iiiiiiiiilB 
 
 liiiiiiiiiiii 
 
 DUST 
 
 BEFORE 
 THE 
 
 WIND 
 
L I E> RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 825 
 C&79d 
 
 V. I 
 
■r^. 
 
DUST 
 BEFORE 
 THE 
 WIND 
 
DUST 
 BEFORE 
 THE 
 WIND 
 
 A Novel 
 
 By 
 MAY CROMMELIN 
 
 In Two Volumes 
 
 Volume 1 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BLISS, SANDS & FOSTER, 
 
 CRAVEN STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1894. 
 

 91^ 
 
 } 
 
 in 
 
 DUST BEFOEE THE WIND. 
 
 PART I. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " 'Tis true 'tis pity ; and pity 'tis 
 'Tis true." 
 
 By way of preface, let it be understood that this 
 ^ story is only written because it is said to be 
 ^^true. 
 
 Surely, in the affairs of daily life, an ounce of 
 
 fact is worth a pound of fiction. " But that is 
 ;-Jnot art," cry the crowd. There are many strange 
 itales we all know, which, if they were written, 
 ^>no one would believe. 
 
 iT Pro says, confidentially : You see, my dear 
 "^friend, when you write a story you must make 
 
 it seem like ordinary life. Now the end of 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 your tragedy, for instance. It might happen 
 so in a Greek play, but in real life 
 
 Con : But that is just the gist of the matter. 
 It did so happen. Why suppress all that is 
 extraordinary in daily existence ? If, on the 
 contrary, we note it carefully, as doctors and 
 other scientific men do facts that come under 
 their observation, we shall get nearer what we 
 infants in the night are crying for — the Light 
 of Truth. 
 
 Pro (sarcastically) : Perhaps you would like 
 a fact I can vouch for also, as being strictly 
 true. It is a recent Irish story. Two young 
 fellows who were moonlighters suspected a 
 " boy " of informing upon them. So they 
 asked him to come out for a walk one evening 
 and murdered him in a lonely valley, where 
 two roads met. A year or so later their father 
 was thrown from his gig, driving by that same 
 spot, and killed. When the old priest heard 
 of it — probably knowing the previous story 
 through the confessional — he raised his hands, 
 exclaiming : ^' The ways of God are wonderful ! '' 
 
 Con: Well ? 
 
 Pro I Well, there is another moral for you. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 3 
 
 To me it is pure coincidence. But you will see 
 the finger of Providence, most probably, in it. 
 The Jews were more poetic when they imagined 
 an angel of the Lord, with a drawn sword, 
 stopping Balaam's ass. 
 
 Con (vexed) : I was not pointing any moral. 
 Has life a moral, beyond the lessons of practis- 
 ing common sense and honesty ? also of rever- 
 ence for Nature's laws, for, if broken, the 
 father's sins are naturally visited upon the 
 children unto the third and fourth generation. 
 
 Pro : There I agree. Up to that point the 
 wicked flourish like a green bay tree ; and they 
 do not often perish suddenly and come to a 
 fearful end. On the contrary, they go down to 
 their graves in peace, as David likewise 
 remarked, leaving riches and children behind 
 them. I confess to reflecting sometimes that if 
 I had had the ordering of this world, I could 
 have made a better job of it. 
 
 Con : It all does seem a frightful muddle at 
 times; and I get very depressed when the 
 apparent injustice of things strikes me. If we 
 are in a great school, we should wish to see the 
 master deal out prizes and punishments. 
 
4 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Pro : Precisely. Otherwise one may come to 
 think His existence a myth, invented by some 
 wise monitors to keep the naughty boys in 
 order. 
 
 Con (with eagerness) : So you acknowledge 
 the value of signs that eternal justice is working 
 among us — though we may not recognize it 
 often. Were not steam, electricity, with us 
 always, and did we guess their presence a 
 century ago ? " The mills of Grod grind slowly." 
 A thousand years in His sight are as one day. 
 If we are creatures of eternity, what matters 
 time, if the justice that is our right comes at 
 last ? 
 
 Pro : Humph. Being sinful myself, I confess 
 to a weakness towards mercy. Your story 
 preaches — an eye for an eye. But have we 
 not had a Christian upbringing, which started 
 us in life on a higher plane than the Jew whose 
 noble wish (which we read out on Sundays) 
 was to wash his footsteps in the blood of his 
 enemies. Your sinner, a woman, is punished 
 remorselessly ; not so the man. Quite true to 
 life ; only as to justice 
 
 Con : With the measure she meted was it 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 5 
 
 measured to her again. She had ceased to 
 love her neighbour, and become dangerous to 
 humanity. I have not made the man so. You 
 understand that only the main outline of the tale 
 is true ; the characters of even the principal 
 actors, long dead, as also the scenery, are 
 imaginary. 
 
 Pro : And you call it justice that the innocent 
 should suffer for the guilty ! How old myths 
 survive ! How many virgins have been offered 
 in sacrifice to appease offended powers, from 
 Jephthah's daughter, and the victims in Greek 
 story, to the Rhine maidens devoured by the 
 terrible worm ? 
 
 Con : Is death a punishment or a blessing ? 
 I, like the poor, rather hope it will be a change 
 for the better. But what more poignant anguish 
 is there than to know our sins have hurt those 
 dear to us ? This woman had no pity left but 
 for her own children. Her sentence was that 
 of David. 
 
 Pro : True ; it is an intensely human cry. 
 Strike me, but spare the child ! " Would God I 
 had died for thee, my son ! " Only — I warn you, 
 the public won't like the end. 
 
6 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Con (with dejection) : Perhaps not. 
 
 Pro : Can't jou change it ? Don't have any 
 painful incident. Let the girl escape. 
 
 Con : No. I repeat, my only reason for tell- 
 ing the story at all is my belief in its truth. It 
 has haunted me. 
 
 Pro : Well, I have given you my advice. If 
 you must take your own way, all I hope is that 
 I may be wrong and you right. 
 
 Con : Thank you. The closing words of the 
 second Book of Maccabeus come to my mind. 
 " And if I have done well, and as is fitting the 
 story, it is that which I desired ; but if slenderly 
 and meanly, it is that which I could attain 
 unto. . . . And here shall be an end." 
 
 ***** 
 
 This story begins a quarter of a century ago. 
 Only twenty-five years after all. Most of us can 
 look back as far as that. Five and twenty 
 years of revolving summers and winters ; of 
 days and nights which merge into an impression 
 of alternate light and shade. How short a time 
 it seems ! 
 
 No doubt, to the actors concerned, the 
 following scene would come back after even 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 7 
 
 such a long interval in their lives " as if it had 
 all happened yesterday." 
 
 Two persons were standing close together in 
 a room. 
 
 Let us leave them so a few seconds, and look 
 at the background of the picture. It is merely 
 the drawing-room of a middle-class London 
 house. The wearisome L-shape of such a room 
 is familiar ; its front windows looking on a dull 
 grey street, the back one on a strip of soot- 
 blackened garden. But a woman's taste has 
 done much to change the commonplace apart- 
 ment, striving to cheat herself with some slight 
 semblance of the luxury and beauty of sur- 
 roundings which her being craved. 
 
 A Moorish arch of Oriental woodwork broke 
 the stiff line of wall between the two rooms. 
 Cairene pierced shutters and toned glass filled 
 the windows, so that there was a twilight effect 
 in the interior, save for little rays of autumn 
 sunlight stealing through the apertures of the 
 carving. In this daylight gloom water-jugs of 
 gaudy coloured Tunis pottery, priceless old Dres- 
 den china, and Chinese jars, huge as those in 
 which the Forty Thieves were hid — suggesting 
 
8 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 the voyages of some seafaring ancestor of the 
 house, who had carelessly brought back foreign 
 treasures now worth the dowry of a poor man's 
 daughter — were disposed just where each looked 
 best, but without the least regard to their 
 respective value. 
 
 Here and there Indian brass pots of graceful 
 shapes, but no other worth beyond former 
 usefulness, long forgotten, rubbed shoulders 
 with brethren of high degree — chased silver 
 jugs or gold inlaid vases. These gleamed with 
 a rich and pleasing effect from dark backgrounds 
 of oak, carved in Tudor days, when workmen 
 loved their craft, and cut deep and true into 
 thick panels. 
 
 The mistress of this house had evidently an 
 original mind, a rare gift among the inhabitants 
 of that dull square. She valued things for their 
 own beauty, for the pleasure they gave her 
 eyes, not for the number of coins of which they 
 had lightened the purse. 
 
 Rich City people sometimes came to the house, 
 and these were either contemptuous, or down- 
 right indignant with Mr. Morice's wife for the 
 disrespect flagrantly shown to wealth in '' this 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 9 
 
 mad jumble of things/' as they termed her 
 objects of art. Some years afterwards they 
 unanimously declared Stella's room always 
 betrayed an ill-balanced mind. The furnishing 
 of their own houses had been done (executed 
 was the correct word) by a firm of old-established 
 upholsterers. 
 
 In spite of this criticism, Stella Morice knew 
 the good of money, and piqued herself on 
 extracting its full value out of every shilling of 
 her very ordinary allowance. Her husband 
 was quite generous to her, that she granted ; but 
 permitted no extravagance. In her secret mind 
 this very prudence was monotonous. Why, if 
 one only spent fourpence a day on daily papers, 
 it was an occasional joy to waste a shilling — if 
 only once in a blue moon. 
 
 To return to the room in question. The air 
 was heavy with the fragrance of costly flowers 
 massed in big china bowls, with a suspicion of 
 incense, too, and the faintest lingering odour of 
 cigarettes. Not a seat here but was a delight- 
 ful lounge, piled with cushions ; while one's 
 feet sank in the deep pile of the carpet. 
 
 Yet perhaps the prettiest feature of all was a 
 
10 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 mere handful of autumn foliage — ^just some 
 twigs to which their summer bravery still clung 
 in leaves of glorious russet and gold. These 
 were placed in a tall Venetian glass carelessly, 
 yet with such consummate skill that one's eyes 
 always wandered back from all other objects in 
 the room to that spot with admiration. 
 Nothing extraordinary in this, it may be thought. 
 Still the effect, however easily procured, was so 
 striking as to make a spectator resolve immedi- 
 ately : I shall stop on my way home and buy 
 some autumn leaves, and put them in a trumpet- 
 shaped vase, just like that. Ah, but would the 
 effect be the same ? Therein lies the secret of 
 the matter. 
 
 Nowadays, such a room as has been described 
 above is by no means uncommon in London. 
 But at that time visitors to the house, these 
 mostly lawyers and their wives, were wont to 
 enter gingerly, pretending to feel their way in 
 the twilight. Afterwards they asked each 
 other, with raised eyebrows and in significant 
 tones, "How did you like Mrs. Morice's drawing- 
 room ? Extraordinary, is it not ? So crammed 
 with rubbishy foreign things, and dreadfully 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 11 
 
 dark. If one only pushes one's armchair back, 
 something is sure to be upset." 
 
 Mrs. Morice defended her taste against the 
 candour of outspoken old friends with a gay 
 frankness that rather shocked these critics. 
 
 " A woman's looks are her best dowry ; so 
 they are fools who don't study them. And all 
 artistic background is the casket of the jewel." 
 
 Upon this some disagreeable acquaintances 
 lectured the younger neighbour solemnly on 
 vanity, hinting that, once married, a woman 
 should only care to please her husband. In 
 his eyes, she might be assured, economy in 
 dress and frugal household expenses would 
 make her more pleasing than any fine gowns 
 and extravagance. On the other hand, the 
 wife of his bosom would, of course, be always 
 thought by her lord, in virtue of his marriage 
 vows, more fair than Yenus, and a better 
 manager than Martha. 
 
 Such speakers were mostly ponderous matrons, 
 whose minds were fed mainly on the weekly 
 sermon, which seemed to produce as heavy re- 
 sults, intellectually, as did the Sunday roast beef 
 and Yorkshire pudding on their bodily persons. 
 
12 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 They were tastelessly clothed, but paid their 
 dressmakers' bills punctually for expensive 
 silk gowns of black or neutral shades, which 
 they termed " nice and quiet." They were 
 almost certainly good women — kind, religious, 
 but with neglected graces of person, who had 
 dropped their piano playing when they married, 
 they said. They liked early breakfasts, long 
 walks, discussing their servants' characters ; 
 also they liked rosewood furniture, white lace 
 curtains, and a plague of what were once called, 
 vulgarly, antimacassars. 
 
 " Good ! Yes, I believe they are good, accord- 
 ing to their own ideas," declared young Mrs. 
 Morice. ^' I pride myself on being always 
 fair-minded ; but they are so dull. They dis- 
 like change, like Chinese. As to music, a canary 
 would shame them ; and bees could give them 
 lessons on the love of what is beautiful. What 
 is the use of prating about our British virtues ? 
 Why, most other nations, and all animals, show 
 as much and more affection to their young ; 
 and don't quarrel so disagreeably with their 
 relations. Goodness does not consist in sweep- 
 ing all pleasant books and newspapers into a 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 13 
 
 cupboard on Sundays, and going to sleep be- 
 tween services because early dinner has dis- 
 agreed with one's digestion. And if it is so 
 heinous to be gay and like fine feathers, then 
 the birds must be the embodied souls of pretty 
 women. . . . Yes, I have been heartily weary 
 of my husband's set these six married years of 
 my life. Before that I was in the schoolroom, 
 
 and my parents were not well off 
 
 " Oh, I do so long to be out in the stream ! " 
 Stella exclaimed, at the very moment when this 
 story opens. '^ I want to leave the stagnant 
 pool, and feel the life and rush of the river ; to 
 
 " Be swept over the falls," answered a man's 
 deeper voice, with a warning underlying the 
 half-joking tone. " Remember the fable of the 
 little earthen pot that went to pieces by try- 
 ing to swim in company with the brass ones." 
 
 A silence followed of some moments' duration. 
 
 The man and woman were standing almost 
 in the middle of the room. A tall screen, 
 flanked by a tropical group of palms and a 
 massed undergrowth of ferns, would have 
 hidden them, however, from the sudden obser- 
 
14 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 vation of any one entering. They were eacTi 
 looking close in the other's face ; but as if they 
 had often so looked before and knew what was 
 written there by heart. Their hands were laid 
 on each other's shoulders. 
 
 The man was an ordinarily good-looking, 
 fresh-coloured, and fair-haired Englishman, with 
 a small bronzed moustache. There was an air 
 of well-being about him, due to the irreproach- 
 able make of his clothes, also to daily high 
 living. At a glance one recognized a personage 
 (not merel}^ a person) who smoked the finest 
 cigars and drank the best wines as a matter of 
 course. There was pride in the squaring of 
 his shoulders ; it lay concealed in the ease 
 of manner calmly conscious of never feeling 
 socially inferior to any one excepting royalty. 
 Perhaps his grey eye was cold ; his expression 
 might be a trifle cruel when crossed. But his 
 voice was charming, soothing in its soft modu- 
 lation, caressing when he pleased. 
 
 So these two stood, the slighter feminine 
 form seeming to vibrate with emotion. 
 
 What of the woman ? She was tall and 
 slender, with the softly swelHng bosom, the 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 15 
 
 rounded outlines of youth ; her figure would 
 have charmed a bird off the tree, as the Irish 
 saying goes. In face she was not really pretty, 
 rather a jolie laide, with high cheek-bones, and 
 a wide yet sweet mouth. But her black hair 
 was wonderfully thick, and piled in fluffy masses 
 on her head, escaping here and there in tiny, 
 attractive tendrils and curls, that tempted the 
 man vaguely with the wish to put them straight, 
 though they were prettier as they were. Then 
 her blue eyes were so big and dark-lashed, the 
 play of her face so changing, her softness, yet 
 diablerie of manner so witching, little wonder 
 Lord Middlesex suddenly exclaimed — 
 
 " Stella, you certainly are a pretty woman." 
 Suck* joy as flashed up in his companion's 
 whole face at the praise, from him ! Her lips 
 quivered slightly, and, drawing in her breath 
 with happy emotion, she imperceptibly stole 
 yet a little nearer. But perhaps Middlesex did 
 not notice this, for, loosing his hold gently, he 
 moved a chair. Then in a cheery voice that 
 gave the impression of a fresh breeze stirring 
 the warm fragrant atmosphere, he said — 
 " Come and sit down." 
 
16 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 The poor woman felt her blood run back- 
 ward (though ever so little) in her veins, a 
 slight weakness stole through her limbs, and a 
 hysterical swelling of disappointment rose in her 
 throat. Poor, one may call her, for it was 
 pitiful to see the forced smile she at once strove 
 to call up, and the timid obedience with which 
 she moved after her lover. It was the action 
 of a slave of love, not a queen. 
 
 The vacant seat nearest Lord Middlesex was 
 a carved armchair with velvet cushions, placed 
 in a nook that suited its cumbersome if comfort- 
 able dimensions. Unconsciously as it seemed, 
 with the magnetized look still in her eyes, Mrs. 
 Morice dragged this forward almost to touch 
 his chair. 
 
 " Why, you are displacing all the furniture, 
 Stella," observed the visitor good-humouredly, 
 with a smile. "I thought you were so par- 
 ticular, never to allow your charming arrange- 
 ments to be disturbed." 
 
 She silently raised her eyes to his, but did 
 not answer. 
 
 " Well, now, what is all this outburst about ? 
 What has raised this little storm in your breast 
 against your circle of friends ? " 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 17 
 
 " Don t call them friends. I hate the whole 
 set ! " Stella petulantly exclaimed ; " they are 
 such Pharisees. Some of them certainly may 
 be as virtuous and straightlaced as they profess 
 to be, but I hiow one or two others who are 
 whited sepulchres (and rouged, too)." 
 
 " They pay a right and proper compliment 
 to virtue, though, by a little tribute of hypocrisy. 
 Why do you smile ? The fact of the matter is, 
 most likely, that the women are jealous of you ; 
 you should feel flattered." 
 
 " They will be jealous indeed at my going 
 to your mother's ball to-morrow night," Mrs. 
 Morice now gleefully answered, her face light- 
 ing quickly again. *' Fancy, John was so 
 dumfounded he could say nothing at first, 
 when I showed him the card from Lady 
 Middlesex. Then he muttered something about 
 my being unable to go, thank Heaven ! because 
 I was in mourning (for his mother still, you 
 know), and betook himself out of the room like 
 a shocked stork, if you can imagine one. But, 
 of course, I am going ! There was no use in 
 contradicting him then ; only you will see me 
 all the same to-morrow night. And, oh, I 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 h'dve been so wanting to thank you ever since 
 the invitation came. The time has seemed so 
 terribly long since I saw you last." 
 
 " Only three weeks, little woman." 
 
 " Yes, I know. (And four days," she 
 mentally added.) " Still, so much may happen 
 in three weeks." 
 
 Lord Middlesex started very slightly, and 
 stole a look sideways at his companion. 
 
 " Why ? Has anything happened to surprise 
 you greatly ? " 
 
 " No, nothing, nothing. It has been all as 
 tame as a caged life — my daily seed and water, 
 and pecking at the bars. Still, perhaps one 
 ought to be thankful. With change, things 
 might be worse, you know ; and while I have 
 you I have my one great consolation." 
 
 Love, utter self-forgetting love that is a 
 raging fever, a madness when it takes such 
 hold of a human soul as it had in this one, 
 surged up in Stella's face like a seventh wave 
 of the tide of emotion that always flooded her 
 being in his presence. 
 
 " Yes, things might be worse," replied 
 Middlesex, gravely ; and he turned his head 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 19 
 
 to examine some volumes on the table, partly 
 hidden by some French novels, which he pushed 
 impatiently aside. " Why ! what have you got 
 here ? The newest revolutionary ideas in 
 religion; agnosticism, materialistic philosophy — 
 I am amazed ! " 
 
 " They are his — John's books ; at least, I got 
 them for him," confusedly explained Stella, 
 growing rosy. " I have only just peeped into 
 them here and there." 
 
 " Exactly so. I recognize the eminent 
 coiinsers book-marker. Quite the sort of thing 
 one would expect Mr. Morice to use." 
 
 Lord Middlesex held up teasingly a spray of 
 bramble with golden-bronzed leaves that had 
 lain pressed between the pages. He remem- 
 bered breaking that spray to please Stella, 
 and pricking his fingers with it, almost four 
 weeks ago, down in the country, near the 
 river. 
 
 "Don't be naughty, dear. Put it back like 
 a good boy. I would not lose that for a great 
 deal. It reminds me of such a happy afternoon 
 — the last happy one till to-day." 
 
 Middlesex seemed still absorbed in the subject 
 
20 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 of the books. He was staring at an open page 
 with a puckered brow. 
 
 " I think it is very wrong to look into this 
 sort of book at all, Stella. Why, it is enough 
 to shake the faith you have been brought up 
 in. Don't you think that is very dangerous ? " 
 
 " If one's faith is so tottering, as you seem 
 to think, it must be a dif&cult task to keep it 
 from falling like a house of cards," she answered 
 evasively, with a light laugh. Then, assuming 
 an audacious air, suiting a pretty woman 
 meddling with matters too high for her, 
 *' But what if these books are in the right, 
 after all ? It is such a consoling, reasonable 
 idea that there is no hereafter. Animals and 
 fishes don't expect one, and they suffer pain 
 like us, and are starving sometimes ; they are 
 ill-treated by man, and devoured cruelly by 
 each other. It does not seem fair. Why 
 should we have a heaven or hell, if they 
 haven't ? " Emboldened by her own argument, 
 Stella added more seriously, " Really, I begin 
 to think that a great deal of what we were 
 taught is either falsehood or fables invented 
 long ago, when, like savages nowadays, our 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 21 
 
 ancestors had a craving for something to 
 worship — the sun, or moon, or an idol. It 
 helped to make them think they would get 
 rain or slay their enemies. But I have given 
 up supposing that any amount of prayers will 
 change the weather or give us what we long 
 for with all our souls. Then it seems such a 
 chance whether one is what is called good. 
 For sometimes circumstances are so dead against 
 us, we can't be ! " 
 
 " Why — my — dear — girl ! " in slow, sur- 
 prised disappointment. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I mean what I say." Mrs. Morice's 
 eyes were sparkling, her fine nostrils dilated 
 with strong feeling. '' That is why I don't go 
 to church any longer, because it seems wicked 
 to go and repeat things I can't believe in. 
 And, though it is no affair of mine, as I never 
 come down to breakfast, I do consider it really 
 wrong of John to force the servants to attend 
 prayers every morning. Perhaps it is not their 
 own wish, but they are expected to appear all 
 the same, or the poor creatures would be 
 dismissed, I dare say. I must say I think every 
 one ought to have freedom of conscience, high 
 
^2 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 or low. And if the maids feel the same, it must 
 be a mockery to them to pretend to be 
 devout." 
 
 " I am extremely sorry to hear you say so. . . . 
 For my part, I must say I like women to hold to 
 the good old ideas about religion and conduct. 
 With men it is a different affair. We cannot be 
 judged by the same rules ; we have far more 
 temptations, less leisure. All the same, I know 
 plenty of good men in their way, who seldom 
 put in an appearance at church. I do not 
 myself go as often as I ought ; I don't set up 
 for being religious. But as regards women, as 
 I said before, one's wi — one's mother and sister, 
 and so forth — well, a man likes to feel that 
 they cherish the old ideals and keep the simple 
 faith of their childhood." 
 
 The Earl of Middlesex delivered his lecture so 
 earnestly, indeed severely, that his listener grew 
 slowly hot from heart to head. Shamed distress 
 at incurring his blame — and that for the first 
 time in the mad rapturous history of their 
 mutual passion — seemed to exude from her every 
 pore. It was from the pained depth of her 
 heart, foolish, misguided, though it might be, 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 23 
 
 that Stella Morice cried out, tears rising in iier 
 speedwell-blue eyes. 
 
 '* Don't suppose, Hugh, that I think more 
 lightly than other women. I believe it is 
 because I think more 'deeply, and feel far more 
 passionately than most, that these thoughts 
 have come to me. How could I reconcile going 
 to church and saying my prayers with — with 
 our love which is the one happiness of my life?" 
 
 Middlesex turned his head and looked down 
 critically at the edge of his boot-sole. She 
 changed her pitiful low cry for a tone of more 
 self-restrained yet reproachful reasoning. 
 
 " If you really mean that I ought to 
 follow these sternly virtuous, old-fashioned 
 beliefs, how about all our meetings during the 
 past two years ? I am no hypocrite, thank 
 Heaven ! as so many women are." 
 
 Middlesex felt and even looked uncomfortable. 
 
 " You push an argument so very far. There 
 are bounds it is better to recognize silently," 
 he murmured, in the softest of voices. 
 
 Bat if he had answered instead with brutal 
 frankness, " You are almost immodest in your 
 personalities. It is considered very coarse in 
 
24 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 my set to refer disagreeably to past mutual rela- 
 tions," Stella would have felt less blistered ; for 
 the gentle superiority of breeding he assumed, 
 that she in her adoration was ready to acknow- 
 ledge, even to metaphorically falling down and 
 worshipping, would not then have made him 
 appear on so immeasurably higher a level than 
 her passionate middle-class self. 
 
