding your own business I " Cyril felt morally convinced the man had been watching him. He wondered what he knew, how much he had seen. He could not ask him, so he once more started off on his wav home, not drawino^ in rein till he reached the gates of Treherne Com-t. '' I think I may make sometliing out of this," said Snape to himself, as he went cheerfully on. '' I think ]\rrs. Henderson may work some good from such materials ; and if I gain no tangible benefit by it, I may at any rate have the satis- faction of gi\dng that young gentleman a few uncomfortable hours in return for his insolence." And, planning and plotting, he got along ([uite cheerily. 252 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTER XIII. If there is anytliing in general more stupid than another it is a school feast; doubly so to those who know neither the children nor the locality very perfectly. It would seem as if there must be some wonderful and unusual amount of good nature, of charitable sympathy with the less fortunate portion of our fellow- creatures, or something very weak in us, if we deliberately and freely go to one of those gatherings with nothing more in prospect than having to act the waiter to the best of our abilities ; we must either have a good supply of the milk of human kindiiess in our composition or we must be wanting in the small quantity of moral courage that would enable us to say, No. And yet at the great annual gathering at Stanmore there were those present who neither cared for nor knew the children, nor the dis- AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF AVOE. 253 tricts tliey came from, and yet they were there, and, moreover, at their own earnest desire, with hope rising within them as the minutes flew by, till the moment came when it was either crushed out to the very death or fulfilled. It is so pleasant to go about for a few hours mth a beating heart, anticij^ating every instant all sorts of pleasure and happi- ness, even at a charity-school feast, that it is not to be wondered if even such an opportunity is seized on by many for the croAvning of their dearest mshes, when no better occasion presents itself. Few go to any gatherings — among the young, we mean — Avithout having something in prospect that they hope may turn out as they wish. So, at Stanmore on the Wednesday in ques- tion, besides the children — nearly two hundred in number, for they came from the villages all round within a circuit of three miles — there Avere at least a hundred other guests, and a quarter of them came to fulfil their OAvn desires and hopes, regardless alike of charity boys and girls and hard-hearted fathers and selfish mothers. The day was propitious ; it Avas one of those rare days we are occasionally faA^oured Avith in this prosperous country — a day that seems to have broken loose from its Southern 254 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. liome, and, spending it with us, gives us a taste of what we might enjoy five-sixths of the year, were we not doomed by our position to breathe our lives out in fog and rain and east winds. The sun was shining out clearly in a palish blue yet cloudless sky; there was the least possible breeze, sufficient to temper the heat and to prevent peo2:)le wdio desired so mucli to look well from having a reflecting hue on their faces ; for, perhaps, with all the young ladies there assembled — the two Miss How^ards excepted — none dreamed of securing themselves from su(;li a contingency by the application of poudre de riz. They w^ere mostly simple, natural English girls, who tried to look their best, but knew nothing of Eachaelism. Sir Gilbert St. Aubyn, who loved show intensely, and delighted in the lesser squires of his neighbourhood seeing and admiring his house and his plate, his gardens and hot-houses, his wife and his son, his stables and his kennel, was a victim on such an occasion as the present. What could all that mass of puerile liumanity know or understand about his Avealtli and his position ? and thougli, as he entered tent after tent, where they first assembled to be crammed Avith fruit before the^ amusements prepared for WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 255 them were to commence, the children rose up, and, under the direction of j)roticient leaders, ^^ave hearty cheer.s for the lord of the manor, he still felt it was a mere nursery doing him honour, a paltry, worthless imitation of the real homage from f ull-gro^\ai men and women which was his due. So the affair to him was a bore, and he was heartily glad when his speech was over and the da}' past. He had neither hopes nor fears in the balance ; neither pleasure nor pain in store for him. Almost all the guests had arrived ; the Tre- hernes were among the last. Cyril, anxious as he was to be there, wished the distri- bution of refreshment to be over first ; he did not feel in a mood to be doling out strawberries and gooseberries to the thick-featured, lieavy- looking crew of school-children : there were hands enough without his to minister to their voracious appetites ; besides he had a kind of jealous dislike to seeing Willie Thorpe so employed, and it would have irritated him had he seen her flitting about in her pretty white muslin, done about with blue ribbons in all directions, attending to every one, and without the time to give him, perhaps, more than a passing look. Act the Second would be enough 256 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. to endure, supposing he did not succeed in getting her to the opposite end of the grounds — to where the tents were pitched — before it began. But Willie, who had arrived at Stanmore early in the day, was looking anxiously about for him whom for days she had been longing and hoping to see ; and as carriage after carriage drove up, and yet he came not, her heart began to feel heavy, and the day seemed to grow dull and all around uninteresting. She went in to do her part and help to distribute fruit and biscuits to the ever-hungry mouths of village children in a mechanical, silent manner that proved how far her thoughts were from her occupation. It Avas so hot, too, in those tents, and the buzz of voices, the clatter of feet kicking about, the misty atmosphere from tlie many people, all confusing and 02)pressive, made Willie feel her head light and dizzy. She slipped out at last, unseen by any but Harriet Henderson, who was One of those people that always saw what no one wished her to see, and heard what never was meant nor desired to reach her ears. Not that Willie cared two straws who saw lier ; she felt unhappy, and so longed to get away and alone to in- dulge in her disappointment. Perhaps, after WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 257 all, Lady St. Aiib}Ta had not invited the Trehernes. At that moment she would have welcomed even Mrs. Treherne — any one who could have oiven her news of C^^.il. She beo^an to rebel at her father's hard restrictions, as she sat under the shade of a large beech, far away from every one, and only the buzzing echo of many voices reaching her: if he thought Cyril good enough for her husband, surely there could be no harm in their meeting on such occasions as tliis. ]\Iany married at her age ; she was not such a child after all, and why should she be kept in tighter reins than others ? Willie Thorpe was beginning to learn the lesson that is taught by the love that grows stronger and stronger, to the exclusion of an}' other. Up to within a very short time back Mr. Thorpe held the first place in his child's heart, and it was not in a moment he was displaced; it was l^y degrees, yet therefore the more induljitably. Had her father been as indulgent on this point as he had been on all others, Cyril and he miglit liave been ever side by side ; but, as it was, she felt the one love, a^ it homely increased in depth and strengtli, slowly but surely lessening the other. ^^ I had better never have seen him, never have gone to Treherne, never have gone anywhere VOL. I. s 258 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. till papa thought mc old enough to many, or the promise given to poor mamma fulfilled, than lead this sort of life for the next year to come I " she murmured to herself. Then trying, it would seem, to A'ex herself as much as possible, and render everything in its least pleasing colour, she went on, — '^ C}anl himself ought to stand out against it; he ought to say that he won't give up seeing me, and if he do not, then I am sure he does not love me, that's all ! " And with flushed cheeks, and her laughing blue eves looking almost fierce, she resolved to tell Cyril this the first opportunity. It was not far off, if she chose to avail herself of it, for Cyril stood behind her, watching her usually beaming, bright face, and wondered what could have ruffled her into even a seeming anger. ^' How long, AVillie, am I to stand here with- out even a glance of recognition ? " he said at last, thinking he might l)e losing a few precious moments that ho might enjoy with her in peace, if he did not interrupt her reverie. " Oh, Cyril, you are come ! " she exclaimed, springing to her feet. '^ I am so glad ! I came liere to be alone ; I was so afraid you were not coming. Why are you so late ? " WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 259 And the cloud passed off her face, and it was once more all smiles and love and happiness. ^' My own, my darling ! " he whispered, and for one moment he wrapped her in his strong arms, and pressed her to liis heart, ^' I have been looking for you for at least half an hour. I inquired of every one — your father excepted — and no. one could tell me anything about you.'' '' I did ]iot want any one to know ; I wanted to be alone. I felt bored and tired and cross." ^^ And now—?'' '' Now I am not — that 's all," and she looked up with a smile so full of contented love that Cyril's heart beat with happiness. " I suppose we may sit here a little together without fear of scoldings or cross looks after- wards. At any rate let us risk it, for I never get a word with you alone, Willie ; we are kept as much apart as if your father had refused his consent to our marriage." Willie w^as silent ; now Cyril was witli her she felt happy, and wavered as to telling him what her thoughts had been when he inter- rupted them. They were sitting side by side under the great beech, almost hidden by the sweeping branches that spread around, touchino- the ground. One little hand was imjDrisoned • 260 WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. tlie other Willie Avas pulling up bits of grass with. Her ideas were travelling fast back- wards and forwards ; she was undecided what to say J so she made no reply ; yet she longed for him to know that she thought her father's prohibition as harsh and needless as he did. "Imagine," he continued, '^my jumping at an invitation to a charity-school feast as tlie only means of seeing you for a month to come I Do you know, Willie, your father made Lady St. Aubyn promise she would not ask me whilst you were here ? It was Charley gave me the invitation." ^ "No, I did not, indeed; but I shall like Charley immensely from this time ! " Willie said this in a tone that implied she thought that a valuable recompense to any one, and sufficient to wipe out any debt of gratitude. " It may be all very well for you to go on like this for another year, but I cannot, — I cannot indeed, Willie. You have no end of things you can occupy yourself with." " No, I have not ; what have I ? " "You have needle-work, and music, and reading, and then you have Dust and Snow, and you have your father, whom, I suppose, } ou love better than me, or you would not submit WILL IS THE CAUSP: OF WOE. 261 mthout an attempt, at least, at a remonstrance to his unjust determination/' ''I don't love liim better than you I " ex- claimed Willie, pained into the admission by Cyril's taunt. '' Then why, Willie," he said, coming 3^et a little nearer, and Ijendin^^ fondly over her, '^ why not tell him he must not keep us so apart ? Tell him he must let us meet in his house, and in my father's, and wherever chance may admit of it. Will you ask him this, WilHe, or shall I ? " ^' No, no ; I mil speak to him." An hour ago slie was upbraiding Cyril in lier heart for his not endeavouring to turn her fatlier from his decision, and, now that of liis own accord he proposed to do so, she was the one to prevent him. '^ And if he refuse you must let me go away altogether. You nmst let me travel, Willie ; for I feel, darling, I cannot stay here and not see you.'' So Willie determined to speak to her fatlier, and plead for C}'ril and herself with all the fervency possible. ^' We had better go now and join the rest, or w^e shall be having some one sent in search of us," she said, after they had been there more 262 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. than an hour, though it appeared a very short one to both. Eeluctantly they left their retreat ; for it had been a happy time to both, and it is so difficult to feel sure of a happy hour in the future. Willie had forgotten all her vexation from the moment Cyril joined her ; and he, in tlie pure enjoyment of her love, let no troubling thoughts arise. Cherry never once crossed his mind ; the lock of hair, — the few minutes he managed to steal away with her on the Mon- day when lie had gone over to Shelton mth his mother, — the promise extracted from him to see her again, — the scared look when he told her he was going to leave Treherne for a time, — none of these recollections rose up to mar the happiness of the moment. He loved Willie with all the strength and intensity of which a man's heart is capable. He (*ared for Cherry but as a pretty, rustic child, — a 2)laytliing that might, had she not been so sadly earnest in her love, have helped him through his year of probation ; but he knew her w^ild, uncurbed passions must lead to trouble if he continued seeing her, and he determined nothing should induce him to go again to Shelton. In her presence he was weak ; he made the last pro- mise hastily, — she clung to him till he gave it, WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 2G3 and her father Avas ahiiost within hearing. So it was mth a heart free from care, and full of gratified love, that he, mth Willie by him, walked romid by the plantation to the flower- garden, and then on to the lawn, where all kinds of noisy games were going on. You could, however, detect at once the presence here and there of a teacher by the subdued manner of the children witlnn their sight, and the half-shy look with which they answered when spoken to. They are terrible wet blankets everpvhere, whether as a governess in a private family or school-teacher. ''Where have you been, Miss Thorpe?" asked Miss Howard, as Willie and Treherne joined a group that were holding counsel as to the propriety of having a little amusement themselves in the shape of a game at croquet. ''I have been enjoying my own company," she replied, smiling, ''till Mr. Treherne hap- pened to discover my retreat, and then we came to join you." " They have been a long time about finding their way to us," said Miss Mary Howard, laughing, and in an under-tone to Miss Henderson. " Yes, I think it quite shocking to see the boldness of — some girls. I sup])ose in this case 2()4 WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF AVOE. it arises from the want of a mother's care," was tlie rejoinder in a higher key. '^ We were debating the question of a game at croquet, Miss Thorpe," said Captain Mayne, who looked handsome enough, but too much resembling the pink and white complexion and back hair of the wax heads in a hairdi^esser's window; "but we are not sure if, under the circumstances, it is the j^roper thing to do." " Considering the mission we are on here," said Willie, " I am not sure that it is, though it would be nice enough, and better than stand- ing doing nothing." '^We are surely not wanted simply to look on that batch of children playing ' Hunt the slipper,' and that other at ' Blind man's buff,' or to form part of the audience of that magni- ficent-looking magician." '' I wonder," said a tall, fair girl, standing with the rest, " how it is all the children do not want to see the conjuring : surely they must prefer it to those stupid games." " Oh, but Lady St. Aubyn arranged for fifty at a time to witness it," said Willie, '• or, of course, the whole of them would rush to it." '' So that poor, wretched man must go through his tricks three or four times ! " remarked Miss Howard. