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 BRIDGET. 
 
 • VOL. I.
 
 BKIDGET. 
 
 BY 
 
 M. BETHAM-EDWARDS, 
 
 AUTHOE OF 
 
 kitty/' "doctor JACOB/' "FELICIA/' 
 ''A WINTER WITH THE SWALLOWS/' 
 &c., &c. 
 
 " Aux plus desherites, le plus d'amour." 
 
 Guepin, of Nantes. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLAOKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1877. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 8^5 
 
 V 1. 
 
 BRIDGET. 
 
 '^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FOUR AND THREE MAKE SEVEN ! 
 
 TT was a delicious evening in August. 
 *- The dreamy purple skies were cloud- 
 ^ less, hardly a breeze stirred the stately 
 ^ lilies of suburban gardens, and all the wide 
 <: green landscape lying around Highgate 
 '^ Hill was bathed in mellow light. Far off 
 r-- the dome of St. PauFs rose grandly amid 
 |-a thousand spires, the city stretching on 
 \s[ either side, dim, vast, mysterious. All was 
 ^ still except for the twittering of birds in 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 BRIDGET. 
 
 wayside-liedges, the cries of happy children 
 out at play, and the boom of perpetual 
 trains speeding across the scene. On such 
 a night there are leisurely pedestrians, not 
 only on the wooded heights of Highgate, 
 but among the rural lanes of Hornsey, the 
 fields and meadows of Wood Green, and 
 the winding banks of the New Eiver. 
 Popular, too, is the walk over One Tree 
 Hill, and pleasant the prospect it affords 
 of smiling valleys and spacious parks, of 
 many a clustering village and tapering spire 
 on one side, and the great awful shadow of 
 London on the other. No fairer suburbs 
 are to be found than there, which even the 
 nightingale haunts still, and which, in spite 
 of railways and of other innovations, have 
 remained rustic, quiet, and old-fashioned. 
 Wild flowers grow abundantly around 
 newly-built streets, barn-door fowls cackle 
 close to brand-new railway-taverns ; and the
 
 BRIDGET. 6 
 
 yearly spectacle of hay-making and corn- 
 cutting delights the eyes of town-bred 
 children. Alike in winter and in summer, 
 there are natural beauties and charms to 
 be found in these unfashionable northern 
 suburbs of London. 
 
 Among the ramblers now returning to 
 their homes in the starry, dewy twilight, 
 were a city clerk and his young wife, who 
 slowly descended the green slopes of Mus- 
 well Hill, leading to Hornsey Eise. 
 
 " I can hardly believe it is true," began 
 the wife, after a long pause before a mea- 
 dow-stile. '* We have waited for it so long, 
 and it has come at last ! — the life you have 
 coveted, and, I am sure, deserved." 
 
 " I don't know what my deserts may be, 
 but I know what I have dreamed of night 
 and day, asleep and awake," replied the 
 husband with a trembling eagerness in his 
 voice. ''It — it is not life, indeed, it is slavery 
 
 b2
 
 4 BRIDGET. 
 
 to plod on day after day, year after year, in 
 a counting-house, without leisure, without 
 sympathy, without inspiration. All that is 
 best in me, except my affection, has hither- 
 to been crushed, imprisoned, dead !" 
 
 " And now you are going to win a repu- 
 tation and live among poets and artists as 
 Helwyse does. I always said you had the 
 most genius of the two." 
 
 '' Helwyse has a lovely nature, and she 
 has made a lovely life for herself. I am not 
 sure that I might not outrun her, had we 
 started fair; but she was a mere child 
 when I began life, and ten years' advantage 
 has given her the race." 
 
 ** Helwyse is twenty-three, and you were 
 only thirty-four last birthday. That is 
 still young for a man. But Helwyse will 
 always be younger, Helwyse will always be 
 perfect, Helwyse will always be a pattern," 
 answered the wife, half in jest, half in ear-
 
 EEIDGET. b 
 
 nest. The foolish speech was answered by 
 a reproving smile, and then, arm-in-arm, 
 they continued their walk, passing slowly 
 
 down the dusky avenue of Crouch End. 
 
 " Surely nothing can happen to spoil our 
 plans now!" she said, as they drew near 
 home. *' We have a little money lying in 
 the bank. We have found just the house 
 we want. You are promised some writing 
 for a newspaper, and Helwyse will perhaps 
 live with us, and help us with the rent 
 at first. We really shall leave Hornsey 
 Rise at Michaelmas, shall we not ?" 
 
 "Oh, let us not talk of it any more! 
 Who can tell what may happen ?" answered 
 the man ; but the force of habit was too 
 strong. They had talked of the new bright 
 life dawning upon them incessantly for 
 months past, and after a momentary break, 
 returned to it now. 
 
 Like happy children prattling about toys
 
 BRIDGET. 
 
 to be bouglit next day, they went on, build- 
 ing castles in the air, till they reached 
 home. It was a tiny, semi-detached 
 villa, in a newly-built, unpoetic-looking 
 street, yet cheery and pleasant all the 
 same. There were flowers in the front 
 garden, with a few trees and shrubs at 
 the back, and tall sunflowers lending 
 majesty to the small domain. In the 
 general sitting-room were flowers and birds 
 and children's toys ; and in the best par- 
 lour a few books, pictures, and a piano ; 
 whilst upstairs, sleeping side by side in 
 their snowy-white beds, were three rosy, 
 fair-haired little girls, so many small 
 copies of their mother. She kissed them 
 all, then went down to prepare supper. 
 The cloth was laid, and a grateful smell of 
 baked potatoes issued from the kitchen; 
 but what good housewife ever allowed a 
 salad to be prepared by a maid-of-all-
 
 BRIDGET. 7 
 
 work? — or the key of the cellar to the 
 nursemaid? — for of these two was made 
 up the clerk's modest establishment. 
 
 Emilia was the soul of order, and if ever 
 her husband had to find fault with her 
 housekeeping, it was because she did it too 
 well — that is to say, she took too much 
 pains about it, being like Martha troubled 
 about many things. 
 
 To-night the two sat down to their 
 simple meal with more than usual relish. 
 Their dreams lent a touch of romance to 
 an existence that was otherwise monotonous 
 and common-place. Playfellows when first 
 at school, comrades when boy and girl, youth 
 and maiden, Bryan and Emilia Fleming 
 had married early, and settled down to 
 domestic life without much love-making 
 beforehand. They had paired like young 
 birds in spring, the responsibilities of 
 father and mother coming soon after, and
 
 8 BRIDGET. 
 
 not a few of the cares that inevitably 
 follow growing wants and narrow means. 
 But at last the wife's ambition, and the 
 husband's wishes, were on the eve of fulfil- 
 ment. Each looked at the other with 
 beaming eyes. Emilia was young and 
 pretty still, with fair hair and piquant 
 little nose and large blue Saxon eyes ; 
 whilst Bryan was handsome, as all Irish- 
 men are bound to be, with the dark clus- 
 tering curls, deep violet eyes, and rich 
 complexion of his race. They seldom 
 thought of each other's looks now ; but 
 Emilia's face would glow if anyone praised 
 her husband's eyes; whilst Bryan denied 
 himself many an omnibus ride to the City, 
 and other luxuries, in order that she should 
 have a silk dress to wear at church. 
 
 They were eating their supper with child- 
 ish appetite and enjoyment, when sud- 
 denly a loud ring at the front door made
 
 BEIDGET. 9 
 
 Emilia start, and Bryan drop his knife and 
 fork. It was too late for the last post- 
 man, too late for visitors, and no one ever 
 came at that hour. What could it be ? 
 Surely no messages of ill stepping at the 
 eleventh hour between them and their 
 dream ! The little nursemaid had answered 
 the summons, and hearing a confusion of 
 voices, both master and mistress left the 
 supper-table to see what had happened. 
 
 The front door stood wide open, and 
 holding a candle high over her head, stood 
 the little maid confronting with astonish- 
 ment four muffled figures of various 
 sizes, who were all speaking at once, and, 
 as it seemed, a foreign jargon. 
 
 Bryan advanced, Emilia also, and at 
 their appearance the tallest of the in- 
 truders sprang forward with outstretched 
 hands and a cry of joy. It was a girl ; 
 and in the act of springing forward, her
 
 10 BRIDGET. 
 
 travelling iiood fell back, showing a cMld- 
 ish face with wild dark locks hanging 
 on her shoulders, and large, eager, bril- 
 liant black eyes. Behind her, clutching 
 her gown timidly, followed a slender, 
 pale-faced boy of six ; whilst bringing up 
 the rear, were two other boys, both 
 younger than the girl, and all four having 
 an odd, picturesque, foreign look about 
 them. 
 
 "It is our own uncle Bryan and our 
 aunt Emilia, is it not?" asked the girl, 
 speaking with a strong French accent. 
 " Our dear, dear uncle and aunt." Then 
 all four children fell upon the two, kissing 
 them with tears of joy; " We have come 
 such a long, long way, and we knew you 
 would be pleased to see us, and we had no 
 one else to go to," she continued, "' and no 
 money either." 
 
 **It is poor Patrick's children," whis-
 
 BRIDGET. 11 
 
 pered Bryan into Jiis wife's ear; then lie 
 added aloud — " Come in, dear children^, 
 do not remain standing ^any longer. And' 
 you are, of course, hungry." 
 
 " Oh, so hungry !" cried the youngest 
 boy, rubbing his face affectionately against 
 Emilia's hand, " so hungry, auntie dear.'* 
 
 Emilia put the child away, not rudely or 
 unkindly, but with a kind of instinctive 
 terror. What did it all mean ? She knew 
 that Bryan s eldest brother, the ne'er-do» 
 weel of the family, had died abroad in diffi- 
 culties a few months ago, that they had 
 even sent money to his orphan children, 
 but she supposed them well cared for by 
 their mother's relations, who were in easy 
 circumstances. And now they were here L 
 What did it all mean ? 
 
 ** Come, let us feed the poor things, and 
 then hear their story," said Bryan, bring- 
 ing out wine from the sideboard. " Quick,.
 
 12 BEIDGET. 
 
 Marj, and lay the table for four. There 
 is the cold leg of mutton in the pantry and 
 some salad still remaining. You can drink 
 a glass of wine, boys, Til be bound." 
 