 " Perhaps, indeed, we ought to be wiser, 
 now," went on the man, with an effort ; but as 
 if saying something that had been in his mind 
 some time, only waiting a fitting opportunity of 
 speech. " It is not too late to try and lead new 
 lives. Then we should have nothing to reproach 
 ourselves with — nothing fresh, that is to say." 
 
 *' Hugh ! . . . What — what do you mean ? 
 
 You dont Are you accusing me of being 
 
 a bad woman ? " 
 
 Stella's bosom was heaving wildly. She 
 pressed her two hands on it to keep under the 
 tumultuous panting of her heart, while her eyes 
 gazed at Middlesex with a sort of horrified 
 surprise. Unconsciously she had started to her 
 feet, while stammering with choking voice the 
 only words she could command. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 25 
 
 Lord Middlesex was silent. 
 
 Swaying over, Stella fell prostrate on the 
 sofa, as if fainting. Yet she could not faint, 
 bitter though her sudden misery was. She 
 could only draw long sighing breaths, and stir 
 her head weakly on a cushion. 
 
 It would have been an intense relief to the 
 suffering woman's overwrought nerves to give 
 way to the gulping sensation of hysteria ; to 
 sob and laugh wildly and grip the cushions 
 hard with both hands. But Stella fought down 
 the lump rising in her throat, choking her 
 breath, caused by an awful feeling that the only 
 man she had ever loved was showing signs for 
 the first time of breaking away from their 
 mutual affection. Tears would disgust him ; a 
 red swollen face and bloodshot eyes ! Faugh ! 
 She dared not be natural. 
 
 Middlesex had sprung up, too, in some alarm, 
 as Stella fell. 
 
 Now he bent over her, startled, annoyed, yet 
 on the whole pitying. Evidently she had 
 misunderstood his meaning, poor little woman ! 
 He was sorry for that, heartily sorry, too, that 
 the real explanation was not yet over. Now he 
 
26 DUST BEFOFic THE WIND. 
 
 sat down beside her, witli caressing voice and 
 touch. 
 
 **I never meant what you suppose, dear. 
 How could you think so ? " 
 
 The woman who loved him prevented herself, 
 with a shiver of dread, from asking, " What did 
 you mean ? " On the contrary, with trembling 
 accents, she began excusing herself from the very 
 accusation which he disclaimed to have made. 
 
 " If I thought it really wrong But what 
 
 I do think wicked was my family marrying me 
 so young to a grey-haired, middle-aged, stiff 
 lawyer like John. They ought to have stopped 
 me. They knew — how could I ? — what was sure 
 to happen. I scoffed at love as moonshine. I 
 was as cold hearted and ambitious as many a 
 girl is at seventeen. You men imagine all 
 young girls as ready to fall in love, and 
 romantic. There is your mistake. They are 
 often as hard as — as green apples. And those 
 very girls will be, later on, the ones who are 
 most susceptible and passionate, only at first 
 they don't understand love, not for some years, 
 perhaps, till the right man comes. All they 
 see is, just what common sense told me, that 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 27 
 
 to enjoy themselves girls must get married, 
 and have a house of their own, and a carriage, 
 if possible — in fact, all the good things of riches, 
 if they can." 
 
 " That is not giving a very high view of the 
 motives that led you to marry. Come, dear, 
 after all, you thought you could respect your 
 husband, and so far, I have little doubt, you 
 were right." 
 
 " Hugh, I am always truthful ; even too 
 frank sometimes, as you say. And I repeat 
 that it is a crime to allow a young girl like 
 me to marry a man she doesn't and cannot 
 care about. It is hideous ! She has not 
 even a notion what solemn vows she is 
 making. That is her only excuse. Where is 
 the moral difference, I ask you, between her 
 and the person she has probably displaced ? 
 She is virtually offered a home for life, and 
 settlements ; food and clothes, etc., in return 
 for herself, body and mind. (For one must 
 give one's mind to the dinners and house-books 
 in our station of life, worse, luck ! ) The one 
 is a short, the other a long engagement. 
 That's all." 
 
28 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " Stella ! Stella ! Eemember that to a man's 
 mind the sacredness of legal ties ; the — the 
 feeling of family union — I can't go on ! Why 
 do you raise such burning questions between 
 us, dear, which are impossible to discuss with- 
 out pain ? " 
 
 " Because — oh, forgive me, Hughie ! " she 
 threw herself on his breast, weeping now a 
 little in spite of strong efforts not to do so, 
 and therefore hiding her face — " because I want 
 you to feel with me that our affection is more 
 sacred by far than these mere legal bonds. 
 Surely, surely, a mutual great love, that comes 
 without our being able to prevent it, cannot 
 be wrong. If even I had loved John first, 
 then change might be a sin. But I never 
 did, and a woman must love — at least, once ! 
 Heaven made us human beings so. Heaven 
 must have seen I could never, never, care for 
 a man nearly as old as my father ; who had 
 loved, or thought he did, a dozen or more 
 women before I was out of the nursery. Then 
 Heaven — supposing it consecrated this marriage 
 — condemned me, an innocent, ignorant young 
 creature, either to sin or sorrow. Dont you 
 see that ? " 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 29 
 
 *'I see that with your ardent nature your 
 marriage was, perhaps, a mistake," answered 
 the man in a constrained voice. (He was of 
 the other sex ; how could he quite agree ? 
 Had not he, too, had *' a dozen " other loves, 
 before his eyes lighted on pretty young Mrs. 
 Morice ? And did he not look forward at this 
 
 very moment to ) ^' But still, it seems a pity 
 
 you could not have reconciled yourself a little 
 more at first to your lot. Your married life 
 might have been more free from jars and 
 discord. Plenty of other women, let me assure 
 you, I know, are as ill-matched as yourself, 
 but they smile outwardly on their husbands, and 
 so quarrels are avoided." 
 
 " I can't — I cannot ! Why, a very short 
 time after we were married some old friends 
 of Mr. Morice came to this house. They were 
 men of his own age ; grey-haired or bald. 
 And one day when they were in his study 
 (he was out of the room) and I was passing 
 by, I heard them joking together over his 
 marrying a young girl at his age. ' "Well 
 done,' one of them said, with a detestable 
 chuckle. * I knew an old fellow who married 
 
30 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 a pretty girl wlien lie was eiglity-one, jolly old 
 chap ! I shouldn't mind doing the same myself.' 
 Ugh ! " — with a long - drawn shudder of dis- 
 gust — " such marriages should be forbidden by 
 law. Don't tell me that what is unnatural can 
 be right ? Their banter tore the scales from my 
 eyes. And there I saw myself — young, unhappy, 
 and solitary — till I met you. Oh, Hughie . . 
 Hughie . . Hughie ! " 
 
 Middlesex contracted his brows ; the reite- 
 rated pet name jarred upon him painfully, 
 recalling how differently, how shyly, it had 
 been whispered in his ear — only last week. 
 But he tried to soothe the weeping woman, 
 and was tender, affectionate. He would have 
 held himself a brute otherwise, after all that 
 had been between them. The past two years, 
 charged with memories of an exciting, slightly 
 dangerous, and on the whole delightful ac- 
 quaintance with each other, could not be lightly 
 forgotten by him. 
 
 Please goodness ! this sort of thing must 
 never happen again. He had sown his last 
 handful of wild oats. 
 
 But he was sorry for Stella — heartily sorry. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 31 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " What makes thee struggle and rave ? 
 Why are men ill at ease ? 
 'Tis that the lot they have, 
 Fails their own will to please ; 
 For man would make no murmuring were his will obey'd." 
 
 For some time Stella remained quiet, still feel- 
 ing faint, her head resting against the shoulder 
 of the man she loved, not only passionately but 
 with all the inexperience, the blind belief and 
 worship of a first attachment. Her lover had 
 actually no fault in her eyes ; he was as a god. 
 
 To soothe her, Middlesex had begun stroking 
 her soft, luxuriant hair ; and Stella felt mes- 
 merised by the touch of his fingers, happiness 
 stealing slowly once more through her veins. 
 She could not see that above her head he looked 
 twice at the clock on the mantel-piece ; nor 
 that a bored expression was settling on his 
 handsome features. 
 
32 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 At last a heavy sigh escaped the guest. 
 Stella felt the heaving of his chest, and, thrilled 
 with the thought that she had the power to 
 cause this supposed emotion, raised her head 
 slowly, with a deep rapturous smile. Even 
 afterwards — long afterwards, when the piti- 
 lessly clear light of experience that illumines 
 our past, might have made the matter plain to 
 her — she never guessed that the man's sigh was 
 for himself and his future, across which she 
 threw her shadow : that he was thinking with 
 secret impatience, *' Does she suppose this can 
 go on for ever ? " 
 
 " Come, that is right ! I am glad to see you 
 smiling again, like my bright evening star, 
 before I go away," he said aloud. 
 
 " You are not leaving me so soon? " 
 
 " Why, I have been here nearly an hour 
 and a half. Besides, your devoted admirer, 
 young Muir, generally comes about this time, 
 and will most likely consider me rather in the 
 way." 
 
 " That boy ! I am sick of him," pouted Mrs. 
 Morice, with a pretty air of indifference. 
 
 " Don't be unkind. Think how useful he 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 33 
 
 has been," softly chid Middlesex, with a mean- 
 ing smile, as he rose. 
 
 Stella could not help smiling likewise, though 
 she blushed slightly. 
 
 " Then we shall meet to-morrow night ? You 
 can come to my mother's ball, you think, in spite 
 of Mr. Morice's — er — disapproval ? " 
 
 Middlesex hesitated as he asked the question. 
 
 But for the recent agitation that had left her 
 confused, and that she was anxiously trying to 
 steal a glance in the nearest mirror, from fear- 
 ful love rather than vanity, Stella must have 
 noticed that her admirer spoke as if there was 
 some trouble on his mind. Instead of which 
 suspicious insight, quick loving assurances 
 rushed to her lips. 
 
 " Of course I shall go. What ! miss seeing 
 you for the first time in your own house ; and 
 when your mother was so good as to ask me ? 
 Oh, I know you must have managed that ; but 
 I am grateful all the same. Besides, how could 
 I disappoint you, after your bringing me to-day 
 such a beautiful, beautiful keepsake ? I shall 
 always treasure it." 
 
 She glanced down joyously at an opal brooch 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 surrounded by brilliants, that flashed brightly 
 from some black lace on the front of her gown, 
 where she had fastened it low, so that her eyes 
 might now and then gloat on the cherished 
 token. 
 
 Middlesex was clearing his throat, prepara- 
 tory to a supreme effort. (" Because I have 
 something to tell you first.'" The words were 
 on his tongue, repeated over silently, to give 
 himself courage.) 
 
 " I am so happy now ! I don't know how I 
 could make myself so utterly miserable a little 
 while ago," added Stella, radiantly, though her 
 lips quivered slightly still, the last signs of the 
 late storm of suppressed emotion that was 
 dying away. 
 
 The clock struck five. 
 
 " Too late. I dare not risk breaking her the 
 news to-day," Middlesex quickly decided. 
 
 " Grood-bye, Stella dear. Perhaps I shall 
 write you a letter to-morrow. Here is your 
 maid coming with tea. I can hear a rattle of 
 china in the passage." He pressed her hand in 
 leavetaking, kindly, but tranquilly. 
 
 The maid, who entered just then, glanced 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 35 
 
 demurely at his lordship, whose visits were like 
 Jove's descents from Olympus to the household ; 
 but she saw nothing different from other gentle- 
 men in the great man's manner. 
 
 Then, smiling faintly with a lingering regret 
 at taking his leave, for which Stella's heart 
 gave him a mute million thanks. Lord Middle- 
 sex moved very slowly out of the room, fading, 
 so to speak, from his hostess's vision. 
 
 He was gone. Left alone, the woman he 
 had quitted sank back on her cushions as if all 
 strength likewise had left her. The light of 
 her eyes was taken away. Awhile Stella 
 seemed in a kind of trance. Her body felt 
 utterly inert, while her real self, her soul, was 
 out in the street with the man she loved — 
 driving in his hansom — passing away with him 
 into his other life beyond her ken. 
 
 So she sat there drooping, sunk in reverie, 
 staring at the door through which Middlesex 
 had departed. At last, after full ten minutes, 
 Stella roused herself, then covered her face with 
 her long white hands, and began rocking her 
 body to and fro. 
 
 " Oh, my love, my own love ! " she mutely 
 
36 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 murmured. " I love every hair of your dear 
 head. I would die for you — I would make 
 myself as the very dust under your feet at your 
 bidding. What will come of all this? No 
 matter ! The least thought of losing you is far 
 more bitter than death ! What was wrong- 
 to-day ? The first time he has ever hinted at 
 our giving each other up. He could not mean 
 anything — he could not I Surely it was my own 
 imagination ; and it was stupid of me to talk to 
 him as I did. Grod ! — if there is a God — if 
 only this one precious gift is left to me, I will 
 try to be so good in other ways. And I will 
 bring up Rose and baby so carefully, and take 
 care they only marry men they love. They 
 shall never know my great temptation. Never ! 
 I swear solemnly to do my best to keep them 
 pure and good." 
 
 Was Stella trying to make a bargain with 
 that great Spirit unto whom, she had been 
 taught, all hearts are open, and from whom no 
 secrets are hid — who has declared Himself to 
 be perfect Holiness as well as perfect Love ? 
 
 "It is all my parents' fault for being so 
 anxious to be rid of the burden of me," she 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 37 
 
 lamented for the thousandth time to herself. 
 " The sins of the fathers are visited on the 
 children, indeed, when the children bear the 
 punishment that ought to fall rightly on the 
 elders. I could never act so by my little ones." 
 
 A pang darted through the speaker's heart. 
 Just so a lightning flash in a dark and stormy 
 night may reveal to a traveller, resolved to try 
 and grope forward, some frightful chasm ahead 
 at which he had not guessed. 
 
 " No, no," Mrs. Morice cried out, answering 
 her own reproachful thought. " It cannot be 
 — I am not sinning against my babies in this ! 
 My father and mother broke the natural law 
 in forcing this old man upon me as a husband, 
 who became repugnant to me. And now they 
 would blame me for breaking the spiritual law 
 by loving Hughie ? No, no ; surely Grod's laws 
 and those of nature are one and the same ! 
 Who knows ? " 
 
 Yet she bit her lip till it bled ; then re- 
 proached her own foolishness, remembering 
 that Middlesex might notice the tiny scar. 
 
 Like hundreds, thousands of others, this 
 woman was dissatisfied. For what was her 
 
38 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 life ? A few brief snatches of passionate joy. 
 Long stretches between whiles of days passed 
 in watching and waiting, nights of sleepless 
 repining and trouble of conscience. 
 
 " Surely," Stella Morice argued indignantly 
 within herself, " each human creature born has 
 a right to some happiness in existence. Were 
 we created in order to suffer ? " 
 
 In answer to this, she remembered that her 
 friend, Mary Dawson, held the vague belief 
 that we all are dowered with a birthright of 
 pain, which may in the fulness of time prove 
 a blessing. According to this hope rather than 
 theory, sorrow is a sacred mystery pervading all 
 creation, which makes the pangs and deaths of 
 many hundred creatures of the animal world 
 necessary to sustain the life of a mere human 
 unit ; whilst we should rejoice in the toils, 
 battlings, and martyrdom of our forefathers 
 through long ages, that have gained for us at 
 last so much as we possess of civilization and 
 freedom. Deity's self, in this creed, had taken 
 in sign of the supreme glory of suffering for 
 others the name of the Man of Sorrows.j|. 
 
 Meanwhile, darkness had now fallen' outside 
 
 I 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 39 
 
 in the streets. Beside the square railings op- 
 posite a man's figure was standing still, and 
 looking up at the lighted windows of the house. 
 The face that gazed so intently was young and 
 very handsome ; its owner could not be older 
 than two and twenty. 
 
40 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Ein jiingling liebt ein madclien, 
 Die hat einen Andern gewahlt : 
 Der Andre liebt eine Andre, 
 Und hat sich mit dieser vermahlt. 
 
 " Es ist eine alte geschichte, 
 Doch bleibt sie immer neu : 
 Und wem sie just passieret, 
 Dem bricht das Herz entzwei." 
 
 " Why does Grordon Muir not come, I wonder ? " 
 it presently struck Mrs. Morice to ask herself. 
 
 As if in unconscious obedience to her slightest 
 wish, the watcher outside in the square moved 
 with slow steps to the house door and rang. 
 Three minutes later the maid ushered him into 
 Stella's presence, announcing, " Mr. Muir." 
 
 The young man came forward with such a 
 frank glow of joy in his dark eyes as in a few 
 years he would rather endeavour to hide. Yet 
 he took the hand of his hostess with a deference 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 41 
 
 that miglit have been offered to royalty. It 
 was the honest homage of a young heart. He 
 felt himself Stella's sworn knight. She was the 
 " ladye most fayre " whom he worshipped from 
 afar with all the chivalry of an ardent nature. 
 
 Mrs. Morice, with a dreamy smile, motioned 
 this new guest to a chair. He would have 
 taken the seat Lord Middlesex had so lately 
 occupied, but that Stella, with apparently 
 whimsical imperiousness, made a forbidding 
 gesture. 
 
 " May I not come a little nearer the tea- 
 table ? " asked the lad humbly, his beautiful eyes 
 lighting up with the wish he dared not utter, 
 to approach, if ever so slightly, nearer his 
 hostess. Then, in quick compunction, *' Why, 
 you have not had any tea yet, I see. Have I 
 kept you waiting ? I am so sorry, but I forgot 
 myself " 
 
 The new-comer stopped, confused. Impos- 
 sible to say that he had been lost in a dream, 
 outside there in the square, gazing at his 
 divinity's windows. 
 
 " I forgot to make the tea," said Stella, with 
 an absent look; "and, dear me, the spirit- 
 
42 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 lamp is burnt out. No matter ; I will ring for 
 hot water. No tea for you ? Oh, nonsense. 
 A little more trouble will not hurt the maids. 
 Besides, I want to send for the children at the 
 same time." 
 
 " Am I not allowed, then, to have even five 
 minutes of your company all to myself?" put 
 in young Gordon, with a hurt smile. 
 
 "What! You would not have me an un- 
 natural mother, and deprive my babies of their 
 play-hour here, even for your sake ? Oh, you 
 selfish boy ! " Mrs. Morice laughingly scolded 
 in reply. 
 
 So the maid brought fresh tea, grumbling in 
 her heart, '' I have been up those stairs a dozen 
 times. Some people are so selfish, they never 
 think of others." And two charming baby- 
 girls were ushered into the drawing-room by 
 their nurse. 
 
 The eldest child was a pretty dumpling 
 of five, with fair hair and grey eyes that 
 showed she took after the Morice side of the 
 family. But the youngest, of only a year old, 
 looked out at the strange world with limpid 
 eyes even bigger and bluer than Stella's own. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 43 
 
 Mrs. Morice took this little one on lier knee, 
 and while Eose, the elder infant, plumped down 
 contentedly on the carpet to play with some 
 silver Dutch toys that her mother gave her 
 from a tiny table near, heaped with, similar 
 knickknacks, the baby stretched out both arms 
 towards a gold smelling-bottle. Stella at once 
 gave her darling the plaything, while Gordon 
 Muir looked on at the scene with an aggrieved 
 feeling swelling almost to a sense of injury 
 in his heart. 
 
 The most striking feature in young Muir's 
 face were his piercing eyes, surmounted by 
 arched, strongly marked, dark eyebrows that 
 when he was vexed almost met, but for one 
 deep furrow of anger, more often seen in men 
 of maturer years. His nose was finely shaped, 
 with a peculiar droop at its tip, that gave an 
 impression of sensitiveness to a close observer ; 
 this was also borne out by the mouth, that, 
 under a budding, dark, silky moustache, was as 
 exquisitely shaped as that of a beautiful woman. 
 It would have been a gentle face but for the 
 aforesaid eyes and the chin, which showed a 
 firmness of character that might harden with 
 
44 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 time into a harsher quality. The contour of 
 Muir's head was remarkably good — rather small, 
 yet noble in outline. Many women would love 
 this youth in future years, one might guess, 
 judging merely by that singularly handsome 
 face. But he himself! Would this young 
 runner, just beginning his manhood's race, be a 
 winner or not? Stella, who knew him well, 
 secretly doubted his future success. 
 
 " He has not got luck written in his looks. 
 And he is so intensely romantic, high-strung, 
 and impressionable to the last degree," she re- 
 marked one day to Middlesex. 
 
 " So much the worse for himself," said the 
 latter, carelessly. *^ Lucky men have rhinoceros 
 hides for their skins. Still, young Muir is not 
 altogether soft, I imagine. There was a por- 
 trait in the Old Masters' Exhibition last winter 
 of which he strongly reminds me. It was of 
 a young Italian noble, name unknown. He 
 looked crossed in love, poor chap, and as if he 
 meant to take his revenge on your sex without 
 much quarter. Quite a remarkable resem- 
 blance." 
 
 " Gordon Muir could never be harsh to 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 45 
 
 women. He is a poet in heart ; a dreamer 
 of beautiful dreams." 
 
 " So was Byron ; so was Shelley," yawned 
 milord, who took small interest in the subject 
 under discussion, but was able in argument 
 when he chose, and not averse to displaying 
 his powers. 
 
 At the present moment Muir was still frown- 
 ing at the gurgling baby. It was sucking the 
 top of the smelling-bottle now, the present he 
 had given her — Stella. Her initials in diamonds 
 on the pretty plaything had cost him what 
 made a severe gap in his subaltern's income. 
 At the time this last consideration was a real 
 pleasure ; it seemed a luxury to practise self- 
 denial for Stella's sake. He had fondly imagined 
 that his lady would, as she had assured him at 
 the time, " treasure his gift." And now, behold 
 its destiny ! Bah ! It was disgusting. 
 
 " What are you meditating upon ? " asked 
 Mrs. Morice, rousing. Her infants had almost 
 engrossed her attention until this moment. 
 " Is not Pansy like me ? Yes, baby, you are 
 all my own. But Eosebud there, though a 
 dear mite, is quite a Morice." 
 
46 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " I was wondering how one ought to talk to 
 children," was the untruthful reply. " Do tell 
 me how to begin. I feel quite shy." 
 
 " How silly ! Shy with my daughters ? 
 Why, even Lord Middlesex made them laugh 
 the other day, when he met them ; and I do 
 not often display my jewels to him." 
 
 " I cannot venture to compete with any 
 person so favoured by fortune as the Earl of 
 Middlesex." 
 
 "What a flash of the lad's glowing eyes ; 
 what proud humility of tone ! 
 
 " Oh, you stubborn Scotchman. You never 
 could endure poor Lord Middlesex, and yet he 
 speaks so differently of you. He says he likes^ 
 what he has seen of you immensely T 1 
 
 " I am obliged for the compliment. I only 
 wish I could truthfully return it. But I — 
 cannot." 
 
 " Gordon ! Why do you speak so unkindly ? 
 After all, is he not very useful f " 
 
 Stella said this out of pure mischief. But at 
 her softly insinuating answer, accompanied by 
 a coquettish blue glance, that older and wiser 
 heads than his might have found irresistible, 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 47 
 
 it was so sweetly witching, a flush of happiness 
 leaped warmly to young Muir's face. His eyes 
 answered hers with quick ecstasy, passionate 
 devotion, at the implied hint that his rival was 
 but a titled dummy — ^a blind to keep the world 
 from noticing that he himself was preferred, 
 was — was, after all, something dearer than her 
 pet lap-dog, more than a mere slave to every 
 feminine whim. 
 
 Yes, Gordon Muir believed his lady peerless, 
 flawless, whiter than the down of the swan, 
 sweeter than the bag o' the bee. But— such 
 is the reasoning of the mind of boy or man 
 where woman is concerned — surely Stella's 
 loyalty towards the middle-aged, unsympathetic 
 kusband to whom she was yoked, devotion to 
 *the tyrant's babes, need not morally hinder her 
 from returning his own deep though utterly 
 hopeless attachment. Oh, in all honour ! in 
 unsullied purity ! Surely they two were meant 
 for each other by spiritual affinity, though cruel 
 fate had caused them to meet for the first time 
 in life — too late ! 
 
 How often had not Stella told Gordon Muir, 
 in gratitude for some little proof of his devotion, 
 
48 DUST BEFORE THE V/IND. 
 
 that she did not know how she could sometimes 
 endure her lot but for his friendship ? Yes, he 
 was her friend. In his heart the lad vowed 
 to remain so through all his life, ay, even to 
 death. 
 
 At his glowing look Mrs. Morice was moved 
 to bethink herself how these last few months 
 the poor boy had so tried to do even the im- 
 possible to give her pleasure, that he really 
 deserved some slight reward. 
 
 She put the baby down on the floor to crawl 
 beside its sister, and came over to seat herself 
 near her humble servitor with a sympathetic 
 manner. Her voice stole sweetly into his ears, 
 and thence to his heart, bringing music and 
 frao-rance at the same time. 
 