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 265 ^^ Holloa, Treherne ! I'm tho glad you're come, old fellow," cried Cliarley St. Aubyii, coming u^j. '^I tliaw yoiu* mother, but I couldn't find you, and I wouldn't atlik where you were because papa Th — oh! Mith Thorpe, how do you do ? " said poor Charley, suddenly pulling himself up, for he caught sight of Willie's laughing blue eyes just in time to prevent his committing a complete blunder. ''^yhJ, Mr. St. Aubpi," said Willie, enjoy- ing his confusion, and perfectly understanding his greeting to Cyril, '' 3^ou saAv me when we arrived, and we lunched together ; still, how do you do ? I suppose you cannot ask a question that clearly shows a great interest too often." ''To be thm^e — yeth, I remember; I didn't mean to thay, ' How d 'ye do ? ' but ' I hope you 're not tired.' " '' I don't think Miss Thorpe can be tired ; at least, not from what she has done," said Mary Howard. ' ' Doing nothing I find awfully fatiguing at times," drawled out a handsome youth between eighteen and nineteen, brother to the tall, fair girl, who clearly had a very favourable opinion of himself. '' Try some other employment, Delafield," 266 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. said Cyril; ^'it's quite time you should begin." ^^So I will, my dear fellow. Let it be the game of croquet we have lost so much time in discussing." ^^ There are eight of us. We really might play a game, I think," said Captain Mayne. ^^Come, Miss Howard, will you nail your flag- to my mast, and let us meet the enemy with our united strength ?" Miss Howard was charmed. She admired Captain Mayne' s pink-and-white beauty ; and having found, notwithstanding her best endea- vours, she had failed in winning anything more than common civility from the two great catches in her part of the county, Cyril Tre- herne and Charles St. Aubyn, she thought she might, faute de mieux, make herself contented to become Mrs. Ma}^ne. They would be re- marked as a handsome couple, at any rate for some few years to come, however little cele- brated they would be for their wealth. So they all paired off, and beat a retreat to the croquet ground, a beautifully oblong piece of velvety turf, smooth, even, and soft ; sheltered and enclosed by some magnificent shrubs, and double seats arranged in various corners. They soon commenced the battle, and were . WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 267 in the very thick of it, no one side being- in a much better position than another, when a stoiitish black figure appeared, coming in by a little narrow path behind where Willie and Cyril were standing. Miss Howard and Captain Mayne being near them. The intruder watched the game in silence for a minute or two; then the i^layers absorbed his attention. On seeing Cyril Treherne he gave a slight start ; from that time on he alone (occupied him, and he had a fair opportunity of noting those hundred und one little attentions that men in Ioa'o are apt to pay to the lady of their choice, and which tliey imagine are neither visible to, nor understood by, any other than the one to whom they are offered ; so the man saw, more than once, Willie's little hand held captive, and saAV the expression which accompanied a whis})ered word every now and then. He seemed im- mensely interested in this couple : neither they nor any of the others, mth the exception of Miss Henderson, had heeded him ; indeed, but one or two had seen him. Presently, as if lie had observed enough, he crossed over to the other side and shook hands with Miss Hender- son, taking off his liat twice, — once, no doubt, to her, and once to the company in general. After speaking a few words to tlie young lady. 268 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. he returned to his original side, and again w^ent off his hat. ^^Mr. Treherne," lie said, '^I am glad, sir, to renew my acquaintance with you. You do not seem to remember me," he continued, as Cyril, having glanced at his smooth black suit and bald head, resolved to have a Tichborne me- mory, and with an inclination, scarcely to be called a bow, he turned round and addressed some casual remark to Miss Howard. ' ' I had the pleasure of meeting you on the Shelton road last Saturday, when you were, like a true knight- errant, decorating the pretty daughter of Miles Mason." ^' What d — d stuff are you talking? Wlio- are you, and where do you come from, that you dare intrude yourself and your stupid inven- tions in the presence of these ladies ? " Cyril Treherne spoke loudly from anger — louder than he intended; his face was pale- with rage and vexation, yet not paler than Willie Thorpe's, who, looking from the one to- the other, hardly understood what was said, but feeling that a sudden darkness was shadow- ing over the brightness of her life. If Cyril did not know the man, why then that anger ? The game stopped as if by general consent. Truly Snape had taken his revenge. Miss WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 269 Henderson, who had heard — as all present had done — Cpil's violent language, came hastily- over to where he was, and said, — '^ Oh, Mr. Treherne, please do not talk so! This is Mr. SnajDe; do you not know him — our dear minister and guide, who never errs in — anything. I th-in-k he must have seen you, though I quite understand your — reluctance to — to haTOig any act you committed thus pub- licly alluded to." '' Yes, sir, as Miss Henderson says," chimed in the RoA^erend Samuel, ^^I can quite under- stand your reluctance to livsten to me, or per- haps recognize me ; hut, young man, as a minister of God, it is my duty to chide vou when I see you thus going down ]iill to hell as fast as your evil j)3-ssions — more uncurbable than four thorou^h-breds — are carrying you I I must reprove you, and — " "Go to — !'' Cyril, fortunately for ears polite, left out the locality to which he desired to send Mr. Snape : and then, turning round to Charles St. Aubyn, said, '^Cliarloy, shall I kick this psalm- singing hypocrite out of this place, or ^vill you?" *'You may, — ith your affair: only I muth thay ith very hard to have our game thopped by thuth a row,— ith it not, Mith Athley ? " '' Well, I don't know ; I think, on the whole, 270 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. it is rather more exciting ; only I did not hear the beginning, and so do not quite know what it is about." '^ No more do I ; only Trcherne wanth to kick that black gentleman out, and I thuppotlie the black gentleman would rather not." ^' Oh, my dear Mr. Snape, pray come away! come with me ! It is awful to think of }'our pure ears hearing such profane language ! I wonder the earth does not open and swallow up people who talk so." '' Ah, my dear Miss Henderson," said Snape, bowing to every one, and then allowing himself to be led away, not with his usual solemn walk, but at a quick pace, as if with a certain dread a kick might yet come to hasten him, 'Hhis is a wicked world, and I am afraid the earth would cease to bring fortli if it opened every time bad words were used or evil deeds done, for it would be incessantly gaping. Are we — quite out of reach of that violent young man — that hardened sinner ? " Harriet Henderson looked back. ''Oh, quite; vou are safe ! " The Reverend Snape drew a long breatli ; he was rather what is vulgarl)' called bloAvn, and he stood still a moment to pant and puif and gain a little breath. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 271 *' A shocking young man I " he said, at last ; ^'my life was not safe whilst within his reach. So that 's the young lady he is engaged to ? '' Harriet nodded her head. '^ A pert -looking girl J I think, but pretty — no doubt pretty ; so is the other. My dear Miss Henderson, where is your mamma ? " ^' She was helping to j^lace the buns round the table in the big tent when I left her." '' Let us seek her ; I would consio^n vou to her care. I must return home at once, and I will call and see you to-morrow morning, be- tween eleven and twelve." 272 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTER XIV. A CLOUD Imng heavily over poor little Willie Thorpe's heart when she went to bed that night. There had been no opportunity for her to have an explanation with Cyril. Mr. Thorpe joined his daughter almost immediately after Mr. Snape had vanished, and, whether by accident or with premeditation, hardly left her side for a minute, till, just as Mrs. Treherne was bidding her hostess good-bye. Lady St. Aubyn looked round for Sir Gilbert, to ascertain if the lamps were lighted along the carriage-road through the park, as it proved to be a dark night, and the deer sometimes strayed across the road, which might cause accidents if there were not sufficient light. But Sir Grilbert was not to be seen, indeed he seldom was when he was Avanted, so Lady St. Aubyn begged Mr. Thorpe to do the commission for her. Then Willie WILL 18 TJIP: CAUSE OF \V(JE. 273 stole round to CHail, who on hi.s side had not done mucli to bring about a tete-d-tete, and, sliding her hand into his, tniobserved in the dim light that the lamp gave, and which threw shadows on everything, she said, — ^^ When shall I see you, Cyril?" '^ As soon as I can, my darling." ^' I want to ask }0u something. That horrid man, CA^^il I — his face haunts me, and — all he saidl"^ '^ It was not true, ni}' own Willie." As r^yril spolce I lis expression changed from one of love to one of anger. '^ I never saw that man before — " '' It's all right. Lady St. Aubyn ; the lamps were already lighted,'? said Mr. Thorpe, coming- back, and at oiice acting as a repellent between liis daughter and Treherne. And so they parted. Willie found no com- fort in the few hurried words Cyril had spolcen. Tluis the hrst disturbance of the hitherto un- ruiiled waters of her life took place. It is a mcmient that must come to us all, vet it seems hard when it conu^s so early. We all know the trite saying that 'Olan is Ixjrn to trou])le." When that vviis ^])oken women ^vcv(} not nmch thouglit of; they were (•onsid(T(»d simply as a necessary ingredient to make u]) life, part of VOL. I. T 274 WILL IS THE C'.Vi:8E OF WOE. the furniture, without which tlu^ world coukl not be perfect, but, like the lower animals, were not thought AYorth}' of a hereafter, so their ivdma and sorrows did not merit the least consideration. But we have learnt a little more than even that very wise author, who, with all his fleshly failings^ ^vas considered almost god- like as to knowledge, and we novr admit that women not alone suffer as well as men, but we recognize their responsibility and their jiower and influence, and no doubt, coidd we have been behind the scenes, we should have found Solomon as easih^ twisted round the fino:er of his favourite wife as a clever man is in modern times by the woman he loves, though he was too sensible to see it, and too vriso to acknow- ledge it. So Willie's troubles began after seventeen years and a fevv^ months of unmingicd happi- ness. I suppose she was born to it, as man is ; but she did not take to it easily, as one might imagine people who are fated to certain things would. She lay awake with okl Snapc's v/ords ringing in her ears. " Like a knight-errant decorating the prett}' daughter of Miles ]\Iason " ! Who Avas Miles Mason; and how could Cyril decorate his daughter? Tliere seemed hardly any sense in WILL IS THE CAUSE OF ANOE. 275 it, yet every Avord was full of bitterness to the poor girl. La ruiit poiie conseil^ and Willie determined the very next morning to speak to her father, and not wait till they returned to Yardley AYood. She could not endure the suspense ; she could not live, she thought, through another night of doubt ; she would speak to her father, and then write to Cyril to come to her, and she would hear all about this story of '' decorating Miles Mason's daugliter/' Surely people did not decorate girls unless they liad done some worthy deed, some brave action! Could this Miles Mason be the man v\dio had helped to save Cyril on the night his yacht was Avrecked? Ah, a light was gradually breaking in on her bewildered brain. And could the daughter be the same that tended him in the cottage ^ It might ; and, if so, what more natural than that Cyril should show her in some marked way that lie thanked her for her care ? But tiien, if so, why did he den}' it ; and why did he seem so angry when that horrid, fat, vulgar man said he knevr him ? Poor Willie ! She was getting adrift again on the sea of doubt. She could make nothinjr of it, so finall}' she cried herself to sleep, awaking in the morning with swollen eyes and 276 WILL IS THE CAi:8E OF WOE. two dark rims round them, and a splitting headache to boot, thus feeling- even more desponding than before. Her appearance at breakfast was hailed with inquiries as to what was the matter with her. The table was well filled, and many eyes were turned on her when Lady St. Aubyn remarked on her miserable looks. ^' You seem, Willie, as if you had been dis- sipating last night." ''Why, child, what is the matter?"' asked lier father. '' Nothing at all. I have an atrocious head- ache, caused by not being able to sleep, I sup- pose. I shall be all right after breakfast," she added, trying to look cheer}^, but failing com- pletely. ^^Want of sleep makes one look horribly seedy, doesn't it. Miss Thorpe ? " said young Delafield. " I dare say it does," replied Willie. '' I 'II try and sleep to-night, so as not to look seedy to-morrow. You must have slept too much^ Mr. Delafield, you look so fresh ; or else you were too lazy to help yesterday, and so were not in want of rest." '^That's just exactly what it was. But I did do croquet, did I not ? I played vigorously WILL IS THI-: CAUSE OF WOE. 277 till that extraordinary interruption. By-thc- bye, aunt, who was that sanctimonious, stout old party who upset 'Mv. Treherne's equanimity by declaring he had seen him decking some fair daughter of Eve, or some other person's, on the high road. Treherne used strong lan- ,auage, by George ! in reply." ^^ I really do not know who you can mean. I saw no one especially sanctimonious, unless Miss Henderson, and you could not mistake her for a stout old part}'," w^as the laughing reply. ^'•That's very cruel of you, Lady St. Aubyn," said little Mr. Daw^son. ''Poor Miss Henderson I I really do believe she wishes to be a saint, if possible.'' '•I am glad you put in that ' if possible/ " said I\rrs. Prendergast, Lady St. Aubyn's sister, A\lio, like herself, rather ridiculed the over self-righteousness of some of the Sandcombe people. ''I doubt any saint ever permitting any claim to goodness in its true sense being recorded against the name of that young lady. Sl;c and her mother are the most detestable, overbearing people I ever met." '' Pteally, Maria, you are quite vicious. Did cither mother or daughter sit upon your dress vesterdav, or tear vour lace ? " asked Lad\' St. Auh}']!, jokingly. 