 " No, Brigitte won't let us touch wine, 
 but I should like some bread," answered 
 the eldest boy, a tall lad with a kindly 
 rather heavy face, looking eagerly towards 
 the loaf. '^ We have had nothing but 
 biscuits all day, and some apples the Cap- 
 tain gave us." 
 
 " Nonsense ! after a journey a glass of 
 wine will do you all the good in the world, 
 and my poor little man here looks as pale 
 as death," said Bryan, raising the decanter 
 with one hand, whilst with the other he 
 caressed the youngest child. 
 
 "Not a drop, dear uncle," cried Brigitte, 
 springing forward, and covering the glass 
 with her hand. "For the love of God, 
 uncle, not a drop." Then she added pas-
 
 BEIDGET. 13^ 
 
 sionately in his ear — " It was the ruin, the 
 death of our father." 
 
 Bryan put back the decanter, and began 
 cutting bread and meat cheerfully. Emilia, 
 still in a state of painful bewilderment,, 
 made some tea. Both were too absorbed 
 to notice the tremendous havoc soon made 
 in the family larder by these youthful 
 invaders. In fact, by the time the meal 
 was over, there was literally nothing left 
 for the morrow. Only little Hilary prat- 
 tled in comic French-English as they ate. 
 
 " I am Hilaire," he said, *^ and my birth- 
 day is on the twenty-third of October. 
 Brigitte is the eldest, and she is fifteen. 
 Next comes Patrice, who was fourteen last 
 birthday. Ambroise comes between Pa- 
 trice and me, and he is eleven, Aren't you 
 pleased to be here, Ambroise ?" 
 
 To which Ambroise responded with a 
 comic gesticulation expressive of material 
 enjoyment only.
 
 14 BRIDGET. 
 
 ''But wliere are we to sleep, and who 
 will lend us nightgowns?" asked little 
 Hilaire, after achieving his last cup of tea. 
 " I was so hungry, and now I am so 
 sleepy ! " 
 
 " Good heavens ! Emmie, I never thought 
 of that. What is to be done for beds ?" 
 
 Emilia looked thunderstruck. The truth 
 was dawning upon her by little and little. 
 These orphan children had swooped down 
 like so many birds of prey upon their poor 
 little dream ! All was over with their castle 
 in the air now. 
 
 *' What, indeed !" she said, with petulant 
 dismay. ^' I suppose we must turn out of 
 our room, and sleep on the sofas. The 
 two maids can sleep together for once, and 
 that will make one room more." 
 
 Only Brigitte noticed the speech, and the 
 manner of it. 
 
 '' Indeed, dear aunt," she said, " if Hilary
 
 BRIDGET. 15 
 
 can have a comfortable bed, we three do not 
 mind in the least where we sleep. He is so 
 delicate." 
 
 *' I have thought of a plan/' put in Bryan, 
 and beckoning his wife, they conferred to- 
 gether on the stairs. Emilia raised a dozen 
 objections, saw a dozen difficulties, but the 
 matter was settled at last, and in half an 
 hour the four weary young travellers were 
 sleeping profoundly, unconscious of the 
 trouble they had brought with them. 
 
 When the supper-table was cleared, the 
 servants had retired, and the house was 
 once more quiet, Bryan and Emilia sat 
 down and looked at each other in silence. 
 
 "We cannot keep them," Emilia began, 
 half crying. " One must do one's duty to 
 one's own children first. It would ruin 
 us." 
 
 *' Emmie, it will devolve upon you, then, 
 to take them to the workhouse. I will not
 
 I 
 16 BRIDGET. 
 
 do it as long as I have health and strength 
 to earn them bread and shelter. 
 
 " I do not want them to be sent to the 
 workhouse," Emilia said. " But there must 
 be some one else, either on their father s 
 or mother's side, to look to. They should 
 at least have written. Bridget is not a 
 mere child." 
 
 " You heard what she said. They had 
 evidently neither friends nor money, and it 
 was natural that the children should have 
 thought of their father's brother. You 
 know poor Patrick married a French girl 
 without a penny, and doubtless her friends 
 have done what they could. We shall hear 
 all to-morrow." 
 
 " But we cannot do it," Emilia began, 
 in the same childishly helpless, despondent 
 way. " We have only been able to make 
 ends meet as it is, and our children's edu- 
 cation must not be neglected. You seem
 
 BRIDGET. 17 
 
 to forget that we have three of our own, 
 and four and three make seven." 
 
 " Well, if God had sent us seven instead 
 of three, I must have provided for them 
 as best I could, my dear," said Bryan, 
 looking on the carpet, with his hands 
 thrust in his pockets sulkily, and his locks 
 pulled over his brow. " I can reckon as 
 well as you. I know that four and three 
 make seven. I did not want the children, 
 but if I sent them to the workhouse now, 
 I should deserve to be kicked there myself 
 for a poltroon. That is all I can say." 
 
 " It is a sin and a shame for people to 
 spend all they have, and leave their child- 
 ren beggars. Who would take in our own 
 if we died to-morrow without providing 
 for them ? — and if we undertake this re- 
 sponsibility, we never shall be able to pro- 
 vide for them. You will never manage to 
 
 VOL. 1. C
 
 18 BRIDGET. 
 
 pay up your assurance. We shall have to 
 get into debt." 
 
 **Well, there is the workhouse," Bryan 
 said, bitterly ; '' but I repeat it, you shall 
 take them there, not I." 
 
 " I do not talk of the workhouse," Emi- 
 lia continued, growing more impatient. 
 ** Surely, before you sacrifice us all for 
 these children, you will try if there is 
 nothing else to be done. We can perhaps 
 get the two younger boys into the Blue 
 Coat School." 
 
 " Little Hilary looks very fit for the 
 Blue Coat School !" 
 
 **I am sure our Margie is delicate, and she 
 went to school long ago. If we were rich, 
 of course we would act very differently; 
 as it is, we can only do for them " 
 
 "As if they were our own," Bryan said, 
 still defiant and bitter. 
 
 Emilia burst out crying, and he went on
 
 BRIDGET. 19 
 
 in the same tone, for there were moments 
 when his wife's tears mortified, not melted 
 him — 
 
 *' Is it the fault of these poor things 
 that they are homeless ? If my brother 
 was a bad father, was he not still my 
 brother? Of course, it is a blow to me. 
 We must give up our plans, we shall be 
 straitened for years, we shall have to 
 sacrifice our children's prospects — is it not 
 our duty to befriend the orphans first, and 
 think of these things afterwards ? After 
 all, perhaps I have been a presumptuous 
 fool to think myself too good for a clerk- 
 ship, and this has happened to prevent a 
 worse disappointment." 
 
 " You must go plodding on at the office 
 while all the time you might be winning 
 yourself a name, like Helwyse," Emmie 
 said, still sobbing. *' That is what I grieve 
 most about, Bryan, though you never give 
 
 c2
 
 20 BRIDGET. 
 
 me credit for unselfish motives; I wanted you 
 to be in your proper place, to do something 
 great, to live the life you have so longed f or/^ 
 Of course, Bryan was melted now, and 
 the two made up their little quarrel, as 
 they had done when boy and girl, with 
 penitent caresses and childish little endear- 
 ments. They were very like children in 
 many things, and in none more than their 
 treatment of each other — at variance one 
 moment, better friends than ever the next, 
 never quite resigned to mutual short- 
 comings and infirmities, never quite reso- 
 lute enough to avoid stormy subjects and 
 vain reproaches. How many lives are 
 robbed of all their grace by just this want 
 of courtesy in little things ! Every part 
 of the flower is there except the fragrance, 
 and we miss it, and crave for it, and cast 
 longing eyes on other people's gardens, too 
 blind to see that the fault is ours.
 
 BRIDGET. 21 
 
 It was long past midniglit before the 
 two fell asleep. Brjan dreamed of boyish 
 days in the well-loved home on the banks 
 of the Shannon, when his elder brother, 
 Patrick, had been his hero, his idol, and, 
 after childish fashion, his tyrant. Emilia 
 tossed uneasily on her pillow, her slumbers 
 disturbed by a nightmare dream that would 
 not go. A slate and pencil were in her 
 hands, and a spectral schoolmaster stood 
 over her reiterating, with a malignant 
 voice, a sum she could not add up — ^' Four 
 and three make seven ! Four and three 
 make seven! Four and three make 
 SEVEN !"
 
 22 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 AND WHAT WILL HELWYSE SAT ? 
 
 '' A ND what will Helwyse say ?" asked 
 -^^ Emilia, with a blank face next 
 morning. 
 
 The four young travellers still slept pro- 
 foundly. The three little girls were not 
 yet dressed, and Bryan was reading his 
 paper, as usual, over a hasty breakfast. 
 
 " We shall soon hear. She was to arrive 
 last night, you know, and will be sure to 
 come here the first thing. To-morrow is 
 Sunday, too, thank God !" he added, rising, 
 with a sigh. " We shall have time to talk 
 over everything to-morrow."
 
 BRIDGET. 23- 
 
 *' And you will be home early ?" 
 " Oh, of course. Starffe is coming to tea^ 
 you know, and we promised to take the chil- 
 dren for a country walk. We can go all the 
 same, and, meantime, you had better turn 
 the boys out for a run in the fields, and 
 make the poor things feel at home." 
 
 Emilia began to pout, but there was no 
 time for saying more. The horn heralding 
 the omnibus was heard close by, and Bryan 
 had only just time to say good-bye, and 
 pluck the usual blossom for his button- 
 hole before it came up. It was not dandy- 
 ism, but a vein of poetry in his nature, 
 that led the poor city clerk to do this day 
 after day. The spray of jessamine, the 
 budding rose, the frond of lady-fern, re- 
 minded him of country hedges, of wood- 
 land joys, and of the glorious summer 
 hours gliding by outside his gloomy prison. 
 For was not Leadenhall Street a prison at 
 this time of the year ?
 
 24 BRIDGET. 
 
 The day was an uneasy one to both, hus- 
 band and wife. Bryan had no time to dwell 
 upon the petty care distracting Emilia's 
 brain, but a weight of undefined trouble 
 lay upon his spirits, making him dull and 
 dreary-faced in spite of himself. Yesterday 
 it seemed to him as if the trammels of toil 
 had dropped from his limbs, and in their 
 place had sprung airy wings, lifting him 
 into the golden realms of fancy. To-day 
 life had taken its usual shape, and he saw 
 before him a long and painful ladder that 
 he must climb as best he could, leading, 
 alas ! to nothing. 
 