 " Now, my friend, tell me something of your- 
 self, of your gaieties at Aldershot. And, what 
 is more important, when does the regiment go 
 to India ? " 
 
 " In six weeks." 
 
 Young Muir was looking with a long deep 
 gaze in the face of his guardian angel, to him 
 the living beautiful incarnation of all woman- 
 hood's virtues. How divinely good, how sisterly, 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 49 
 
 motherly sweet was she. He would have held 
 himself foully traitorous in thought to picture 
 his ladj as moved, even for his sake, to swerve 
 one inch from the path of rectitude her dear feet 
 trod so lightly and cheerfully. 
 
 " What ! so soon ? " — in genuine regret, if 
 not in poignant sorrow. " I shall miss you, 
 my dear boy, dreadfully T 
 
 " I am not going." 
 
 Gordon's voice had a curious choke in its 
 sound. 
 
 " Not going ? Why ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I have exchanged to-day. I have left the 
 old regiment, and gone into the — th, the Mud- 
 shire regiment." 
 
 " Left I " — Stella started in real dismay, and 
 stared at him with pity and almost anger born 
 of self-accusation. " What ! left your father's 
 regiment — your grandfather's ? But what 
 will they say? They will be furious, and — 
 why, good heavens! you were to have been 
 your father's aide-de-camp when you went out. 
 General Muir will never forgive you." 
 
 " I cannot help that." 
 
 Gordon was pressing his lips together tightly. 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Stella put out her hand and softly laid it on 
 his arm. 
 
 ^^But why have you done this? I do not 
 understand." 
 
 *' I did it for your sake. Have you not told 
 me that, but for what little friendship and help 
 I can give you, your existence would be too 
 lonely for you to bear ? " 
 
 " Are you mad, Gordon ? I — I am so amazed 
 that I can hardly speak. Do you know that 
 your whole career, your whole life, may be 
 spoilt by this quixotic idea ? " 
 
 " I know this, that my life is of no value in 
 my eyes, except in so far as it may be of some 
 use to your 
 
 The last word was whispered with fervent 
 adoration. Then, alarmed at his newborn bold- 
 ness, young Muir sprang to his feet, his eyes 
 still looking — looking at Stella's face with most 
 apologetic, humblest homage. 
 
 **But to join the Mudlarks! To give up 
 all your hopes of frontier-fighting, and be 
 stuck in what is one of the worst regiments — 
 so you yourself told me — in the service ! Dear 
 boy, it is not yet too late. Go back, I implore 
 you, and set it all right." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 51 
 
 " It is too late. I would not tell you till 
 it was irrevocably settled." 
 
 As lie spoke, the lad's ^face was irradiated 
 with proud joyousness in his great sacrifice. 
 Could the bravest, truest knight of old have 
 done more ? He was laying, indeed, his whole 
 life down at his lady's feet. 
 
 " Good-bye. I must be going, indeed. My 
 colonel — my new colonel — has told me to call 
 upon him at the Junior United, and I must 
 not keep him waiting. Forgive me for run- 
 ning away." 
 
 Stooping his head, Grordon gallantly pressed 
 his lips to the limp hand Stella mechanically 
 extended in her dismay, the while he registered 
 a vow of lifelong loyalty in his heart. It was 
 the first time he had ever dared even to kiss 
 her hand ! He was trembling at his own pre- 
 sumption, yet surely his great sacrifice deserved 
 this reward. Then, afraid to trust himself 
 longer, the new Mudshire subaltern hurriedly 
 left the room. 
 
 Stella twisted her handkerchief tightly round 
 her fingers in hot compunction, shame, and 
 real dismay, when he was gone. Soon she 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNlVERSrPf OT n.lTNO 
 
52 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 sprang to her feet and walked up and down 
 the room once or twice. Two big tears rolled 
 down her cheeks, but she wiped away angrily 
 the wet signs of grief. 
 
 '* Poor boy, poor innocent boy ! what terrible 
 harm I have done him ! Still who could have 
 ever dreamed he would be such an idiot ? / am 
 sorry ! I am sorry from the depths of my heart ! 
 But there ! he is too good to live. I can't keep 
 up being thought such a seraph. After all, what 
 good does being sorry do in this world ? It 
 won't mend what's done, and can't be undone." 
 
 The baby, creeping sideways on the carpet, 
 hit its tiny hand against a chair-leg and, after 
 stopping to meditate, raised a piping howl of 
 protest. Its mother caught the little one up, 
 and covered the soft waxen fingers with pas- 
 sionate kisses. The other child came pouting 
 to her knee, jealous of the attention shown to 
 its sister ; and Stella caressed Rose also with 
 loving tenderness, if less rapturously. 
 
 She was a doting mother to both infants, 
 but the youngest-born was her idol. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 *' . . . at that he drew 
 
 The sluice of silence, and his life rushed forth 
 
 Its grief, despair, anguish and clinging hope." 
 
 " Hope's door closed with a clang." 
 
 " Can I believe my own ears ? Do you 
 mean to say that you wish to go to a party at 
 Lord Middlesex's house this night ? " 
 
 The speaker was John Morice, Stella's 
 middle-aged husband. They two were dining 
 alone together ; and over the dessert Morice 
 looked with a sidelong glance at his wife, 
 bending so that the lamp's rays fell full on his 
 bald forehead and iron-grey hair. 
 
 Mr. Morice had fairly good features, but 
 these were set in so long and thin a face that 
 they seemed too far apart to be on speaking 
 terms with each other, as Stella used to think 
 scoffingly within herself. His eyes had now 
 a darkly earnest stare, though in themselves 
 
54 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 mere cold grey orbs, somewhat bloodshot at 
 the corners. His mouth, loDg-drawn and well- 
 curved — a crossbow, as she privately called it — 
 twitched ominously, if slightly. As the well- 
 known Queen's counsel was clean shaven, this 
 motion of his lips was plainly discernible. 
 Stella read the storm - signals clearly, but 
 answered, still undaunted — 
 
 " I said, I am going to a crush given by old 
 Lady Middlesex to-night. I refused for you, 
 as you never like hot rooms and a crowd ; but 
 I asked young Mr. Muir if his aunt will be 
 there, and he said, ' Yes,' and will call " 
 
 " You are not going, madam ! Do you 
 hear ? " and John Morice struck the palm of 
 his hand on the table. 
 
 " And why not, pray ? " Stella controlled 
 her rising wrath, and tried to speak quietly. 
 " What earthly reason can you have for pre- 
 venting me from visiting one of the best 
 houses in London ? All the great world will 
 be there. I shall enjoy seeing everybody im- 
 mensely, even if I know few people ; and such 
 invitations do not exactly come to our house as 
 plentifully as blackberries grow on the hedges." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 55 
 
 " What reason, do you ask ? Well, for one 
 ■ — only one to begin with. If yon will be good 
 enough to look at the dress you have on, 
 trimmed with crape in memory of my poor 
 mother, who is not many months dead, perhaps 
 common decency will suggest a reason," in 
 icily sarcastic tones. 
 
 " Your mother never liked me, do what I 
 would to try and please her. It seems a 
 mockery to pretend to mourn a person deeply 
 for whom one had no real affection. Still, I 
 have shown respect, as to your mother ; but, 
 good heavens ! you talk of months of seclusion 
 as a trifle. Months ! " 
 
 *'A year would not be too much in my 
 opinion. Whether you grieved or not, so long 
 as you bear my name, you must also accept 
 your responsibilities in my family, as is fitting." 
 
 " But you yourself, John ! You went to a 
 City banquet the other day, and you were her 
 own son." 
 
 ** That is a totally different matter, as I 
 happen to be a man. The women of a family 
 are expected to show that regard for the out- 
 ward proprieties which is one of the safeguards 
 
56 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 of our morality as a nation. Men lead neces- 
 sarily busier and more active lives. We have 
 less time for such domestic duties.'* 
 
 The tone in which John Morice thus laid 
 down the law was so maddeningly slow and 
 solemn, while he beat a long bony finger 
 harshly on the table in accompaniment to every 
 two or three words, that Stella, goaded to im- 
 prudence, flung back in answer — 
 
 " Would you please mind not rapping like 
 that ? it jars on my nerves. And, as to men's 
 lives, you have hit the truth exactly. They are 
 fuller, wider, and more interesting than our dull 
 waste of days. Yes, certainly, you men have 
 harder work, but you keep the lion's share of 
 this world's good things to yourselves. Do 
 girls ever spend from their cradles till woman- 
 hood on dress (their sole extravagance) a tithe 
 of all that their brothers are laughed at for 
 wasting in college days on horses, betting, 
 cards, wine-parties, cigars ? Then, when men 
 are older, they enjoy themselves at clubs, dinners, 
 and — and in other ways. What have we got 
 to amuse us equally, or to occupy our minds ? " 
 
 " Well-principled, well-conducted women take 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 57 
 
 sufScIent interest and pleasure, I have always 
 heard, in their households, their children, and 
 also in the companionship of their husbands." 
 
 '' Their households ! " Stella tossed her scorn- 
 ful head. " So you can pretend that there is 
 pleasure in the petty, nagging worries of house- 
 keeping and servants' quarrels and comings and 
 goings ; in what women sigh over to each other, 
 unless they have the souls of cooks in their 
 bodies. Why, they hail a country visit, a trip 
 abroad just to be rid of the household books and 
 the everlasting, ' Please, m'm, may I speak a 
 word ? I wish to know whose place it is in this 
 
 house to ' Oh, to do goodness knows what ! 
 
 House-keeping, indeed ! Just a grind that men 
 would never bear — that often drives them to 
 marry in order to be rid of even the bother of 
 ordering dinner in lodgings. Yes, we know 
 some one has to do it — and that, naturally, as 
 men won't, women must ! But to say that there 
 is pleasure, interest, in weighing out stores and 
 checking butchers' bills for an educated human 
 being with intellect, compared with the excite- 
 ment of a three hours' eager debate on some 
 great political question ; with navigating a ship 
 
58 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 in a storm ; leading a regiment ; or — no, don't 
 interrupt me — with even gambling on the 
 Stock Exchange ; finishing some wonderful 
 engineering triumph ; or making a fine speech 
 and winning your case, as you do sometimes. 
 Why, there you men can see a result, an out- 
 come of your years of toil. And we never do ! 
 You see what I mean ? " 
 
 The last words came rather feebly. Stella 
 hoped to touch her husband by that flattering 
 allusion to his success as a lawyer, but a sardonic 
 expression only deepened on his brow. He saw 
 through her woman's wile. Little she cared for 
 his cases, he knew ; and she knew it too. 
 
 " I see, you are growing dramatic over your 
 fancied wrongs. You women have an easy 
 time of it, I can tell you, compared with us. 
 But perhaps you would like to become a female 
 lecturer on women's rights, and stump the 
 country, leaving me to nurse your babies." 
 
 Mrs. Morice was silent a moment, wounded. 
 Then she retorted with bitterness — 
 
 " I unburthen my mind once with you in 
 private, and am accused instantly of wishing to 
 make a public show of myself. Is that a man's 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 59 
 
 vaunted fairness ? As to the children, have I 
 ever shown the faintest wish to hand over the 
 care of them to any other person ? Can you 
 complain of the least sign of weariness in me, 
 while nursing them when sick for nights and 
 nights ? " 
 
 '' No, I grant that." 
 
 " Yes ; you grant that much," went on 
 Stella, with rising heat. '' We women bear 
 children with care and sorrow, as did Eve ; we 
 have in every way more to endure of bodily 
 weaknesses and ailments than men. Besides 
 that, we have the hourly household work, 
 fretting us the more that there is no relaxation 
 from morning till bedtime, though its trials 
 are so small and mean. And as constantly 
 there is anxiety for the children, through all 
 the illnesses they are sure to have. Putting 
 them aside, if there is sickness or death in the 
 family, whether of parents, or brothers, or 
 sisters, who has the long nights and days of 
 nursing and sitting up, till one is ready to 
 drop with exhaustion ? Not the strong men of 
 the family. Your sister has never recovered 
 the strain on her constitution from your father's 
 
60 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 long illness, when lie would not allow her the 
 help of a hospital nurse. And then, when your 
 mother " 
 
 " That will do ! What are yon driving at, 
 when all this is said ? " broke in Morice, 
 impatiently. 
 
 It was true about poor Marian. She had 
 had a hard time of it, with the tyrannical old 
 man. Many women do suffer such trials. But, 
 though he was somewhat sorry for his sister, 
 how could the brother help what it had been 
 her lot to bear ? 
 
 " I mean," said Stella, sullenly, " that if we 
 have the worst of it all round, we ought not to 
 be grudged what few pleasures we can enjoy. 
 And, therefore, I do not think it right or reason- 
 able for you to make any objection to my going 
 to this ball to-night ? " 
 
 "A-h! So it is a ball?" 
 
 John Morice drew in his breath with a pro- 
 longed hissing sound. He rested his elbow on 
 the table and began biting his finger-nail 
 mechanically, supporting his cheek on his hand, 
 while staring hard again with his previous 
 darkly oblique look at his wife. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 61 
 
 " Not right or reasonable," he repeated in an 
 impressive whisper. 
 
 Stella felt half alarmed ; perhaps most by 
 that unconscious trick of gnawing his nails, of 
 which she had never before seen her scrupu- 
 lously well-behaved husband guilty. It was as 
 if the prim, correct Queen's counsel was lapsing 
 into savagery. If he were next to flourish a 
 knife in the air, she would only feel a trifle 
 more surprised. 
 
 Then it struck the wife, with a curious new 
 keenness of perception, that John's skin was 
 really pale yellow. Could he be taking jaun- 
 dice ? She had never noticed before that all 
 round his eyes there was a network of fine 
 wrinkles lately puckered. 
 
 " Not right or reasonable ! " hissed the resent- 
 ful man once more, and now his eyes veritably 
 glared across the length of the snowy table- 
 cloth, as if they were two burning glasses 
 directed straight at his wife's face. 
 
 The latter's heart sank ; still she set her 
 teeth, and, though her cheeks blanched, not a 
 muscle but was rigid. 
 
 " Ha ! you have the devil's own pluck, but 
 
62 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 conscience makes you a coward all the same," 
 burst out Morice, infuriated by Stella's unyield- 
 ing aspect. " Do you dare to sit there and 
 deny that you are going only to see Lord 
 Middlesex ; to be in his society, and listen to 
 his sugared flatteries, that turn your foolish 
 head and keep you from doing your duty by 
 your husband ? " 
 
 *' I dare to say that Lord Middlesex is my 
 best friend, and that I am going just because 
 he, of course, asked for this invitation to be 
 sent me. As to not doing my duty by you, of 
 what neglect in that respect do you accuse 
 me ? 
 
 As she spoke the last sentence, Mrs. Morice's 
 short upper lip twitched. She was no liar, at 
 least ; and she hated even this necessary evasion 
 of her opponent's home-thrust. 
 
 "What? , , Ra! what?'' 
 
 John Morice's eyes glared. With a violent 
 movement of his arm he upset some wine- 
 glasses and rumpled the fcloth in a disorderly 
 way. 
 
 '' I accuse you of carrying on a disgraceful 
 flirtation, if you want to know ; of making 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 63 
 
 your husband a laughing-stock, while yon, 
 madam, are the common topic of scandal and 
 gossip amongst all our acquaintances. I am 
 ashamed to call you my wife. If you have no 
 self-respect left for your own good name, at 
 least you might think before blighting the 
 future of your innocent children. Stay " 
 
 But Stella had sprung to her feet. 
 
 "I will not stay to be insulted any longer. 
 When you wanted to marry, why could you not 
 have chosen some woman of your own age ? 
 Some one who had lived her youth through 
 and enjoyed it, instead of chaining a girl to 
 your side, and then railing at her because she 
 has the natural feelings of her years and is not 
 old and staid like yourself?" Bursting into 
 a passion of tears, she hurried from the room. 
 
 Left alone, John Morice sat still, breathing 
 hard. He was staring at the door through 
 which his wife had vanished, a vision of beauty 
 in anger and distress. Her answer had sent 
 a quivering shock all through the man. At 
 last he gave a groaning sigh and buried his 
 face in his hands, with his elbows on the table, 
 thinking. 
 
64 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " After all," was tlie thought that rose upper- 
 most in his mind, " she had some right there — 
 some right — some." 
 
 Although Morice felt blistered with pain, as 
 from a hundred stings, trifles light as air but 
 powerful to wound as gnats — innuendoes,friends' 
 warnings, and anonymous letters — yet he tried 
 to be fair above all things, as was his nature. 
 Then once again an overwhelming wave ot 
 misery swept over his head and blotted out all 
 other considerations under its tide. He was 
 growing old, although Stella need not have 
 flung that in his teeth ; and after a long and 
 honourable public life it was hard to end his 
 days in private bitterness, to live in dread of 
 his fair name being smirched with mud by his 
 wife, at best to drag out existence in secret 
 solitariness with an unsmiling yoke-fellow. 
 
 Jealousy, once brewed in his heart, seemed 
 to have filtered through his very soul, soaked 
 into the marrow of his bones, till body and 
 mind were alike sick to death. Truly, as said 
 the wise man, this evil is more cruel than the 
 grave. 
 
 Morice pressed his hand against his side. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 65 
 
 '* If she had only been patient with me these 
 few years, poor girl ! for she might be set 
 free sooner than she thinks," he said aloud. 
 " Yet, no ; perhaps this heart disease would 
 never have shown itself but for my anguish of 
 mind. Still, I am dying slowly. If she knew, 
 she might show me pity, even feel sorrow. 
 She is a woman, and pain always appeals to 
 women's feelings. It might make her pause, and 
 
 then What then ? A man has no right 
 
 to trouble himself about what others may do 
 after his death ; naked he came, naked he goes ; 
 and as he can take nought away with him, so 
 he has no right to make undue claims upon the 
 memories of those he leaves behind him. Yes, 
 as Stella said, perhaps it was selfish of me 
 marrying her." 
 
 Morice had not thought so at the time ; 
 still, granting that, his mistake then did not 
 justify her headstrong ways or flightiness now, 
 although he owned it was some condonation. 
 Poor girl, poor girl ! The worst of it was — so 
 he told himself — the worst was that he still 
 loved her. She was weeping in her own room, 
 no doubt. Well, he would go and seek a 
 
 YOL. I. F 
 
66 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 reconciliation ; tell her what his doctor had 
 said lately ; speak kindly. 
 
 After all, Stella was not without tenderness 
 in her heart, she dearly loved her children, and 
 if only out of pure pity she might consent to 
 patch up a truce, even to be gentle and affec- 
 tionate towards him, during the little time he 
 had to live. For, however appearances were 
 against her, Morice would not believe that his 
 wife had acted worse than foolishly as yet. 
 
 Full of this softening resolution, Morice rose 
 and was crossing the hall outside, meaning to 
 go upstairs to Stella's room, when the post- 
 man's double knock sounded at the door, and 
 two letters fell into the letter-box. Only that 
 he was close by, Mr. Morice would have left 
 these for the butler to bring, as usual. As it 
 was, he took them out, hardly knowing why he 
 did so, glanced at the address of a blue envelope, 
 presumably a bill for his wife ; then, with a 
 start, he recognized a coronet upon the other 
 letter, and his hand closed tightly upon it. 
 
 A maid came running down the stairs with 
 quick, light footfall, hesitated on seeing her 
 master, then came rather pertly forward. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 67 
 
 " Please, sir, I was sent to see if there were 
 any letters for Mrs. Morice ? " 
 
 Grimly John Morice handed her the blue 
 envelope in silence, while his fingers clutched 
 the other one convulsively. Two minutes later 
 and he had turned up his study lamp, cut that 
 letter open carefully above the seal, and was 
 devouring its contents with gleaming eyes. 
 
 It was a letter of contrition, of apology ; 
 hinting at a changed existence beginning for 
 the writer, at duties, hitherto neglected, that 
 must now be taken up, reiterated expressions 
 of pain at causing Stella possibly some sorrow 
 for a while (the writer trusted a very short 
 while). 
 
 Over these three pages the eyes of the man 
 who read them verily gloated. But as he 
 turned to the fourth one, a cry, like that of an 
 animal, escaped from his lips. Morice clenched 
 his fist, while rage convulsed him like a 
 possessing evil demon, as with staring eyeballs 
 he read some ending words fraught with hidden 
 meaning that he, alas, had the clue to decipher. 
 
 It was true, then ! the worst he had refused 
 to believe — it must be true ! 
 
68 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 A sharp pain slaot through his heart, so that 
 he was forced to drop back in his chair and lie 
 still for some minutes till its agony passed, 
 then with trembling hands he wiped his pale 
 brow. 
 
 Through the silence of the house at that 
 moment light footsteps could be heard crossing 
 the hall outside, the front door softly opened, 
 and shut again. Next followed the sound of 
 a hansom's doors closing — the jingle of bells 
 and muffled roll of wheels with indiarubber 
 tires. 
 
 Morice suddenly roused himself from stupor 
 and rushed out into the hall. Stella's maid 
 was just slipping up the stairs. 
 
 " Who went out this minute ? " he demanded 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " It was my mistress, sir ; she has gone to 
 the ball at Lady Middlesex's. She desired me 
 to say, if you asked, that she hoped you would 
 not disturb yourself on her account. I am to 
 sit up to let her in." 
 
 Tossing her head somewhat insolently, the 
 girl turned, and was going upstairs, when her 
 master harshly called out — 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 69 
 
 " Stop ! Do you hear my orders now ? You 
 are to go to bed, and I will let your mistress in. 
 To-morrow you can leave this house. I will 
 pay your month's wages in advance." 
 
 The girl attempted some whimpering, fright- 
 ened protests, but the look on the lawyer's face 
 intensified the latter feeling. With a burst of 
 tears she vanished hastily out of his sight. 
 
70 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " For the heart 
 Made firewood for his sake, and flaming up 
 To his very face ... he warmed his feet at it." 
 
 On leaving the dining-room Stella had, truly 
 enough, as her husband guessed, given way to 
 a burst of tempestuous feeling, but all the time 
 she never once wavered from her intention o^ 
 going to Lady Middlesex's ball. Einging for 
 her maid, after a few minutes of weeping, 
 she was dressed quickly, but even more care- 
 fully than usual, in all the articles of finery 
 that lay outspread upon the bed; while some 
 rouge and powder replaced what ravages the 
 late storm of anger had left upon her face. 
 
 At last this hurried toilet was finished, and 
 Mrs. Morice contemplated her figure in a 
 large mirror with a returning smile of satis- 
 faction. Stella had put on a lovely gown of 
 yellow crepe ; it had been bought just before 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 71 
 
 her mother-in-law's death, and never worn. 
 With some diamonds in her hair and on her 
 breast, and carrying a large ostrich-feather fan, 
 she looked indeed, as Middlesex had said so 
 lately, *'a very pretty woman." 
 
 Mrs. Morice's maid was devoted to her mis- 
 tress, or at least pretended so to be. Putting 
 her head out of the window carefully, she now 
 reconnoitred the street below. 
 
 " It is all right, ma'am ; the hansom is 
 waiting just at the square railings." 
 
 Unlocking the bedroom door, both stole 
 softly downstairs and into the hall — as narrated. 
 
 Outside, Muir had been shivering for half an 
 hour in a hansom, according to orders. 
 
 *' Why all this mystery ? " he asked, puzzled 
 yet obedient, as at last the hooded figure he 
 waited for signalled from the threshold of the 
 Morices' house. 
 
 " I will tell you afterwards/' Stella mur- 
 mured as they drove away. " John is tiresome 
 to-night ; he might have stopped me had he 
 known you were waiting." 
 
 The lad sighed, pitying her with all his 
 honest heart ; but he was satisfied. 
 
!r2 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 The great hall at Middlesex House was lik( 
 a tropical scene, with its splendid show ot 
 palms and tree ferns, that night. Stella, who 
 had never been before at a ball in one of the 
 great London houses of our aristocracy, felt 
 slightly bewildered, yet in fairyland. There 
 was a more than usual crush on the grand 
 staircase of beautiful, well-dressed women, of 
 men whom she knew by sight as the cream of 
 fashion, having had them pointed out to her 
 at Sandown and in the Park. 
 
 For a few moments Mrs. Morice felt herself 
 small and of no account ; but then a glow of 
 secret triumph warmed her heart so that she 
 raised her head and her eyes brightened. 
 
 " All the same, Middlesex cares for me more 
 than for all those others. He will be watching 
 and waiting upstairs for meT 
 
 At last they reached the first of a long suite 
 of reception rooms, where Lord Middlesex was 
 smiling and shaking hands with most of the 
 advancing stream of guests as he stood not 
 far from his mother, who was receiving for him. 
 The latter was old, aristocratic, keen-eyed, and 
 covered with diamonds. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 73 
 
 As Stella came in, looking shy yet radiant, 
 the host met her with a quick whisper. 
 