278 ^vILL IS Tin: cau.se of woe. '^ No, neither calamity occurred." ^^Biit what was all this al)out Treherne and ut her eyes wandered round the table in search of Charley St. Aubyn. She had looked l)efore, and not seen him, but she fancied slie might, with all the faces there, have missed liim ; but he liad not yet made liis appearance." ^' And do you not know who he was ? " '^ Not in the least." In came Cliarley now, full of excuses and apologies for his being so late; but something went wrong, in tlie most aggravating manner, witli his toilet, and hcjice liis coming in when everv one else had finislied. 280 WIIJ. IS ri[E CAL'SF. OF WOE. '^ We '11 forgive yoii, Charley, if }'ou can tell lis wlio some mysterious visitor was tliat came yesterday, and seems to have spoilt more games than that of croquet. 1 think, from tlie description, he must have Ijeen one of tlie school-teachers,'' said Mrs. Prendergast. ^' Pie certainly put an end to our game," said Frank; ^^biit I for one don't owe him a grudge^ on that score, for I think we should have lost; so, as it was, we had the benefit of a doubt." "How mean of you!" said Willie, tryinu' now to talk, for fear of draiving more attention to herself by silence, but she could not get a cheerful expression over her face. 81 le felt her mouth rebellious ; you may command the eye, l)ut the mouth will have its own way. ^ ' Now, what is mean ? — I a])peal to you all, Avhat is mean — ^in that? I declare. Miss Thorpe, A'ou are ver\^ hard on me ! " • »/ " Hold your tongue, Frank, if you can, for a few minutes, and let us hear Charley answer his aunt," said the lad's father. '^ I know whom you mean. It was old Thnape— holy Thnajlo ! " "Holy Snape! '' exclaimed Sir Gilbert St. Aubyn. ' " Who askcnl him here ?" No one answered. "Snape!'' said several voices. " Wliat AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 281 name ! " '^ Mr. Snape ! " said Lad}' St. Au1)yn. But all were sj^oakiiig togetlier. ^^Wh}', isn't that the Methodist fello^v at Sandeombe ? " asked Mr. Thorpe. ^^ The deer-guide!" said young Delafield^ roaring. ''Miss Henderson's ' deer-guide ' I Your hearing is getting defective, niv dear Conny." '' Wellj I declare she said so,'' replied Miss Delafield, indignantly. '' You arc very likeh' to be right, Constance/' said Lady St. Aubyn ; ''for Miss Henderson always sjDcaks of hiin as ' our dear Mr. Snape,' or ' our dear minister ' or ' dear guide.' " " And why should Mr. Snape's appearance cause such a hubbub as it appears to have done ? " again inquired Mr. Thorpe, who till now had had no answer to his previous question. "Well, he pretended to know Treherne, and Treherne pretended not to know him; and then Treherne ])ropothed my kicking him out, and I proj^othed that he thould do it himthelf, and then the old fellow bolted with Mitli Hen- derthon." " But did Treherne not know him ?'' inquired ]\Ir. Thorpe. " I thuppothe not, as he thaid he didn't."' "No, papa, he did not." 282 WILL LS TliJ-: (^VU.SJ•: OF WOK. Willie spoke out so distinct]}^ tliat all eyes were turned on her. Mr. Thorjje was silent ; lie saw Willie Avas struggling to keep down an outburst of tears, by the colour that ([uickly mounted her cheek and the quivering lip she was endeavouring to control. It was only hy speaking almost harshly that she succeeded in uttering tlie few words she did without breaking down. ^^ I propoth, ath you all are so very curiouth about Thnape, that we tliend over for Treherne, and make him tell uth all he can about the Iioly man he won't know." '^ A capital idea ! " said Frank Delaiield. ^' And you ride over and fetch him, Frank," said Lady St. Aubyn, who understood her son's intended jDiece of good nature. ^^Well, I will; but I won't go alone, it's horribly boring to ride no end of miles by on(v self. Who'll go with me? Don't all speak at once," he continued, as no one proffered his comj)any. '^ I will go w^itli you," said his sister, at last. And then followed, ^^So will I!" from various other voices; but Willie's was not amongst them, though she was longing to say she would go also. '' That will be awfully jolly I" cried Frank. WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 283 ^- 1 '11 "bles.s old Snapes ; let 's all oless liim for liaving given rise to an idea ior occupying nearly half a day. How far is it from thi« to Treherne ? " ^^ About six milesj" said Sir Gilbert. •'^ Positiveh' nothing more than a good Y/alk," said Mr. Prendergast. ^^ I will walk over and meet jou there. Will any of you join me ? " One stray man from sheer shame said ]ie would, but suggested it w^ould be very hot. '^ Then the pedestrians ought to start an horn- before us/' said Lady St. Aubyn. ^^ Willie, you are going ? You have your habit, dear, ^vitli you, have you not ? '' *'^Yes. You know we rode over here," she replied, with a smile of gratitude, ^^ so I have my habit and horse too." '^ So much the better, for I doubt if Sir Gilbert's stables would quite supply as many horses as it seems may be wanted. I ^\ill go myself, if any one will drive with me." ^'I will drive with you," said Willie, instantly. ^^ I do not care about riding : and perliaps Miss Delafield will ride Peri; she is very quiet and gentle." '^ No, Miss Thorpe, thank you ; I have not 284: ^yIu. ts 'pui: (wuse oi' woe. my liabit, so I cannot if I would, and I am afraid I Avould not if I could. I am so stupidly- timid that, unless I know ni}' horse well, I am expecting- at every movement of his hcnd or ears that he is going to bolt." ^•Yes, Oonny's an awful idiot/' said lier })olito brother. ^^ She gets in such a funk that it spoils every one's pleasure ; and she 's almost as bad driving, so look out, aunt, if you take her with you. She '11 pinch your arms black and blue before you reach Treherne, if the horses arc the least inclined to be fresh." ^'You are a disagreeable, rude boy," said Constance IJelatield, very nmcli vexed. '^ And, besides, you are saying things that arc not true. I never pinch peoj)le ! " '' Don't you, though ! Do you recollect poor Major* — " '^ Frank, hold your tongue, and don't tease your sister!" said the general, coming to his daughter's rescue. ^'And it is past eleven now, good people," said Mrs. Prendergast ; ''if you really are going you had better make up your minds and settle the hour." ''Arc you sure you are up to going, Willie? ■ — it is hot worlc riding in the middle of tlie day," asked Mr. Thori)e, as, all having risen WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOi:. 28o from the breakfast table, tliey were, in one large group, discussing what hour and by what means they were to go. And Willie was among them, but a listener only. '^ Quite, papa. I never feel too hot riding; besides, if I look tired I am not so. I want to speak to you for a moment. Will you come out with me ? I will 2.'et my hat and wait for you in the hall." Mr. Thorpe nodded, and Willie went out of the room, and was running upstairs when she met Charles St. Aubyn. '' AYliere are you going to ? '' he asked. ^' Only for my hat. I am going for a walk with papa.'' '-' But }'ou are going to Trehernc thith after- noon i She nodded. " And you will ride V " She again assented in the same ^^'ay. '^ And was I right to propothe going ? " Another nod. Then he was o(>ino- down, when she put her hand on his arm. ''Do you think, Charley, that man — did see Cyril with — any one ? " Her Hebe face wore such a melancholy expression, yet with such a pleading look, that Charley, without hesitation, said, — :^ t 286 AVILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. " I am the r tain lie didn't I " ^ ' I am so glad ! Thank you, dear Charley And she ran upstairs mth part of the load removed from her heart. " That 'th pleathant ! " muttered Charley to himself, as Willie left him, ^'and I am dear, too I Now thuppothing there ith thomething in what that beatht thaid ! I think I will tell Treherne : the ith thuch a jolly little tiling 1 w^ould do anything for her; and Treherne mutht tell another lie if obliged — the ith worth it ! " When Mr. Thorpe joined his daughter, he fancied he must have been mistaken about her looking so ill at breakfast. She looked bright enough now. Perhaps there was the reflection from the trees thrown into the room, or the sun shining through the curtains, or some other cause for her having seemed so pale Ijcfore ; at any rate she appeared much more like herself than she did then. The truth was that, like all very young jDOople, especially those fresh to trouble, she no sooner saw a gleam of sunshine pierce through the cloud that had darkened Iier life for the last few liours tlian she widened the aperture and let tlie light sliiiie in with all the fulness of its warmth and brightness. She was sure the v/hole thing was a mistake, and she WILL IS THE CAUSE O]^ WOE. 287 was quite certain the moment she spoke to her father and told him she wished a diiterent plan pursued witli regard to Cyril he Vv^ould consent at once to their meeting more freely and more frequently. Hope is so casih' buoyed up in our extreme youth ; we understand life so little, — of human nature, of evil, even less. That depression is generally but temporar}', every sunrise and every sunset altering the phase of events, though tliey niac- in reality be steadily Avorking on to some sorrovrful ending a momentary prevision had- allovred us to see. ^^ Well, Willie, wdiat is it, dear, you wish to say to me ? " Willie had walked in silence by her father's, side for several minutes before he spoke. She did not find it so easy to say all she ^^dslied when it camx' to the jDoi^it, and yet, whilst she was putting on lier Iiat, she had arranged the exact words vrith wdiich she intended to 02:>en the subject. Now she could not recollect the least wliat tliey were. '• I want to speak to you about Cyril, papa,'' came out at last. '' Well, dear, wliat about liim ? '' '^ He is not happy — nor am I ! " 3Ir. Thorpe looked at his child : his impres- •288 Wn.L TS THE CAUSE OF WOE. sion a minute before had been that slic wa.s happy ; then before that again tl lat she wae not ; now he saw nothing but a flushed cheek. " And yet, Wilhc, you were desirous that Oj'riPs offer- should not be rejected. You see how right I "was, child, not to allow an engage- ment before the expiration of a year." '^ Itis not that, papa," said Willie, speaking quickly. Was her father wilfully misunder- standing her, she Avondered ; or did he really imagine she did not care for Cyril? "It is not that ; on the contrary, it is that he does not like the restraint you put on our seeing each other, and," she continued, gaining courage now the ice was broken, '' and I too don't like it. I want you to let him come to Yardley Wood as often as he likes, and for us to visit more frequently at Treherne. Will you, papa?" "No, Willie; not till the year is over. In the iirst place, I want to be sure that Cyril Treherne is worth}' of you, before I promise to give you to him ; and I must see and judge for myself, with my own eyes and my own senses." " But how can you see anything if ho never comes?" asked Willie, feeling angry and Tcxed with lier fatlier. " How can I learn WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 289 more of his character than I do, if I am not allowed to be with him ? " '' There is no need for you to learn more ; anything you did learn would have no effect. You are not old enough to judge for yourself : when you are., you shall do so." ^^ Many girls of my age are married." ' ' Perhaps so ; l:)ut that does not make it advisable." '' But they must know what they like and what they do not." '^ Not always." *^ I do, at any rate." '' You think so, AYillie, I dare say. But do not let us dispute over the subject, my child. It is my deep anxiety and love for you that make me seem to you, perhaps, over cautious ; tlierefore you must bear with it. I have none to share the responsibilit}- with me. If yom- marriage tm-ned out badly, who would be to blame but myself ? No, Willie, you must let me act in this matter as ni}^ conscience and m\ heart direct me. The time will soon j^ass, and then you may clioose for yourself ; but now, for the present, 1 must choose for you." ^' He says, papa, he will go away if you will not give in." '' Tlien lie nmst go." VOL. I. u 290 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '' How will that further your objeet ? How can you learn more of him if he leaves England?" ''I must take my chance. Events arise sometimes unexpected and unforeseen ; but in any case you will be a year older." '' I am 'going over to Treherne to-day," said Willie, in a defiant tone, yet half questioningly, ior she began to fear her father might refuse. ^' I have no objection to your doing so. I do not wish to prohibit your meeting as ordinary acquaintances ; but what I will not consent to is your meeting more frequently, or as engaged people. You must both be free till the 3^ear has expired." Without opening her lips again, Willie returned with her father to the house. A spirit of rebellion gaining possession of her, she felt herself revolting against her father's will, and, in spite of him, she determined to see Cyril as often as possible. For the first time in her life she wished herself aw^ay from that father wlio, till within a few months back, had been her idol on earth ; who, even during the first ])looming of her young love, was thought of and considered, and who gained from her a ])romise Cyril had been unable to surmount by ()])taining a counter one. And now, with WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 291 (opposition, and almost defiance, seething in her l^reast, and passionate love stirring up her heart to rebellion, she prepared for the ride that was to bring her to the side of him for whom she was ready to throw to the winds her childhood's memories and affections. To her life was only now beginning ; it never does begin till we can pick out days and hours that are landmarks of hap2:)y or sorro\s^d events. It is hardly to be called life, if the current of existence flows on smoothly and uninterruptedly, A\T.thout storms or sunshine, witliout rocks or even stones to break the monotony of its course ; without them life is mere vegetation. Yet how many such there are, and moreover they are satisfied ! It is true, if they liave no great pleasures, neither know they mucli of pain ; and this wdtli some natures harmonizes. They are not capable of feeling deep love or deep hate ; none of their emotions are intense ; passion they know not in any sliape, and they go on to the end quietly and calmly, knomng little, feeling little, yet believing all things, especially of that world beyond, which deep thinkers, those who dare try to fathom the mysteries behind the veil, see and ponder over, in a different spirit. Truly faith is a gift, whether in people or things or 292 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. eternity ; we cannot will to believe, though we may convince ourselves that to doubt is wrong. Willie had full faith in Cyril again, though it had been for a moment shaken, chiefly because she had for the time being cast aside the support which, till now, had fostered, cherished, and shielded her with almost a woman's tenderness and love. She doubted now this love, and knew that her doubting was wrong. She felt as she was galloping through the fresh breeze that she was doing her father an injustice, but she did it all the same, and felt a pleasure in it too. A woman must lean on some one, and she had a ' ready prop to hand. They generally have before finding the courage to cast aside the old one. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 293 CHAPTER XV. Mks. and Miss Henderson were sitting together in their drawdng-room, very much about the same time and on the same day as tlie party at Stanmore Park were discussing the boule- versemeat occasioned by Mr. Snape at the school feast. The mother was reading ' Crumbs for Christians,' and the daughter Avas se^dng together some bits of list for an old woman's cape. ''I wonder our dear minister is not yet come," said Mrs. Henderson, putting dowm her book for the fourth or fifth time, and looking at the clock. ''Do you think, Harriet, any- thing can have happened to him ? '' ^' I should think not ; what is there likel} to happen ? " ' ' That irreligious young man ! — that poor blind sinner! — he might have met him, and might have — have done him some harm.'' 294 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^^1 don't tliink that very likely : you mean Mr. Trelierne, I suppose. I don't believe he would take any notice of him, supposing he did meet liim. He was angry yesterday, because of Miss Thorpe's presence. I dare say some- thing has occurred to prevent him coming as early as he said, and he Avill be here, perhaps, this afternoon." ''Then we must give up driving over to Badstow Cliff to-day ; at any rate till after he has been." ''As you like, mamma," answered Miss Hen- derson, going on with her stitching. Harriet Henderson was one of those beings of whom we were just now speaking, without great power of feeling, who took things as they came. If a rough wave threatened to strike her she bent her head and let it pass over her ; if a rock stood in her narrow walk, she would go slowly and carefully over it, so as not to hurt herself. There would be no shock to the nerves by her attempting to breast the one, or dash against the other. She was never likely to love very deeply, or to be loved ; but ghe was, in her own way, happy and contented, without sufficient mind for ambition, yet enough of opinion to think herself superior to her neighbours — her dear Mr. Snape excepted WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 295 — and satisfied to go on her even course wth the blessed belief of a beatified future. Little disappointments were rather courted and gloried in in this godly household. They were reckoned as those crosses that help to purify the purgeable Christian, for in the Henderson mind there were persons with- out the pale altogether, whom nothing could make clean or pure. It is fortunate for us less pious, less devout members of the Christian community that we do not accept the doctrine of hell-fire and everlasting damnation as the end of those who do not think with tlie Henderson scliool, but that we embrace and hold fast the faith in a merciful and loving God, a heavenly Father, who, more indulgent than an earthly father, forgives the sinner and pardons the wrong-doer, as a fond mother will excuse and absolve — aye, and sometimes from sheer love justify — the faults of her erring- child. Ikit the Snapes and Hendersons of this world liave no mercy, no pity ; hard, harsh, and unyiekling, they damn you on your evidence, and leave you to quiver and quake in your shoes — if }^ou have any, and they Avill not give you any if you have not — wondering whether tliey or you are right, and whether God is the great, almighty, perfect Spirit over- 290 AVILL IS TUV. CAU8E OF WOE. ruling all things with a justice the human mind is too narrow to grasj^, or whether He is the God of revenge and pitiless justice they try to make you believe Him to be. Ah, me ! These tremendous differences are horribly perplexing. All think themselves right ; on the first blush of it one would pionounce that to be impossible ; a multitude of different views cannot all be right; reason, common sense, both go against such an hypothesis. And yet, when w^e inquire carefully but rationally into the question, does it not appear that after all each one is right, from the pagan down to the Plymouth Brother, and that ever}' one without let or hindrance will meet in that after-life, which we Iiojdc in from love, but fear from hate ? According to your faith be it unto you ! Yes, there is the great solution to our difficulty. The heathen believes in the carved model of ugly humanity for a god, for he is born to it, bred to it, and dies — very often — for it. The Christian believes in the efficacy of water to produce the soul's salvation ; one sinner dips his fingers into rain or river water and splashes it in the face of another, and so brings about such a change that transubstantiation is nothing to it. Do you believe that in the sight of God, the almighty Creator of all works around us, the WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 297 suj^reme Spirit overruling our ever}' thought and action, a charitable act is less acceptable if it issue from the hand of the man Avho believes in wood or from the hand of the man who believes in water ? All God's creatures are as one great family to Him ; the black and the white, the rich and the poor, the sun -wor- shippers and the water-worshippers, the believ- ing and tlie doubting, the fool and the scholar, the good and the bad, they are His children ; and as in ever}' household punishment is meted out to the wrong-doer, so it is with the family of the earth. We all suffer here for our mis- deeds (God knows, bitterly enough) not to re- quire further misery hereafter ! ^ ' How much have you received this week for the Blanket Club, my dear?" asked Mrs. Henderson, who, with Miss Harriet, had just returned from the dining-room, where they had been enjoying a simple meal, consisting of all the good things of this earth that are to be had in the fruitful month of August. " Only two and tenpence, mamma, and part of that was paying up arrears. The more children there are in a family, the less inclined do they seem to subscribe.'' Miss Henderson seemed forgetfid of the fact that many mouths diminish the capacity for 298 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. laying by even a penny a week as a winter store against the biting frost. With the pence to buy a loaf of bread, and hungry children crying for it, it is not, with the thermometer at 80*^ in the shade, so easy to place it in others' hands against the day of cold. The poor are too apt to accept the gospel statement that the morrow will take care of itself, and there is no need to take thought for it. ^^ And yet tlie worst payers are the greatest beggars," said Mrs. Plenderson. '^ Very true ; but I never will encourage begging: I always tell them to seek work," added this charitable daughter of a charitable mother. '' I think Sandcombe is getting a little better, though, in that respect; at least they do not come here so often." '^ I suppose they have given up coming be- cause they find it useless," said the mother, innocently. '^ There's the bell," she continued, after a pause; 'Hhat is our dear Mr. Snape, I doubt not. It is only half-past two. I dare say, after all, we shall be able to go to Badstow." Presently the portly figure of the- Kev. Samuel Snape appeared, duly announced by James, the one man in the indoor establish- ment of Sandcombe House, who, like his WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 299 employers, was in name a sinner, but a saint in his own estimation. He had an extra grave and important air whenever he announced his beloved minister. Snape was adored in the household, and the mere mention of his name required a special reverence of tone. He closed the door softly, as if a bang would have roused some evil spirit and angered the angels that, in James's narrow mind, were ever hovering around and watching over that godly man. ^'My dear friends, I am rejoiced to see you. Not fatigued from yesterday, I hope ? It was a noisy, riotous gathering, and I regret to say I heard no hymns sung, no prayers offered up in thanksgi^^.ng for the blessings that are so bountifully showered down on that family.'' ^^No, my dear Mr. Snape ; and when, after the children had finished their tea and cakes, I suggested to Lady St. Aubyn that we should go down on our bended knees and offer up a song of praise for all the mercies vouclisafed us, she said, in an unbecoming, indecorous tone, ' My dear Mrs. Henderson, let the poor €hildren enjoy this one feast without psalm- singing.' (Jf course I could not stop and argue with the lady of the house before all those children ; but I do tliink, my dear Mr. Snape, you miglit point out to her the shocking 300 WILL IS THE CAUSE OE WOE. effects of such a bad example, and the misery that falls on all who do not, when they can, instil godly principles into the young." ^' Yes, yes, I will when I get an oppor- tunity ; but you see the St. Aubyns do not attend my chapel, and therefore I am not re- sponsible for their want of godliness. They had all the children from our school, so of course I was there ; and, though I cannot say I enjoyed myself particularly, I am very glad I went, very glad, for through the merciful in- terposition of Providence I may be the humble instrument of saving a poor erring soul from destruction." ^'Why, what do you mean?" asked both ladies in a breath. '^Well, I must fii'st tell you of a circum- stance that happened last Saturday, and then perhaps you will better understand the rest of the story." Here the Rev. Samuel detailed his meeting with Cyril Treherne on the Shelton road, and of his having scrambled through the broken hedge, where Cherry, by her passage, had made a sufficient gap to enable him to get through, and retracing his steps to witness their last farewell and tlie gift of the locket and chain. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF AVOK. 301 ^^ Then that is what you alluded to yester- day ? " asked Miss Harriet, with eager interest. "And it was true, then?" inquired tlie mother. " Most true. And now I will tell you what I have done, and why it is I am onh' now here instead of this morning, as I had intended and told you. A blessed thought struck me when I opened my eyes this morning, that I should go over to Shelton, and endeavour to trace out tins poor erring, misguided voung person, and save her, in spite of the devil who is busily working for her destruction. As I have often told you, my dear friends, we may frustrate the evil designs of the wicked one if we mil but try, and so I resolved to try ; and, haraig hastih' swallowed a cup of cocoa, I started ofE soon after seven, and at about nine o'clock I found myself in front of the Coventry Arms at Shelton. You know wliere the village lies ? No ? Well, at tlie foot of the liills on the shore, not far from Prawle Point, Avliere Mr. Treherne's yaclit was Avrecked some little time back." " Oh !" exclaimed the mother and daughter; "oh, I think I seel" These good people are so marvellous!}' quick. It would take a sinner a long time to see the 302 WILL I.S THE CAUSE OF WOE. shadow of wrong in tlio little they had as yet heard from the jjious flesh before them ; but a saint is much clearer sighted — sees, hears, and condemns before the sinner has yet made out what there was on the other side to palliate or excuse the error. '^ Well, I went into the Coventry Arms, and began talking with the man who wqis cleaning the place up. It was too early for customers, and I soon gathered from him that it was to the cottgae of one Miles Mason that Mr. Tre- herne had been taken on the night of the wreck, and where lie had remained for a few days till able to get home. Now I knew, as I told him yesterday, that the girl I had seen on the road with him was Miles Mason's daughter, for a peasant at work in a field told me ; so, wishing my friend good morning, I made my way according to the directions I received to the cottage by the shore, pointed out to me as belonging to the girl's father." ^' And }'ou saw her there ? " ^' Wait a bit, you shall hear all. Yes, I found her at home, and fortunately alone. She Avas attending to some household matters, iKit came forward at once and asked me v/hom I wanted. I told her, lierself. For a moment she lost her colour, but then it WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 303 came back and she was reel to the roots of her hair." ^^ Is she 23retty ?" asked Miss Harriet. '' Don't interrupt, Harriet," said Mrs. Hen- derson. '^ Yes, I suppose in an earthly sense she is ; but her mind — oh, my dear friends, how awful it is to see such terrible sinners moving about amongst us I How it is that we are not defiled by breathing the same air with them is only due to the mercies of a great Eedeemer, whose blood keeps flowing over us, and cleansing us from such evil and pestilential influences; were we not so purified, we shoukl be a mass of cor- ruption! But, to return to my morning's work, 1 at once broached the subject of Mr. Tre- herne's conduct, and I told her he was about to be married, and that therefore what I wit- nessed became a thousand times more culpable and sinful than were he free ; and that she would have nought to look forward to here- after but a tormenting and everlasting fire if she ever saw him again." ^'He is not in reality about to be married,'' ventured to say Mrs. Henderson ; ^' there is no engagement, you know, though I suppose it may end in one : so it is all the same." ^' Quite. It was necessary to speak firmly to 304 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. her, for I saw a glitter in her eyes — extra- ordinary eyes they are too — that half alarmed ine. She looked as if she could have sprung on me like a wild cat. I could not get her to speak beyond requesting me to go ; and, as I felt at that moment I could not move her to an admission of repentance, I thought it best to do so ; and I determined to ask you, my two dear friends, to take the matter in hand, and see what you can do with this poor fallen creature ! " " Do you think then, my dear Mr. Snape, that — go out of the room my dear Harriet, I wish to confer alone, for one moment, with our dear minister." Miss Harriet retired like a dutiful daughter, and then Mrs. Henderson continued, '^ Do you think then, that — that tlie poor thing — has really — fallen ? " '' I never wish to think any one worse than she really is, still less to state her to be so ; but — I confess, I do — I have my doubts — " '^Dear, good man! say no more! I under- stand. Yes, we will go — we will go to-morrow early, and with the help of the Holy Spirit drag this poor soul from out the jaws of hell!" '^And now," went on Mr. Snape, who had exchanged a look of Christian admiration with \VILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 305 his dear follower, ^^ about Mr. Treherne. I pondered well over what ought to be my line of action in reference to him, during my walk home, and I resolved — as being the right thing to do — to speak to Mr. Thorpe, should there be any continuance of this sinful acquaintance." ^'Oh, do not do that — do not tell Mr. Thorpe!" said Mrs. Henderson, with an energy unusual to her, and doubly so when conferring with Snape ; she rarely ventured the slightest dissent from any of his propositions or opinions. ^^And why not?" ^' Because it seems to me as if — as if there were hardly grounds enough to go to him on, and you know — they are not engaged, and he might say it was no affaii* of his." '^ But he would not let his daughter marry him." '' I don't know. They are fond of each other, I hear, and — and the world is so wicked! " sighed the lady, "that he might not consider that a sufficient reason for breaking off a mar- riage that has not yet arrived at its first stage — an engagement. 