 Poor Bryan and poor Emilia ! Whilst 
 the bread-winner was thinking of the deli- 
 cious dreams of a choicer, fairer exist- 
 ence, now vanished for ever, the matron 
 was lost in housewifely troubles of the 
 smaller kind. She fretted at Bryan's dis- 
 appointment, but the injustice his generos-
 
 BRIDGET. 25 
 
 ity would inflict upon their cliildren seemed 
 the hardest thing to bear. She was not an 
 adoring mother. She did not spoil the 
 three little miniature Emilias who in their 
 very faults resembled herself, but they 
 were her children, her very own, and for 
 that reason she would protect them, and 
 fight for them, and suffer for them. 
 
 So when the seven cousins had been 
 introduced to each other, and the blonde, 
 blue-eyed little maidens, always dressed as 
 neat as wax, were being petted and admired 
 by the big, broad-shouldered, rough-looking 
 Patrice and the better-favoured Ambroise, 
 she was on the alert to see that no slight 
 was offered them. Had Norah, or Kath- 
 leen, or Margie come to her with the least 
 complaint of Patrice's rudeness or Am- 
 broise's crossness, the two boys would 
 straight way have received a sharp reminder. 
 But these huge, over-grown, half French, half
 
 2G BRIDGET. 
 
 Irish boys were singularly gentle and for- 
 bearing among the miniature womankind ; 
 and instead of Patrice and Ambroise, it 
 was Norah who domineered, Kathleen who 
 was cross, Margie who lorded it over the 
 big boy cousins, in whose eyes the three 
 were adorable little fairies suddenly fallen 
 from fairyland. 
 
 Not that Emilia saw any signs of the 
 humility she thought only becoming in 
 such a position. It never seemed to occur 
 to the frank, high-spirited orphans that they 
 were intruders in their uncle's home, that 
 they were robbing their cousins' heritage. 
 They were meek in their dealings with the 
 little girls, but it was the meekness of the 
 strong protecting the weak, of the rougher 
 towards the gentler sex. Emilia reproach- 
 ed them as she left her housewifely cares to 
 glance at the young people now and then. 
 And she was right regarding the three
 
 BRIDGET. 87' 
 
 younger orphans, only Brigitte held aloof 
 from the noisy group in the garden, look- 
 ing sad and anxious. When little Hilary 
 left the game to kiss her with almost ecstatic 
 fondness, saying, "Hilaire so happy, so very 
 happy, Brigitte dear," she pressed him to 
 her heart without a word. 
 
 " Can I help you, dear aunt?" she had 
 said, after having made the beds and 
 swept the floors of their rooms on her own 
 account. But Emilia said no, though in- 
 deed she needed a little aid in the kitchen. 
 Emilia's heart did not warm towards this 
 tall, overgrown, untidy girl, whose long 
 locks and large black eyes inspired her 
 with a sort of terror. Yet Brigitte moved 
 about gently, and though she evidently felt 
 none of her brothers' fascination for the 
 three little girls, she treated them very 
 kindly, almost submissively. 
 
 So when Bryan came home, there was
 
 "28 BRIDGET. 
 
 nothing very dreadful to tell of the young 
 invaders. Patrice had not hurled down 
 the garden wall, Ambroise had not broken 
 all the children's toys, Hilaire had not de- 
 vastated the flower-beds, and Brigitte had 
 not spilled the ink over the new carpet — 
 disasters small indeed to those Emilia had 
 expected. The tea-table was spread with 
 •cakes, radishes, and water-cresses, in honour 
 of the expected visitor — Mr. Starffe, the 
 curate ; and no one looked very miser- 
 able. 
 
 Precisely at half -past four the tall, lank 
 figure of the curate might be seen at the gar- 
 den gate, and little Kathleen came to meet 
 him, telling him the great news all in a 
 breath. Mr. Starffe was a favourite with 
 the children, though too poor to bring any- 
 thing in his pockets more costly than 
 oranges, and too serious to laugh aloud 
 -even over blind man's buff. But he told
 
 BRrDGET. 2^ 
 
 them stories and listened patiently to tlieir 
 prattle, and children, unless malignant,, 
 like everybody. The little girls clamoured 
 for a place beside the curate, and Norah, 
 a picture-book child, with round blue eyes,. 
 rosy cheeks, and flaxen curls always in 
 proper order, would even take his large 
 bony hand and kiss it, saying, 
 
 "Dear Mr. Starffe, I love you so!" At 
 five years old we have strange ideals, and 
 Norah thought Mr. Starffe lovely. 
 
 When tea was poured out, and the curate * 
 had said grace, the conversation turned 
 from the new-comers to the now daily- 
 expected visitor, Helwyse. As sometimes 
 happens, breaking the dull routine of daily 
 life with a blessed ray of unexpectedness, 
 an exquisite rainbow, made up of smiles 
 and tears, amid our common joys, just 
 as they began to talk of Helwyse, whoso 
 beautiful Saxon name seemed to bring
 
 30 BRIDGET. 
 
 with it a fragrance and melody and joy all 
 in one, Helwyse herself appeared. There 
 was a step on the garden path, a sweet 
 voice calling their names, a gracious, girl- 
 ish figure in white smiling upon all, and 
 in another moment Helwyse was in their 
 midst, clinging to Bryan's arm. 
 
 " This is your aunt Helwyse,*' said 
 Bryan, presenting her to the new-comers 
 proudly, and the elder boys blushed 
 proudly, too, as she put her arms round the 
 neck of each and kissed them with tender 
 love and pity. Bryan had whispered the 
 orphans' story in her ear at the door, and 
 Helwyse loved them already for their dead 
 father's sake. Then she held out her hand 
 to the curate, who now stood stammering 
 and abashed, his eyes brimful of happiness 
 at the sight of her face once more. It was 
 a face that told its own tale. You could read 
 at a glance that to Helwyse had fallen no
 
 BRIDGET. 31 
 
 common lot, and that, her nature had 
 matched the inner and the outer, the soul 
 and the form, with unerring nicety. There 
 was something queenly in this fair young 
 girl, the queenliness of character, as well 
 as beauty, of intellectual gifts as well as of 
 natural graces. When she took off her 
 broad-brimmed straw hat, it was wonder- 
 ful how her presence embellished the tea- 
 table. That white cambric dress, that 
 blue flower on her bosom, were nothing in 
 themselves, yet how they beautified her ! 
 And then Helwyse talked an unfamiliar 
 language very sweet to listen to, and 
 brought a new, fresh atmosphere into the 
 place. All Italy seemed before them as she 
 described her art-life in Rome and Venice, 
 and spoke enthusiastically of places and 
 pictures she had seen. They listened ad- 
 miringly, and none envied the happy for- 
 tunes of the young artist, rich in friends
 
 32 BRIDGET. 
 
 and fame at twenty-three — except, perhaps, 
 poor Emilia now and then, who thought 
 how much better it was to be free like 
 Helwyse than burdened with Tvifely, mo- 
 therly cares like herself. 
 
 "When tea was over, they all set out for 
 a walk, the children in advance, their elders 
 following after. Bryan always gave the 
 curate an opportunity of a little tete-a-tete 
 with Helwyse upon these occasions. He 
 knew that Mr. Starffe was as far removed 
 from Helwyse as north from south ; but 
 are there not some perennial romances, deli- 
 cate yet tenacious plants no winter can 
 destroy? Thus it was with the curate's 
 passion for the beautiful young artist. He 
 never dreamed, or perhaps not more than 
 once a year, of a future linked with hers, he 
 was resigned to his humble position, his 
 narrow means, his lodging over a boot- 
 maker's shop ; but he blushed like a girl
 
 BRIDGET. 33 
 
 when she spoke kindly to him, and was 
 eternally grateful to Bryan for his occa- 
 sional inuendoes on the subject of his 
 admiration. 
 
 To-day, when they had left the road and 
 were crossing the meadows that lead to old 
 Hornsey Church, he found himself alone 
 by Helwyse's side. A glow of perfect sum- 
 mer-tide lay over hill and valley and mead, 
 and the curate's heart throbbed with shy 
 happiness, wishing the walk could last for 
 ever. 
 
 " You will be busier than usual now. Miss 
 Helwyse ?" he said at last. " And I sup- 
 pose you have brought home a great many 
 finished pictures?" 
 
 Mr. StarfEe had tried for her sake to get 
 up a little art-knowledge ; he went to the 
 Academy and carefully looked at all the 
 pictures praised in the Saturday Review ; he 
 visited the National Gallery whenever he 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 BRIDGET. 
 
 found himself in those parts; he studied 
 handbooks of painting during his holidays. 
 But, alas ! that branch of his education was 
 sadly imperfect still, and in a studio he 
 was as much out of place as in a ball-room. 
 Neither to the muses nor the graces had 
 Mr. Starffe learned how to pay court. 
 
 '* Yes," answered Helwyse, rousing her- 
 self from a day-dream, " you must come to 
 tea one day next week, when everything 
 will be unpacked and arranged." 
 
 " Oh ! you are too kind. I will come on 
 Tuesday," answered the curate, with rap- 
 ture. " My holidays begin then." 
 
 " But I hope you are not going to spend 
 them in London ? I am sure you want a 
 little change once a year more than any of 
 us," Helwyse continued, with kindly con- 
 cern . 
 
 '* I always go to Eamsgate for a week," 
 the curate replied, resignedly, nay, tri-
 
 BRIDGET. 35 
 
 umphantly. '* The sea-air is so exhilarat- 
 ing, and it is such a pleasant, lively place." 
 
 Helwyse smiled. To her Eamsgate in 
 August seemed the reverse of pleasant, no 
 matter how lively ; but she would not dis- 
 enchant him. 
 
 " And I shall not be alone," the curate 
 added, still mildly enthusiastic. "Mr. 
 Bickersteth, I mean the curate of St. John's, 
 is going with me. We were at Cambridge 
 together." 
 