 " You are a little late, but I am very glad 
 you have come — very glad'' (with even more 
 emphasis than usual). '' May I have the tenth 
 dance ? You understand I have so much duty 
 to do to-night." 
 
 He shot a swift glance of contrite apology as 
 he turned away, that surprised, flattered, yet 
 slightly troubled Stella. What had he meant ? 
 Was he only going to be with her for one brief 
 little dance? Well, what mattered it? He 
 must do his duty, and she must be reasonable, 
 knowing in her happy heart that of course he 
 would have danced every dance with her, and 
 taken her in first to supper, if he could. 
 
 The fourth dance was only beginning now in 
 the great ball-room, with its polished floor like 
 brown ice. The tenth dance was a long way off, 
 and till it should come Mrs. Morice danced 
 again and again with Gordon Muir, who 
 remained faithful at her side. 
 
 " You will not desert me. I know no one 
 here but yourself; do you mind ? " she entreated 
 shyly. 
 
74 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Did lie mind ? 
 
 Gordon was excited, proud, overjoyed to be 
 with her. What mattered it to him that he 
 was making deadly enemies of half a dozen 
 dowagers, who were casting glances in his 
 direction, while their daughters languished by 
 their sides ? 
 
 Young Muir went out a great deal in London. 
 It was well known that he would be heir some 
 day to his grandfather's old castle and large 
 property in Scotland. At least a dozen girls 
 were standing near, with whom he usually 
 danced every night during the season ; but, 
 loyal to his lady's behest, he never so much as 
 looked towards one of them. 
 
 " I must just wait for my dance with our 
 bost, you know, and have some supper after- 
 wards ; then I will go home," confidentially 
 imparted Stella. 
 
 " Certainly," smiled her squire, his beautiful 
 dark eyes aglow in answer to this implied appeal 
 to his chivalry. " Only do you mind my 
 leaving you one minute to ask my cousin. Lady 
 Helen MacG-regor, for a dance — the dance you 
 are engaged to Middlesex? She would be hurt 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 75 
 
 otherwise ; yoti see, we were brought up 
 together as children." 
 
 Prettily dismissing him with a smiling nod, 
 Stella was left alone beside the crowded door- 
 way, and moved a little nearer behind the door, 
 feeling solitary. All at once her own name 
 caught her ear. People were talking of Mrs. 
 Morice. 
 
 " What, is that the pretty woman in yellow, 
 leading Gordon Muir by a chain to-night ? 
 Oh, and so she is Middlesex's late flame, they 
 say." 
 
 ^' That is the lady. She has done wisely in 
 providing herself with a substitute to-night, 
 not to seem thrown over now that our host's 
 engagement with Lady Ita Astleigh is given 
 out." 
 
 " So ! Is that really a settled affair, then ? " 
 
 " Yes ; there he is, dancing with her. They 
 were together for a fortnight at Lord Astleigh's 
 lately. She is only eighteen, and he is twenty 
 years older, but desperately in love, they say." 
 
 Stella, who had felt herself start, then stiffen, 
 listened in a strange way as if what the speakers 
 were saying did not concern herself at all, but 
 
76 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 was mere gossip about strangers. Then a mist 
 came before her eyes, blurring all the crowd 
 around her ; her blood turned, so to speak, in its 
 current ; and her heart grew deadly sick. It 
 was with difficulty that Stella kept her feet, and, 
 through a loud throbbing in her ears, heard the 
 concluding words. 
 
 '* The wedding is to be Yery soon, I believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, and for Lady Ita's sake it is to be hoped 
 that Middlesex will settle down now. She was 
 only presented last spring, and was one of the 
 beauties of the season." 
 
 Then the mist partly cleared from her 
 vision, and through all the confusion of her mind 
 and the trembling that shook her body, Stella 
 saw Middlesex's goodly Saxon head above most 
 of the whirlinof crowd in the centre of the room. 
 She strained her eyes, and a break in the 
 dancers the next moment showed her the little 
 partner who was held in his arms. 
 
 That must he Lady Ita ! The speakers had 
 said Middlesex and she were dancing together. 
 
 The fiancee looked almost a child, she was 
 so small, so freshly, daintily pretty in her 
 white dress with no ornaments but a splendid 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 77 
 
 row of pearls round her young throat. Many- 
 eyes, like Stella's, were bent upon the pair, 
 for Middlesex's future bride was naturally the 
 star of the evening ; and so lovely was Lady 
 Ita, with her little golden head, fairy figure, 
 and dainty grace, as of a child queen, laughing 
 at yet exacting homage from her future lord 
 and master, that an admiring buzz passed 
 through the assemblage. 
 
 Stella felt herself suddenly old and haggard 
 in her yellow gown by comparison. How 
 different had been her youth to that of the 
 smiling girl she gazed at with envy, and a 
 burning sense of the injustice of fate. 
 
 That young creature looked so happy. 
 Heavens ! with such a pleasant past, such a 
 glorious prospect before her, she must find it 
 an easy task to be good. 
 
 A vision rose up before the forsaken rival's 
 mind of an unhappy childhood, a home of 
 discord and poverty, of her youth and beauty 
 bartered to the highest bidder. Oh, why 
 should one be so favoured by Providence, and 
 another given no chance ? Why ? why ? 
 
 Meanwhile Muir was being detained by his 
 
78 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 cousin with searcMng, mocking inquiries on 
 the subject of his " yellow lady," as Stella was 
 already nicknamed. 
 
 Young Torquil MacG-regor, Lady Helen's 
 brother, standing near his sister, joined in the 
 chaff, adding under his breath — 
 
 '' She is a very pretty woman, old chap ; but 
 don't you think you have about done enough 
 dancing to-night with her, unless you want to 
 set every one talking ? " 
 
 " She knows no one else," replied Gordon, 
 angrily, yet anxiously stealing a glance to 
 where his divinity stood alone. " I say, do 
 come and be introduced, will you ? there's a 
 good fellow." 
 
 " No, no ; please excuse me." MacG-regor 
 drew back. " There are so many of our own set 
 here, you see. Besides," with a chuckle, ^'I 
 couldn't think of trying to cut you out." 
 
 Before Muir could retrace his steps the tenth 
 dance had begun, and Lord Middlesex came up 
 to claim Stella, waiting alone in her agony. 
 
 Stella noticed with anguished bitterness the 
 secret bliss that still lit the man's face, and 
 rejuvenated his whole bearing, while a few 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 79 
 
 yards away, to boyish happiness. But this 
 Middlesex tried to subdue, as he approached the 
 late object of his fickle adoration, to an air of 
 sympathy, even of well-feigned interest. 
 
 " You look pale," he said with concern, 
 '^ and you were so bright when you came this 
 evening, too ! Are you tired ? " 
 
 " Take me away, please ; quick ! — any- 
 where ! " Stella entreated in a stifled tone. 
 
 Middlesex promptly gave her his arm and 
 turned sharply out of the doorway down a 
 long gallery leading to the refreshment rooms. 
 He stole a side glance or two at his partner, 
 whose hand he could feel shaking on his 
 arm ; her knees were evidently almost incapable 
 of supporting her. A stern look came into 
 his blue eyes, almost a cynical expression on 
 his usually pleasant, freshly ruddy face. 
 
 However, assuming carelessness excellently 
 well, the host pointed out to his guest, as they 
 went, some great battle-pieces on the walls by 
 a famous painter, the green malachite vase 
 given by the late Czar of the Russias to his 
 father, and other objects of interest and art. 
 There were several couples . besides themselves 
 
80 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 sitting out here, or walking about, and 
 Middlesex's motto with women was invariably : 
 '' Above all things, no scenes." 
 
 Desperately annoyed in secret, but still pre- 
 serving his bland demeanour, Middlesex led 
 his half- fainting guest towards the tea-room ; 
 but at the end of the gallery ' turned sharply 
 along another corridor, past heavy curtains, to 
 his own study. 
 
 " We must not stay away long, or people 
 will be talking," were his first words, as they 
 now faced each other under the shaded light 
 of a lamp. " Tell me quickly, . what can I do 
 for you ? Have some brandy ? " 
 
 " Is this true ? " she panted, with both hands 
 pressed to her heaving bosom. " Is it true 
 what they are saying ? Quick ! Tell me ! 
 It cant he I " (Yet she knew it was true.) 
 
 Lord Middlesex stood opposite to her, coldly, 
 with a gathering frown on his brow that 
 deepened. 
 
 '' Did you not get my letter, to-night ? " he 
 asked, in a strained tone. " I asked you par- 
 ticularly, if you were vexed by the news I 
 wrote in it, not to come here." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 81 
 
 *' I got no letter ; none — none ! " slie wailed. 
 " If I was vexed ! Ob, my God ! " 
 
 "Be reasonable, Stella! I must bave 
 married some day. It is a necessity tbat is 
 imposed upon all men of my rank. One 
 doesn't want tbe family estates and titles to 
 pass to otber beirs tban one's own," be said 
 bluntly. 
 
 Perbaps be boped to rouse ber spirit, tbat 
 sbe would brace berself to meet tbe situation 
 witb tbe pride and savoir faire of women of 
 bis own class. But instead of tbis Stella only 
 dropped limply into a cbair, and sat tbere 
 sbivering, literally quaking from bead to foot, 
 ber blue eyes staring widely, miserably at bim. 
 
 Cbanging bis mood, Middlesex tried expos- 
 tulation,* reasoning, sootbing words of regret. 
 Vaguely be beld out bopes be did not mean 
 sbould be realized of future friendsbip. But 
 still sbe never stirred. 
 
 He moved at last anxiously to tbe door, 
 listening. 
 
 Tbe music was still going on in tbe distance. 
 But bark ! now its strains were ending — were 
 over. He turned back bastily into tbe, room-. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " We have been here too long, Stella. I must 
 go back again now and take the duchess to sup- 
 per. Do not think me brutal, but I am a host, 
 and one's own ball is not the time or place for an 
 esclandre. It is a great pity you did not get my 
 letter this evening. I cannot understand it." 
 
 Other words, to do him justice, were ready 
 on Middlesex's lips. He was sorry for his late 
 love, heartily sorry ; only, the least sign of 
 tenderness would have been fatal just then. 
 She might have burst into tears, — fainted. 
 G-reat heavens ! better seem a brute, utterly 
 unfeeling, than run such a risk as that. 
 
 " Send Mr. Muir to me," only came in answer 
 from Stella's trembling lips. 
 
 Lord Middlesex silently acquiesced, led her 
 courteously down the gallery to a secluded seat 
 at the head of the stairs, and quitted her with 
 a look and bow of well-bred deference to her 
 wishes. She dimly guessed that it was his 
 final farewell. 
 
 A minute afterwards Gordon Muir joined 
 Mrs. Morice. 
 
 " Take me home quick, please," she said, 
 hurriedly rising. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 83 
 
 " Are you ill ? " asked the boy tenderly, as 
 they drove away together. 
 
 *' I have stayed as long as I told you I 
 would," she answered, shivering, so that Gordon 
 was terribly afraid she had taken a chill even 
 through her velvet cloak that was fur-lined. 
 " And — and — I am afraid of John." 
 
84 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " There's that betwixt you been which men remember 
 Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, 
 Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed, 
 From which no morrow's mischief knocks them up." 
 
 Gordon Muir rang gently as the hansom 
 stopped once more at the door which he and 
 Mrs. Morice had so furtively quitted two hours 
 before, to enjoy their much-wished-for ball. 
 
 Stella waited shivering beside him on the 
 steps, in order to slip into the house quickly 
 when her maid should answer the summons. 
 
 The door opened — but both pleasure-seekers 
 started back, disagreeably astonished, as Mr. 
 Morice himself confronted them. 
 
 He wore a grey dressing-gown, and as he 
 held a candle up, his pale hatchet face, sparse 
 grey hair, and the glittering expression of 
 his eyes affected young Muir strongly. It 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 85 
 
 seemed like handing over a condemned culprit 
 to a deadly enemy for instant execution . 
 
 Trying conciliation, the lad said, with 
 attempted gaiety — 
 
 " I have brought Mrs. Morice quite safe home, 
 you see, sir. It was a capital ball ; first-rate." 
 " I see. Good night." 
 
 Morice's face looked so terrible as his eyes 
 turned upon his wife, that her valiant champion 
 hesitated. The husband sternly motioned 
 Stella indoors, gave Gordon a grim nod as a 
 gesture of dismissal, somewhat like the statue's 
 mechanical movement in " Don Giovanni," and 
 shut the door. 
 
 Upon this Gordon was perforce obliged to 
 take his departure ; getting slowly into his 
 waiting hansom and looking with great un- 
 easiness at the house as he drove away. 
 
 Indoors, Morice placed the candle upon the 
 hall table, folded his arms, and transfixed his 
 wife, who stood confounded at this unusual 
 spectacle. 
 
 Then the storm burst forth. There is no 
 need to repeat the wrathful revilings, words of 
 scorn, reproach, passionate invective, outpoured 
 
86 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 like tlie seven vials, by the injured husband, 
 upon the woman's head. 
 
 Stella stood white and still, and uttered never 
 a word. 
 
 " Answer me ! " cried Morice, maddened by 
 her apparent insensibility — '^ answer me, 
 wretch ! " 
 
 But she said nothing. 
 
 Breathing hard, with livid face, the infuri- 
 ated man stood glaring at her. 
 
 Stella seemed to hear, see it all in a terrible 
 dream ; to be a spectator at a painful drama, in 
 which Stella Morice, whom she pitied, played 
 the principal part, she herself, a third person, 
 being onlooker. At last she spoke, almost 
 quietly, with a stony manner — 
 
 ''It is true. What is the use of so many 
 words ? Do with me what you wish." 
 
 " I wish and intend to divorce you. You 
 shall not live under my roof and disgrace me 
 any longer, or have the charge of bringing 
 up your children." 
 
 At that she flung out her arms with a sharp 
 cry. 
 
 " My little ones ! No, no ; you cannot be so 
 cruel." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 87 
 
 The action revealed the yellow gown that 
 till now was concealed bj her long cloak. 
 Morice started on seeing it. The incident was 
 but trivial, yet it was the final straw, the last 
 drop that made his cup of bitterness run over. 
 
 " What ! flaunting in colours ! " he shouted, 
 beside himself with anger at the sight. " You 
 have not common decency or respect for the 
 dead left ; even that one wish of mine was of 
 no consideration in your eyes. Out of my 
 house ! Why should my roof harbour such a 
 shameless slut ? Out with you ! " 
 
 The unhappy man was as insane at that 
 moment as many immured in asylums. Seizing 
 his wife's arm he tried to drag her to the door. 
 
 She resisted. 
 
 His grasp slipped, but he still held her cloak 
 fast, endeavouring to pull her, while his other 
 hand fumbled to push back the bolt of the 
 door. 
 
 Stella unloosed the silver cloak-clasp that 
 was pressing painfully on her throat, and so 
 releasing herself suddenly, rushed across the 
 hall and escaped upstairs, where she took refuge 
 in the nursery. 
 
88 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Behind her there was a fall ; a dull groan. 
 But in her terror the fugitive heard nothing 
 but her own flying footsteps. 
 
 As the cloak was flung in his arms Morice 
 staggered back at the shock. His foot slipped, 
 and, falling heavily against the marble table, he 
 became senseless. On recovering consciousness 
 presently, the suffering man found himself 
 supported between the footman and a faithful 
 butler, who had been twenty years in his ser- 
 vice. There was a pool of blood on the floor. 
 
 *^ Come, sir, let us help you to your study," 
 said the elder servant, who had been sitting up 
 surreptitiously, the lady's-maid having warned 
 the rest of the household that a domestic storm 
 was impending. " I have made you up a bed 
 upon your sofa there ; you will be better soon." 
 
 " I am going away, Perkins, to-morrow, to 
 my sister; she will nurse me. To-morrow, 
 remember ! I charge you to help me leave this 
 house — to-morrow ! " 
 
 '' You may rely on me, sir." 
 
 Through the night watches the wealthy, 
 well-known lawyer lay awake in misery of 
 mind and aching head. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 89 
 
 How was it that a pale girl's face looked at 
 him through the darkness, a vision from the 
 far away days of his youth ? He had forgotten 
 her for a quarter of a century. A young maid 
 she used to be in his mother's service, trustful, 
 simple-minded. He had put out of his mind 
 long years ago the memory of poor Emma's 
 passionate pleadings, of her broken-hearted 
 reproaches. But it seemed borne in upon him 
 that he was suffering in his turn now as she 
 had then. 
 
 Wearily Morice tried to turn upon his couch : 
 he was in hell on earth that night. Surely 
 he also had sinned then against his neighbour, 
 and his selfishness was doomed to be expiated 
 by the innocent, then unborn. ' Love worketh 
 no ill to its neighbour ' rang again and again 
 in his mind. 
 
 Where was she, alive or dead ? he wondered ; 
 she and her child. Of course his mother soon 
 turned her out of the house — women are so hard 
 upon each other, he then said. He had been 
 absent just when she was sent away, and she 
 was a proud girl and had never written to 
 him afterwards. She had actually supposed he 
 
90 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 would make a lady of her. Poor foolish soul ! 
 And now he could not even remember her 
 second name. 
 
 Next day, looking suddenly changed from 
 middle-age to the bent figure of an old man 
 grey and miserable, John Morice was helped 
 out of his house into the waitiug brougham, 
 never to return. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Love, thou of the bittertow." 
 
 " No sign, no sign for all thy kisses past ! 
 For all thy soft speech that hath lied, and lied ! 
 No help, no cry to come back ! Ah, at last 
 I know that no real love from me I cast ; 
 Nought but a dream." 
 
 Three days Mrs Morice lay ill in bed after 
 the terrible night of the ball at Middlesex 
 House. During the first twenty-four hours she 
 neither spoke nor stirred, but lay with her face 
 turned to the wall. Only for her breathing, as 
 the servants whispered to each other, they 
 might have doubted if the prostrate form was 
 conscious at all, her open eyes had such a 
 stupefied, glazed expression. 
 
 Then the nurse, fearing her mistress would 
 get brain fever, at last brought Rosebud and 
 the baby downstairs and softly put them 
 
92 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 on her bed. The two little downy-headed, 
 cooing children crept close to their mother's 
 breast, patted her face with soft tiny fingers 
 aspread. At that she roused, hugged them 
 hungrily in her arms, devoured them with 
 kisses. 
 
 Afterwards Stella hardly allowed her idol- 
 ized treasures to be taken away from her sight 
 for a moment. Though she was too ill to 
 amuse them, the little white-frocked creatures 
 sat for hours nestled in her silk duvet, playing 
 gravely as the nurse told them little girls 
 should. Perhaps the instinct of womanhood 
 already stirred within their baby breasts, and 
 they understood their mother must not be 
 disturbed. 
 
 After the third day, Gordon Muir, who had 
 repeatedly called to inquire, was told that Mrs. 
 Morice was better ; she had come downstairs, 
 and would see him. 
 
 He entered eagerly, and found Stella sunk in 
 cushions in a corner of the sofa. She was very 
 pale, her generally high colour faded to the 
 faintest pink tinge, so that, wearing a white 
 plush tea-gown veiled in clouds of lace down 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 93 
 
 the front, and round her throat and wrists, the 
 most colour she seemed to have was in the 
 blue of her turquoise eyes. 
 
 " Are you better ? Do tell me, had you to 
 endure any fresh trouble ? I have been so 
 terribly anxious, but was afraid of making 
 inquiries of the servants," began her faithful 
 vassal, eagerly, tenderly taking Stella's hand in 
 his own. He thought in his heart what a 
 dream she looked — fragile, ethereal, and with a 
 strange smile, that did not seem earthly, flitting 
 over her face. 
 
 Stella answered wearily, as if from far away. 
 
 " We had a frightful quarrel that night after 
 you left. You may as well know now, as later, 
 what has happened. My husband says he 
 means to divorce me." 
 
 " What I " Gordon cried, disbelieving his ears 
 and starting back in horror-struck amazement. 
 " How dare he say such a thing ? and to you — 
 you of all women ! Why, it is absolutely laugh- 
 able, if it was not so disgraceful. He has no 
 shadow of grounds I He — he — oh ! I never 
 heard of such a burning shame." Then, with a 
 sudden rush of tenderness, " No wonder you 
 
94 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 were ill ! How can you take it so quietly, 
 looking like an angel all the while ? " 
 
 " I take it quietly, because all anger seems 
 burnt out of my being. I feel no more than if 
 I were a very shell of a woman, with no soul, 
 no heart, no feeling left inside me. What can 
 any other troubles signify now, if only I can 
 keep my children ? I must try to do that at 
 all costs. At any rate I should be free." 
 
 " True," echoed Muir, with a frantic burst of 
 exultant emotion. " Ha, yes ; you would be 
 free ! After all, let the world say as they will, 
 is not your liberty, your peace of mind, of more 
 consideration than aught else ? You have been 
 miserable with this man, and it is time at last 
 that you should be happy. Stella ! Stella ! " — 
 and he threw himself upon his knees by her 
 side, looking surely the most adoring and 
 gallant, if youthful, squire that any woman had 
 ever seen at her feet since the old chivalric 
 days of the courts of Love in the sunny lands 
 of southern France, his whole honest, boyish 
 soul glowing in his eyes — " listen ! You have 
 given me a glimpse of heaven — a paradise I 
 have never dared even to dream of yet. Say 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 95 
 
 you will marry me when you are free. My 
 queen ! My soul's very soul ! There is nothing 
 I would not have laid at your feet before — my 
 life, ambition, future, fortune, all but my 
 honour. Think, if I so worshipped you hitherto, 
 what I must feel now that you have suffered 
 so much for my sake. Promise to be my 
 wife." 
 
 Gordon had caught her hand gently in his 
 own two trembling, reverent ones, and was 
 covering it with kisses. 
 
 " Your wife now ! What have I suffered 
 for your sake ? " repeated Stella, pushing her 
 hair from her brow in confused bewilderment. 
 
 " Yes, yes," babbled the boy, too deliriously 
 happy to heed her astonished looks. " Oh, 
 what a fool Mr. Morice is to believe that an 
 angel like you has ever wronged him ; when 
 our friendship was so innocent, almost a holy 
 attachment I might say. As if I could have 
 ventured to insult i/ou by dreaming my star 
 would have stooped from her high heaven of 
 goodness and purity even for my sake. And 
 this dotard would dare to disgrace you before 
 the world on my account ! " 
 
96 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " uttered Stella, sup- 
 porting herself with both hands as she rose, 
 withdrawing as far as possible, while a slow 
 amazed understanding began to dawn across 
 her mind. 
 
 " Did I say disgrace ? Oh, forgive me, it 
 shall be an honour," eagerly babbled Muir, his 
 handsome face flushing happily, a humble, 
 adoring smile lighting his eyes as he still 
 knelt, softly putting out a trembling hand 
 as he sought to lift and kiss the lace on her 
 wrist. " Only trust me. Your good name 
 shall shine yet as bright as before ; as the sun 
 in the sky. All the world shall know how 
 spotless it is, although this man is base enough 
 to imagine I would have soiled it." 
 
 '' You — you ! Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 A mirthless laugh, a laugh of despair, came 
 from Stella. She could not control her hysteri- 
 cal emotion, even though she saw young Muir's 
 eyes fill with astonished reproach, while he rose 
 to his feet. " Why, my dear boy, John Morice is 
 not going to take legal proceedings against t/ou.'' 
 
 " No ? Then who is the man ? " 
 
 " Lord Middlesex." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 97 
 
 At that brief answer Muir turned white as 
 ashes and trembled. 
 
 " But your husband can have no grounds," 
 he managed to utter low and hoarsely. " You 
 must have a good lawyer, that is all. Lord 
 Middlesex will see to that, I suppose ; if not, 
 command all my resources. You will — you 
 must be cleared." 
 
 '^Nor — 
 
 After that one little word there was a dread- 
 ful silence in the room. It was only broken 
 by a choking sound presently from the young 
 man. His features were twitching convulsively, 
 his face was ghastly gray, and he clutched at 
 his necktie to loosen its pressure upon his 
 throat. Then, with both hands grasping the 
 back of a slight gilt chair, he bent forward. 
 Strange, what a similar expression there was 
 in this young, goodly face to the deadly 
 jealousy and wrath that had lately disfigured 
 John Morice's older visage. 
 
 Stella looked at her interlocutor with a 
 curious, stony indifference. It shot across her 
 mind how Middlesex had said that Gordon 
 Muir's face might be a terrible one on occasion. 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Grordon whispered, 
 almost hissing the words. 
 
 Stella felt tired of scenes. She had no feeling 
 left, no pity, emotion, nought save where her 
 babies upstairs were concerned. 
 
 " Let us end this," she said, with freezing im- 
 patience. " Can you not understand ? I never 
 cared for my husband, as you ki^ow. Lord 
 Middlesex was the only man I ever lored, or ever 
 shall ; and he has forsaken me." 
 
 Crash ! The back of the fragile chair Muir 
 grasped was broken. He pushed the thing 
 aside, and drawing himself up to his full 
 height, stood with folded arms before Stella, 
 looking — looking. 
 