1 would wait a little, I think. Come in, Harriet dear ; our secrets are over," said her mother, with a Christian smile. " I have promised our dear Mr. Snape to go over to Shelton to-morrow. You see no olj- VOL. I. X 306 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. jection to Harriet's ^'oiiig with me ? " she asked of her unerring guide. ^^Xo, no, none in the least. And now, dear friends, I will leave you, tliough not with so rejoicing a spirit as usual; for I generally feel so refreshed and strengthened, so as to meet any coining duties or trials of which my life is composed, after spending an hour with you. But Ave must accept the little crosses of our daily existence with cheerfulness, and the greater disappointments with resignation, well knowing they work together for our good, and that they are sent to us in mercy to prevent our clinging too much to the vanities and wickedness of tlie world. Bear this in mind, my beloved sisters, and — bless you ! " And Snape raised his stout right hand in the position for a benediction. '' Rave a glass of wine and a biscuit before you go," suggested Mrs. Henderson, after the solemn pause such an occasion demands. ''I dare say you ate very little luncheon, with all this worry and anxiety." ^' I liave had nothinu" since mv cui) of cocoa 'to y cup at seven tliis morning," said the Reverend Samuel, in a pitiful tone. ^' Notlnng but a cup of cocoa ! OIi, Mr. Snape I " cried Harriet. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 307 '' Go, my dear, at once and tell James. Quick ! have the cold tongue and the pickled salmon and the chicken pie brought up ; and some bottled ale and the brown sherry — it 's more strengthening than the pale. How could you sit here all this time and not ask for luncheon ? " And Mrs. Henderson looked softly reproach- ful at her guest. In a very few minutes the table in the dining-room was laden with the good things that very soon w^ere transferred to the capacious inside of Mr. Snape, who, after eating enough for half a dozen ordinary peoj)le, and drinking the bottled beer and brown sherry as if he had a fever, rose, with the rejoicing spirit he regretted not having with an empty stomach. He was strengthened no doubt as well, and was able to meet the troubles of all the united parishes, had he been called on to do so. And then he departed, with the body refreshed and the mind content, and with a .vague, uncertain, dreamy idea that Mrs. Hen- derson and her daugliter were both more care- ful of him and his wants than any other of his followers, and that it might arise from some motive he had not fathomed, or thought of try- ing to fathom, but tliat it might be advisable to attempt to do so ; and, if he did, might he not ^^08 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. discover something that would repay him the trouble ? — something that would be a meet reward for his life, which he thought had been praiseworthy in the extreme, self-denying, un- selfisli, charitable, and holy. Perhaps he was right as the world goes ; at any rate it never does any harm to think well of oneself ; and it has this advantage, it often makes others think well of us. And Mrs. Henderson and her daughter, had they thoughts similar to those that were but shadowed out in the mind of the Rev. Samuel Snape ? Did anything approaching thein rise in their minds ? Had they ever thought of this great example, this j^ure- minded, unselfish, godly man ever being any- thing more to them than their dear minister and guide ? Had Mrs. Henderson ever pictured him as her dear companion and protector, or as that of her child ? Had Miss Henderson ever dreamt of becoming Mrs. Snape, and being a helpmeet and devoted wife of this paragon ; or^ had she ever visioned him as a father ? I think we may safely say No to the latter; but women's minds are so strange, their hearts so difficult to fathom, that beyond asserting Harriet Henderson never pictured Mr. Snape as her stepfather I would voucli foi- no more. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. *^^^ The two ladies were so occupied with their own thoughts that the drive to Badstow was utterly forgotten, and dinner-time came round before the}' exchanged a word ; and then it was not Mr. Snaj)e they discussed, but the coast- guardsman's daughter, whom on the morrow they had resolved to interview, and, with Chris- tian-like intentions, to cut to the quick, if words and looks could perform such an operation. It was well for Cherry Mason she w^as not aware of the premeditated visit, or perhaps it was well for Mrs. and Miss Henderson, for assm-edly had she been she would have been absent, and their drive w^ould have proved fruitless ; but the poor child knew not what a day was to bring forth. 310 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. CHAPTER XVI. A DARKNESS had spread over the existence of Cherry Mason that no time was ever to ligliten, no sunshine was ever to pierce ; there it would remain overshadowing her life till she passed away from mider it to that mystic fiitm^e beyond the grave, where let us hope that some recompense greets those whose sorrows have been heaviest liere — something to make up to them for having had to live mcdgre themselves, having to suffer — aye, how ])itterly sometimes ! — for others' faults. She sat brooding over tliat hateful man's words, the few, at least, she recollected ; for all the rest passed away as do sliadows in the shade. Mr. Treherne was going to be married ! He was to belong to some one else ; some one else would love him, — not as she did, that was impossible; and, worse still, lie would love another. Then liope would spring up, and she would cast aside the belief in this WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 311 coarse, brutal man. What did he know of Mr. Treherne's affairs ? Clearly Mr. Treherne did not know him when he stopped him the other day to ask him the way ; then why should it be true ? But then came reason — a hard, stern master — was it not likely to be true ? Was it not the most probable thing in the world that a gentleman like him should marry ? Oh, who could it be ? Was she young and pretty ? she wondered. She hoped not ; it would be easier to bear were she old and ugly. So Cherry sat all the rest of that day dispirited and weary of her young life. Hei home, too, had undergone a change. Her father was no longer so cheerful as before Cyril Treherne had crossed his threshold, and left there a weed that was growing up fast and choking up every vein of happiness in his cot- tage home. He grumbled, and not without cause, that his meals were not so well prepared, his clothes not so carefully mended ; in short, he felt that he was neglected because another occupied his child's every thought. And that is not a pleasant discovery to make, not easy to bear, when you feel you are almost left out in the memory of the one to whom you have devoted all your affection ; and it does not 312 WILL IS THE CAU«E OF WOK. often happen that one is so completely forgotten as Miles was, for the last week, at any rate, by his daughter. In the course of nature he had looked to some day having to resig n her and her heart's greatest love to another ; but that change comes generally by degrees, and is foreseen. It A^as not so in this instance. Then Miles had learned from George Cooper of his rejection, and this was a deep disappointment to him ; he had hoped, past reason, that Cherry would accept honest, upright George, if he offered. He and George's father had so often talked the matter over together, and were so satisfied that Cherry must like George that the blow fell heavily ; and a stronger fear rose up in his breast as to what power this man, this stranger who owed his life to him, had gained over his only child. But since yesterday morning, when Snape had paid his unwelcome visit. Cherry had been regardless even of her father's displeasure. She made no reply to him when, coming home tired and wearied from his daily duty, he found not only no supper prepared, but none in the house, and swore at her for the first time in his life. The oath was no sooner out than he repented himself of his violence, and said something approaching an apology for his WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 31^ temper ; but tlie kind word was not more heeded than the harsh one. And Miles Mason, for the first time since he hxid Cherry's mother in the grave up in Shelton churchyard, went to the Coventry Ai-ms, and ch-ank — eat he could not — and the liquor so(m told on his unaccustomed brain. Then, half drunk as he was, he heard them talking- of Snape's visit, and he believed it was Cyril. His head was too stupefied to make out the right story, and in that state, with a mistaken impression, he returned home and broke forth into such a torrent of aljuse that 23oor Clierry, frightened at last into seeing the state lier father was in, caused, she now knew, by her oaati neglect, escaped from the liouse and rushed heedlessly down towards the sea, sheltering and hiding herself among the slipper}' rocks, wet still from tlie just-receded sea. It did not take long for Miles to return to his senses ; and then, ashamed and abashed, he went out to seek his child, that through his conduct — though she had Ijeen the first cause — had Ijeen driven irom her home. He called her by name when he neared the sea ; he had l)cen to the village and to George's mother, and to one or two other cottages where she might have gone, and, hearing no tidings of her, hoAvith a 314 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. heavy, fearing heart went in the other direc- tion. Then, as he called her, his strong, clear voice reached her ear instantly, but she was afraid to reply till, as he neared her retreat, she thought she detected an anxious and not an angry tone ; and then she answered him, and came forth and joined him, and with her liand in his they silently returned home. Then he kissed her, and bade her good-night, and so they separated till the morrow. And over all this, and over Snape's words, was Cherry brooding, when, at about eleven o'clock, there was a knock at the door, and the girl, who loved the back room better than the little cheerful parlour, for the memory of the hours she passed there by Cyril's side, learning first to read the heart's lessons, was sitting listlessly by the window with her hands unemployed, clasped together and resting on her lap, when she heard the sound, and, spring- ing to her feet, she ran iiito the front room, with an undefined hope, expressed more by the beating of her heart than any thought that Cyril was there. He had promised he would see her again, so it might be he. The eager, expectant look in her large brown eyes died away instantly as she saw two ladies filling up the little doorway. Hard-looking WILL L*^ THE CAUSE OF WOE. 315 women; no promise of kindly words or sympathy in their faces. Could they be any relations of the man who yesterday cut her through to the heart's core by his news ? She wondered now, for the first time, what had brought him to her ; was it simply for the pleasure of torturing her, or liad he been sent ? All this passed through her mind like liglitning ; and now she was at the door, and must speak. '^ What do you want ?" she asked, abruptly. ^^ Are you the daughter of a man called Mason, a coastguardsman ? " '' Yes," replied the girl to the elder lady's inquiry. '' I want, tlien, to speak to you, my good girl. I want to ask you one or two questions. We may come in, I suppose ? " Cherry had stood like a sentinel at the door, as if witli the intention of preventing the two ladies from entering. '^ What is it you w^ant ? Who do you come from?" she asked, petulantly, but moving slightly aside as she spoke. *'We Avant your good only, poor thing! and we come from one whose goodness you may as yet not know, but — " ^^ Not from Mr. Treherne?" she asked, in an agitated manner, interrupting ]\Irs. Henderson. 316 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. To poor Chony's simple mind tliere was but one whose goodness she considered passing all others. '^ God forhid ! " ejaculated the pious woman. '^ But I came because of him, — because of the sliocking story I heard yesterday from that hoi}' man, the Reverend Samuel Snape, who — " ^^Snape! Is that the creature who came yesterday, and told me a lie — yes, a wicked, cruel lie ? '' ^' Hush, hush, poor lost sinner ! or God in His wrath may strike you dead here on the spot for uttering such blasphemy." "' I don't know what blasphemy is, and I don't care; but I do know that I hate that Avicked man who came here yesterday, and I hate you if you come from him ! " '^ And if we do not come from him ? " asked Miss Henderson. ]3otli ladies were now comfortably seated; they had managed to make Cherry back almost unconsciously, till they were in possession of two easA'-chairs, and in this firm position they considered they had the poor girl at ba}'. '' If you don't come from him, what do you want ? " '^ To save you ! " It was Mrs. Henderson who replied. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF AVOE. 317 '^ And to spare that poor innocent young- lad j, who is so soon to be Mr. Trehcrnc's wife, the sorrow and disgrace that must follow if you ever permit him to speak to you again." The daughter, younger and Avith the heart's feelings less withered than her mother's, spoke. She knew by instinct how such Avords w-ould tell, though to love as Cherry loA^ed slie Avas not born to understand. A little faint, piteous cry escaped their victim. Such Avords agonized as would the most excruciating torture ; but to these Avomen she felt so intense a repug- nance that she endeaA^oured to smother her pain, rather than permit them to be Avitnesses of it. •' I don't knoAV what you mean," she said, at last. ^* Then I Avill tell you. Hush, Harriet!" said Mrs. Henderson, as her daughter was about to interrupt her, that young lady thiii Ic- ing she could let fly sharper and more sthigiiig arrows than her mother, — daughters are very apt to think they can say and do most things better than their mothers after a certain age ; '' alloAA^ me to speak. You know, poor blinded sinner, that you have been breaking God's laAvs, and risking not alone your OAvn salva- tion, but the salvation of that misguided young man, and — " 318 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '^ I liavc not broken God's laws ! You have no right to speak so to me ! " ^' You will end by the devil getting hold of you, and tortures past description, and too awful to imagine, being your portion hereafter, if 3 ou do not follow the advice I came here to oft'er. Think, poor miserable worm that }'ou are — that we all are — w^hat comes after this world : life is so short, eternity so long, pleasures so trifling, pains so fearful ! Ah ! stay your wicked course in time ; learn from those who are but too eager to help you w^hat the Grospel tells you — that a camel can as easily go through the eye of a needle as a simier into the kingdom of heaven." ^' A rich man, mamma I " ^'And if you do not go to heaven," con- tinued Mrs. Henderson, regardless of her daughter's correction, ''Avliere do you think you will go to? '' ''T don't know, and don't care. Will you, please^ leave me ? " 'MYhat ! are you still unrepentant? Are you still the hardened, reckless creature you were before you heard the truth ? " " I don't know what I am, ma'am, and I don't think it much matters, at least to }'0u. I want to go on with my work." WILL 18 THE CAU.SE OF WOE. 319 '^ Where is your father, young woman ? " '^ He is out.^' '^I shall wait, then, till he comes in. I can make no impression, it seems, on you; so I will see whether he will not listen to me, and force A'ou to be saved in spite of yourself.'' Cherry quailed at this threat, the one of all others that could have any influence on her. For these women to speak of her to her father as tliey had spoken to her of herself, would be fatal to the hope she still clung to of again seeing Cyril. Oh, that unlucky chance of her following him that Saturday ! And yet, even now, when it seemed to have caused the crush- ing of her happiness, she would not undo it — memory was too sweet. 80, to avert what she thought a terrible evil, Cherry faced out a lie. '' Father won't be homo till bedtiuie; it's his day out." '^ Then he will be in to-morrow ?" '' Yes." '' Then, young woman, I will come again to-morrow. I will not shrink from the duty that has been thrust upon me. I will endea- vour to awaken your soul to the heinousness of your guilt, and convince you of your wickedness! Remember, you will have no l^eace till you are pardoned ; and no pardon 320 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. is granted without sincere repentance. I want to lead you to the Physician who can heal all diseases; who, though polluted as you are, can yet cleanse you with His precious blood ; who will " take away the heart of stone,' and can give you a new heart, that will love Him who gave so much and endured so much for sinners like unto you. Pardon is what you most need, and until you obtain it you can do nothing right ; and what we most need God offers for our acceptance. Pardon is ever ready for us if we but seek it; and, poor sinner, there is no time for you to lose. ' To- day,' says the Holy Ghost. And su2)posing you turn a deaf ear to wliat I am saying, and refuse to think over my words when I iun gone, and supposing you die in your terrible sin, unrepentant, what is tliere for you in eternity but everlasting tortures? Is it not better, then, laden as you are, weary as you must be of the guilt that has defiled you, to go meekly to Jesus and unburden yourself of all your sins, and have them blotted out for ever, and the Holy Spirit filling up those gaps that were filled with filthy sin before ? Ah, my poor erring girl ! open your eyes to the true state of your soul, and then there will be hope for you here and hereafter. Re})ent WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 321 quickly, whilst you may, for if you put it off it may be too late I " ^' I don't know in what way I am so awfully wicked I " exclaimed Cherry, half bewildered with Mrs. Henderson's oration. '^I have done nothing that I know of, — at least nothing so very wrong." '* Heaven forgive you ! Are you so utterlv ignorant as not to know the Ten Command- ments ?" '' Yes, ma'am, I know them." '^ And don't you know that if you break one? you break all ? " Cherry thought for a moment. She thought slie had once heard something to that effect, but it had not made any deep impression on her ; and then she ran her mind quickly over the ten laws, and came to the conclusion she was not so innocent as she had imagined. She had broken more than one : she had some- times failed in the fourth, perhaps latterly in the fifth ; in the ninth, perhaps ; and noA\' decidedly she broke the tenth. Yes, there was no doubt she was guilty of the charge ; and so, not being able to defend herself, she remained silent. ^' You admit your wickedness, youni;- woman ? " VOL. I. Y 322 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. '' I suppose so, in the way you put it. I have sometimes' failed in keeping the Sunday as holy as perhaps I ought ; and I have once — l3ut I don't believe more than once — failed in duty and obedience to my father, and — " ^' There — stop! I do not w^ant you to confess your sins to me : I only desire to bring you to see them in the proper light, and to make you stay your reckless, self-destroy- ing line of conduct. Come, Harriet, let us go now^ I trust and pray our visit has not been wholly without some good — if but little — result. I shall pray for you, young woman, that you may be led to see the error of your ways, and that you will for the future lead a virtuous and respectable life. It is a pity you cannot get into a situation. Perhaps, if 1 iind you following the jjath of rectitude I may exert myself to obtain a place for you in some Cliristian family." ''Thank you; but I do not wish to leave my home. And as to leading a virtuous life — as you said just now — I 've never done any- thing else." ''What! is it possible you are still so hardened as to brazen out your guilt, after all I have been saying to you ? " '^ There is no guilt that I know of." WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^323 ^' No guilt, wretched sinner! Do you know wliat guilt means ?" " Yes, I do. Trying to destroy an honest, virtuous girl's character, as you are endea- vouring to do, that is guilt.'' '^ You are an impertinent good-for-nothing!" exclaimed Mrs. Henderson, roused by the girl's words to an anger that if she ever felt she rarely allowed to be seen. ^'You are a sinful, wicked girl, and I will take no more trouble about you. You may do as you please, and if you want help never come to me, for I will not give it you. But I will take such steps as will put an end to tiic vicious life you are now leading." Without w^aiting for an answer, which might not have been made if she had, Mrs. Hender- son, preceded by her daughter, left Miles Mason's cottage, shaking — as she afterwards expressed herself to ]\Ir. 8nape — the dust from oft* lier feet. When they were gone it all seemed like an ugly dream to Cherry. She could not under- stand why any one sliould be so interested about her as to find her out, and talk as these two ladies and that horrid fat man liad done. Who were they all ; and what did they want? She puzzled her ])oor brain for 324 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. long, but made nothing clearer. She felt, howeverj thankful that, from the elder lady's parting words, she was not likely to be troubled with them any more, and that her father would not be made more angry on the subject than he was already, by the chattering of these people. And then, when she had done wondering over all this, she fell a-thinking again of Cyril, and what tlie man in black had told her and the ladies confirmed, and she determined to ascer- tain by some means the truth. This resolution seemed to calm her a little, and she tried to set about jDreparing for her father's return home, and so avoid a repetition of the scene of the previous night. And so ^^will" was again to ^^ cause woe " to poor Cherry ! WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 325 CHAPTER XVII. There are certain monients in every one's life that are terribly perplexing ; when the clearest mind may err in its decision, when inward suffering' may, through its very j^ain, cause us to mistake the right course : the weaker the mind, the quicker the conclusion arrived at. Hence, women jump at a plan of action almost instantaneously, even under the most difficult circumstances, and then, though tliey may be right, they are right more by chance than by a correct appreciation of the position. To deliberate or act with caution is not in tlieir power. All theii- decisions are influenced by feeling, and the effects are scarcely to be tliiaist before them as a reproach to their dis- cernment ; yet how apt we are, if the current of events prove adverse, in consequence of a mistaken judgment, to tm-n round on those who, having acted for the best, yet failed iu 326 WILL IS THE CAIT8E OF WOE. attaining the desired end. Men pause and reason, and, if for others, act wdsely ; rarely, however, do they do so when the matter con- cerns themselves. Mr. Thorpe took all the time there was before him — it was not much — to ponder over and Avcig'li in all its bearings the request made to him by his child that she might see Cyril Treherne more frequently, and meet him on that intimate footiiig usually enjoyed by those who have made up their minds to become man and wife. Willie did not use those words, but that was in fact what her request implied. And her father had, then and tliere, distinctly refused ; but he did so fully intending to con- sider well whether it would be Avise to adhere to that decision. He thus ke]:>t the 2:)ower in his own hands, which he would have let slip had he hinted to her it was possible he could waver. He had not long to make up his mind; a short liour, and then thev were to start for Treherne ; and he knew quite well that jolting along on horseback, with a numljer of otliers chattering nonsense around him, would not help his brain to view so important a matter calmly and steadily. 80 he must make u]) liis mind before leaving Stanmore ; and lie strolled for that purpose far away from all sound o^ WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 327 human voices into the pretty little wooded glen that stretched from the end of the shrubhery walk to where the high road to Plymouth bordered the property. Then, with his cigar in his mouth, he chose a soft turfy bank, and lying down with his hat placed half (^ver his face, to shelter his eyes from the sun- light that danced through the waving boughs of the slender fir and the sturdv oak, he gradually composed his anxious mind to con- sider and decide what he should cede, what lie should hold firm to. Some innate, inexplical)le feeling made him conscious that, as he decided, so would the current of his child's future flow smoothly or roughly. Her tone, her manner, her expression when talking to him, probably caused him to feel this ; and as the bm-den of responsibility increased, so did his clear judgment become dimmed, and his power of arriving at a correct decision lessen. How often it happens the more anxious we are to do a thing well the less we succeed ! — our powers become, as it were, paralyzed, and we want the coolness indifference gives to arrive at the desired end. And so Mr. Thorpe, finishing his cigar and meditations, rose deterQiincd to keep Willie bound to her promise, yet, at the same time, 328 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. lie felt dissatisfied and discontented with him- self. It was not till they were cantering across the tract of moorland that lies between Stan- more and Treherne Court, and that Frank Delafield said something as to what Mr. Snape's feelings would be, could he know his presence yesterday had given rise to such turmoil, and that the formidable j^arty then making for Treherne were intent solely on the clearing up of the mystification to which he had given birth, that Mr. Thorpe recollected the Sna^^e episode. It had passed from his mind, pushed aside b}" what had appeared to him of so much importance ; but now it all rose up before him, and he felt more certain than ever he was right in adhering to his original resolve. If any- thing were wrong in the matter, he at any rate could save his child from sorrow falling to her share in consequence. As he argued, so he thought ; he was not endeavouring to drown conflicting ideas, but to look at all unbiased ; and he felt certain his decision was as it should be. And Willie ? Holding in Peri's head with n firm, steady hand, a determined, obstinate spirit got possession of her, making her shoWy in her command over her horse, that she meant WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 329 to be master : with lips compressed, and sitting so steadily tliat even when trotting- she seemed one with lier liorse, she rode on fast and yet faster, keeping the lead and flying, with her rebellious mood every moment becoming less controllable ; answering, when spoken to, in monosyllables, and sometimes not correctly, so occupied was she wdth all she had to say to Cyril. She bitterly resented her fatlier's conduct ; she accused him of want of affection for her, and of being guided solel}' b}' selfish motives ; she asked nothing of him that he had any right to refuse ; she would retract her own promise to him, she wTjuld have her secrets wdth Cyril ; in short, she wound herself up to a state of almost indifference as to what might happen, never, however, imagining anything worse than holding secret communication witl) Cyril, meeting him by stealth if she could not do so openly and freely, and deliberateh' defying her father. They were at the gates now of the old (Jourt ; handsome, massive iron gates wdth an ivv-clad archway spanning the road above them, w^itli a lodge on either side, and the splendid beech avenue stretching straight away up towards the house, the branches meeting 330 WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. overhead, forming a tunnel of verdure cool and delicious after the glare and heat of the ex- posed table-land they had ridden over. Lady St. Aubyn's carriage had already arrived, so the family was aware of the influx of visitors about to ccmie. Mrs. Treherne was standing in the hall, the doors wide open, awaiting the cavalcade. The admiral was with the ladies in the dining-room, getting them some iced drinks; whilst Cyril stood a little away beyond the covered entrance, with his eyes already fixed on the pretty, slight figure that still headed the party. She gave a little touch to Peri, and lightly moved the rein to make her hasten on still faster, as she caught sight of Cyril ; the next minute she pulled up, and Cyril, taking her round the waist, lifted her off the horse. ^^ My darling!" he whispered,/^ this is un- expected ! " '^ Oil, Cyril, I have so much to say to you, and I must say it ; so do manage to get away with me presently. Tell some one to take special care of Peri," she continued, as the others were now around her, and she passed by Cyril to greet Mrs. Treherne. For the first time she felt a liking for her future mother-in-law. Hitherto she had thought WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 331 her so dreadfully religious and good, and rather too fond of offering advice ; but her dis- agreement with her father