 ** I am very glad," Helwyse said, in a 
 sisterly manner. 
 
 '* Thank you, dear Miss Helwyse, you 
 are very good," he stammered ; and no 
 words can convey an adequate idea of Mr. 
 Starffe's delight at saying this, and watch, 
 ing Helwyse as he said it. She smiled, 
 that grave, maternal kind of smile he knew 
 so well, and her eyes met his with an ex- 
 pression of candid, cordial sympathy. What 
 
 d2
 
 36 BRIDGET. 
 
 excellent friends they were ! how kindly 
 she entered into his feelings, he thought f 
 Then they came to the foot of the green 
 slope they had descended together, and 
 were joined by the others. The sun had 
 sunk in splendour over Highgate Hill, and 
 the golden radiance spread over the west 
 was gradually fading into pale amber, stud- 
 ded with silvery stars. There were thrushes 
 singing in the hedges, and wild honeysuckle 
 scenting the air as they went, at every step 
 advancing farther into the dusky world of 
 the summer night. Around the ivy-grown 
 towers of old Hornsey Church rose the tall 
 elms, solemn and sombre sentinels of the 
 quiet graveyard, whilst every feature of the 
 scene, near and far off, was clearly outlined 
 against the pearly sky. Helwyse put her 
 hand within Bryan's arm as the two linger- 
 ed behind, and said, 
 
 " What a beautiful place is this ! Yet
 
 BRIDGET. 37 
 
 how little you have loved it, dear Bryan !" 
 
 "And now I shall love it less than 
 «ver," Bryan answered. '* Of course, it 
 would be madness to give up my clerkship 
 and try my fortune as an author. In har- 
 ness I am, and in harness I must remain, 
 for these poor children's sake." 
 
 Helwyse gave a little start. 
 
 " Oh, Bryan, is that so ? Have they no 
 one, absolutely no one in the world, to look 
 to but you ?" 
 
 " Not a creature. Poor Patrick married 
 a portionless girl, and, as you do not 
 know, took to drinking in the later days. 
 His wife's relatives did what they could, 
 but have lately got into trouble themselves ; 
 and so, not knowing to whom else to turn, 
 sent the poor things to me. Bridget might 
 have been provided for by a great-aunt, 
 but I believe it was only a home in a con- 
 vent ; and she very properly refused to be
 
 38 BRIDGET. 
 
 separated from little Hilary. As yet, how- 
 ever, I have learned no particulars — ex- 
 cept that they are here, and here they 
 must stay." 
 
 " It is very hard upon you." 
 
 " Do not say that to Emmie. She 
 naturally feels that it is hard upon our own 
 children, and wants me to get them into 
 charitable institutions, orphanages, and so 
 on. I will never do that whilst I have 
 health and strength. Poor Pat was a good 
 fellow once. He had the kindest heart. 
 He would have taken the last shirt off his 
 back for me. I will never turn his children 
 out of doors, Helwyse — never." 
 
 "Perhaps I can help," Helwyse said> 
 with tears in her eyes and in her voice. 
 *' I have five hundred pounds laid by, as 
 you know, and I ought to do my part." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear child ! You are 
 alone in the world. You have only your
 
 BRIDGET. 39 
 
 own talent to rely upon. The notion is 
 preposterous." 
 
 " But I liave not already three little 
 ones to feed," Helwyse said ; ^* and I am 
 already earning a good deal of money. 
 Indeed, dear Bryan, I must do my part ; 
 and in a few years' time the elder children 
 will be able to earn their own living." 
 
 **In a few years' time I shall be too 
 old to begin life over again. No, Helwyse, 
 I feel that I shall be a city clerk all the 
 days of my life now. I have always believed 
 that I was intended for something better. 
 Most likely it is a delusion." 
 
 Helwyse was very silent, very sad. No 
 sister ever loved her brother more fondly 
 than she, and no sister had ever been more 
 ambitious for his sake. She believed in 
 him ardently and entirely. It was very 
 hard. 
 
 *'How much is your salary ?" she asked.
 
 40 BRIDGET. 
 
 " Three hundred pounds a year. It has 
 just been enough to keep the wolf from 
 the door hitherto ; but of course it would 
 be the height of folly to throw up such a 
 certainty. I was promised some work for 
 a newspaper — I think I told you — but I 
 was not promised three hundred pounds a 
 year." 
 
 " That is very little,'' she answered, 
 mournfully, *'and four and three make 
 seven, my poor Bryan — four and three 
 make seven." 
 
 " Yes, that is an easy sum to reckon 
 up," Bryan said ; " but we must make the 
 best of it. Try and cheer poor Emmie, 
 anyhow." 
 
 Then their little talk came to an end, 
 for at Crouch End station Helwyse took 
 the train to Kensington, dwelling all the 
 way home on that terrible sum, "Four and 
 three make seven.'* What would poor
 
 BRIDGET. 41 
 
 Bryan do ? How could she best help him ? 
 for help him she must and would. 
 
 That slender girl, with her dark, lovely, 
 unfathomable, indescribable Irish eyes and 
 fair hair, had character, you may be sure, 
 and would stand by those she loved till 
 the last.
 
 42 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS CUPIDS. 
 
 TTELWYSE was too happy next morn- 
 -'— ■- ing to think of Bryan's trouble, as 
 she took down the key of her studio, full 
 of the delicious experiences of the last few 
 months, and of projects and aspirations 
 for the future. As yet she had not 
 crossed the threshold of her working room 
 since her return from Italy, and the lover s 
 delight at beholding his mistress after a 
 long absence, the joy of a mother at clasp- 
 ing her long-lost child, the transport of a 
 pious worshipper at finding himself once 
 more before the shrine of his patron saint,
 
 BRIDGET. 43- 
 
 are hardly deeper, tenderer, and purer feel- 
 ings than those of an artist who revisits 
 his studio on returning from a long jour- 
 ney. All that has been hitherto achieved, 
 all that is dreamed of — the praise, the re- 
 ward, the blessed toil, the bright fulfil- 
 ment — are present in his mind tlien as he 
 breathes a sigh of mingled prayer and 
 thanksgiving before re-entering the be^ 
 loved sanctuary. Thus it was with Hel- 
 wyse, standing outside her studio door, 
 impatient, yet lingering. 
 
 It was early morning, and the chiming 
 of a thousand church bells reminded 
 her that it was Sunday. The open win- 
 dow of the landing-place let in with 
 that familiar' music, sounds of chirping 
 birds, and sweet smells of mignonette and 
 lilies. She stood for a moment looking 
 out upon the tiny garden, and across the 
 rows of tall white houses, flashing in the
 
 44 BRIDGET. 
 
 sunliglit, towards the ricli foliage of Hol- 
 land Park ; then, with a little sigh of rap- 
 ture, turned the key. 
 
 A vestibule led into the studio, and 
 Helwyse, at the first glance, stood like 
 one in a dream. She had left it un- 
 adorned, except by a few water-colour 
 drawings, a stand of cottage flowers, 
 and two or three statuettes and busts. 
 All was changed and after exquisite 
 and costly fashion. On the flower-stand 
 were Japanese lilies and roses, red and 
 "white ; on the shelves, gorgeous Indian 
 fans, jars, and peacocks' feathers ; on the 
 floor a Persian rug ; whilst the walls were 
 ■covered with the daintiest patterns ever 
 conceived for a maidens bower. There 
 were flowers, and birds, and little Loves 
 sporting hither and thither, outline and 
 colour both as fresh, joyous, and captivat- 
 ing as love and fancy could make them, for
 
 BRIDGET. 45' 
 
 there could be no doubt that love had been 
 the inspirer here. 
 
 Helwyse advanced to the studio, blushing 
 and smiling, and here the translation was 
 even more conspicuous. She had felt her- 
 self rich before, her wealth consisting of a 
 few sketches, old carvings, Roman jars,, 
 and one or two bits of Oriental tapestry. 
 Now her painting-room was worthy of a 
 Kaufmann or a Bonheur. The wainscot 
 had been stained brown and painted with 
 golden flowers. A mother-of-pearl casket 
 stood on the table, full of such toys as 
 women love — gleaming shells, bright amber 
 beads, and perfumed Eastern necklaces. 
 That hitherto intractable thing, the mantel- 
 piece, was now not merely ornamental, but 
 fairy-like ; the panels of the little cottage 
 piano were covered with violets and prim- 
 roses, painted on a moss-green ground ; 
 whilst, to heighten the effect of all, a
 
 46 BRIDGET. 
 
 Morocco carpet, many-hued and harmoni- 
 ous as a field of wild flowers in Algeria, 
 covered the ground. 
 
 She uttered a little cry of delight, then, 
 sitting down, contemplated the whole with 
 increasing wonder. Who could have done 
 it ? Her first impulse was to go straight 
 to her landlady and put the question, but 
 on second thoughts she refrained. If the 
 mysterious donor, benefactor, beautifier — 
 she knew not what name to use — had 
 wished her to learn his name, it could not 
 be from good, loquacious Mrs. Brag. 
 
 Helwyse made sure, as any other girl 
 would have done, that love, and not friend- 
 ship, had done the deed. She was angry 
 with herself for being so sure about it, but 
 she knew that it was so, and that the mys- 
 tery meant something, as yet to her mys- 
 terious still. But she felt no uneasiness. 
 At twenty-three neither love nor friend-
 
 BRIDGET. 47 
 
 ship causes us the perplexity and the pain 
 of later years, and we accept surprises with- 
 out dismay. Helwyse saw in this sign of 
 deep, unspoken care for her happiness, 
 something to rejoice in and smile over 
 only. Moving about her new treasures 
 that bright summer morning, she might 
 have figured for an impersonation of Joy 
 itself. She plucked a red rose, and placed 
 it on her bosom, she clasped an amber 
 necklace about her throat, she disposed the 
 Indian tapestry on her favourite chair, 
 singing to herself all the time. 
 
 Whilst thus playfully engaged, a gentle 
 tap was heard at the door. 
 
 " It is only Mr. Freeland, Miss Helwyse. 
 I knew you would see him'' said the land- 
 lady, ushering in a man whom at the first 
 glance you would mistake for an artist, 
 at the second you would recognise as a 
 workman, in spite of Sunday dress.
 
 48 BRIDGET. 
 
 " Of course," said Helwyse, holding out 
 her hand. '* I particularly wanted to see 
 Mr. Freeland. I hope you are quite well," 
 she said, giving him a chair. 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. Miss Helwyse ; 
 and I need not ask you, I am sure," he 
 answered, smiling down upon her. *' And 
 pleased to be home again, I hope ?" 
 
 "More than pleased, overjoyed," she 
 answered, "and I have so much to do. We 
 must begin work at once." 
 