 Under the unutterable scorn and mute 
 reproach of those eyes the pale woman quailed. 
 Selfishly, completely engrossed with her own 
 pain, until now Stella had never given Grordon's 
 feelings more than a passing thought. Her own 
 ill-treatment in life from girlhood up ; her own 
 agony on being abandoned by Middlesex — these, 
 these alone had filled her mind. She could spare 
 no pity for her husband's distress, which seemed 
 only a fitting retribution for the harm he had 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 99 
 
 wrought her by their ill-suited marriage. John 
 Morice was the cause of all her troubles. 
 
 But Gordon Muir ! He had never wronged 
 Stella by word or deed. Far, far from that ! 
 
 In the intense silence which followed, Stella 
 felt a sense of clairvoyance ; she seemed reading 
 the young man's mind, divining the shock, the 
 horror with which he heard with his own ears 
 her cynical avowal — saw clearly at last, now 
 her hand tore the scales from his eyes. 
 
 "/ — /," she gasped, with dry lips, "perhaps 
 have not acted quite fairly hy you^ 
 
 Muir smiled. It was such a smile as a Red 
 Indian at the stake might give the squaw who 
 tortured him worst. Imagine an executioner 
 saying to a victim on the rack, " Excuse me, but 
 perhaps I hurt you." 
 
 Not fair to him ! Oh, it might have made 
 angels weep and devils laugh to know what a 
 dear saint he had believed her to be ! How he 
 had worshipped her, as reverently, passionately, 
 as ever Petrarch did Laura ! How, while she 
 had lured him on with false, sweet words and 
 looks, he had plunged into debt for her sake ; 
 broken with his family ; renounced his soldier's 
 
100 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 ambition ; would gladly have died to save her 
 sweet self a passing pain. 
 
 " From this hour I shall never believe in 
 any woman ! " were the only words that came 
 from Gordon Muir's lips. " And I will never 
 forgive you ! " 
 
 *' Gordon ! Gordon ! Don't say that. Come 
 back ! " cried Stella, stretching out her hands in 
 entreaty. But for the first time she appealed 
 to her so lately faithful squire in vain. 
 
 The only sound which came in reply was the 
 closing of the door. 
 
 Gordon Muir almost stumbled going down- 
 stairs — he was so blind with rage that caught 
 his heart with big throbs, choked his throat, 
 seethed in his brain. 
 
 " Gone ! he, too ! " sighed Stella to herself, 
 gazing blankly at the door. Then she turned 
 faint. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Oh, World ! whose days like sunlit waters glide. 
 Whose music links the midnight with the morrow, 
 Who for thine own hast Beauty, Power, and Pride — 
 Oh, World, what art thou ? And the World replied, 
 * A husk of pleasure round a heart of sorrow.' " 
 
 The next afternoon a chilling rain was falling 
 that soaked into the very marrow of the few 
 pedestrians out in the sloppy London streets. 
 
 Stella Morice stood, however, under the 
 verandah between her dining-room and the 
 somewhat dismal back garden. She wanted 
 fresh air, but would not go out into the streets, 
 for fear of meeting any of her acquaintances. 
 For already the story of her conjugal quarrel, 
 and the divorce suit which was to be instituted, 
 had leaked out and was sweet to gossips' 
 tongues. Idly her dulled eyes looked at a 
 Virginia creeper, torn down lately by the wind, 
 and allowed by a careless gardener to fall from 
 
102 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 the iron balcony pillar, round whicli it should 
 have clung. Now its dull crimson leaves lay 
 in the damp earth of the border, stamped by 
 careless feet into the mire. 
 
 " It is like me ; its prop is gone," she thought 
 darkly to herself. " Winter is coming, and it 
 will wither away smirched and down-trodden. 
 Neither of us has the strength to raise our- 
 selves again to the old position. Perhaps there 
 may be a certain rest in lying there. No more 
 necessity now to struggle to keep up appear- 
 ances, to propitiate the great goddess of the 
 English nation — Propriety! All over! the 
 lies to servants and husband ; the terrors of dis- 
 covery ; the agony lest the hints of smiling 
 friends {friends, forsooth !) should mean hidden 
 sneers. Yes, it is a rest — like death ! What do 
 other women in my position generally do ? Let 
 me see. Most keep quiet for a time, till the nine 
 days' gossip is forgotten in the ceaseless stir of 
 this World's Market. Then they creep abroad 
 again, and coax or cringe their way into good- 
 natured or fast hostesses' houses, mostly in a 
 lower set than their former one. Mrs. Pentongue 
 took to writing bitter society articles, and is 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 103 
 
 dreaded and conciliated bj those whom she might 
 injure. How she lashed her rivals in those essays, 
 * The Husband Snatcher,' and * Married Girls,' 
 as they like to call themselves, besides ' The 
 Merry Wives of London ' ! Ah, if I could only 
 find a safety-valve like that ! " 
 
 Mrs. Morice's face darkened as she thought 
 of a certain manuscript hidden in a pigeon-hole 
 of her escritoire upstairs, that had been returned 
 with an editor's brief refusal. It was the crude 
 outpouring of her wrongs, as she held them to 
 be, an indictment of her husband in passionate 
 words and bad grammar. 
 
 " My Master, by a Married Slave ; " so she 
 entitled this, her first and last composition. 
 Lord Middlesex, to whom she showed it in 
 secret, had smiled provokingly, and suggested 
 that he should furnish a companion picture — ■ 
 for the honour of his sex — and call it, '' My 
 Missis, by her Man." At the time Stella felt 
 aggrieved, and a pretty quarrel and recon- 
 ciliation followed. Now — reviewing the in- 
 cident — she bit her lip. 
 
 " Of course ! Being a man, he took the 
 man's part ; they all do. How men invariably 
 
104 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 league together ! If we only were to form such 
 a co-operative union against them, where the 
 general rights of womanhood are concerned, 
 we should be dealt with on more even terms. 
 I am certain many a woman would agree with 
 me, if that brute of an editor had published 
 my article." 
 
 Then her busy thoughts turned to the various 
 divorcees she knew of, who, anxious to re- 
 establish themselves in the good opinion of 
 Mrs. Grundy, took to East End visiting, and 
 were ostentatiously charitable and devoted to 
 the sick during a cholera epidemic. 
 
 " Could I ever abase myself before society to 
 the horrible extent of being a hypocrite for its 
 sake ? " Stella asked herself with her old high- 
 spirited scorn. " Stay — not for its sake ! For 
 the children. . . . But he may take them from 
 me ! Oh, heavens ! I could not live without 
 them ! Never ! They may tear Rose from my 
 arms, but I will disgrace myself rather than give 
 up my baby to be brought up by the Morice 
 family. . . . Yes, the children ; the children ! 
 Only for them I spurn society with its cant 
 and shams. It is for their children's sake that 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 105 
 
 men insist upon women leading better lives 
 than themselves — the fathers. They compound 
 for their own sins by damning ours." She 
 ground her teeth with a furious sense of in- 
 justice, ready to arraign the creative power 
 which had made men stronger, and given them 
 a freedom in their lives that is denied to the 
 beings of the maternal sex, if these are true 
 to their instinct of devotion to their children. 
 
 Even as Stella stood there so thinking, her 
 husband was delivering the farewell sentences 
 of his address in a celebrated case which had 
 been looked forward to by the public for many 
 days. It was the finest speech John Morice 
 ever made, many whispered, watching him with 
 the more interest that nudges and significant 
 glances were being exchanged as to why he 
 looked so pale and ill and old. There was 
 much sympathy for the well-known Queen's 
 counsel, as, in spite of evident weakness, he rose 
 to the occasion, and his mind had never been 
 more lucid, his grasp of the subject stronger, 
 nor his concluding peroration more touching. 
 
 It was over, and amidst a slight buzz of ap- 
 plause Morice was about to sit down. To the con- 
 
106 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 sternatlon of those whose eyes were still fixed 
 on him, he turned livid, tried to steady himself, 
 then fell into the arms of the persons nearest. 
 
 They carried him out of court into an adja- 
 cent room. A doctor was sent for in haste. 
 But the supposed fainting fit had been that 
 great summons which will knock at the door of 
 each one of our hearts, bidding the soul come 
 out and away from its House of Earth. 
 
 John Morice was no longer a " soul bearing 
 about a corpse " in life. He had been seized 
 with one of his former terrible heart-attacks, 
 and was dead. 
 
 That evening the body was borne back to Mr. 
 Morice's late home — his no longer. Nothing 
 was his own now but the deeds he had done 
 and the speeches he had spoken in life. These 
 intangible things are all which the dead are 
 free to keep as personal property. More they 
 may perchance take away with them of 
 memory, affection, learning ; all that belongs to 
 heart and mind and soul, for aught we know. 
 Those things that are not seen, let us hope, 
 may be eternally theirs. 
 
 Stella had passed through various exciting 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 107 
 
 scenes during the" past week ; it seemed to her- 
 self that she could not bear more and live. Yet 
 this last shock was in some degree the most 
 appalling of all those she had experienced, 
 although, perhaps, the least painful. 
 
 The open door, the bearers carrying a 
 covered stretcher from outer darkness into the 
 warmth and light of the house, conveying at 
 the same time a suggestion of painful useless- 
 ness, seeing that the late owner of those 
 servants and rooms felt nothing more of warmth 
 or comfort. Stiff and stark lay the body under 
 its screening pall. But the soul had fled away 
 from life, as sang the old Saxon minstrel, like a 
 bird that having fluttered through the open 
 window into the fire-lighted hall, where men 
 and women sat about the hearth in talk and 
 mirth, stays there awhile, but soon flies once 
 more out into the darkness and chill of the 
 night — who knoweth whither ? 
 
 That scene was indelibly imprinted in the 
 wife's memory. The hushed voices and footfalls 
 of the strange men who came in ; the gaping 
 faces in the street outside. Midmost of all, the 
 awful inanimate something, that was no one 
 
108 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 now, yet which was so reverently carried into 
 the dining-room and laid there on a couch in 
 the middle, in horrible contrast with the 
 memories of good cheer connected with the 
 room, like the death's head at an Egyptian 
 feast : " Memento mori ! " 
 
 Looking on at a little distance from it all — 
 the mistress of the house, yet not feeling that 
 she any longer had the right to give directions 
 where he was concerned — Stella trembled 
 exceedingly. Death had never come near her 
 before. She was horror-struck at the manner 
 of her own deliverance — even shocked at herself 
 that the sensation of being free — oh, strange, 
 black-garbed liberty ! — would pierce through the 
 consternation and pity that verily, at first, 
 flooded her mind. 
 
 She would have given, much, very much, to 
 know her husband still alive, if only he might 
 never come anigh herself. She was sorry for 
 him, the saddened, jealous aging man, who had 
 said such terrible, cutting words to her lately. 
 She had never wished to see his face again. 
 She could forgive, she could beg to be forgiven ; 
 but it was painful to see the eyes near one, and 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 109 
 
 hear the voice, of a person one disliked. Right 
 thankful she would have been if only she could 
 have known John Morice in health and life once 
 more, happy and prosperous, wedded, maybe, 
 to some other woman, but nevermore likely 
 to come near herself or the children again. 
 
 Ah, the children ! Stella crept away upstairs 
 to her own room and shut herself in. 
 
 It was wicked to feel such unspeakable 
 relief. But there ! Now her darlings could not 
 be wrested from her. 
 
 Later on that same evening she was called 
 upon to see one of the most trusted friends of 
 her deceased husband. This was the solicitor 
 who had managed most of John Morice's private 
 business. 
 
 *^ You are a lucky woman, Mrs. Morice," he 
 remarked dryly ; " for I may as well tell you 
 that poor Morice, only yesterday, gave me 
 directions to draft a new will for him — very 
 different to the one which will now be read 
 and acted upon. In fact, I have already drawn 
 it out, but the poor fellow has not lived to sign it. 
 He intended to make an heiress of your eldest 
 daughter, without mention of any other person. 
 
110 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 As matters stand, you will have a handsome 
 allowance by your marriage settlement." 
 
 " I shall not profit by that." Mrs. Morice 
 threw up her head, and looked her informant 
 straight in the face. 
 
 He privately thought her brazen for doing 
 so ; hard even to the memory of the dead. 
 But he did not understand. 
 
 She went on, " From what you say, Eose 
 will inherit, I imagine, an ample allowance 
 during her minority, which should sufficiently 
 pay the usual expenses of a guardian as well 
 as for her own education. Is not that the 
 case ? Yes, I thought so. Well, I will accept 
 only just what sum any other guardian would 
 require, and bring her up on that myself — not 
 a penny more ! " 
 
 " This is a mere quixotic notion, my dear 
 madam. We shall see ; but I am pretty sure 
 you will not be able to carry it out," responded 
 the man of business, who did not care a straw 
 for sentiment. " Probably you will change 
 your ideas by-and-by." 
 
 Stella only smiled scornfully.] She meant 
 to keep her word. ^ 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " A merry heart goes all the day, 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a." 
 
 Tril-l-l-l ! sang a canary as a gleam of wintry 
 sunshine glorified a shabby^ small sitting- 
 room. 
 
 Only a fonrtb-floor London attic, but it looked 
 clean, homely, and cosy that frosty day, with 
 the vivifying sunbeams streaming through 
 the window-panes. The canary plainly thought 
 so, for it trilled again louder and louder, and 
 its burden was : " Food is good, water sweet, 
 and a pleasant thing it is to behold the sun." 
 
 " Bless Bobbie, he is right ! How many 
 little daily things there are to make one feel 
 glad, after all ! A day like this just makes me 
 as brisk and happy as a bird, and you are 
 pretty well too, are you not, darling ? " said 
 Mary Dawson, one of the two other inmates of 
 the room. These two were of humankind. 
 
112 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 An assenting sound (think it not unkind, 
 good Mary, if the chronicler can best describe 
 it as a grunt) came from the second individual 
 at rest upon the sofa. This was an elderly, 
 very stout invalid, who lay helpless as a log. 
 
 The first speaker was sewing busily at a 
 table laden with silks and gold twist. She 
 was a little woman, unmarried, over thirty, 
 neatly dressed, but wearing too thin clothes 
 for the wintry weather. Nevertheless, she 
 looked just as cheerful as if she were wrapped 
 in fur and velvet. There surely never was a 
 heartier, more lovable Goody Two - shoes. 
 Every one who knew her — very few people 
 they were, after all — agreed she was " nice ; " 
 though none had ever praised her looks in 
 higher terms than a Scotch minister's wife, 
 who declared the " wee body " was bonny. 
 
 Mary wore her soft dark hair brushed back 
 plainly from her face ; her almond-shaped eyes 
 matched her hair in colour, and were dovelike 
 in expression ; while her mouth tried hard to 
 be pretty, for it was small and sweet-lipped, 
 but spoilt by being overfull of teeth. 
 
 At school the other girls used to tease poor 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 113 
 
 Mary about lier fine African ivories, and jok- 
 ingly urge her to make money by selling tbem, 
 and substituting a less expensive-looking set. 
 
 " It would be so much more in keeping, for 
 a quiet mouse like you," they declared ; and 
 possibly they were right. 
 
 However, the said teeth were not ugly ; and 
 Mary's little mouth, as if tired of trying to 
 hide them, had given up the attempt, and re- 
 laxed into something between a constant look 
 of expectancy and a dawning smile. 
 
 Short time had Mary Dawson to think of 
 her appearance as she cheerily embroidered 
 for hours with shining, flying needle, that was 
 almost as delicate as an artist's brush for paint- 
 ing church lilies and saints in stiff draperies ; 
 or better still, imitating the exquisite blending 
 of Oriental hues in gorgeous traceries. The 
 very satin on which it was her privilege to 
 work made the attic seem quite a fairy palace 
 some days : then there were variety and interest 
 in the frequent change of design. 
 
 Thus the days which were passed by both 
 inhabitants of the little " chamber on the wall " 
 — as Mary playfully called it in allusion to the 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 DUST BEFORE THE WIND, 
 
 one made by the woman of Shunem in expec- 
 tation of divine blessings — were bappy in 
 having no history, but brimming with incident. 
 Indeed, in this contented person's opinion, they 
 were so delightfully full of occupation and 
 small (very small) pleasures, that she often 
 wished for an extra hour to be added to the 
 twenty-four. 
 
 There was her darling to feed and dress the 
 first thing in the morning ; then the latter had 
 to be assisted in here on the sofa. Next, the 
 morning's sewing was a pleasure while the 
 canary sang. By noontide followed an early 
 " dinner of herbs and love therewith " to be 
 partaken of, which was a welcome hour of 
 refreshment to them both. 
 
 As Mary was wont to say, it also gave them 
 quite a feeling of companionship to imagine 
 how many other workers were resting and 
 enjoying likewise their midday meal — plough- 
 men, after driving a fine team of horses straight 
 and true across the big bare acres, turning 
 fresh furrows, of which the earthy fragrance 
 was pleasant in their nostrils as to the patriarch 
 Isaac; hedgers, after laying low and stacking 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WINP. 115 
 
 in faggots a hillside copse. One could fancy 
 how all the branches to their last year's twigs 
 glowed in russet or orange brown warmth of 
 hue, contrasting with the wintry blue sky, while 
 underfoot lay withered heaps of rustling leaves, 
 such as wicked elves used to hide as treasure in 
 the ground and tempt foolish peasants to dig 
 for in the hope of finding gold. But, if dead, 
 all the leaves had not fallen, however, for here 
 and there a stray one in the still standing 
 brushwood clung feebly to its parent bough, 
 displaying so pure a yellow or fiery a crimson 
 as lit the secluded spot with a touch of glory. 
 
 Oh, there were more to be pictured ; many 
 more of hearty, hungry diners, sharing in the 
 noontide's relaxation. Merry English sailors 
 on board some good ship, far out in ocean 
 waters, of which the sublime surrounding ring 
 was unbroken by any other object to the 
 horizon, while the nearer waves showed foam- 
 flakes and glittering smiles in the sunlight and 
 breeze. Or again — hey presto ! — that magician, 
 the mind, called up a band of rosy, eager 
 children trooping home from school, along the 
 lanes. One almost heard their noisy clatter of 
 
116 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 feet, and merry outcries, as boys stole eacli 
 other's caps, while little girls, good as they 
 always are, helped the still smaller ones to race 
 along between them. 
 
 Whilst Mary's busy tongue prattled on, con- 
 juring up many such scenes for Darling's and 
 her own delectation, this little embroideress 
 never guessed that she possessed a gift better 
 than gold or silver, a charm which makes its 
 owner as happy as a king, and yet that only 
 expressed itself in common-sense chatter and 
 sober imagery. 
 
 " It's nearly — as — good as a book," Mrs. 
 Dawson used to murmur at times, with con- 
 descending approval. 
 
 That praise was quite sufficient to wreathe 
 the narrator's face with smiles. 
 
 " There, my nonsense does some good, if 
 it only makes my poor dear forget her weak- 
 ness," Mary would tell herself in satisfaction. 
 
 And although she did not suppose herself 
 clever, and knew she could not have written 
 down her thoughts to earn any number of 
 shillings, yet the improvisatrice felt it a glad- 
 ness to have this sense of sympathy with 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 117 
 
 humankind. It was delicious to enjoy cheerful 
 country sights and sounds and the repose of 
 well-earned ease with one's fellow-beings, so to 
 speak. 
 
 By afternoon this Goody Two-shoes, as had 
 been her father's pet name for her, was ready 
 for a fresh supply of work, which task she 
 attacked invigorated, while her invalid dozed. 
 The canary was taken out of his cage for exer- 
 cise now, and the patter of his tiny claws upon 
 the floor was merry in her ears, while the tricks 
 of that bird were past belief, and made even the 
 bedridden mother, helpless for years, quite 
 laugh at times. 
 
 When it grew dusk, really too dark to see 
 any longer, there followed a cup of tea, just 
 to cheer them both. Then the blind was pulled 
 down, the lamp lit, and the hearth swept clean. 
 Keally, what with the fire-glow and the cosiness 
 of feeling shut in from the outer world, the 
 small upper chamber was so snug, homelike, 
 and altogether bright that, as Mary regularly 
 observed, looking round with satisfaction, it was 
 quite a treat when evening came. 
 
 Towards twilight the mother was wont to 
 
118 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 rouse, albeit feebly. Then she would begin 
 telling stories of her own past youth, or of 
 Mary's childhood, in an indistinct voice, of 
 which the monotony was yet as soothing as 
 running water in her ^daughter's ears. And 
 we all know how delightfully it murmurs 
 through long grasses, and forget-me-nots, and 
 tall rich buttercups, recalling days of long ago. 
 
 Darling was quite happy, and enjoyed her- 
 self when she talked like this, speech being 
 often difficult to her, poor affiicted soul. Un- 
 fortunately she sometimes forgot the end of her 
 tales and would weep at her own want of 
 memory. So it obliged her daughter to be 
 careful in listening, and to know when to break 
 the narrative, judiciously, by some little pre- 
 tence of a dropped thimble, or so forth, after 
 which the thin rill of talk was easily directed 
 into a safer channel. 
 
 Later on Darling was once more fed, being 
 unable to lift her own hands to her mouth, and 
 carefully assisted to bed. It was such a com- 
 fort that she slept well. What more blessed 
 gift can Heaven bestow? *'He giveth His 
 beloved sleep." 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. Il9 
 
 At this hour Mary^s holiday began. Now 
 she enjoyed " a good read." 
 
 No one can be healthy and cheerful in body 
 and mind without some amusement, was a rule 
 that this little woman always laid down for 
 herself with a sagacious nod of her head. 
 Whereupon she would pull her chair close to 
 the fire, until the latter burnt out, draw the 
 lamp nearer, and fairly gloat over the pages 
 of either honoured Sir Walter's romances or 
 well-worn, calf-bound Spectators and Tatlers^ 
 Mrs. Dawson having fortunately inherited a 
 small store of such old-fashioned volumes. 
 
 " Thank God for a good novel," Mary used 
 to say to herself, as gratefully as she said her 
 grace before and after meals. "Learning is 
 bread and meat for the mind," she playfully 
 declared, if ever minded to explain her views 
 to Darling, her only listener. *' But a novel 
 means fruit, delicacies, to my mental palate. 
 It is the cheap luxury of our civilization. 
 Music and pictures cost far more to see and 
 hear. And how dull the lives of rather badly off 
 women, or sick ones, must have been long ago 
 when they could not spin ! Just think of it ! " 
 
120 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 So — unless work pressed more than usual — 
 hey presto ! Goody Two-shoes was transported 
 in the twinkling of an eye into another age 
 and all manner of gaieties and excitement, till 
 both fire and lamp had burned admonishingly 
 low. And so to bed. 
 
 Furthermore, there was change, too, in the 
 lives of Mary Dawson and her mother, never 
 doubt it ! Days when Mary went out of doors 
 with her finished embroidery to deliver, and to 
 bring back more. Then her eyes watched the 
 life in the streets with an all-embracing gaze 
 
 of sympathy that was always glad, unless 
 
 Well, unless this little woman saw a tired dray- 
 horse losing foothold in wet weather, straining 
 its muscles agonizingly under the load, its poor 
 hoofs scraping vainly the while on the greasy 
 asphalt ; or a drunken woman — the shame of 
 England — a degrading sight, so rarely witnessed 
 in other countries ; or any other of the painful 
 spectacles, the horrible contrasts of riches and 
 bestial squalor, gilded youth and careworn old 
 age, that in London, more than any place on 
 earth, make one's heart swell with disgust and 
 pity, and ache ever afterwards at such memories. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 121 
 
 But Mary found no lack of more agreeable 
 themes. 
 
 Why, there was really too much to fill her 
 brightening eyes with interest, and delay her 
 brisk footsteps. Like the description of 
 Primeyal Man in the Symposium, she would 
 fain have owned two faces looking opposite 
 ways, in order to enjoy thoroughly these brief 
 holidays. 
 
 What pleasure to glance at the fashions in 
 
 the shop-windowSjj^ and bring home exciting 
 
 news that all last year's ideas were turned 
 
 topsy-turvy, and, instead of clinging skirts, 
 
 Watteau bunched gowns were " the thing " 
 
 which like 
 
 " Summer is i-comen in," 
 
 according to the old English four-part song of 
 the thirteenth century. 
 
 Besides capes and bonnets and a hundred 
 more feminine fallals, just think of the jewellers' 
 splendours, and the ever-varying novelties as 
 to knickknacks for drawing-room prettiness 1 
 Tramp, tramp, and there come the Foot 
 Guards marching with the swing of one man. 
 How their red uniforms light up the dull, 
 
122 DUST BEFORE THE WIND, 
 
 ** unlovely street " ! Then here dash by a pair 
 of splendid steppers in a carriage with a ducal 
 coronet; a lovely woman looks out. How 
 beautiful she is ! And — still greater treat to 
 the loyal British soul — occasionally one has 
 the glimpse of a royal carriage and a passing 
 princess. 
 