had left a vacancy in her heart that Mrs. Treherne for the time being seemed to fill up ; besides, she wanted support, and she wanted help in case Cyril should persist in going away, to induce him to give it up, and she knew his mother would but too gladly give her that hel]) ; so she greeted her almost affectionately. And Mrs. Treherne, if in some things she was a hard woman, was at any rate an affectionate, de- voted mother; so she met Willie more than half wav, and felt her heart beat warmlv to- wards the young girl she hoped would prove as lovino^ and faithful a wife as in her OTeat love she believed her son deserved. All were more than willing to follow Lady St. Aubyn's example and take some iced soda- water with sherry after their long and dusty ride. Mrs. Treherne took tliem into the dining- room, and, after attending to their require- ments, sat herself down in the recess of the large oriel window, fanning herself with that morning's Western News. ^^I cannot think why you did not tell me yesterday you meditated this descent upon us ; I would have had luncheon ready for you." 332 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. ^' We had no notion of this invasion, my dear Mrs. Treherne, till I forget who, but some one at breakfast this morning suggested Frank's riding over to ask Cyril some stupid questions about a still more stupid person." ^^No, mother, to bring him back with him; and then, when we had him under lock and key, quethtion him ath to all he know^th of that — ^hat Thankth ! " said Charles St. Aubyn. At the name of Snake, as Charles persisted in calling him, Cyril's cheek paled slightly: both Willie and her father observed it ; the one with a sinking dread, the other with a kind of pleasure, for it supported him in the notion that his decision made that morning was cor- rect. If anything was going on wrong, he became doubly right in not allowing matters to progress further. '^Snakes!" cried Mrs. Treherne, ^'you mean Snape ! What do you want to know about him ? I know him, and can tell you any- thing." Cyril had had half a mind that morning to make his father his confidant, and so enlist his help out of the scrape he felt he was drifting into. But, though he loved his father sincerely, he had not been in the habit of treating him as a friend, so he found it hard to do so when he ^VILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 333 wished ; lie let the opportunity pass, and now regretted it. '^ I can tell you a great deal more about Snape than nmdam," cried the admiral, un- wittingly coming to his son's aid ; ' ' she only knows the fair outside — " ''Fat outside I" interrupted Frank Dela- field. ''All right, young fellow," continued the admiral; "the fat, fair outside, and nothing of the ugly interior. In the first place, he is the Methodist minister of Sandcombe, and juggles money out of every Avoman's pocket that he can get his hand into, and then spends it on liis own inside. Excuse me, ladies, but it is the fact." "Admiral, admiral!" cried his wife, "you are very wrong to speak of a really good man in that shocking manner. I do not think there ever existed a better or more generous being — " " But, Mrs. Treherne, I do not think we have arrived at the solution of our difficulty by hearing Snape's good (qualities, because we most of us have heard good — or bad of him. We wanted to know how your son made his ac- quaintance," said Mr. Thorpe. " I am hardly accountable to any one as to 884 WILL IS THE CAIJ.SK O]'^ WOE. how or with whom I make acquaintance," said Cyril, a little too haughtily. ^^I clon't tliink Cyril knows him," said Mrs. Treherne. '^ Let us get out of this room," cried the admiral, in tlie same breath ; ^^ it smells of pickled salmon and pineapple — a horrible mix- ture. Come, Lady St. Aubyn, let us sit in the large drawing-room ; it is the only cool place, excepting the hall." '^And let Snape be d — d: eh, admiral?" laughingly said Sir Gilbert St. Aubvn, in an under-tone. " You won't mention the fellow^'s name again, Charlotte, if you take my advice ; there is clearly something in it that arouses ill- feeling." As they wera all strolling out from the dining- room, Cyril and Willie passed on unnoticed through the drawing-room into the conserva-- tory, and so into the garden. '^ Cyril, I am not happy," began the young girl, when they Avere out of sight and hearing. '' I feel as if a whole world of sorrow had sud- denly fallen on me, and it is all because papa will not listen to any change : he says I may see you as I see others, and so on, and tells me it is for my good, but I don't think so. But, Cyril — dear Cyril," and the deep blue eyes WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 385 were raised jDleadingly to his, '' you won't go away — will you ? '' '' My own little Willie, if 1 am not to see you, am 1 not as Avell away as here — indeed ])etter ? Think, darling, the pain it is to me to know you are within a couple of hours of me, and yet that I may not see you ? I cannot bear it, darling." Willie was silent. Rapid thoughts chased (me another through her l)rain. Was it not selfish in him to go, if she wished him to stay ? Was it not more selfish still in her desiring he should stay, when she could offer Inm nothing in exchange for his giving it up ? AYould it be better for liim to be absent ? He might forget her, yet she hardly feared that. ^' Cyril," she exclaimed suddenly, after many minutes' pause, ''do explain to me what that man meant yesterday. We really came over for that. It was so kind of Charley to manage it : I am sure he proposed it only to get you back to Stanmorc.'' '' Well, it was a strange way of setting about it," replied Cyril, a little lutterly. Willie looked up. " You are not vexed about it, are you?" *'I have nothing to be vexed about; only 336 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. they all seem to have been amusing them- selves at my expense." ^'But, Cyril, do you know this horrid man they call Snape?" *^It would be very odd if I did not know him by this," was the reply. '^ Well, but you know what I mean. Did you — did lie meet you the other day near to Sheltcm, and — was some one with you?" It was fully a minute before Cyril replied, and Willie watched and waited with a beating- heart for his answer. In that moment a struggle went on in Cyril Treherne. Had lie followed his iirst impulse he would have told her the whole story, without keeping back anything; but the after-thought was that it would be giving her useless pain, for he knvvr full well he did not care two straws for Cherry Mason, anxl so what good would it do beyond saving him the denial of Snape's statement ? "No, Willie, I did iu)t meet this man near to Shelton." It was Willie's turn t<' pause now. Perhaps it was not near Shelton ; it might have been at Shelton. Perhaps he did not meet him ; it might have been Sna-iiC overtook him. Could he, she wondered, prevaricate ? No, came the instant reply. Her generous nature could \VILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 337 admit of no such grievous fault in one she loved so well. '^ You were a long time answering," she said at last. ^' I was. I wondered hoAv i/ou could ask me such a question, when you heard me tell the man himself I never had seen him before." ^^ Forgive, me dear, dear Cyril!" exclaimed Willie, cut to the quick by his reproach, well merited she iDelieved. ''I was sure you did not know him, and I do not know why I asked you. I have not grieved you, have I, CSail?" and she put her liand coaxingly on his arm. ^'No, my own darling, no; let us forget all about this matter, and never allude to it again." '' And will you promise, Cyril, never to have any secret from me, no matter wliat it may be ? I would always rather know disagreeable things than that they should exist and I be kept in ignorance of them." '^I asked you for a })romise, Willie, some little time ago, and you told me }tju could not give it me." '^ I did ; but then )'ou asked me to contradict myself. I had already made a promise that prevented my doing what you asked; but I VOL. I. z 338 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. will promise never to have a secret from you. Will you make the same to me ?" "Yes, darling, I will. Though I do not think it a wise promise to give, there are so many things might happen that the knowledge of would uimecessarily pain } ou, still — " ^' Still you promise ?" " What an exacting little thing you are ! ■' ''1 love you, Cyril." Willie almost whispered the words, and in a tone as if to exculpate herself for her seeming exaction, and, though uttered so softly and mth such deep love that Cyril inwardly vowed she should never have cause to regret it, the words must have escaped her involuntarily^ for her cheeks were now flooded with crimson blushes, and she turned away her head, lest he sliould see her confusion. '' Willie, let me ask you one thing. If any one told you evil of me, would you believe it?" "No," she replied, stoutly. " And nothing an}' one said would make you give me up ?" " Nothing." " And will you promise me never to believe even what your father might tell you without iirst asking me as to the truth of it ?" WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 339 "I will/' *' Then I am satisfied,'' and Cvril breathed more freeh'. " Why have you asked me all these ques- tions?" then said "Willie. '^ For the pleasure of hearing you say you can trust me, which you do, do }'ou not, my darling?" ^'I do, Cyril; I trust you as — as I trust in God." Such a confidence was surely worth keeping, worth preserving. It is not often such perfect faith is felt even hy a girl of eighteen for the man she hopes will one day be her husband. Doubts mil arise, and will too often bear that bitter fruit, jealousy, which poisons so many lives and mars so much hajDpineso. But Willie at that moment, with Cyril vW to herself, speaking every novr and then fond words — words that promised all truth and fidelity — tliought nothing could hajDpen, nothing could be said or d(jne, that would break that pure belief she had in hini. Every trial and trr)uble is (jnl}' to be A\'eiglied 1)}' comparison, and few would imagine that Willie's troubles were worthy even of the name ; yet because she had never endured greater they fell heavily on her. It 340 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. was a great sorrow, a great trial, with all her love for Cyril, all her faith in that love, that still he persisted in his resolve of travelling during the winter. She did not know that his obstinacy on the point arose from a want of trust in liimself, not so far as his love for her went — he felt unwavering there, not for a moment did he imagine he should falter in his affection, — but he feared the temptation that other girPs love might prove to him ; he feared that for the mere sake of distraction he might be drawn over to Shelton, he might be induced, from pity or good nature or for his own amusement, to get entangled in a web of trouble that might be hard to get free from. He felt his greatest safety was in absence ; and though he could not explain this to Willie, he put the matter so before her that, however hard would be the parting, she felt the neces- sity for it arose from his great love for lier, the impossibility to be so near to her and yet so apart. And this arose from her father's obstinacy, and so the feeling of anger grew stronger and stronger ; and yet what could she do ? Where was her remedy ? She was as powerless as a bird taken from the nest is in the school- boy's hand. The only way she had of show- WILL 18 THE CAUSE OF WOE. 341 ing her resentment was treating her fatlier with cokbiess and indiflterence. She resolved never to speak to him about Cyril, never mention his name in his presence. And when he was gone she would then seek his mother ; she could talk of him to that fond, doting mother, who never tired of hearing or speaking of him herself. And she could write to him, and have her letters addressed to her at Tre- herne. And she and Cyril talked all this over, till poor Willie's troubles ceased to appear so enormous ; and the time would soon pass, and then he woidd come back, never to leave her any more. Then they made promises to one another, and, though they knew of their mutual love, yet there was great ^^leasure in exchanging vows ; and so, hapj^y in the present, they endeavoured not to dwell on the future, which was sln-ouded over by the cloud of separation. They were too young to think of death, or any other of those crushing sorrows that later on one Ijecomes familiar mth, and looks on as every-da}^ occurrences. The young rarely think of the possibility of theii' hopes being withered ; all is fresh and green, and tlieir confidence not easily shaken ; it takes more than one rude shock of the earth's trials to brush off the bloom tliat hope lays so thickly 342 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. on youth ; and well it is so ! God knows, the blessed film is but too soon removed from our eyes. Let the young revel in their short- sightedness ; they will see and feel and learn soon enough that all is illusion, happiness a chimera, trust in our fellow-creatures vain, and the world one huge, gigantic deception. WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 343 CHAPTER XVIII. Cyril Treherne did not return with the Stanmore party : he and Willie agreed that it would on the whole be better not ; and though good-natured Giarley thought '^ Treherne an ath," and '^ Papa Thorpe another," it seemed notwithstanding as if the pain would out- balance the pleasure. Moreover, Lady St. Aubyn had but fainth' echoed her son's warm invitation, and there was that uncomfortable silence when she spoke that it was very clear the whole thing was likely to carry annoyance with it, and Cyril Avisely thought it scarcely WT)rth risking the disagreeables tliat would inevitably arise if he went. Cyril and Willie agreed they were to meet once again before he left. Mrs. Treherne was to write over to Mr. Thorpe and ask liim to bring Willie to spend a day or two at the Court before Cyril left. If lie refused, Cyril 344 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. was to write and ask permission to go to Yardley Wood. Supposing he met with a denial, then — why, then they must — they hardly knew what, but clearly meet. However, when Mrs. Treherne's letter arrived, • — which it did about a week after the Thorpes left Stanmore, — Mr. Thorpe passed it across the table to Willie. They were at breakfast, and WilUe, having read it, handed it back with- out a word, but with a throbbing somewhere between her heart and her throat, wliicli ren- dered silence the most convenient. ^' Do vou wish to o-o, .Willie ? " Willie had to swallow an imaginary lump before she could get out the somewhat indif- ferent answer, — ^^ As you like." ^^ As I like?" Then the father's heart softened, and yearned again for the time when he and his child were one in thought and feeling, hopes and wishes — a time never, never more to be ! A vain desire, a vain hope, for the child was now no longer a child ; the clinging confidence of those happy days, when, without her father by her side, without her hand in his, all seemed doubtful and dangerous, was gone for ever ! Another now occupied the whole heart, which WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 84-5 