 Mr. Freeland has been described as a 
 working man, but his position requires ex- 
 planation. Helwyse had known him from 
 her earliest student days, for they had gone 
 to South Kensington from the same village 
 home, and though of humble parentage, 
 but for unforeseen circumstances, he was 
 to have been an artist like herself. At 
 seventeen, the ambitious boy had found him- 
 self the sole pillar of his widowed mother s
 
 BRIDGET. 49 
 
 house, dreams and aspirations were rudely 
 crushed at a blow, and to maintain the 
 widow and her younger children, he at once 
 set to work to gain a livelihood for them 
 all as a decorator — artistic decorator, his 
 patrons euphoniously called him — but he 
 was a working man, nevertheless, and so 
 styled himself. Circumstances had much 
 improved since that start in life ten years 
 ago, for he was now twenty-seven. His 
 little sisters had grown up into women and 
 were all married, his mother had inherited 
 a small annuity from a relation, his work 
 was remunerative and of a kind that he 
 relished. People of taste and fortune sent 
 for Mr. Freeland from all parts of the 
 country to decorate their country-houses, 
 but Freeland never for a moment forgot the 
 fact, he was the workman who carried out 
 the artist's designs, nothing more. It was 
 too late for him to change his career now. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 BRIDGET.' 
 
 Whatever the promise of his early life had 
 been, it could never be fulfilled. Let it not 
 be supposed, however, that he was morbid 
 on these points. The time of poignant 
 regret had come and gone, and he had 
 long ago accepted his position as one of 
 the inevitable decrees of Fortune, against 
 which murmurs and hostility are both child- 
 ish and cowardly. In looks, speech, and 
 bearing he might have been taken for a 
 high-bred gentleman but for the profes- 
 sional apron he wore at his work, the 
 occasional fits of shyness that would come 
 on him, and the downrightness and often 
 naivete of his utterance. Respectful and 
 dignified he ever was, but he had never 
 been schooled in the polite art of saying 
 only half what he meant. As far as looks 
 went, if he ever thought of the matter at 
 all, he surely could not reproach Nature. 
 Many an artist had sighed to portray that
 
 BRIDGET. 51 
 
 fine head, with its close-cut crop of rich 
 brown curls and beard, and those noble 
 features, sunburnt and denoting strength, 
 as a man's should. But when one of the 
 patrons had carelessly said to him, — 
 
 "Come, Freeland, be friendly for once 
 and let me have your portrait for my 
 Yercingetorix, as a personal favour, you 
 know," — and so on, and so on, with delicate 
 flattery and insinuation, Freeland had 
 only given a proud and angry denial. 
 
 " But before we talk of anything else," 
 Helwyse said, still moving about among 
 her flowers, "tell me what you think of my 
 studio. Is it not lovely ? And the vestibule, 
 could it be daintier ?" 
 
 " It is well enough," he answered, slightly 
 
 colouring, but without moving or as much 
 
 as glancing round the room. His eyes 
 
 were following her all the time. 
 
 "It is perfect, and the studio too," she 
 
 E 2
 
 52 BRIDGET. 
 
 said. ** And what flowers ! I am quite 
 bewitched !" 
 
 " The studio was cold and bare before," 
 he remarked. 
 
 " True, though I liked it. But now I 
 feel that I shall never want to touch it or 
 improve it as long as I live. "Who could 
 have prepared such a surprise for me ?" 
 
 The last question was intended more for 
 herself than for him, but he asked, still 
 watching her face, 
 
 " Have you no idea, Miss Helwyse?" 
 
 "As yet I have had no time to think 
 about it. Perhaps I shall guess when I 
 try," she said, without looking up. "For 
 a time the mystery is pleasant." 
 
 She thought, and he read her meaning, 
 that most likely he was on the scent, and she 
 wished him to know that a secret it was to 
 remain as long as the mystifier pleased. 
 When she at last tore herself from her
 
 BRIDGET. 53 
 
 flower-stand, and looked him straight in the 
 face, she made this womanly reflection— 
 *' Poor Mr. Freeland, I am sure he has had 
 a hand in beautifying my rooms, but he is 
 not allowed to say who set him to work, 
 and thus his efforts to please me count as 
 nothing." 
 
 " I am grateful, though I don t know to 
 whom," she added, significantly. " Every- 
 thing is lovely. And now when will you 
 come and settle about our work at Beech- 
 holme Park? And when will you come 
 and help me to unpack and arrange my 
 pictures ?" 
 
 *' Whenever you please." 
 
 " Then let it be to-morrow morning, 
 early." 
 
 " Certainly," he said, in the same cold, 
 business-like manner, and taking up his 
 hat to go, adding, " I felt sure you would 
 excuse me for coming' to-day, but I knew
 
 54 BRIDGET. 
 
 you were anxious about the work at Beech- 
 holme Park, and I wanted to know if you 
 had returned safe and well." 
 
 " Thank you, it was very kind ; and, stop 
 one minute more, if you please. Nay, sit 
 down." Helwyse always regarded him as 
 a social equal, by virtue of that art-student 
 companionship at South Kensington, and 
 common country home. " Could you take 
 a pupil ?" 
 
 Then she explained to him, as briefly as 
 she could, the sudden change of circum- 
 stances, in her brother s family, and her 
 anxiety to do something for the orphans. 
 If one of the elder boys had any taste for 
 drawing, and Mr. Freeland would receive 
 him as a pupil, it would be a great comfort 
 to her, and he would thus soon be enabled 
 to maintain himself. The two were eagerly 
 discussing the matter, and all the life and 
 animation had returned to Freeland's face
 
 BRIDGET, 55 
 
 and voice, when steps were heard on the 
 landing-place, and Mrs. Bray again tapped 
 at the door, saying, 
 
 "Mr. Kingsbury, if you please, miss, . 
 and he says he is sure he may come in, just 
 to say how-d'ye-do." 
 
 Helwyse rose, blushing with pleasure, 
 and held out her hand to a tall, courtly- 
 looking man, almost double her years, 
 but handsome still, who nodded affably 
 to Freeland, and asked after her health 
 with much friendly concern. Then the 
 two began talking eagerly of Italy, both 
 utterly forgetful of the first visitor, who 
 stood by looking on with a blank face. 
 
 ** But what is the meaning of all this ?" 
 said the artist, who had won honours and 
 wealth long ago, and might therefore be 
 pardoned if he mingled a flavour of patron- 
 age with chivalrous bearing to this gifted 
 young girl. " What is the meaning of all
 
 56 BRIDGET. 
 
 this, Miss Fleming ? You left your studio 
 simple and unadorned, the very emblem of 
 a frugal and single-minded art-noviciate; 
 you find it filled with spoils of all countries 
 and civilizations, a very palace, fit — for the 
 Queen who reigns in it !" he added, smiling 
 and bowing. 
 
 Helwyse laughed merrily, then looked 
 from him to Freeland, half-inquiring, half- 
 expectant. But Kingsbury never so much 
 as glanced at her other visitor, and without 
 the slightest change of countenance, pro- 
 ceeded to examine and criticize the rooms. 
 At that stage of affairs, Freeland, stammer- 
 ing an excuse, and bowing to both, left; 
 the room. 
 
 "It is very perplexing," Helwyse added ; 
 " I am utterly in the dark. I have not 
 the faintest idea as to the authorship of it 
 all." 
 
 " I wish, indeed, I could plead guilty — at
 
 BRIDGET. 57 
 
 least that I had been presumptuous enough 
 to venture upon those Cupids," he said^ 
 waiting for the pretty blush that he 
 thought must come. Helwyse, however,, 
 frowned instead, not choosing to please her 
 oracle that way. 
 
 "I shall hardly find room for my 
 Italian treasures," she said, hastening to 
 change the subject. *' I have ruined my- 
 self in bronzes and engravings." 
 
 " You will soon be rich again. After a 
 year in Italy, we shall expect much from 
 you, remember, and you must not disap-. 
 point us. Try only dainty little songs and 
 ballads at present, and leave epics for the 
 future. That little rustic dance you ex- 
 hibited last year was a work of which any 
 artist might be proud, but the Boadicea 
 was a failure." 
 
 ''Yes," said the girl sadly. *' I could 
 not embody my ideas, though I knew so
 
 58 BRIDGET. 
 
 well that I was striving after something 
 good and real." 
 
 " Wait a little. Inspiration comes first, 
 the power to grapple with it long after. 
 We artists are all like Jacob wrestling in 
 the dark, and it is not till the breaking of 
 the day that the angel blesses us. And 
 now tell me what are your plans for the 
 autumn ?" 
 
 " I am going next week to Beechholme 
 Park to set Mr. Freeland to work with the 
 decorations, and I have promised to paint 
 some frescoes for Mrs. Oornwell's boudoir." 
 
 " Then I shall meet you there, for I am 
 going too. Still I wish you had not pro- 
 mised the frescoes. The people are plea- 
 sant people, but your work will be thrown 
 away." 
 
 '* I cannot quite agree with you. If my 
 work is good, it is surely not thrown away 
 anywhere ?"
 
 BRIDGET. 59 
 
 '' Well, tlie place is cliarming, and I am 
 very glad we are to meet. That is all I 
 can say. London is intolerable, and I have 
 dined out within an inch of my life during 
 the last few months. Beechholme Park 
 will be ruralizing by comparison." 
 
 " And your picture ?" Helwyse asked, as 
 he rose to go. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders despairingly. 
 
 **Do not ask. I am quite out of heart 
 about it. If Preeland would but conde- 
 scend to give me half a dozen sittings, the 
 thing might be a masterpiece. But he is 
 intractable, and it will now most likely be 
 thrown into the fire.'* 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Then persuade him to give way. He 
 could not refuse you, I am sure." 
 
 But Helwyse would not promise, and soon 
 after he took his leave. She sat down before 
 her easel with a little cloud upon her face.
 
 60 BRIDGET. 
 
 If not he, who then had done the deed ? 
 But did it much matter ? 
 
 She thought not as she took off her 
 necklace, removed the flowers from her 
 bosom, and re-arranged them in a vase, 
 somewhat coldly. The treasure on which 
 her eyes had feasted an hour ago seemed 
 to have become a burden all at once. The 
 little Loves sporting on the wall seemed a 
 mockery. Disenchantment had fallen over 
 her Paradise, and as she gazed around she 
 felt inclined to weep. 
 