 Oh, it went hard but what Mary brought 
 back news enough of the big human hive to 
 keep Darling in her quiet cell amused for 
 many an evening. How the invalid's eyes 
 brightened in expectancy when her listening 
 ear caught the first sound of her daughter's 
 step on the stair ; she even half rose from her 
 pillow when Mary appeared, seeming to bring 
 in a whiff of outdoor breeze. 
 
 " Well ! what have you seen ? " Mrs. Dawson 
 would murmur indistinctly. 
 
 " Oh, ever so much. Darling. I have 
 quantities to tell you. The street hawkers 
 are selling the funniest toy. I must describe it. 
 And, dear me ! there is such startling news in 
 the posters — of a hurricane that has destroyed 
 two towns in America. My goodness ! what 
 an excitement we had in the 'bus to-day, when 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 123 
 
 we were all stopped to let a demonstration of 
 the unemployed go by ! Not that I am likely 
 to be one of them — though I was so sorry for 
 them — for you never, never saw more exquisite 
 work than I got to-day. Dear me ! where shall 
 I begin first ? " 
 
 On such evenings as this, the invalid 'was 
 quite enlivened. And far beyond these little 
 incidents was the variety of the yearly changes 
 of nature. 
 
 Spring came pleasantly, even to the dull 
 street where the fretful sufferer and the sunny- 
 minded embroideress lived out their allotted 
 span of earth-life. Summer was glorious with 
 its welcome warmth. Time enough to think 
 of the sweltering dog-days when they come. 
 Some years one has really none of such very 
 hot weather. 
 
 How the first June days revived the sick 
 woman's feeble frame, while mignonette and 
 geraniums bloomed in the window, and one 
 could buy watercresses for tea, even straw- 
 berries when these were cheap ! There were 
 a hundred and one other summer signs too. 
 Nesting sparrows, darting -house swallows, a 
 
124 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 stray wliite butterfly in the street. All being 
 in unison with the great yearly change that 
 far beyond London's miles of houses had stirred 
 the land to blossom and bring forth crops ;. 
 making the sea waves to sparkle blue and fresh 
 in the sunlight, and all mankind, the beasts of 
 the field, and the birds of the air, to rejoice. 
 
 Our friends by no means thought themselves, 
 poor ; except as a matter of comparison. 
 
 " Why does no wise man or woman write on 
 * The Pleasures of Poverty ' ? " exclaimed Mary. 
 " It has so many exquisite little delights that 
 the poor rich people never can enjoy. Now 
 consider," went on this unconscious optimist, 
 half talking to herself and half to Darling, as 
 was her habit, for it sounded more cheerful 
 for both of them, " having your little pension 
 makes all the difference. If you are ill, and 
 need the doctor and more medicines than usual, 
 well, there is the reserve fund ! No need to 
 distress ourselves." 
 
 A grunt of doubtful import from the bed- 
 ridden one, who mostly answered by such 
 sounds, in varying tone, interpreted by Mary 
 as she pleased. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 125 
 
 "Yes, the widow's cruse never fails with 
 us. It is wonderful," went on this cheerful 
 person on this particular day ; " but our life is 
 quite an oasis in the desert, if I may so express 
 it, with fairly quiet neighbours above and 
 below us, and a sufficient annuity laid by for 
 rainy days. It is like having a plank to cling 
 to in the sea when others are forced to swim ; 
 it is very nearly as good as having a boat. 
 Really rich people have boats, or ships, so to 
 speak." 
 
 In this manner Mary uttered her daily 
 chaunt of rejoicing thankfulness, while the 
 canary, too, sang for gladness. 
 
 On the particular day of which the present 
 chapter speaks, a stone fell in the quiet pool of 
 this young woman's life. It came by post. 
 
 " Here is a letter from Stella Morice ; my 
 school friend, you remember, Darling," said 
 Mary, eying the envelope. "You know I 
 have told you how lovely she used to be; rather 
 wayward, but outspoken and honest, and so 
 clever in many ways. She used to trim up my 
 old hats afresh, and I did her drudgery lessons, 
 as she called them, for her. She hated sums 
 
126 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 and grammar, but she was ahead of most of us 
 in history or anything relating to philosophy. 
 Then she had such daring ideas. Many of the 
 girls used to be quite shocked at what she said. 
 Only her theories, you know, dear — odd ways 
 of asking why a thing should be right because 
 it is custom." 
 
 All the while Mary spoke she was occupied 
 in feeding her charge, which was a slow 
 process allowing of no interruption lest food 
 should turn cold. When this task was over 
 she carefully cut open the envelope with as 
 much expectancy as if she were likely to read 
 the announcement of some personal good fortune. 
 
 Dear, dear ! How all her face saddened and 
 altered ! 
 
 << Why, Darling, this is bad news, I am 
 afraid ! Mrs. Morice writes in low spirits. It 
 seems she is in great trouble, she does not say 
 what, and wants to see me — if I can come to 
 her — as soon as possible. Poor soul ! she says 
 that I am her only friend. Would you mind 
 very much if I went this afternoon ? " 
 
 A few moments of silence followed. Then 
 Darling was understood to reply fretfully, like 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 127 
 
 a spoilt child, that Mrs. Morice was one of 
 those women who cry out about nothing. Once 
 before she had sent for Mary to console her, 
 because her husband would not allow her to 
 give a dance instead of a dinner-party. 
 
 " Come, it was not quite like that, dear. 
 It was on account of their little quarrel," inter- 
 posed Mary under her breath. Then louder, 
 " This time I am afraid she really does want 
 me." 
 
 Darling went on tearfully, turning her head 
 on the pillow — which was nearly equivalent, 
 if we think of it, to walking out of the room — 
 that she was a hindrance, she knew, and re- 
 gretted being in her daughter's way, but 
 unfortunately could not help herself; maybe, 
 however (this in a tone of sniffling hope), it 
 would not be for long. 
 
 " Now — now — now ! " ejaculated Mary, re- 
 proach, encouragement, consolation, all min- 
 gling in her voice, while she rapidly and 
 inwardly asked herself, " Was there not enough 
 sugar in her tea, perhaps ? That always makes 
 her melancholy, poor dear ! " 
 
 " What a thing to say 1 Why, as if I would 
 
128 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 leave you for all the fine ladies in London I 
 No, indeed ! Stella Morice is my friend, and 
 she may be in great trouble ; but still, if you 
 were to want me, and I away, I should never 
 forgive myself." 
 
 "No— go ! " uttered the invalid with generous 
 impulse. Mrs. Dawson spoke clearer than usual, 
 because carefully mouthing her words, so that 
 what to the careless onlooker might have 
 appeared pitiable or ridiculous in the working 
 of her poor, partly paralyzed muscles, was 
 beautiful in the eyes of the daughter, who 
 understood the effort it cost the sufferer. 
 
 a Wrong of me — selfish — very selfish 
 
 Mrs. Cox will stay with me— very nice." 
 
 This latter personage was a cheery char- 
 woman who lived in the basement. A kind- 
 hearted giantess, really quite agreeable to look 
 at when tidied up. 
 
 " I'll take care of her, bless her, miss," said 
 Mrs. Cox, when privately interviewed. " I'll 
 take the bird out and keep him from flying 
 in the fire, and I'll make Mrs. Dawson a 
 pancake for tea — she likes my pancakes. No- 
 thing, miss, would give me greater pleasure 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 129 
 
 than to do a little good turn for you, if you'd 
 allow me to consider it just as one neighbour 
 may help another. No, I'd be affronted other- 
 wise. Miss Dawson ; I would indeed." 
 
 So away went Mary out-of-doors on her 
 errand of sympathy, her mind being more full 
 at first of the sick mother within-doors than 
 of her friend's unknown distress. 
 
 " So good of my poor dear ! just like her," 
 mused the daughter, with pitying pride in her 
 heart. " It is so natural ; the human nature 
 in her feeling weak and lonely, therefore cry- 
 ing out, but the higher self triumphing im- 
 mediately afterwards, as it always does. It is 
 quite a lesson to live with her." 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
130 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " There be many that say, Who will show us any 
 good ? Lord, lift Thou up the light of Thy countenance 
 upon us." 
 
 " Oh, what a blow ! To think that your kind, 
 good husband is actually dead^ my poor Stella ! 
 My dear, how sorry I am for you ! "What a 
 dreadful loss this must be ! You must feel it 
 terribly ! " 
 
 " No ; you will think that the worst of the 
 matter. I, who am a hardened, unhappy 
 creature, think it is the best of it, that I do 
 not feel his death a loss," replied Stella, gloomily. 
 
 The two women were alone together in 
 Stella's large bedroom, that was tastefully, even 
 luxuriously furnished, like a boudoir. In Mary 
 Dawson's eyes, as she looked around, so charm- 
 ing a room as this, full of books, pictures, 
 china, easy-chairs, and full-length mirrors, was 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 131 
 
 a chamber Paradise in which it would be almost 
 pleasant to find one's self invalided. 
 
 Stella Morice was lying on her bed with a 
 face as white as the large down pillows, frilled 
 with lace, that supported her half upright. 
 She wore a loose black silk dressing-gown, 
 trimmed with white lace, and long afterwards 
 Mary remembered how it had been a little 
 unfastened below the throat, and that where 
 the lace fell on the creamy soft bosom, this was 
 actually the whiter of the two textures. Stella 
 looked like a woman of snow with fire in her 
 eyes ; her voice, low, vibrant with emotion, 
 lingered like sweet wicked music afterwards in 
 the hearer's somewhat shocked ears. 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Morice was unlike her sister- 
 hood in general — how or why Mary could not 
 define ; but, this fact accepted, its corollary was 
 a vague impression that, being obviously diffe- 
 rent, Stella ought in fairness to be differently 
 judged. In after-years Mary appreciated better 
 with experience that it was the charm of 
 manner in Stella which had so strongly impressed 
 her ; that she felt a glimmering understanding 
 as to the fascination this woman had for many 
 
132 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 men, and the strong temptations to which their 
 admiration thereby exposed herself. 
 
 " No wonder this attraction has been called a 
 fatal gift. Whatever woman has been dowered 
 with it at birth ought to look upon it as a great 
 responsibility," mused Goody Two-shoes. 
 
 But, then, she was a queer, old-fashioned 
 little body, so precise in her notions of duty as 
 to talents received and accounts to be rendered 
 for them, that Stella was wont to tell her she 
 was a moral book-keeper who tried to help Pro- 
 vidence by keeping her own ledger straight. 
 
 To return from this digression to the two 
 friends. 
 
 Mary Dawson had taken off her cloth jacket 
 and black hat, and was seated, a trim and tidy 
 figure, by the bed in a curtained recess. 
 Here the widow lay shivering, but with burn- 
 ing hands^ under her velvet and silken eider- 
 down. 
 
 Mary listened, aghast, at the unexpected 
 revelation of a woman's real heart. Still, she 
 had once seen her friend's deceased husband, 
 and knew he was unhandsome in appearance. 
 Mr. Morice then looked quite middle-aged and 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 133 
 
 hard-featured, so that it was perhaps unfair to 
 expect over-fond attachment on the part of his 
 young and charming wife. Nevertheless, surely 
 it was a little unkind of Stella to speak in this 
 harsh tone. 
 
 Mary was so infrequent a visitor at the 
 Morices' house that she knew next to nothing 
 of their domestic broils. Yet she did know 
 that John Morice at first not only adored his 
 young bride with almost ridiculous pride and 
 admiration, but that he had also fitted up for 
 her a home of great comfort, given her shelter- 
 ing care, almost unlimited freedom in her calls 
 upon his purse. So the visitor secretly wished 
 that this dear soul, whom she had come to con- 
 sole in affliction, would try to remember only 
 the good qualities of the departed, and not con- 
 sider herself wronged because he had been a 
 somewhat aged and unsympathetic yokefellow. 
 
 But there ! there ! " Who art thou, man, 
 that judgest another ? " And whenever Mary 
 Dawson caught herself thus weighing a fellow- 
 being in the scales, she had a queer trick, like 
 a child, of saying six times over to herself, in 
 punishment — 
 
134 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " Judge not, that ye be not judged." 
 
 You see, this little woman had led a very 
 lonely life without knowing it ; and solitude 
 begets often this close attention to thoughts 
 and speech, with sometimes such nunlike habits 
 of simple penance. 
 
 Now she said softly, not to insist longer on 
 the subject of John Morice's death being a loss, 
 or otherwise, to his family — 
 
 "At any rate, it must have been a great 
 shock to you, dear." 
 
 " Yes." Stella's eyes gazed darkly away into 
 space. " All the greater shock that he and I 
 parted in anger. We had a terrible quarrel, 
 and, Mary — I never saw him alive again after- 
 wards." 
 
 Then in a whisper — 
 
 "Yesterday, I tried to go into the dining- 
 room downstairs, where he is lying, you know. 
 They have brought his coffin, and I could hear 
 them putting in the screws. But, oh ! I could 
 not go in. I waited some time at the door, 
 trying to force myself; then I came away." 
 
 In the house of death, as they were, with its 
 blinds all drawn down to darkness, and a look 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 135 
 
 of properly shocked mourning on the servants' 
 faces, Mary sympathetically believed she 
 guessed at the full horror of what this meant. 
 Genuine moisture rose in her gentle, narrow- 
 slit eyes. Oh, to think of quarrelling with a 
 dear one and not to have one moment given on 
 earth in which to make it up ! 
 
 Yery consolingly Mary Dawson caressed her 
 friend's hand that lay so white and taper- 
 fingered on the bed, in stroug contrast with her 
 own more common-shaped little one. Mary's 
 was a hand red with chilblains and needle- 
 pricked, but a kinder touch never soothed a sick 
 child or brought a warmer sense of fellow-feel- 
 ing to suffering man or woman. 
 
 Stella had not a tear in her dry eyes. On 
 the contrary, her eyeballs felt hot and burning 
 as coals of fire ; but she raised herself, and 
 drawing Mary nearer, threw one arm impul- 
 sively round the latter's neck and kissed her 
 forehead. With Mrs. Morice this was a rare 
 action towards one of her own sex. 
 
 " You are a good woman, Mary," she said. " I 
 believe in you ; I trust you ! Oh, it is an 
 immense comfort to have one friend to turn to 
 
136 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 in this weary world. Somehow, I never pos- 
 sessed the knack of making women-friends ; I 
 actually have not one but you, and men-friends 
 are not the same as women. Even if they are 
 not in love with one, still, when they marry, 
 they do drop you. They always say they will 
 not; but they do. Perhaps, otherwise, their 
 wives would be jealous. I cannot say how it 
 is, but in the end they are lost to one." 
 
 Then, sinking back exhausted, but so graceful 
 in her attitude of weariness, that Mary found 
 herself admiring even then those charming 
 movements and outlines of classic grace, Stella 
 went on low and beseechingly — 
 
 " Listen, Mary, there is one thing I want you 
 to promise. You are almost alone in the world, 
 the day must come when you will be quite so. 
 There, I do not want to pain you. I am sorry ; 
 but you know it is true. Have you thought 
 about it ? What I want to know is, what do 
 you mean to do then ? " 
 
 A foretaste of desolation passed over poor 
 Mary Dawson, like a withering wind that gave 
 her a sense of sickness. 
 
 It was quite true, so she acknowledged, as 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 137 
 
 she sat there a minute or two thinking. Fore- 
 warned is forearmed ; and Stella meant kindly 
 in forcing her to look forward to the in- 
 evitable. 
 
 Yes — too truly that day must come, perhaps 
 soon, when she would waken and feel quite, 
 quite alone in the world. There would be no 
 Darling then to rouse and spoon-feed in the 
 morning, to wash, and dress, and fuss over 
 with loving attentions later. All day long she 
 would sew alone — alone — utterly alone ; with 
 no well-known reclining form on the horsehair 
 sofa, no sympathetic answer always ready in 
 response to whatever foolish chatter might 
 chance to come from her lips ! This was Mary's 
 fond interpretation of the intermittent grunts 
 that were her mother's accompaniment to the 
 daughter's blithesome babble of speech. 
 
 Poor Mary's heart felt cold as a lump of ice 
 at the prospect. 
 
 Slowly she answered, " True ! that day must 
 come, I fear ; though I do trust and pray it may 
 not be soon." 
 
 " Then," said Stella, with suppressed eager- 
 ness, '* all I ask is your promise that, when it 
 
138 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 does happen, you will just come to me. You 
 have told me you have no relations and very 
 few friends ; neither have I. Why should we 
 live separated ? We always got on so well 
 together at school, and you are fond of my 
 babies." 
 
 " Oh, the darlings ! indeed, I am ; and, of 
 course, also of yourself, dearest Stella. Only 
 it seems so far away ; it may not be for some 
 years." 
 
 " Ah ! years follow each other so quickly — at 
 least, to busy women like yourself. I must 
 try and find some occupation, too," replied 
 Stella, believing herself experienced in the 
 hollowness of life and of the few things which 
 may now and again fill our time with faint 
 pleasure when the fierce quick joy of youth 
 and love is dead. " I will teach my little girls 
 myself ; there will be interest in watching their 
 minds developing. Then I shall appoint you 
 their guardian, Mary, in case I die before 
 they grow up. The thought of your promise 
 makes me feel as if something was solid in this 
 unstable world. I believe in your friendship 
 and uprightness ; you are a good woman. And 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 139 
 
 now I shall leave London in a week or two 
 feeling happier." 
 
 " Are you going away, then ? But where ? " 
 
 " Anywhere ! Anything to get rid of this 
 house and its memories as soon as possible. It 
 is to be sold or let. I am thinking of going 
 abroad for some years." 
 
 " Yes, the change will be good for you. But 
 to give up your pretty drawing-room that you 
 arranged so beautifully yourself and were so 
 fond of; you will regret it." 
 
 Stella visibly shuddered. 
 
 " I never wish to enter it again. It is hateful 
 to me now from its associations. I shall leave 
 you my address at my bankers' ; they will 
 always tell you where I am." 
 
 " It is a good plan, I think," repeated Mary, 
 sedately, still considering the matter. " The 
 children will learn French and German easily ; 
 that is why you have made up your mind to it, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " No ; " and Stella gave a mirthless laugh. '' I 
 am simply going away because I feel like one 
 who has been fighting with the world. For 
 the present I have had the worst of it. I am 
 
140 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 breathless, beaten, and so I am creeping away to 
 rest. But the world has not done with me yet. 
 I am coming back once more to fight it again." 
 
 " To fight the world ! But how, my dear 
 creature, how ? " repeated Mary, bewildered. 
 " What can a woman do, and what would you 
 fight against ? I fight in the daily struggle of 
 life for bread ; men fight for freedom, faith, 
 greed, ambition ; but what is your quarrel with 
 humankind ? " 
 
 Two bright red spots appeared on Stella's 
 cheeks. Her eyes glowed with dull fire as she 
 answered under her breath, but promptly — 
 
 " I hate society with its shams of proprieties 
 and its hypocrisies ! Think of the great folk, 
 the men who bold office, and the women of 
 position, who punish the poor for all kinds of 
 sins and misdeeds, and hold up their hands in 
 righteous horror, while they themselves do the 
 very same thing — only it is discreetly hidden, 
 you see. They are not brought before police- 
 courts. A costermonger deserts the wretched 
 creature he used to live with, giving her an 
 oath and a pair of black eyes ; a gentleman does 
 the same to the woman he has ceased to love, 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 141 
 
 with a polite bow, that is worse than a blow 
 to her, and gives her a pair of red eyes in 
 secret. She dare not bandage them, or ask 
 sympathy of her friends like any washerwoman. 
 Oh, I hate the world, with its winkings at this 
 and its cloakings of that, and its great com- 
 mandment, 'Do as you like — only keep it 
 dark.' Faugh, the hypocrisy of it all ! Yes, 
 I would rather be openly wicked than a woman 
 Pharisee any day." 
 
 " It is a terrible undertaking for one human 
 being, especially a woman, fighting the world ; 
 and you ought to be very sure of a good 
 cause," came from Mary, gently but very 
 gravely. " What if you should fail ? " 
 
 " Then, as the Romans used to cry, ' Yae vic- 
 tis!' Woe to the vanquished ! '' answered Stella, 
 with a defiant sullenness of look and a harsh 
 ring of tone that Mary Dawson never forgot. 
 
 Fighting the world ! Would this woman 
 who laid down the challenge be victor or 
 vanquished ? In after-years there came a 
 summer's evening when both remembered that 
 word spoken. 
 
 Stella's bitter defiance was no idle breath. 
 
142 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Better meet a she-bear robbed of its whelps 
 than such a woman of one first, fierce, over- 
 whelming passion, who has been deserted by 
 her lover. 
 
 The hell into which John Morice's mind 
 went down during the last days of his life, 
 through which it may have passed — who 
 knows ? — purgatorially cleansed, was not to be 
 compared to the valley of Gehenna in whose 
 fire his wife was tormented. 
 
 To have loved, broken her marriage vows, 
 only to be laid aside like a despised doll ; to 
 have been on the brink of losing home, hus- 
 band, children ; to have forfeited the world's 
 respect, and yet to have lost the man for whom 
 she had dared all this ! — that last well-nigh 
 drove her mad. But it was mostly the world 
 she blamed, the great world of which Middle- 
 sex was an honoured leader, to whose laws he 
 was a slave, reared on its starched conventions 
 as on mother's milk. Ah ! 
 
 So, with this poison seething in her tortured 
 mind, the unhappy woman went on pursuing 
 the same train of thought aloud, to which 
 Mary listened, yet did not hold the clue. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 143 
 
 " The world is so easily outraged at change ; 
 and yet how we have changed our ways, and 
 must, if not always for the better," went on 
 Stella, with excited voice and eager eyes. 
 " ' The wife of Bath ' rode astride to Can- 
 terbury, and no doubt Chaucer considered that 
 a comfortable and natural mode of travelling. 
 Nowadays it is grown immodest. It is the 
 same with dress as with customs ; our eyes and 
 our minds are used to things being done in 
 one way, and at any sign of alteration our 
 sense of nicety takes alarm, and we cry out, 
 ' Shocking ! ' at something in which right and 
 wrong are not really involved." 
 
 " That is very often true,'' said Mary. *^ I 
 sometimes think, what does it matter offending 
 against the mere customs and prejudices of this 
 world for a few years ? The generations of 
 human nature pass like crowds of shadows 
 thrown by a magic-lantern on a sheet. One 
 woman acts a little differently from her sisters, 
 and you may imagine all the other shadows in 
 dumb show lifting hands of pious horror. Two 
 hundred years go by — and there are her great- 
 grand-daughters and all their friends acting 
 
144 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 exactly as she did. Poor soul ! if she had only- 
 been born a little later, she would have set the 
 fashion, and they would all have been running 
 to ask her to their parties." 
 
 " You say that ! You agree ! " interrupted 
 Stella, looking at her with strange fixity. 
 " Yes, if we could only put Mrs. G-rundy's 
 ideas aside, and get at the eternal laws of 
 right and wrong. For the last three nights 
 I have lain awake till daylight thinking of it 
 all ; one can think so much better in the dark- 
 ness when all is quiet, except that the 
 thoughts go whirling round in my brain, like 
 wheels everlastingly turning in a machine that 
 no one can stop. Well, take morality for 
 instance, is not that a matter of climate and 
 of different ages of the world ? The Hebrews 
 of old, and the Mahommedans and Hindoos 
 and others nowadays, can have their many 
 wives ; Christians may not. Where are the 
 eternal laws of right and wrong there ? What 
 is pious among the savages of South America 
 may be sin amongst the Red Indians of the 
 north. In the beginning it is all a matter of 
 necessity, and perhaps in another hundred 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 145 
 
 years all our ways and marriage laws may 
 be altered, too. Oh, Mary, believe me, it is 
 a crime, it is unspeakable wickedness, to chain 
 a girl, as I was, in marriage for life — for life, 
 mind you! — to an elderly man like my husband, 
 whom I had only seen a few times, whom I did 
 not know, understand ; who had nothing in 
 sympathy with me. My mother told me there 
 were too many girls in the world, and, there- 
 fore, it is actually impossible to get all of them 
 married, so that when the chance came, it was 
 too lucky to be thrown aside. Now, I some- 
 times wonder if the Chinese are wrong, who 
 are said to expose their surplus female children 
 to death, drowning them or killing them 
 somehow. Better that than the misery of 
 hundreds of girls starving for bread, starving 
 for love, fighting for work in the crowd with 
 men who are stronger and trying to hustle 
 them out of the way — except the very few who 
 are generous-minded. Not that I blame the 
 other men who want their happiness, too ; if 
 they are younger sons and poor in our over- 
 stocked markets. One must be just. But I 
 hate the rich few who are made rich at the 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 expense of the poorer many, and are still full 
 of greed and avarice. And I ask why should 
 men s morality be so much lower than ours ? 
 why, when in all else they consider them- 
 selves so much stronger and wiser, our masters, 
 teachers, and priests ? And then, if a woman 
 unhappily married does love some one with all 
 her heart and soul, religious folk call her 
 wicked, while it is only human nature. Oh, 
 I — I — I am honest — only you do not under- 
 stand ; " and Stella turned, and flinging her 
 arms out, buried her face in the pillows with 
 choking, but tearless sobs. 
 