then liad hardly a corner that was not entirely devoted to him, and vdth a love, though of rapid growth, so deep rooted that it could stand all the storms of time and not be destroyed, though its very strength should sap awa}' her life-blood. '' Willie," said her father, at last, when he had gained sufficient command over himself to speak calmly, ''my dear, dear child, have you lost all afection for me, because I felt bound to adopt a certain line of conduct that runs counter to what you, in your youth and ignorance, VvT.sh ? You have now, for upwards of a week, been estranged from me so com- pletely that I feel as if I were alone here; worse than alone, for I see you, but never hear you speak. And yet from the moment your mother implored me, in her dying horn-, to fill her place towards you as well as my own^ I liave — I can safely before God sa}' — done all in a man's power to shield you from sorrow, and direct your course so that no harm could come near you. My whole life, from the moment she was taken from me, has been devoted to you. And now, at this critical point in your existence, if I am a little unyield- ing, is it not from my great love for }'ou ? Is it not that I desire to feel assm'cd that the 346 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. man I give you to is worthy of you ? Surely it is not asking a great deal when I said one year must elapse before any decisive step should be taken. A quarter of that time has already gone, and already has a mist arisen that I must have cleared." '^ I do not understand you," said Willie. At her father's appealing, affectionate words she had begun to soften towards him, and to think she had been somewhat ungrateful ; but at the mere mention of a mist — she knew he alluded to the Snape affair — she grew hard again and defiant. '^ No, child, and I am not sure I wish you to do so ; only I would have you trust my judg- ment as of yore, and believe that all I say and do is wholly and solely for your good. I can have no ulterior motive for my actions but your happiness." ^' But you do not know what makes my happiness." ^'I know what you fancy does; but that is because you are too young to judge for your- self." ^' That is a matter of opinion." ''Not quite," said her father, somewhat in her own tone. ''However, we have entered on a discussion that I fear, if continued, will WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 347 Lear no good fruit : it arose from this letter. What answer do you wish me to give ? " Mr. Thorpe's tone was not one to trifle with. He clearly was vexed at having made so little impression on his child ; and so Willie felt if she wished to go she had better say so, or assuredlv her father would take her at her word if she said she did not care about it. As ungraciously as possible she said she desired to go. So Mr. Thorpe wrote and accepted the invitation. It was the third week in September, and Cyril was to be off by the end of the month. The shooting-party that was originally pro- posed had been knocked on the head, owing to the disjointed state affairs had fallen into, and to the unforeseen eno-ao-ements of tliose who were in^dted. The Prendergasts sta}xd on at Stanmore, thus preventing tlie St. Aubyns from coming ; and though Frank Delafield, Captain Ma3me, Major Kingsford, and one or two others came over for a day, tliere Avas no regular party staying in the liouse. Indeed, Cyril himself ceased to desire it, now that he had decided on leaving home till the spring. He had had a liard tussle with his mother ; she entreated liim, with tears in her eyes, to give it up ; she had a presentiment — all women have 348 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. on such occasions — that evil would ensue from it, — she was sure some terrible calamity would result ; but her words fell on a deaf ear, on an ear that had already resisted the plead- ing of one it had cost him something to refuse. ''Go away from here if you like, travel as far as you choose, but give up going to sea, — don't have any more yachting ! " But Cyril was firm. His inclination for a sea life was too great for him to resist such an opportunity, the last, perhaps, he might ever have. His vexation and annoyance at Mr. Thorpe's obstinacy was as lessened as it could be by his antici23ated pleasure of spending four or five months on the broad, open sea, pitclied about by every light wind, not caring Avhere it carried him. Once or twice the great brown eyes of Cherry Mason seemed to rise before him with their wondering expression, and reproaching him with his broken promise, but he drove the vision and the temj)tation to go and see her and bid her farew^ell away. Better not run any risk ; he had barely escaped from the results of his one stolen visit ; and though he had neither seen nor heard any more of Snape, he by no means felt sure he should not. The days were passing quickly, and Willie would soon be with WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 849 liim, so there was not much time for him to spend in regrets for the jDoor little girl that had tended him so carefully, and who would have given herself up to him, body and soul, if he had cared to take her. Willie looked forward wath eager 2:)leasure to her visit ; but when the time came, and she was at Treherne, the knowledge that it was but to precede the bitter joarting, that a few hours would see him she loved best taken from her, marred all happiness in the present. Not alone going away, but going to regions un- known to her — places of which she had read but knew nothing. An unknown land is always more distant to us than one, perliaps, actually further oft* that we do know. Paths w^e have trodden ourselves we can tread again in memory; we can follow in the footsteps of those who are going the same journey. Whilst, on the other hand, we can but use imagination, as we picture the scenes we read of, and try to follow in the right track; but we are miserably wrong always, and our fancy utterly de- ceives us. '^ And you are quite determined to go by the coast of Spain to the ^Meditcri-anean ?" asked Willie, as on the last evening they M'ere to spend together they were strolling down the 050 WILL IS THE CAU8E OF WOE. beech avenue of the plantation that, by pass- ing through, led to a pretty terrace walk over- looking Sanclcombe Bay and Bolt Head. " At this season it is the best direction to take. I c^.an't well go to Norway," he said, smiling. ^'No, I suppose not"; and Willie sighed. ''Where will you touch? 1 mean where can you write from ? " '' I can stop where and when I like. Darling, 3^(>u need not fear, you shall hear often enough ; and remember the long, long letters I sliail ex- pect to get from you." ^' But I shall not know where to address to you." '' I shall tell you that in each of my letters." They had reached the plantation now, and beneath the thick foliage the twilight faded away into darkness, though the pathway was still visible. " How dark it is ! " said Willie. She never as a child could bear the dark, and slie nestled up nearer to Cyril as she spoke. '' You are not afraid, my own little Willie, are you ? " and he placed his arm around her. She looked up ; he could see her sweet face beaming with trust and love as he bent his o\\ai nearer to it. ''The moon will soon be up; ^VILL 18 THE CAUSE OF ^VOE. o51 besides, in a minute or two ^ye shall he out of this on to the terrace." ^' I am not afraid now," she murmured, yet clinging to him as she spoke ; and then, Avith a start, she said, '' Oh, Cpil, what is that ? " •^ What is what, darling?" and they stood still a moment ; but all Avas silent, not a leaf stirring in that calm autumn evening, not a breath to disturb the birds at roost. '^ I hear nothing ; you must have fancied it ; besides, it is impossible any one should be here at this hom\" So they went on ; but Willie's steps quick- ened till they reached the terrace, and then, with the broad, open view before her, she became brave again. ^^I am so glad we are out of tliat wood, Cyril. I never could bear the dark ; and I am just as foolish about it as ever." ^' We will not g-o back that wav. It must have been a frog or a toad we disturbed, rust- ling amongst the leaves already fallen. Come and sit down here a little. See, the moon is getting up ; how yelJow she is I We shall have a fine day to-morrow." ^^ And to-morrow, Cyril, we part ! " said Willie, sitting with one hand clasped in his, his 852 WILL IS THE CAUSE OF WOE. arm around her, and her small, well-sliaped head, with its coils of rich brown hair, resting on his shoulder. ^' Oh, why is it we cannot have all we like in this world ? " ^^ Ah, why, indeed I " Neither considered that, to a certain extent, they had, in this case, partially created their own difficulties and troubles, at any rate so far as their separation went. Cyril need not have gone away, even though he could not have his own way with regard to Willie so entirely as he wished. We often make matters worse than they need be by not endeavouring to make the best of them. " I have prayed, Cyril, morning and night, that nothing should ever part us, and yet, by this time to-morrow, we shall already be far away from one another ; what, then, is the use of praying ? And yet I pray on, and cannot help it ; it is a comfort, even though I feel I shall never have my prayers granted ! " This was a subject Cyril found difficult to argue on ; he had been so bothered by his mother in his more youthful days with prayers and reading good books that now, having ceased to he under her influence, he rarely gave the subject a thought. ^^I shall pray for you, darling,'.' he said at WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 353 last, ^' pi^ay that tliis time next year you may be my own little wife, and — " ^' And that we may never have a quarrel as long as we live," added AVillie, gaily, as Cyril seemed to stop. '^ There is no fear of that," he replied, turn- ing his head away as he spoke, as if listening. ^' Do you hear anything ?" she asked, nerv- ously. ''Don't he frightened, dearest. I fancied I heard a rustling behind us. It must be fancy ; no one — unless, indeed, one of the servants is out, which is not improbable — could be in the grounds. See, Willie, how beautiful is the reflection of the moon on the sea ; look at that long stream of shinmiering light, like frosted silver." '^ Ah, I sliall look at that when you are away, and then 1 shall think of to-night — how happy I am with you, how miserable without you ! " '' Foolish child I" Yet he pressed her closer to him still. Then, after a- pause, he continued, " Though your father has forbidden any en- gagement, Willie, yet you are bound to me, are you not, by all the sacred ties of love — nothing would make you break the silent vows of your heart ? " VOL. I. A A o54 WILL LS THE CAL\SE OF WOE. "• Oh, C-yril, do you As^ant me to promise to love vou always ? Do vou not know tliat ^' .J .J nothing, no one, could ever change me ? Do you not feel certain that no human being could ever .se2)arate me from you ? — that 1 love you with all the strength of my soul; love }'ou with such a love as sometimes frightens me, it is so intense ?" She cowered down, and hid her face on his breast as she stopped speaking, as if ashamed of her own vehemence, as if she hardly realized the warmth and force of her words till she heard her voice utter them. He raised her head, and pressed his lips to hers in one long embrace. " My own iDrecious one, I am satisfied ! " he said. Then they rose as if by nuitual consent ; as they did so there was heard a sharp, bitter cry, as if from some one who had received a sudden hurt ; and again all was still and silent. Housed by this fresh evidence of some one near them, Willie begged to go back to the house at once; there was no use in reasoning with her now, as clearly she was right, and she had heard some one. Cyril's face paled slightly, not from fear, cowardice Avas not one of his faults, but from a sudden apprehension that seized him. WILL LS THE CAUSE OF WOE. 359 He got up, stretched himself, looked around. The scene was very grand ; Init lie was too familiar with it for it to arrest liis attention, and A'et lie stood gazing for two or three minutes at least towards the sloping grass- grown land that stretched away to the sea. Then he walked with his e}-es fixed on what seemed a white object in that direction. ()n he went, as if destiny forced him, nearer and yet nearer, till he came to within a few yards of it. Oh, if even tlien lie had but turned back I His whole after-life might have gone on smoothly and happily, without the harrow- ing, miserable days that morning's walk entailed. But it was to be. So at an}' rate we are at times forced to admit when, do what we may to avert an evil, it still by some inevitable circumstance is brought about. And Cyril did not turn back, lie walked on till he came close up to what, from the begin- ning, he had felt sure was a woman. She lay there so still that he first thought she must be sleeping or dead ; but as he g-ot nearer to her, and saw the nervous, agitated movement of the left hand, wdiich ^vas clutching at something hanging reak to me, my poor girl." And he stooped doAvii to raise her up, for she clung to liim, — one arm round his leg, the other across her face, which, however, was hidden already, for she was pressing it to his feet ; she was sobbing convulsively. "" Oh, let me die so ! — die whilst you are with me ! " she moaned forth at last. ^' Don't talk of dying, Cherry, poor little girl ! Come, let me help you up ; and then tell me how you came here, and what is the matter with you." '' I can't talk," she said, faintly ; '' but let me sit here a little, — and, oh, do not leave me I " She looked up, — those strange eyes looking more wondering than ever, yet softer and more pleading. ^' No, no. Cherry, I won't leave you ! " END OF VOL. I. E. J. FRANCIS AND CO., TOOK's COURT' AND WIl)* OFFICB COURT, B.C. 31, Southampton Street,* Strand, ist March, 1880. NOTICE: TO AUTHORS, &c. Messrs. SAMUEL TINSLEY & CO. beg to intimate that they are now prepared to undertake the Publication of all classes of Books, Pamphlets, etc., etc., and will give most prompt and careful attention to any works forwarded for inspection to the above address. Messrs. S. TiNSLEY & Co. have during the last few years issued a larger number of Works of Fiction, Poetry, Travel, etc., than have been published by any other firm, and have the greatest possible facilities for the speedy and satis- factory production of books of every description. The fullest particulars will be given upon appli- cation, and every work will be carefully considered upon its own merits without any delay whatever. Lists of Publications, etc., will be forwarded, free by post, to any address. N.B. — Correspondents zuill please address carefully^ as above, Messrs. SAMUEL TiNSLEY & Co. being totally distinct from any other firm. 31, Southampton Street, .Strand, ist March, 1880. SAMUEL TINSLEY & CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. Each in Three Volumes. THE DEAN'S WIFE. By Mrs. Eiloart, Author of ' The Curate's Discipline," ' How He Won Her,' etc. 3 vols., 31s 6d. CHARLIE: A Waif's History told by Himself. By Mrs. Woodward. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. THE ACTOR'S WIFE. By Edmond Leathes, Actor. 3 vols., 31S. 6d. ^)achl;tnl)cr'3 ©iircpiiischcs