 But the mood soon passed away, and 
 when Bryan arrived in the afternoon, he 
 found tea spread in the garden, and Hel- 
 wyse radiant. The two sat out under the 
 lime-trees, talking, as only brothers and 
 sisters can, of old days and new, of joys 
 and griefs long passed, familiar loves and 
 friendships, and childish experience, shared 
 in common. Then they chatted about the 
 children.
 
 J)EIDGET. 61 
 
 ^* We must find out their tastes, and the 
 one who can draw shall come to me," 
 Helwyse said, decidedly. "When I am 
 away from home, Mrs. Bray is quite to be 
 trusted to look after a child ; and a boy 
 could not have a better companion than 
 Mr. Freeland, if we apprentice Patrice or 
 Ambroise to him." 
 
 " Poor Patrice is a heavy lad, and would 
 be like a bull in a china shop here," 
 Bryan answered. " Ambroise is the 
 smartest of the two. Something might be 
 made of him, I think. But what could you 
 do with a boy ?" 
 
 " I could do very well. All day long he 
 would be occupied — -in the evenings he 
 could walk out with me." 
 
 " If Brigitte consented to leave the little 
 one, why not have her ? A girl is 
 handier in a house than a boy, and could 
 help you."
 
 62 BRIDGET. 
 
 "We will see; but for the next few 
 weeks I shall have to be in the country. 
 I am going to Beechholme Park." 
 
 " And I suppose Mr. Kingsbury is going 
 too ?" 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 Bryan laughed a triumphant little laugh. 
 
 '* He will marry you, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, Bryan, you do not know what you 
 are saying !" 
 
 ** I should not say it to anyone else, Hel- 
 wyse. But a man of the world finds it 
 easy to conceal his thoughts ; and I am 
 convinced in my own mind that he it was, 
 and no other, who has adorned your 
 rooms. Well, you are sure to find out 
 sooner or later." 
 
 "I am in no hurry to find out," Hel- 
 wyse answered ; and then they returned to 
 the orphans. 
 
 "We must take our little girls from
 
 BRIDGET. 63 
 
 school, and give up keeping a nursemaid. 
 "We must turn vegefcarians and teetotallers, 
 renounce our seat in churcli and penny 
 papers, walk instead of taking omnibuses, 
 and wear sacking instead of broadcloth. 
 What else can we do ?" Bryan said, des- 
 perately. "I left poor Emmie in tears. 
 The Sunday leg of mutton, that generally 
 lasts till Tuesday, vanished to-day in a 
 twinkling, and she sees nothing but star- 
 vation before us." 
 
 " Tell her that I am determined to adopt 
 one out of the four," Helwyse said. " That 
 will be a little help. Does Emmie take 
 kindly to the poor things ?" 
 
 " Not as yet — except, perhaps, to little 
 Hilaire — but he is such a gentle, clinging 
 little thing, someone must love him. Patrice 
 seems a good boy enough, but not brilliant. 
 Ambroise is a pretty, clever, and rather vain 
 little fellow, whilst poor Brigitte seems
 
 ^4 BRIDGET. 
 
 lost in thought, and not at ease. Perhaps 
 she realizes their true position ; but we 
 must try to make her feel at home." 
 
 ** Whoever imagined that Patrick cared 
 so little for his children!" Helwyse said. 
 .'* He used to have the tenderest heart." 
 
 " But drink and bad company will ruin 
 n dozen tender hearts. I am sure, from 
 Brigitte's face, that she has gone through 
 terrible scenes with her father." 
 
 *' Well," Helwyse said, trying to take a 
 cheerful view of things, " we may comfort 
 ourselves with the thought that, if we did 
 not want the children, the children wanted 
 us. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and, after all, it might 
 liave been worse. Supposing there were 
 eight instead of four ?" Bryan said, smil- 
 ing grimly ; and then they put their heads 
 together to reckon up how his narrow in-
 
 BRIDGET. 65 
 
 €ome could be made to go almost as far 
 again — a difficult task, and not conducive 
 to good spirits. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 settlinct down. 
 
 riSr spite of her sympathy, the sister's 
 -*- serene life lay remote from the bro- 
 ther's daily cares, as a green little har- 
 bour smiling upon a troubled sea. Even 
 Bryan's prison, as he called his oflSce, shut 
 him out from the numberless little anxie- 
 ties besetting poor Emilia, who naturally 
 .felt that the heaviest part of this new bur- 
 den fell upon her own shoulders. They were 
 not her brother's children ; no love of early 
 days bound her to the orphans for their 
 father's sake, yet here they were, and she 
 alone must tend them, feed them, clothe
 
 BRIDGET. 67 
 
 them. "When Bryan said, " Oh, things 
 will go smoothly in time — it is only the 
 settling down that is difi&cult/' she looked 
 ready to cry, and refused to believe that 
 they ever would settle down. The process 
 was certainly a painful one. Had the 
 children looked unhappy, and then made 
 much apology for their intrusion, she could 
 better have borne it ; but their gaiety of 
 heart, childish inconsequence, and uncon- 
 cealed delight at their new position, irri- 
 tated her sometimes beyond control. Only 
 Brigitte seemed to realise the real state 
 of things, and Emilia's heart did not warm 
 to Brigitte — " an overgrown girl, who was 
 too big to be sent to bed before supper, 
 and whose collars were always crooked," 
 as she described her. " We never have a 
 moment to ourselves now, Bryan," she 
 would say ; and Bryan, dreading the usual 
 catalogue of daily miseries, sure to come 
 
 f2
 
 68 BRIDGET. 
 
 whenever they found themselves alone, 
 could not look sorry. 
 
 Summer-time was the great consoler. 
 The goldenest, balmiest time of the year, 
 August, had come, when all the hills were 
 mellow with ripened corn, and the stock- 
 dove brooded in silent woods far away. 
 Even at Hornsey Rise, summer was glori- 
 ous. Perhaps the mists of the great city 
 dimmed the brightness of sunny slopes, and 
 took off from the freshness of the morning 
 breeze ; but there were, nevertheless, wild 
 roses and honeysuckle in the wayside hedges, 
 foxgloves on the ferny banks of Highgate 
 Wood, and even a harvest-field or two at 
 Wood Green. The children, under Brigitte's 
 care, spent the greater part of the day out- 
 of-doors, making daisy-chains under the 
 shade of wide- spreading oak, fishing with 
 bent pins in some woodland pool, or gather- 
 ing wild flowers here and there, Brigitte
 
 BRIDGET. . 69 
 
 marshalling, Brigitte commanding, Brigitte 
 scolding the little troop. It was wonder- 
 ful to see how entirely Brigitte had ob- 
 tained mastery over the boys, who, 
 wild, noisy, and mischievous though they 
 were, like others, never contested her 
 sisterly authority. 
 
 The cousins presented a striking con- 
 trast, Emilia's children being small, neat, 
 and pretty as miniature shepherdesses on 
 Dresden china. Brigitte and her elder 
 brothers, on the contrary, were as yet 
 slovenly in dress and shape, very tall and 
 large, moreover, for their age, and wore 
 outlandish-looking pinafores, frocks, and 
 pantaloons. " Do get those poor children 
 clothes like other people's," Bryan had 
 said more than once ; but Emilia put it off 
 from day to day. She owned that they sad- 
 ly wanted new clothes, but were not Norah 
 and Kathleen in want of Sunday pelisses ?
 
 70 BRIDGET. 
 
 and 'who were to be sacrificed, her own 
 children or the strangers ? 
 
 Little they thought of clothes and 
 fashions, as they sported in the woods and 
 fields throughout the glowing afternoons ! 
 Poor children ! Never in their lives had 
 they been so well housed, so well fed, so 
 free from care. At present, too, the boys 
 were in the heyday of this new romantic 
 friendship with the trio of blonde little 
 beauties — Kathleen, Margie, and Norah ; 
 for do not children play out in miniature 
 those sentimental dramas, whether of 
 friendship or love, that cost us so much 
 in after-life ? 
 
 Kathleen, then, aged eleven, a good, 
 proper- minded, priggish little person, who 
 < never walked into the mud, tore her frocks, 
 or surprised people in any way — often the 
 hisrhest moral standard some minds can 
 attain to — was the sworn friend and con-
 
 BRIDGET. 71 
 
 fidante of Patrice — thoughtless, warm- 
 hearted, blundering Patrice, who was twice 
 as big as herself and had not so much as a 
 grain of vanity in his composition. 
 
 Margie, three years younger, and one 
 degree less proper-minded than Kathleen, 
 was already a heartless little coquette, 
 entirely devoted to Ambroise to-day, but 
 sure to throw him over for a new favourite 
 to-morrow — a little girl who danced well, 
 was fond of a looking-glass, and always 
 ran away from a scrape. 
 
 Norah, the youngest, all flaxen hair and 
 kisses, was as yet a mere baby, who fancied 
 that Norah's kitten, Norah's doll, and 
 Norah's little toys were perfection, and, 
 if found fault with, was ready to throw 
 them into the fire in her passion. Hilaire 
 kissed Norah a hundred times a day, and 
 loved her all the better, because she was 
 the first little friend of his life.
 
 72 BRIDGET. 
 
 *' How nice it is to be here ! How nice 
 it is to be here !" he said, as the little 
 party sat one day making daisy chains on 
 a green slope at the back of One Tree HilL 
 *'I am so happy, Brigitte." 
 
 He was a fair-faced, gentle boy, whose 
 mind seemed incapable of taking in any- 
 thing but love and joy. Are there not 
 some children thus constituted ? Fortune 
 may not have been particularly kind to them, 
 nor Nature either. They have perhaps to 
 endure privations and sufferings of which 
 most children know nothing. Yet their 
 little lives are one long ecstasy of gratitude 
 and affection. Alas ! for them when these 
 joyous instincts are crushed altogether. 
 There is no more heart-wringing sight in 
 the world than the so-called misery of a 
 workhouse, when, from amidst a crowd of 
 dull, hard-faced little beings, some radiant 
 young thing will rush up to you, clutching
 
 BRIDGET. 73.' 
 
 your garments with, its little hands, thank- 
 ing you, as best it can, for your kindly 
 smile, longing, craving, compelling a caress. 
 
 Of such a nature was Hilaire. His exist- 
 ence was made up, not of toys and pleasures, 
 but of Love ; and it was Brigitte he loved, 
 best of all. 
 