 " Not wicked ; no one dare do that. But it 
 would be her cross, and she should bear it. As 
 to men, let them see to themselves. At least 
 a man reared by a good mother starts with a 
 happy beginning in life. Faith in womanhood 
 beats in his blood." 
 
 All the while Mary was asking herself with 
 inner wonderment, " Does Stella expect to have 
 everything good on earth ? She has her two dear 
 little children ; health and youth ; an assured 
 income. Dear me ! that is a very great deal." 
 
 But her friend thought differently. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 147 
 
 " Why should such things be ? " again asked 
 Stella, raising her head a moment. " Why are 
 we allowed to be born, if we are condemned to 
 suffering, or else to sin ; if there is no other 
 choice given us ? " 
 
 " Hush, hush, dear ! " said Mary, grieved ; 
 *^ there is a suffering, I think (indeed, I have 
 known it myself), out of which one comes feel- 
 ing stronger and even glad, but it is not a 
 gladness I can explain, just as in this great 
 puzzle you speak of about pain and sin in the 
 world, I can only feel and believe it will all 
 come right somehow, although it is impossible 
 for one's human mind to solve. When I am in 
 difficulty of mind I go to my Bible. If one 
 part does not seem to give me an answer, I try 
 another and then another page, but I always 
 do find it, and it cheers me with courage and 
 comfort again." 
 
 There was silence for a while ; then Stella 
 asked in an abrupt whisper — 
 
 " Mary, do tell me. How was it you never 
 married ? You would be such a devoted wife." 
 
 Poor Mary reddened. 
 
 '* I was engaged once," she said gently. 
 
148 DUST BEFORE THE WIND 
 
 '' He was a soldier, and going to India. But 
 my dear one at home was beginning to be ill, 
 so I could not leave ber. And after a time be 
 got tired of waiting and married some one else. 
 Tbat is all." 
 
 "All ! Everytbing," commented Stella, 
 bitterly, " in tbis life." 
 
 '' I look for anotber life, and can wait," smiled 
 Mary. 
 
 Later on, wben Mary Dawson bad betaken 
 berself borne to the attic sitting-room, and tbe 
 canary and tbe still figure on tbe sofa, Stella 
 felt ber luxurious cbamber empty and solitary 
 since tbat brigbt little presence and cbecxy 
 voice bad vanished into tbe street. 
 
 " Wben I bave ber altogether to live with 
 me, I shall not feel alone," she murmured to 
 berself. " It is terrible to feel alone, to 
 feel one's soul alone — tbat no other living 
 being knows or cares what is passing in one's 
 mind." 
 
 She did not realize tbat well-nigh every soul 
 on earth is solitary. The knowledge comes to 
 most of us sooner or later with a shock. We 
 imagine it is only our own selves who feel so, 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 149 
 
 that others are happier and enjoying companion- 
 ship of mind as of body, all their thoughts 
 shared as well as joys, sorrows, and hopes. 
 Some few may be so blessed ; but how few ! 
 
 Eemembering what Mary had advised about 
 reading her Bible, Stella, almost to her own 
 surprise, presently rose. She felt dizzy and 
 weak as she stood upright, but began to search 
 about the room. 
 
 " I used to have one, somewhere," she said to 
 herself. " Where can it have got to ? I looked 
 at it several times when I was reading those 
 books downstairs in the drawing-room, to com- 
 pare what each said. Ah, here it is." 
 
 It was a Bible she had used as a little girl, 
 a thick volume with crabbed small print and 
 many marginal notes. 
 
 Opening it at random, Stella's eyes only fell 
 on the wars of Joshua against various cities 
 and tribes which he laid waste, so that no soul 
 that breathed therein was left alive. 
 
 " What cruel massacre ! " thought the woman 
 of our sensitive century. It did not occur to 
 her that these tribal records were of an early 
 age, the Jewish leader's stern chastisal of 
 
150 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 idolatry and polytheism being the primitive 
 idea of godliness. 
 
 Again she opened the book at a psalm full of 
 gladness and thanksgiving, to which her sick 
 heart could not attune itself. 
 
 Turning over the pages with a disappointed 
 feeling, at last her attention was arrested. 
 Stella read — started with a wounded cry, cover- 
 ing her face with her hands. 
 
 " Not that ! not that 1 " she murmured to 
 herself. '' Can it be a warning ? " For her eyes 
 had lighted on a terrible description, in the 
 plain strong words used by our forefathers in 
 translating that book into a tongue " under- 
 standed of the people." 
 
 She had read of a wicked woman, such an 
 one as deceived her husband and wrought 
 shame in Israel, and who yet ate and drank 
 and wiped her mouth with her hand, asking 
 herself, *' What evil have I done ? " 
 
 With a strong shudder, Stella pushed the 
 book away from her sight, and tried to banish 
 the words of the teacher as quickly as possible 
 from her mind. 
 
PAET II 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Ne she was darke ne browne, but bright, 
 And cleare as the moone light ; 
 Againe whom all the starres semen 
 But small candles as we demen." 
 
 Bomaunt of the Bose. 
 
 Several years have passed by since this brief 
 tale opened. Few years and short, looking 
 backward ; looking forward in those past days, 
 how long a stretch of time they had seemed ! 
 
 Spring was come tripping along the banks 
 of the Thames, scattering flowers everywhere 
 on trees and bushes, on earth and even water. 
 The river was flowing brown and swollen to 
 the very edge of its banks with rapid, swirling 
 current, for there had fallen heavy rains of 
 late. It was a fresh day, with cool, slight 
 breezes, and shy sunlight glancing every now 
 and again past fleecy shower-clouds, and shining 
 
154 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 all tbe more sweetly for its elusive fickleness 
 on the tender green of tbe wooded slopes and 
 the aspens a-quiver by the water's brim. 
 
 Away on the upper reaches of the Thames, 
 at a place where the weir-current turned 
 sharply to the left, lay a little red-brick house 
 in the coign between the said weir and its 
 parent stream. 
 
 This was an unpretentious but charming 
 cottage, all mantled with creepers, roses, and 
 wistaria to its many small gables. Its windows 
 shone bright with glittering panes, the door- 
 steps were snowy white, and beds of anemones, 
 jonquils, narcissus, and such-like early garden 
 flowers lay below its cosy walls glowing on a 
 velvet lawn. Lilac bushes hung in masses of 
 fragrance and harmonious colour, taller la- 
 burnums above these dropped chains of gold ; 
 all around the air was full of birds' songs, the 
 cawing of rooks, and, heard more faintly in the 
 distance from green meadows, the bleating of 
 lambs. 
 
 The cottage lay a short distance back from 
 the river, while its grounds, as was said before, 
 occupied the angle between the Thames and 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 155 
 
 the weir-stream, at fhe apex of which angle 
 was fixed a board with the warning signal, 
 " Danger." Down the weir-cnrrent, where no 
 boat ever adventured itself, the banks were 
 charming and sequestered. Willows and 
 alders spread their branches, overhanging the 
 bank, and almost dipping into the rushing 
 water. Between their clumps of foliage were 
 breaks of greensward to the river's brink, tiny 
 lawns, never desecrated by noisy boat-crews, 
 making the silence ring with cockney vulgarity 
 of merriment, and disfiguring the sylvan scene 
 with scraps of newspaper, empty bottles, and 
 the remains of luncheon. Here the loosestrife 
 grew high and purple by the bank, and across 
 yonder, where the current flowed less strongly, 
 in that shallow curve of the reed-grown island, 
 the water-lilies laid out their leaves to sun on 
 the surface, thick as thick could be, while no 
 rude hands tore away their brave show of white 
 lily cups, expanding to the blue heaven above, 
 in snowy-petalled chalices that seemed offering 
 their hearts of gold. 
 
 It was afternoon. The little house, by name 
 "Willow Lea," lay still, as if empty. Not 
 
156 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 an inmate was in view on its garden lawn or 
 at the windows ; most likely maids were busy 
 within-doors, its owners gone out an airing. 
 Further away, in a more secluded part of the 
 grounds by the river, near where the water 
 poured in a white swirl over the weir with 
 never-ending hoarse murmur of haste and re- 
 joicing, were the only living creatures visible, 
 excepting birds, insects, and an occasional 
 leaping fish. The one was a young girl bend- 
 ing anxiously through some parted willow 
 branches over the water. The other was a 
 fluffy white kitten, with a pink ribbon round 
 its neck, that was clinging desperately to a 
 willow branch stretching several feet out from 
 the bank. 
 
 The branch dipped with every motion of 
 the tiny, terrified creature, which had evidently 
 crept out too far, and could not turn to come 
 back again. The poor kitten mewed piteously 
 as it rocked, and caught a more tenacious grasp 
 of the slender bough with its tiny claws. 
 
 " What shall I do ? Oh, kitty ! kitty ! why did 
 you go so far ? Can't you come back, darling ? " 
 cried the girl, wringing helpless soft hands. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 157 
 
 Looking at her there, the exclamation of 
 a spectator would most probably be, '' How 
 like an old picture ! " She was more like one 
 of Gainsborough's or Reynolds's wasp-waisted 
 and ethereal creations stepped down out of an 
 antiquated frame, than an everyday specimen 
 of our English, well-grown, well-formed young 
 womanhood, that is generally rosy-cheeked and 
 strong-limbed nowadays. This one was a 
 slight slip of a creature, little more than six- 
 teen years of age. She was so tall and thin 
 that she had plainly shot up too fast out of 
 childhood ; and as she anxiously held apart 
 the willow branches, her figure was not unlike 
 them in its slenderness, suppleness, and also 
 weakness. It was her face, however, that was 
 unusual ; the small head upraised on the long 
 curved neck ; dark hair piled in luxuriant 
 masses, escaping in stray curls and tangles 
 from under the wide straw hat, and a soft pale 
 visage, of which at first glance one could 
 rightly discern no features but the eyes, atten- 
 tion being caught and held fast by their won- 
 dering bigness. She looked a being reared in 
 moonbeams and in shadows ; dews and starlight 
 
158 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 and faint breezes liad surely combined to 
 nourish her growth, like those faint blossoms 
 which unfold only at night. 
 
 " Oh, what is to be done ? " repeated this 
 young creature helplessly to herself. Then, 
 raising her voice in a long, quivering cry, 
 she called, " Su— san ! Mary ! Help, help ! " 
 
 But there was no answering voice ; no black- 
 gowned, white-capped figure came running 
 adown the trim lawn or through the shrubbery. 
 The house was dumb. 
 
 *' Help ! oh, help ! Hi — i ! " again she cried. 
 
 At that, listening, she heard an unexpected 
 halloa sounding from the paddock beyond the 
 weir, where was no cottage, nor high-road, nor 
 likelihood of succour. 
 
 Waiting, astonished, she presently saw an 
 unknown man's figure come crashing through 
 the intervening straggling hedge. 
 
 "Halloa!" he shouted, hastening forward 
 to the rescue. "All right! — What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 The man stopped short, breathing somewhat 
 hard after his run, for, though spare and active, 
 he was in his forties. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 159 
 
 Then, as the girl stepped ont from among 
 the bushes face to face with him, he stood 
 surprised, in truth taken aback at the fair 
 vision. 
 
 She was only aware with quick feminine 
 intuition that this was a gentleman ; also that 
 he was a strikingly handsome man, with high- 
 bred, delicate features and piercingly bright, 
 dark eyes. 
 
 " Oh, sir, can you help me ? It is my kitten. 
 See ! " she implored, with parted quivering lips, 
 her young face white as her pale cotton gown, 
 her eyes brimful of entreaty. 
 
 " I see." 
 
 The stranger took in the situation at a 
 glance, suppressed a dawning smile of relief, 
 and assumed an expression of concern and 
 interest. 
 
 *' It crept out there after a willow-wren a 
 few minutes ago, and the poor little thing can't 
 get back," she rapidly explained, with anxiety 
 and hope flitting across her face in alternate 
 light and shadow. " As long as I speak to it 
 it stays still, but if I went back to the house 
 for help it might get more frightened and so 
 
160 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 fall in. Then the water is so deep, and the 
 current so strong here, that you see it would 
 be washed over the weir." She broke off short 
 with a prolonged distressful " O — h ! " 
 
 The kitten had slipped one paw on the 
 treacherous bark, and, in an agonized attempt 
 to regain the lost hold, caused its bough to 
 swing perilously, dipping even into the water. 
 
 '' It will be drowned ! I must save it ! " 
 The girl made an impulsive dash forwards. 
 
 She was caught as quickly and held back 
 by the stranger, who said, in a tone that im- 
 pressed her, even through her fright, as of one 
 accustomed to command, and who had the 
 inborn right to be obeyed by all those less 
 prompt of resource and skill than himself in 
 the great or small vicissitudes of life — 
 
 '* Do not attempt to go into the water. You 
 will be drowned next, both you and the poor 
 kitten ; and of what use would that be ? " 
 
 " I meant to hold by those branches over- 
 head, and, if you will give me your hand, indeed 
 I think I could do it." 
 
 The unknown uttered a short laugh, for the 
 arm he still kept in his detaining grasp was 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 161 
 
 little stronger than a mere wand. Why, he 
 could have broken it easily with one twist of 
 his wrist. 
 
 " If either of us two goes in, I do," he 
 briefly decided, " But your weir-stream runs 
 so strong to-day it might even drown me and 
 not save your favourite. Cui bono ? We must 
 invent some other plan. Let us see." 
 
 " Yes ! Oh, do think ! Quick, please ! " 
 
 " Do not alarm yourself. That kitten can 
 hold on a good half-hour longer. I am 
 thinking." 
 
 The new-comer was truly trying to do so, 
 but the witching child - face upturned in 
 breathless expectancy of gaze to his own, 
 hanging on every word which fell from his 
 lips, disturbed his cool judgment. 
 
 The girl's hat had been caught just now by 
 the willow twigs in her impetuous effort 
 at succour. She pulled it impatiently off her 
 head and flung it on the grass. A faint ad- 
 miring smile curved her companion's lips on 
 seeing now a rebellious brown aureole of hair 
 framing her face some inches deep, while 
 further back it was twisted on the top of her 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 little head in a bewildering tangle of knots 
 and curls. Her eyes thrilled through him, 
 who was peculiarly sensitive to such emotions, 
 with a strange, almost painful, sensation. They 
 were great eyes like blue lamps, dark lashed 
 and browed, lighting up the velvety pale, 
 still somewhat unformed face, and they were 
 wide with beseeching appeal as those of a 
 child, yet with a subtle fascination in their 
 inmost depths that betrayed womanhood. 
 
 Even while dispassionately but admiringly 
 criticizing her novel style of unripe yet 
 tempting beauty, the man was searching his 
 own mind honestly how best to give help. 
 
 '*Have you got a landing-net, by any 
 chance ? " he suddenly asked. 
 
 " Yes, there is one somewhere, if I can find 
 it. My sister and I fish sometimes." 
 
 Away darted the young thing from his side_, 
 flitting like a latter-day dryad or nymph of 
 some kind, whether of woodland or wold. 
 
 Meanwhile her friend in need followed after 
 her with quick, decided step, looking about him 
 in keen scrutiny. 
 
 " There must be a boat-house near here, and 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 163 
 
 an oar or pole of some kind would come in 
 handy," lie murmured to himself, stroking his 
 moustache. " If my young white witch had 
 not been in such a deuce of a hurry, she might 
 have told me where to look. Now, if it is too 
 late, she will blame me." 
 
 Emerging from the wood, he came on what 
 suited his purpose — a daisy-rake that had been 
 left lying on the grass by the gardener. He 
 took it up, and was turning back again when 
 the girl came flying down from the house, carry- 
 ing her landing-net. She was flushed now and 
 panting hard, with one hand pressed to her 
 side. 
 
 " There, there ! we need not hurry so. 
 You have been running too fast ; you will hurt 
 
 yourself some day if you do that, my " 
 
 The stranger was about to say, naturally, 
 " dear child," but checked himself remembering 
 the dignity attached to girlhood's first long 
 skirts and hair fastened up with hair-pins, so 
 he courteously substituted, *' my little lady." 
 
 He had a charming manner. It was gallant, 
 implied homage, yet at the same time had the 
 slight tone of masculine authority with which 
 
164 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 he had before checked her mad impulse to jump 
 into the water. 
 
 She slackened her footsteps, to his surprise, 
 with the submissiveness of a child, even while 
 urging and beseeching him with her whole 
 speaking face that both of them should hasten 
 onward. 
 
 *' Indeed, running does not hurt me — not 
 much. Please, oh, please let us hurry ! Kitty 
 knows my voice. She will miss me. Ah ! 
 there she is still ; and look, look 1 see those 
 horrid birds ! " 
 
 A singular scene was taking place down 
 among the willows. 
 
 Whish ! whirr ! A flock of small birds were 
 dashing around the luckless kitten in twittering 
 flight backwards and forwards. Then, apparently 
 emboldened by the absence of human beings, 
 and enjoying the helpless plight of their foe, they 
 perched closely round the latter on the willow 
 twigs above and below, chirping sharply — with 
 jeers and taunts, as could hardly be doubted. 
 
 '* They are mocking my poor kitty ! they are 
 tormenting and persecuting her ! " indignantly 
 declared the girl in a petted tone. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 165 
 
 Her unknown knight laughed indulgently, 
 and began to banter this distressed damsel as 
 they neared pussy's pillory. In his ears her 
 wrath was a mimicry of childishness ; an 
 infantile affectation assumed for his masculine 
 benefit. It was a compliment that the young 
 play-actress should thus try to attract him ; and 
 at her age the little wile was pretty enough ; 
 in a few years it would be ridiculous. 
 
 But he was mistaken, for she was perfectly 
 natural in her small display of injury. She 
 was simply a trifle spoilt, and habit, as we 
 know, is second nature. 
 
166 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Like a fawn dost thou fly from me, Chloe, 
 Like a fawn that, astray on the hill-tops, 
 Her shy mother misses and seeks, 
 Vaguely scared by the breeze and the forest." 
 
 Now both set about the work of rescue. The 
 daisy-rake was pushed out temptingly till it 
 reached kitty, the latter's young mistress insist- 
 ing on holding it herself. The kitten hazarded 
 a trembling paw, half clung to the friendly 
 succour, and — oh, terror 1 — all but slipped off 
 again into the water ; for the girl's arms being 
 weak, she dipped the heavy rake. Next instant, 
 her companion promptly used the landing-net 
 in succour, and brought the little creature to 
 the bank, dripping and terrified, but safe. 
 
 The girl caught it up in her arms, hugging 
 and covering it with kisses. 
 
 " How can I thank you enough ? I don't 
 know what I should have done if kitty had 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 167^ 
 
 been drowned. Little pet ! it is my constant 
 companion. She plays with me all day, and will 
 follow me through the grounds for an hour at a 
 time. Kitty, I believe we were made for each 
 other, don't you ? and the world for us both ? " 
 
 " Are you so much alone, then, that you have 
 no other companion ? " asked the stranger, 
 watching the transports of both kittens, the 
 animated ball of fat and fur, and the graceful 
 young human creature, with an admiring but 
 slightly mocking smile. This, considering his 
 years, and that he was no longer a youth ready 
 to fall down and worship every pretty maiden 
 he meets as he wanders first out into the world, 
 was natural enough. 
 
 " Yes ; I have my sister. She is a little 
 older than I am, but we are like twins together. 
 And an aunt, too ; only they are both gone off 
 this afternoon, visiting the almshouses, as usual, 
 or a man in consumption in the village, or the 
 school. I dislike all that. T am very wicked. 
 I don't like poor people, just because they are 
 poor ; and sick ones give me a kind of shudder 
 all over — unless they are persons I am fond of. 
 Isn't it horrid of me ? " 
 
168 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Then with a sudden change from delicate 
 disgust, expressed in the funny wrinkling of 
 her little nose, contradicted by laughing eyes, 
 to a tone of genuine concern, almost dismay — 
 
 " Oh, you have cut your hand ! See, it is 
 bleeding ; it is covered with blood." 
 
 The^ man looked down at his wrist. " A 
 mere scratch. I remember now, I cut myself 
 when jumping through that hedge. There is 
 a cruel barbed wire. It does not signify. 
 There — I will wash it in the stream." 
 
 "I wish I might ask you up to the house to 
 give you some warm water and to bind it up," 
 said the girl wistfully, full of regret that she 
 could not show gratitude as she wished, though 
 all the play of her features expressed sym- 
 pathy and friendliness. " I should so much 
 like to offer you a little hospitality after your 
 kindness, only we are not allowed to have any 
 visitors." 
 
 '* Have you a stern father, then ?" he lightly 
 asked, while kneeling down on the edge of the 
 bank and washing the deep though small cut as 
 best he could. 
 
 '* No, our father is dead long ago. We have 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 169 
 
 only our mother left, and she is not stern, but 
 is very strict about my sister and myself, so we 
 are not allowed to ask any one to the house in 
 her absence." 
 
 " She is away now, then, I presume ? Well, 
 I am sorry at not being able to pursue further 
 so charming an acquaintanceship. However, 
 as a soldier, I learnt long ago that orders must 
 be obeyed, so the best thing I can do is to take 
 my departure." 
 
 While speaking, the visitor was fumbling 
 with a handkerchief, in a futile attempt to 
 cover up his wound. 
 
 " Let me tie it for you. Yes, please, may I 
 do something to help ? " entreated the young 
 girl, eagerly. " Allow me to give you my 
 handkerchief; yours is too large. There ! see 1 " 
 and she neatly bound up his wrist with a fine 
 lace-edged morsel of cambric embroidered with 
 a pansy in shades of violet silk. 
 
 " What a pretty mark ! What does it mean ? " 
 commented her amused patient. 
 
 " It is my name, ' Pansy ' — Pansy Dean," she 
 said, with the engaging frankness of a child, that 
 was one of this young nymph's chief charms. 
 
170 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 " The name suits you. From the French 
 pensee^ and yet Heart's-ease ? — I hardly know," 
 mused the man softly, in a voice that thrilled 
 through the pretty, foolish being upon whom 
 his brilliant dark hazel eyes were fixed in a 
 considering gaze. 
 
 " May I keep this in remembrance of our 
 chance meeting ? "Who knows whether Fate 
 may ever allow our paths in life to cross each 
 other again ? " 
 
 Pansy dropped her own lovely limpid eyes 
 downwards, their black lashes lying in a deep 
 fringe on her cheek. A blush, swift to come 
 and go as a rosy, summer lightning streak, 
 passed over her face ; then she shyly, gradually 
 raised her lustrous orbs towards the handsome 
 countenance above her in returning confidence. 
 
 " You may keep it," she breathed lightly 
 rather than spoke. '' But, oh, I do hope — I 
 mean, I should be sorry if we never met 
 again." 
 
 " Will you, at least, walk as far with me as 
 the green lane through the wood yonder, 
 beyond your meadow ? " asked the stranger, in 
 the same musical voice which Pansy secretly 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 171 
 
 wondered sLe had not noticed at first, it was so 
 pleasant in her ears. 
 
 His manner was charming ; it was full of 
 deference, yet with suppressed admiration 
 breathing through it, betrayed in every elo- 
 quent look and courteous gesture. 
 
 With inborn coquetry the child-maiden hesi- 
 tated, half consented, almost drew back ; then, 
 still reluctant but altogether charming, led her 
 visitor by a winding path through the copse. 
 
 Unconsciously their steps lingered as they 
 went ; strayed here and there to admire the 
 vista of white, hoarsely falling weir-water seen 
 through the fresh beech branches ; occasionally 
 stayed altogether. Somehow — whether owing 
 to the spring air that sent the blood of both 
 dancing quicker through their veins, even 
 the man's pulses beating again with some of the 
 old quick gladness of youth, or perhaps simply 
 because chance had brought them suddenly 
 together, they two only in this sylvan scene — 
 somehow, from whatever hidden cause, their 
 thoughts went more lightly, trippingly than 
 their feet. Was it ten minutes — twenty — 
 that they took to pass through the beech grove 
 
172 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 with its silvered tree-stems, and long layered 
 branches of freshest green, through which the 
 sunlight slanted, falling in bright flecks here 
 and there on the girl's slender white figure ? 
 
 Pansy prattled on with the most engaging 
 openness. Could the man help it, that, without 
 meaning to take advantage of her youthful 
 candour, he was interested — and looked it ? 
 So, listening to the fresh young voice, he soon 
 learned something of the life led in the cottage 
 set in these secluded grounds, called Willow 
 Lea. 
 
 Two young girls brought up under strict sur- 
 veillance evidently — that of an aunt in the 
 house, kind, but apparently prim, keeping them 
 punctually to lessons, offering the diversions of 
 good works, school-feasts, and walks to study 
 botany. Then an affectionate she-dragon of 
 a mother, so he interpreted Pansy's ardent yet 
 awed allusions to the latter, who was absent in 
 town almost all the week long, only coming to 
 see her children from Saturdays till Mondays. 
 
 " Mother cannot help it ; she has her business 
 in London, you see. She often wishes she 
 could get down more to us, but she can't," 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 173 
 
 vaguely explained Pansy, as their steps 
 brushed sedately through the lush grass of the 
 paddock by the side of the flowering hawthorn 
 hedge. 
 
 *' Business ! — that is rather unusual for a 
 woman," was all her companion allowed him- 
 self to remark, with a slight lifting of his eye 
 brows by way of interrogation. 
 
 The water-sprite at his side laughed in 
 mischievous glee. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking ; yes, I am 
 sure of it. You believe she is a lady dress- 
 maker or a milliner, don't you ? That is quite 
 fashionable, mother tells us, only you are 
 wrong this time. No ; she has other business 
 — I really hardly know what — for she says 
 we would not understand it, but it has to do 
 with stocks and shares, and buying in and 
 selling out, I know. Oh, our mother is im- 
 mensely clever, and such a dear ! " 
 
 *^ But have you no amusements ? no com- 
 panions of your own age ? no parties ? " 
 
 Pansy threw out her little hands with an 
 eloquent gesture. 
 
 " Friends ! parties ! None ! We are not 
 
174 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 allowed any. Oh, we hire a pony-cart when we 
 please, and we garden and sketch. Then we 
 may row as much as we like. We have a punt, 
 a double canoe, and all manner of boats. I 
 have a sweet little one that is my very own." 
 
 " Shall you come out soon ? I am staying 
 with friends two or three miles upstream for a 
 few days, and there is just a chance I might 
 meet you on the river." 
 
 The stranger's voice was studiously indif- 
 ferent, but his eyes dwelt with an earnest, keen 
 glance on Pansy's fascinating pale face, with 
 its love-maze of brown, bewildering tresses. 
 
 Pansy turned shy, not knowing why. 
 " The current is so strong," she murmured, a 
 second blush staining the velvety pallor of her 
 cheeks, while she turned her head aside on that 
 long slender throat, which had such an antelope 
 curve. 
 
 Had she seemed willing at first, he might 
 not have cared to pursue his wish ; but the 
 natural instinct inherent in manhood — the same 
 that makes a boy bent on the capture of a 
 fluttering butterfly — the love of chase, sprang 
 up within him strong, never resisted. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 175 
 
 He drew a little nearer, his voice becoming 
 dangerously low and vibrant. 
 
 '* The day after to-morrow ? The river may 
 be safe then." 
 
 As if attracted against her will, Pansy 
 slowly looked round once more. Her eyes 
 raised themselves almost reluctantly to those of 
 her neighbour ; were held fast by the spell of 
 attraction in his dark glowing ones. She 
 hesitated ; did not speak ; only drank that 
 eloquent gaze into the transparent depth of her 
 own sapphire " windows of the soul." Mutely 
 she moved on towards the paddock-gate leading 
 into the wood beyond. Here ran a grassy lane 
 that met the high-road. 
 
 The stranger stopped, and held out his hand 
 in farewell. 
 
 **The day after to-morrow," he repeated, 
 almost in a whisper. " Towards three o'clock." 
 Pansy left her hand a moment or two in his 
 clasp, and gave him one lovely wondering look — 
 a look of beguilement ; for it might mean, *' Shall 
 I ? " the hesitation of a coquette balancing 
 lightly jjae question ; or the self-inquiry of the 
 newborn maiden, " What manner of tryst is 
 this to which I am bidden ? " 
 
176 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Then she turned, and, almost before lie knew 
 it, was gone, running lightly like a sylph, as if 
 one motion was as natural to her as another. 
 
 He watched her flitting back under the green 
 shadow of the hedge, to his mind like a summer 
 cloud passing before the breeze, while the 
 white kitten gambolled after her, leaping 
 through the grass. 
 
 " She will come," he said to himself, with a 
 peculiar smile, pleased, yet with a tinge of 
 bitterness. Then—'' What a little flirt ! " 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 177 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Two lovely berries moulded on one stem." 
 
 If it was indeed a cage for two young birds, 
 Willow Lea was, at least, a prettily gilded one, 
 with fresh green leaves twined in its bars. 
 And the nest of this cage, its downiest nook, 
 was the schoolroom. Here history-books and 
 globes mingled in friendly companionship with 
 walls bright with good water-colours, flowering 
 plants, and a whole aviary of canaries, siskins, 
 and waxbills. These kept a noonday silence 
 just now, only broken by whispered chirps, as 
 if they had been told it was working-time. 
 
 Two sisters were busied at a similar task ; a 
 pair of virgin heads bent, now separately, now 
 at the same moment, over two copies of a water- 
 colour drawing placed before them. 
 
 There the resemblance ended. 
 
 Eose, the elder girl, was plodding diligently 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 at her sketch, yet with a sober air of doubt as 
 to its ultimate success dimming the usual cheer- 
 fulness of her face. She was a fresh, fair girl, 
 sweet-faced and rosy, hardly pretty, yet pleasant 
 to look upon in her comeliness of youth and 
 health. 
 
 Opposite her sister. Pansy was leaning back 
 languidly in her chair, thinking. She might 
 have sat for the Muse of Poetry, her thoughts 
 were roaming so far afield. Then the mood 
 passed like a wind-blown cloud, and, seizing a 
 down-dropped brush, her slim fingers seemed 
 full of life and vigour as, in few but decided 
 strokes, she dashed in a vivid impression of the 
 landscape, contrasting strongly with her sister's 
 careful correctness. 
 
 Pansy's sketch was full of atmosphere and 
 light ; even more, it had a touch of genius. 
 
 '' There ! " she exclaimed at last, dropping in 
 her chair, a pale, soft thing, with all the power 
 gone out of her — " there ! I am sick of paint- 
 ing. I won't touch a brush again this morning." 
 
 " Why, you began later than I did, and yet 
 your sketch is lovely. Look at mine ; it is not 
 nearly finished yet. I do not know what to do 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 179 
 
 to it. It is as stiff as a coloured map," sighed 
 Rose, in good-humoured, despairing envy. 
 
 The younger girl rose and bent criticisingly 
 over her sister's easel. 
 
 " I think I can see what is wrong. Just let 
 me try and touch it up a little," she softly 
 remarked, forgetting her late declaration, and 
 pushing Rose aside with gentle insistance. 
 
 In a few moments the laboured landscape, 
 under Pansy's fingers, took a different aspect. 
 It had received those few subtle changes which 
 are like the soul breathed into the mere body 
 made of the dust of the ground. 
 
 Rose was meanwhile profuse in thanks and 
 praise of Pansy's superior talent. 
 
 The wholesome-minded but slightly dull 
 elder sister had a fervent admiration for her 
 junior, believing that no one in the wide world 
 was so lovely, so sweetly unselfish, so full of 
 charming caprice and airy delightsomeness, as 
 this young creature, who was equally wor- 
 shipped by all in the cottage. 
 
 " Now Mr. Huxtable will not give three nods 
 in his terrible way, like a decrepit Jove, or 
 praise my mountain sarcastically as a fine hay- 
 
180 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 cock," she said, satisfied, being in much awe of 
 their aged drawing-master. 
 
 " Cross-patch may be pleased or not ; I don't 
 care," announced Pansy, with perfect indiffer- 
 ence, seizing on her easel, and disposing it in 
 the background with one swift movement like 
 the swoop of a bird. 
 
 " How do you manage him ? " put in Rose. 
 '' He always grumbles at me, but he never says 
 a word to you." 
 
 " / look at him ! " was the calm announce- 
 ment. " He gets hot, and stammers, and then 
 says, in a meek voice like an old sheep, that 
 my sketch is * fair — very fair indeed,' even 
 when I know it is only a dash of paint and a 
 promise." 
 
 ^' Pansy ! " said Eose, properly shocked, 
 '* how can you speak so ? You do not mean to 
 tell me you make eyes at that old man ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " returned her model fellow- 
 pupil as coolly, transparently innocent of aught 
 that could offend as a block of pure ice. 
 
 *' Well, it is not a way that " began Rose 
 
 like a dear prude. " That is very nice " was on 
 her lips ; but, shocked at her own severity, she 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 181 
 
 broke off short, hesitated, and substituted, 
 " that auntie would quite approve, of getting 
 in his good graces. I always rise or fall 
 honestly by my work." 
 
 *'But," persisted Pansy with incorrigible 
 calm, " what harm is there in smiling at him ? 
 Let auntie tell me that ! She always says, 
 * Don't do this or that ; ' but never tells us why. 
 I advise you to try. It is very easy, and one 
 gets one's own way." 
 
 No ! Auntie never did explain the by-laws 
 of polite conduct to this child of nature, being 
 sadly hampered by certain restrictions laid upon 
 her in the upbringing of her charges. She 
 felt this especially unfortunate, as Pansy was 
 passing through the " Why not ? " phase of 
 girlhood, that is the Sturm and Drang period 
 of feminine nature. The household-spoilt 
 darling was naughty enough to enjoy the 
 discomfiture which her bright questioning 
 spirit caused their staid little guardian ; often 
 she persevered out of pure mischief. 
 
 " Come out and have a game of tennis," 
 proposed Eose now, who was secretly dis- 
 composed that the second Miss Dean would not 
 
182 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 accept the results of their elders' experience as 
 she herself submissively did. 
 
 Pansy languidly stretched herself, smiled, and 
 roused up. Presently the tennis-ground out- 
 side was ringing with the fresh laughter, calls, 
 and cries of both as they sent a flying ball 
 backwards and forwards. 
 
 Their young figures would have been charm- 
 ing to watch, as they darted hither and thither 
 with eager forward rushes, quick strokes, then 
 desperate retreats, mostly in vain. But there 
 was no spectator to the pretty scene. There 
 never was any. Willow Lea was as secluded 
 from the outer world as a convent. 
 
 " That was a splendid game. Let us have 
 just one more now for practice ! " cried Rose, 
 after half an hour. She was the better player 
 of the two sisters. 
 
 A few minutes later, however, her fresh voice 
 sounded again in rather disappointed reproach. 
 
 " Why, you are not trying to play up, Pansy ! 
 This is a love-game. There, I have won ! " 
 
 Swinging her victorious racket, the winnej 
 was walking away with a triumphant smile, when 
 she all at once noticed that Pansy was standing 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 183 
 
 as if transfixed with pain, one hand pressed 
 against her heart. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, what is it ? Have you got 
 one of your attacks?" cried Rose, hasteniog to 
 her sister's help in alarm. "There! lean on 
 me. I made you play too long. How stupid 
 of me ! " 
 
 " It is nothing ; only some palpitation," mur- 
 mured Pansy, whose face was colourless for the 
 moment, save for her blue eyes wide with pain. 
 
 Next moment a plump little woman appeared 
 through the French window of the cottage 
 drawing-room, and came running as fast as she 
 could down the grassy slope of lawn. Whoever 
 has seen a bantam hen come fluttering to the 
 succour of a chick in danger, can most nearly 
 imagine the hurrying figure. With motherly 
 care she supported the suffering girl in her 
 arms, while an earthy-handed gardener ap- 
 peared at her cries of, *' Greorge ! " Between 
 them these two carried Pansy into a tent close 
 by on the lawn. Pose, who had meanwhile 
 hurried to the house, returned with restoratives ; 
 and the gardener was sent shambling off in an 
 ungainly trot for the doctor. 
 
184 DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 
 
 Even as she sipped some water, the sufferer's 
 eyes gazed after his disappearing figure with a 
 gleam of reviving fun. 
 
 " Look at him ! look ! like a two-legged bear," 
 she whispered with a weak laugh. 
 
 " Oh, child, you are getting better. But be 
 quiet now," chid Mary Dawson. 
 
 She was none other indeed. Our old friend, 
 little changed, but for some grey streaks in her 
 smooth hair, more plumpness of person, besides a 
 general a»r of well-being specially expressed in 
 so pretty and well-fitting a gown, that in former 
 days she would not have dared aspire to wearing 
 such an one on Easter Sunday. 
 
 Presently the village doctor arrived — ^ 
 shrewd, ruddy-faced neighbour, and father of a 
 family, who came even more quickly across the 
 close-cut sward than was his usual brisk gait. 
 He shook his head severely at the sufferer. 
 
 " Come, come, this won't do. I must give 
 you a scolding, young lady. You've been 
 naughty and skipping too much. What am I 
 always telling you ? Forgot it — eh ? " 
 
 Pansy softly stole a fragile white hand into 
 his strong fist. 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 185 
 
 The doctor raised tlie little hand, kissed it, and 
 said no more in reproach. Instead, he consoled 
 the anxieties of Mary Dawson and Rose even 
 while admonishing his pet patient. 
 
 " You see, my dear child, because you have 
 had these attacks from infancy, you have grown 
 careless. Why not try some quieter amuse- 
 ments ? " 
 
 " Ah, you are pleasing auntie ! See her 
 smiling ! " retorted Pansy, mischievously. 
 " Fancy ! last time I was taken ill, she wanted 
 me to teach in the Sunday school by way of 
 diversion." 
 
 " Now, Rose, I appeal to you. I only said 
 the children were sometimes most diverting," 
 cried Mary, in self-defence. 
 
 '' Yes," said Rose, downrightly. "- That time 
 you asked them how were the cities of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah destroyed, and they said, * With 
 brimstone and treacle.' " 
 
 Doctor Potts joined the two fair rebels in 
 laughter. Mary Dawson bridled slightly, but 
 smiled despite herself. It was pleasant to see 
 the little woman vainly pretending that she 
 did not enjoy their banter. Often both girls 
 
186 DUST BEFORE THE WIND, 
 
 would seize on her as a handy victim for bodily 
 tortures of ticklings and huggings that did her 
 heart good, though she was fain to cry for 
 mercy. Mary had only known what it was to 
 give love and sympathy to the sick or sinful 
 in her former life. Now it was sweet to her 
 womanly soul to be loved and coaxed and 
 teased by these young things, and to have no 
 daily load on her mind, no fears for the future. 
 She was, in truth, very happy. 
 
 '' What a pretty scene ! " thought the doctor. 
 His gaze took in the shady tent, its interior 
 bright with Syrian rugs and an Oriental divan 
 on which Pansy lay, still pale as a creature 
 shaped out of a white cloud, but with sunshine 
 lighting the depths of her big eyes. Outside 
 there was a vista through May-trees laden with 
 milk-white blossom, of velvet turf, bright 
 flowers, and the charming cottage in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 '' Willow Lea is a paradise," he said aloud, 
 " and you are three Eves. Pain ought no more 
 
 to enter here than sin. Well, well And, 
 
 by the way. Miss Rose, though Adam is so 
 rigorously excluded from this garden, I must 
 
DUST BEFORE THE WIND. 187 
 
 congratulate you on a conquest in the rectory 
 one the other day. A — h ! What do I mean ? 
 Why, the complete way you captivated the son 
 of the house, Frank Yyner. They say he has 
 come back from Australia for a wife, and all 
 our young women are setting their caps straight. 
 The rector is very proud of Frank, who has 
 worked hard out there these five years, and had 
 good luck. And I must say he is a fine 
 specimen of a manly young Englishman." 
 
 With which the doctor picked up his hat and 
 stalked away, Mary Dawson's buxom figure 
 trotting in his company to the gate. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SOIvS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. 
 

 15, 
 
 CRAVEN 
 
 STREET, STRAND, 
 
 r 
 
 
 
 LONDON, W.C. 
 
 1894. 
 
 A Catalogue 
 
 OF 
 
 NEW BOOKS 
 
 AND 
 
 NEW EDITIONS 
 
 Published by 
 
 BLISS, 
 
 SANDS, 
 
 AND FOSTER. 
 
 To be obtained 
 of all booksellers, 
 and at all libraries ; 
 or of the publishers, 
 post-free on remit- 
 tance of the pub- 
 lished price. 
 
FICTIO 
 
 New Library Novels. 
 
 A 
 
 LIFE 
 
 AWRY. 
 
 Clever 
 
 skilfully worked out." — Standard. 
 
 " A novel full of thought, povv'er, pathos, and beauty. . . . 
 A novel of remarkable loftiness and Ijeauty." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " A realistic novel. . . . One of the most beautiful 
 pieces of prose we have read in fiction for a very long time." 
 — Morning Leader. 
 
 "Talented . . . clever. . . . The book is a pleasure 
 to see as well as to read."— FanfYj Fair. 
 
 By Percival Pickering. In 3 Vols. 
 
 Dr. 
 
 GREY'S 
 
 PATIENT. 
 
 " Mrs. Reancy writes pleasantly, and these volumes of hers 
 are very readable."— S^. James's Gazette. 
 
 Miss Willard says : — 
 
 " Far above the ordinary level of the three-volume novel 
 . . . nothing less than a human document." 
 
 " Mrs. Reaney is certainly to be congratulated."— i\!et;tVu; oj 
 Reviews. 
 
 By Mrs. G. S. Reaney. In 3 Vols. 
 
 IN 
 
 an 
 orchard. 
 
 DUST 
 BEFORE 
 THE 
 WIND. 
 
 By Mrs. Macquoid. In 2 Vols. 
 
 Author of " Patty " ; " The Red Glove," etc. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 In 2 Vols. 
 
3 
 
 FICTION — contkued. 
 
 Cloth, Gilt Top, 2s. 
 ^prj-j-^ "Autumn Leaf" Tinted Hand-made 
 
 A ^^ Paper, is. 6d. 
 
 MODERN .^^ . ^ -— ,^ 
 
 " Charming pocket series. — Globe. 
 
 LI BRAINY " Charming volumes."— Maxwell Gray. 
 
 " Its binding, size, paper, and all other adjuncts are 
 charming." — Athenceum. 
 
 I.— A LATTER DAY ROMANCE. 
 
 By Mrs. MURRAY PIICKSON. 
 
 " A very pleasant little story." — Literary World. 
 
 " Dramatic power and artistic finish. . . . The book is good literature. It 
 possesses distinction of style, force of expression, and quickness of insight, and is 
 thoroughly mietesiing."— Speaker. 
 
 2.— THE WORLD'S PLEASURES. 
 
 By CLARA SAVILE-CLARKE. 
 
 "Forcible and fearless, while never overstepping the bounds of delicacy and 
 decorum."— Z)ai7>' Telegraph. 
 
 " The book is cleverly written."— Qz/ce». 
 
 3.— A NAUGHTY GIRL. 
 
 By J. ASHBY STERRY. 
 
 [Just Published. 
 
 4.— "HEAVENS!" 
 
 By ALOIS VOJTECH SMILOVSKY. 
 
 A Bohemian Novel, translated from the Czech by Professor Mourek, of 
 Prague University, and Jane Mourek. 
 
 [Just Ready. 
 
 S— A CONSULS PASSENGER. 
 
 By HARRY LANDER. 
 
 (AND OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION). 
 
4 
 FICTION — continued. 
 
 One Volume Novels. 
 
 INSCRUTABLE. 
 
 By EsME Stuart. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 THE STORY OF MY DICTATORSHIP. 
 
 Anonymous. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 VICTIMS. 
 
 By F. W. Maude. Cr. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 A MERCIFUL DIVORCE. 
 
 By F. W. Maude. New Edition. Cr. Svo. Cloth 
 extra. 2s. 
 
5 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TWO WORKS BY FRANCIS H. UNDERWOOD, LL.D., 
 
 Formerly U. S. Consul at Glasgow, and now at Edinburgh. 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: a Monograph 
 entitled, The Poet and the Man. — By Francis 
 H. Underwood, LL.D. Crown 8vo, olive buckram, 
 gilt top, 4s. 6d. 
 
 •' Interesting touches of reminiscence and appreciation of Lowell and his con- 
 temporaries."— r^wes. 
 
 QUABBIN : The Story of a Small Town, with Out- 
 looks upon Puritan Life. — By Francis H. Under- 
 wood, LL.D. Numerous Illustrations. Large 
 or. 8vo, gilt top. 7s. 6d. 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes says, in a letter to the Author :—" Dipping into it I 
 became interested, and the more I read the more I was pleased, and so read on until I 
 had taken every chapter, every sentence, every word, and the three notes of the 
 appendix — lapped them up as a kitten laps up a saucer of cream." 
 
 The Athenceum says: — "His story is exceedingly well written, and is extremely 
 interesting. ... He has written a most interesting book, in which there is not a 
 superfluous page." 
 
 THE ART OF PLUCK,— By Scriblerus Redivivus 
 (Edward Caswall). New Edition. Royal i6mo, 
 cloth extra, gilt top. 2s. 6d. 
 
 "The famous old 'Art of Pluck,' "Saturday Review, and vide Times, Speaker, 
 Athenmum, Daily Chronicle, and the whole press. 
 
 SPIRITUALISM. 
 
 The Afitohiography of the greatest Living Medium. 
 
 THE CLAIRVOYANCE OF BESSIE WILLIAMS 
 
 (Mrs. Russell Davies). With Preface by Florence 
 Marryat. Crown 8vo, with Portrait. 6s. 
 
6 
 
 TRAVEL. 
 
 A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY. With Accounts 
 (from personal acquaintance) of Nansen, Ibsen, 
 Bjornson, Brandes, etc. — By Mrs. Alec Tweedie, 
 Author of "A Girl's Ride in Iceland," and "The 
 Passion Play at Oberammergau." Fully Illustrated. 
 Demy 8vo. i6s. 
 
 SOMERSETSHIRE: Highways, Byways, and 
 Waterways. With about 150 Illustrations, and 
 about 256 pages letterpress. — By Charles R. B. 
 Barrett, Author of " Essex : Highways, Byways, 
 and Waterways." 
 
 The above work is issued in two forms — 
 
 (a) The ordinary edition in crown 4to, bound in cloth extra, with four copper-plate 
 
 etchings, on Van Gelder paper. Price 21s. 
 
 (b) A large paper edition, limited to 65 copies, numbered and signed by the author. 
 
 This edition is in demy 4to, printed on the finest plate paper, and contains 
 six copper-plate etchings. The work is sent in sheets, together with a 
 portfolio containing a complete set of India proofs of the whole of the Illus- 
 trations. Price £2 2s. each, post free. 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 ONE UNIQUE COPY comprising, in addition to No. i of the fine paper edition an 
 extra portfolio containing the whole of the original drawings, mounted. Both the 
 copy and the two portfolios will be elaborately bound by Zaehnsdorf. Price Fifty 
 Guineas 
 
7 
 CHILDREN'S BOOKS. 
 
 NURSERY LYRICS. 
 
 By Mrs. RICHARD STRACHEY. 
 
 With Illustrated by G. P. Jacomb Hood. 
 
 impepial 16mo. Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 An alphabet designed by the artist is inserted m the volume so that the donor may cut 
 out the child's initials and fix them wt the spaces provided on the cover. 
 
 " Pretty quaint nursery rhymes. . . . Sweet and simple."— Sf. James's Budget. 
 
 " A funny little excellent book for children is this. . . . Will delight the small 
 folks by day, and send them happily to bed at night." — Black and White. 
 
 " Will certainly haunt childish heads." — Graphic. 
 
 " Merry jingles."— Twes. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF PRINCE ALMERO. 
 
 By WILHELMINA PICKERING. 
 
 Illustrated by Margaret Hooper. 
 
 Second Edition. Fcap. 4to. Cloth Extra. Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 Opinion of the Press on the First Edition. 
 
 " An original and charming tale of the fairies of the sea, told with much grace, and 
 riveting our interest throughout. The Author, in her preface, makes modest apologies for 
 appearing in print ; but no apology, indeed, is needed, and we shall hope to see more of 
 her work." — Athenceum, November 29th, 1890. 
 
 HERCULES AND THE MARIOI^ETTES. 
 
 By R. MURRAY GILCHRIST. 
 
 Illustrated. Fcap. 4to. 3s. 6d. 
 
8 
 CHILDREN'S BOOKS (continued). 
 
 THE 
 
 ^*PP|-p-y ■Df\f\T;7' Royal i6mo. Half-cloth extra, and Cupid 
 
 paper. 2s. 6d. Illustrated. 
 
 SERIES. 
 I.— STELLA. 
 
 By Mrs. G. S. REANEY. 
 
 " Much taste and good sense."— Spectator. 
 
 "An admirable gift-book for girls."— British Weekly. 
 
 " A dainty little volume . . . a charmingly-written story."— Gtog-oic Hcm/rf. 
 
 " Simply and prettily written." — Scotsman. 
 
 2.— MY AUNT CONSTANTIA JANE. 
 
 By BIARY E. HULL AH. 
 
 " Pretty little book." — Lady's Pictorial. 
 
 " Gracefully imagined . . . prettily told . . . dainty illustrations."— 5co<swmK. 
 
 3.— LITTLE GLORY'S MISSION, 
 
 AND 
 
 NOT ALONE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 By Mrs. G. S. REANEY. 
 
 4.— HANS AND HIS FRIEND. 
 
 By MARY E. HULL AH. 
 
 MR. RUSKIN says:— 
 
 " I have read Miss Mullah's story with very great pleasure to myself, and heartily 
 think she has the power to take good position and make her living very happily. It is 
 of course a little founded on Andersen and other people .... but she's very clever 
 herself."