 Her young face, so maternal already in 
 its expression of tenderness and devotion, 
 brightened as he said this ; then she onlj 
 kissed him by way of response, and went 
 on with her daisy chain in silence. 
 
 " Why are you so mute, Brigitte ?" asked^ 
 Ambroise, a bright-looking curly-headed 
 boy, always popular and always able to get 
 out of scrapes. '' You look as you used to^ 
 do when papa was " 
 
 He stopped short, crimsoning under 
 Brigitte's frown. Patrice also blushed 
 painfully. Ambroise, quickly recovering, 
 himself, finished his sentence —
 
 74 BRIDGET. 
 
 " When papa was ill ; of course you 
 know what I meant to say." 
 
 "I know why Brigitte is mute," little 
 Norah said, laughing. She would most 
 likely grow up into one of those pretty, 
 gentle-faced women we sometimes see, who 
 relate or behold the most appalling occur- 
 rences with a smile. 
 
 ''Why is poor Brigitte mute?" Hilaire 
 asked, caressing her. 
 
 '' Because she is going to be sent away, 
 and I know Brigitte is to go away; mamma 
 told Mr. Starffe so." 
 
 "You are very naughty to tell tales," 
 Kathleen said, drawing herself up. "Where 
 do you expect to go to when you die, 
 Norah ?" 
 
 " I don't mind," Norah said, for she was 
 the naughty girl of the family. " I shall 
 take dolly with me ; and the ' Peep of Day ' 
 is all wrong about hell-fire, I'm certain.
 
 BRIDGET. 75 
 
 Whj, any goose must know that if I threw 
 dolly into the fire, she must be burnt to 
 cinders in no time." 
 
 "Naughty, naughty child," Kathleen 
 said. ^' But don't you mind what she says, 
 Brigitte dear." 
 
 *' I am not going to be sent away," 
 Brigitte said, her dark eyes flashing. " I 
 shall stay with Hilaire till he grows up." 
 
 " Well, dear," Kathleen continued, patron- 
 izingly, " of course if mamma says so, go 
 you must." 
 
 " I shall stay with Hilaire till he grows 
 up ! I will never leave him — never !" 
 Brigitte repeated. 
 
 " If mamma bids you go ! Oh ! Brigitte," 
 Kathleen said, horrified. 
 
 " Oh ! Brigitte," echoed Margie. 
 
 " Oh ! Brigitte," re-echoed Norah. 
 
 Brigitte's words of defiance were like a 
 firebrand thrown into the peaceful little
 
 76 BRIDGET. 
 
 encampment. The girl was in earnest, and 
 they saw it, Patrice and Ambroise with 
 secret pride, the little girls with a sense of 
 personal affront. 
 
 " Is not Brigitte naughty ?" cried the 
 three, turning towards the hitherto sub- 
 missive young cavaliers. 
 
 Hilaire looked at Ambroise. Ambroise 
 looked at Patrice. 
 
 " No, she is not," Patrice cried stoutly. 
 " Brigitte is good ; and if you were boys 
 instead of girls, I'd fight you." 
 
 "And so would I," Ambroise cried,, 
 clapping his hands. 
 
 Hilaire clung to Brigitte without a word. 
 Kathleen burst into angry tears. Margie 
 and Norah followed. Never was a scene 
 of harmony and mirthfulness so quietly 
 changed to tumult and contention. 
 
 "' I am sure I wish you had all staid in 
 Prance," Kathleen said, between her sobs.
 
 BRIDGET. 77 
 
 **It was much nicer before you came. 
 Patrice has broken my doll's bouse, Am- 
 broise has spoilt my garden, and Hilaire 
 has got my bed." 
 
 " And my stockings," Margie said, sob- 
 bing also. 
 
 " And my nightgowns," Norah cried, as 
 if at that moment her heart were breaking. 
 
 *' And we are not to have new dresses 
 because mamma has so many things to buy 
 for you. We were to have had pink ones 
 and sashes, and pelerines to match," began * 
 Kathleen, with a fresh burst of crying. 
 " It is very unfair, Brigitte, and you ought 
 not to have come without an invitation." 
 
 It was now the boys' turn to flush crim- 
 son and shed tears. 
 
 "Uncle Bryan is papa's brother, and 
 poor papa had no money. What would 
 you do, Kathleen, if you had no money 
 and no papa ?" said Ambroise. *' I hate you."
 
 78 BRIDGET. 
 
 " Uncle Bryan would not let you say such 
 things, Kathleen," Patrice said, looking 
 very disconsolate and helpless as he wiped 
 away a big tear with his coat sleeve. 
 
 " I am sure mamma will scold you when 
 you get home," responded Kathleen, vicious- 
 ly, upon which Hilaire began to cry also. 
 
 Brigitte, who alone retained composure, 
 took him into her motherly young arms 
 and soothed him as best she could; but 
 the storm was still at its height when two 
 little city urchins happened to pass that 
 way, and a sudden comic turn was given 
 to the situation. The two lads, who were in 
 fact marauders by profession, and had been 
 helping themselves to eggs in a neighbour- 
 ing farm-yard, being in an unusually jovial 
 frame of mind, no sooner saw what was 
 going on than they put their hands on their 
 knees, opened their mouths, and set up an 
 imitative howl. This was too much.
 
 BRIDGET. 79^ 
 
 Patrice's face at once resumed its usual 
 expressiou, and lie put on a defensive at- 
 titude. Ambroise took up a stick, and 
 their tormentors making off, they pursued 
 as fast as their legs could carry them. 
 The diversion had a favourable effect on 
 all. The little girls dried their tears and 
 ran after pursuers and pursued. Hilaire 
 began to laugh heartily, and even Brigitte, 
 in her amusement, forgot the cause of the 
 general disturbance. When, after a quar- 
 ter of an hour, the five returned, arms 
 entwined and cheek laid to cheek, she knew 
 that the quarrel was made up, and will- 
 ingly kissed Kathleen and her sister, who 
 hung about her, anxious to make friends. 
 
 " Don't mind what Norah says, Brigitte 
 dear, she is never happy except when mak- 
 ing a commotion ; and, you know, we all 
 like you to be here, because you give us 
 shorter Sunday lessons than mamma, and
 
 80 BRIDGET. 
 
 always carry tlie cloaks and umbrellas when 
 we are afraid it will rain," Kathleen said. 
 
 Brigitte walked home with a thoughtful 
 face. Whilst the others gambolled and 
 prattled, she was thinking all the time of 
 the storm, the battle, the dreary conflicts 
 implied in Norah's careless words. This 
 young girl of fifteen with her large heart 
 and wild, untrained nature had but one 
 thought, one care, one ambition : to do her 
 duty to these orphan children and to make 
 little Hilaire happy. The others must be 
 fitted to go out into the world and wage 
 the warfare of life for themselves as best 
 they could ; but she felt as if little Hilaire, 
 who was girlishly fair and delicate, and 
 "who had never known his mother s face, 
 would always stand in need of her shelter- 
 ing love and protection. Come what might, 
 nothing should separate her from him, and 
 she began to ask herself what she coifld do
 
 BRIDGET. 81 
 
 to become a stay rather than a burden in 
 her uncle's house. Her passionate love for 
 Hilaire quickened her faculties, sharpened 
 her wits, opened her mind to practical 
 things, and she had seen from the first that 
 it was duty rather than inclination that ac- 
 tuated kindness on the part of her heart. 
 How could she win over that unwilling 
 heart, reconcile that unyielding nature for 
 Hilaire's sake ? Poor Brigitte ! of her self 
 she never thought. But for Hilaire, she 
 would have willingly turned nursemaid, 
 scuUerymaid, and gone out for hire, any- 
 thing than bear slights and insinuations. 
 
 When tea was over and the younger 
 children were in bed, Emilia and Brigitte 
 would generally busy themselves with 
 needlework till Bryan came home. Brigitte 
 resolved to take this opportunity of speak- 
 to her aunt. 
 
 "Auntie," she began tremblingly; for 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 BRIDGET. 
 
 though Emilia was pretty and gentle to look 
 at, Brigitte stood somewhat in awe of her. 
 " Auntie, if you send Mary Ann away, will 
 you let me take her place ?" 
 
 " How do you know Mary Ann is going 
 away ?" asked Emilia, sharply ; " I hope, 
 Brigitte, you are not given to listening at 
 the door !" 
 
 The girl crimsoned, and angry tears rose 
 to her eyes, but controlling herself, she 
 answered very meekly, 
 
 *^You forget, dear aunt, that you and 
 Uncle Bryan talked about it last night at 
 supper, and I have been thinking I could 
 quite well do all that Mary Ann does, and 
 teach Hilaire too." 
 
 " Nonsense !" Emilia said, still in the 
 same quick, metallic tones. "You are 
 fifteen, Brigitte, and it's high time you 
 were beginning to learn something. My 
 niece as a nursemaid is not to be thought
 
 BEIDGET. 83 
 
 of. No, I will tell you what you are going 
 to do, and I am sure we ought all to be 
 thankful that such an opportunity has been 
 put in our way. You know where Stoke 
 Newington is, don't you ?" 
 
 " Yes," poor Brigitte replied with pale 
 cheeks and terror-stricken eyes. 
 
 Had Emilia been an inquisitor and Bri- 
 gitte a heretic to whom the stake was held 
 out as an ultimatum, she could not have 
 looked more aghast. 
 
 "Well," Emilia continued, "there is a 
 very nice school for young ladies there, and 
 the lady who keeps it is willing to take you 
 for nothing, provided you speak French to 
 the girls out of school-hours, and help with 
 the little ones. You will come home every 
 Sunday, you will learn music and other 
 accomplishments. What is the matter ?" 
 
 For Brigitte had again grown crimson, 
 and this time large tears rolled down her 
 
 g2
 
 84 BRIDGET. 
 
 cheeks, as she tried to speak in vain. 
 
 " It is ridiculous to make a fuss about it. 
 Why, most girls would like it much better 
 than being at home. You will have nice 
 new clothes. I am going to cut up one 
 of my own silk dresses for you. Your 
 Uncle Bryan intends buying you a new 
 hand-bag and silk umbrella." 
 
 " I cannot leave Hilaire," Brigitte said, 
 making a desperate effort to control her- 
 self, so as to plead Hilaire's case fairly. 
 ** He is so fond of me." 
 
 " What will you do when you are grown 
 up, if you remain an ignoramus ?" asked 
 Emilia, bringing down her battering-ram 
 of common sense against poor Brigitte's 
 passionate sentimentality, as she held it. 
 ^*You are old enough to think of these 
 things, Brigitte. You must know that 
 your uncle has enough to do to educate 
 and maintain his own children, and we
 
 BEIDGET. 85 
 
 must sacrifice their prospects to give the 
 boys a start in life. "We cannot do impossi- 
 bilities. You must fit yourself to earn your 
 own living like the rest." 
 
 " I cannot leave Hilaire," Brigitte repeat- 
 ed, whom her aunt's seeming hardness only 
 braced up to renewed effort on Hilaire's 
 behalf. ^* I have never left him since he 
 was a baby. I am like a mother to him. 
 He would pine away without me." 
 
 " Of course it is hard for you to leave 
 him, but you will see him every Sunday. 
 You will have long holidays, and though it 
 is natural that you should think most of 
 yourselves, you must consider us a little, 
 Brigitte. Were your uncle in easy circum- 
 stances, it would be quite another matter. 
 You are bound to do what is best for all." 
 
 "Oh! auntie, I must think most of 
 what is best for Hilaire. He is the youngest, 
 and was only a month old when mamma
 
 % 
 
 86 BRIDGET. 
 
 died. Mamma said to me, ' You will never 
 leave Hilaire, will you, Brigitte !' And I 
 said to her, * Never, mamma, never, as long 
 as I live/ And she died the next day, and 
 it was always I who looked after him, be- 
 cause the boys were so young, you know, 
 and papa was a great deal away. Hilaire 
 loves me better than anything in the world. 
 I could not leave him, even if I had never 
 made that promise to mamma." 
 
 "You were a child, and did not know 
 what you were doing," Emilia answered, 
 softening a little, but by no means disposed 
 to yield. " You could not tell then what 
 would be best to do for him when you were 
 both older. And you ought to take your 
 Uncle Bryan and me into account, and help 
 instead of hinder, when we try to act for 
 your good. But pray don't look so miser- 
 able about it. I will hear what your uncle 
 has to say."
 
 BEIDGET. 87 
 
 " There's a good deal I could do in the 
 house, without being quite nursemaid," 
 Brigitte said, eagerly. " I could look after 
 the little ones, and mend their clothes, and 
 teach them French, only let me stay with 
 Hilaire, dear aunt." 
 
 " I repeat, we must hear what your uncle 
 has to say. We cannot make Hilaire the 
 first person in the house. Now go and see 
 the boys to bed. They are making a noise 
 that is positively disgraceful." 
 
 As it happened, Bryan came home, tired 
 and out of spirits that night, in no humour 
 for the usual discussion about the children, 
 as Emilia saw. But she was one of those 
 women who lack the homely wisdom of 
 "dieting to the repast." So instead of 
 waiting a little till Bryan had recovered 
 from the heat and lassitude of the day, she 
 began at once. 
 
 " I am sure we may as well all betake
 
 8S BRIDGET. 
 
 ourselves to the workhouse at once. Here 
 is Brigitte crying as if her heart would 
 break at the very idea of the Stoke Newing- 
 ton school. You must really talk to her, 
 Bryan, for if we are to keep Brigitte in 
 idleness and ignorance all the rest of her 
 days, I don't see why my children should 
 be expected to give up anything." 
 
 " Oh ! let us wait a little," Bryan said, 
 with pardonable irritation. 
 
 '' Why wait ? Depend on it if we 
 don't accept the offer now, we shall not 
 get such another. We shall wait and 
 wait till we get into debt. The butcher's 
 bill is half again what it used to be, the 
 baker's bill is doubled, the milk mounts up 
 to a little fortune " 
 
 ** Well, send Mary Ann away. That will 
 be one mouth less to feed." 
 
 *'No, if Brigitte stays, Mary Ann stays. 
 I am not going to deprive my children of a
 
 BEIDGET. 89 
 
 nursemaid just because Brigitte pleases." 
 
 **Brigitte seems handy in the house. 
 Let her help with the children till Hilaire is 
 older," Bryan said. " The little lad looks 
 so delicate " 
 
 " Bryan, what would the neighbours say ? 
 I should be looked upon as a pretty kind 
 of aunt if I allowed Brigitte to run errands^ 
 and answer the door." 
 
 " D n the neighbours," Bryan added, 
 
 his hands thrust in his pockets and his 
 locks pulled over his brow. " Let us have 
 supper first and quarrel afterwards." 
 
 " We shall have to do without supper," 
 Emilia answered, rising ; " and I am sure I 
 would rather go to bed supperless any day 
 than have to listen to bad language," — 
 saying which, she dashed out of the room, 
 keys in hand, and on the point of crying. 
 When at last supper appeared, it was more- 
 frugal and worse served than usuaL
 
 90 BRIDGET. 
 
 Emilia ate in silence, and Brigitte, pale 
 as a ghost, with traces of tears on her 
 cheeks, glanced furtively from one to the 
 other, trying to read her fate in their 
 downcast looks. 
 
 When the meal was over, no wonder 
 that Bryan took refuge in a cigar and a 
 solitary stroll. How would it all end ? he 
 asked himself, and the question was one 
 that rose to his mind twenty times a day. 
 The children were impracticable, Emilia 
 was impracticable ; the evening's occur- 
 rence was sure to repeat itself again 
 and again, bringing a succession of little 
 storms, little irritations, little quarrels, more 
 trying to bear, perhaps, than the greater 
 troubles he felt were looming in the future. 
 And none could be run away from, none 
 could be avoided, none could be hindered 
 by his own efforts only. 
 
 Such superb evenings had hitherto been
 
 BRIDGET. 91 
 
 enjoyed by the poor city clerk witli poetic 
 fervour — he indeed fancying himself a 
 poet in his happier moments. Formerly, 
 he used to wander amidst the groves and 
 thickets of Highgate, listening to the 
 nightingale, rapturously as Keats, whose 
 familiar haunts were here. He had gazed 
 a hundred times on Coleridge's old dwell- 
 ing amid the lime-trees, he had walked 
 across the Tottenham fields to Edmonton 
 thinking of Charles Lamb, lingering 
 lovingly by his humble grave, feeling for 
 the moment as if he himself belonged to 
 the noble brotherhood, humblest of humble 
 singers though he might be. Every spot 
 connected with these men was sacred to 
 him, and inspired him with gracious 
 thoughts, thoughts as far removed from 
 daily toil within four walls of a city office, 
 as mid-winter on the longest day in June, 
 thoughts that made life a blessed and 
 lovely thing.
 
 92 BRIDGET. 
 
 Alas ! To-day his mind was full of 
 aching cares that had their root in the 
 common earth, and anxieties that did not 
 partake of the spiritual and the sublime. 
 What could he do to meet these growing 
 demands on his purse? How could he 
 arm himself to battle with Fortune in this 
 unequal fight ? 
 
 Bryan, no more than Emilia, was wholly 
 wise. He was no coward to quail before 
 adversities, but he could not grapple with 
 hard circumstances and bend them to his 
 will. He was kindly of heart, especially 
 to women, and he wanted to let both 
 Emilia and Brigitte have their way. He 
 returned home as far off as ever from the 
 determination to enforce those economies 
 which he knew were necessary, and which 
 Emmie felt so hard for her children's sake. 
 Expenses must be diminished, hardships 
 endured, but for whom, by whom, she
 
 BEIDGET. 93 
 
 asked, and he in his turn might well ask 
 with increased bitterness, how would it 
 all end ?
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 TEA IN A STUDIO. 
 
 A PROUD, happy man was Mr. Starffe, 
 -*-^ when, having carefully arrayed his 
 gaunt and impracticable person in the nearest 
 approach to morning-dress admissible in a 
 curate, he set out to take tea with Helwyse. 
 Mr. Starffe lived over a bootmaker's shop, 
 had a stipend of a hundred pounds yearly, 
 possessed no aristocratic relations, and was 
 the humblest of the humble in his own 
 estimation ; but this condescension on the 
 part of a gifted, beautiful, and already
 
 BRIDGET. 95 
 
 famous young artist, elated him more than 
 words can tell. He never for a moment 
 dreamed that it meant love ; he was not 
 presumptuous enough to imagine such a 
 possibility, even when Helwyse was kindest. 
 It certainly did, however, mean cordial 
 liking, and if cordial liking from a girl 
 like Helwyse was not something to gratify 
 any man, much more a poor solitary, hard- 
 working curate, what is ? 
 
 Mr. Starffe had kindly consented to take 
 some of the elder children, so in high 
 glee the little party set off. Kathleen fine 
 as a little pantomime fairy ; Brigitte radi^ 
 ant, because the Stoke Newington scheme 
 was pronounced in abeyance for the 
 present; Patrice and Ambroise delighted 
 at the notion of making friends with Aunt 
 Helwyse, who seemed to them just perfec- 
 tion. All three were sadly threadbare and
 
 96 BRIDGET. 
 
 shabby. Brigitte's dress, like poor Patrice's 
 pantaloons, was much too short ; Ambroise 
 had grown out of his tunic long ago — but 
 what did they care ? Bryan had said, 
 *' Pray don't let the children go to Ken- 
 sington till you have bought them some new 
 olothes!" to which Emilia retorted, and 
 with excellent reasoning, " I must wait and 
 see what can be done with your old ones 
 first, Bryan. Boys are boys, you know, and 
 victuals are more necessary than fine 
 clothes." But, mother-like, she took care 
 that Kathleen's white frock should be made 
 as stiff as starch could make it, and had 
 •quietly slipped out in the morning to buy 
 her a new sash. 
 
 No wonder the children thought Mr. 
 Starffe delightful. He indulged them 
 with buns and ginger-beer at King's 
 Cross, with penny ices at Netting Hill, and 
 told stories of his much-beflogged boyhood
 
 BRIDGET. 97 
 
 all the way. Hand in liand, witli beaming 
 faces, they walked up the shady lane leading 
 to Helwyse's home, she watching for them, 
 and smiling to them from the balcony. She 
 ran down to the door to meet them, look- 
 ing fresh as a rose in her pink cambric 
 dress, then, saying kind things to all, led 
 them upstairs. 
 
 '' I persuaded Mrs. Bray to let me have 
 tea in the studio," she said ; '^ but it was no 
 easy matter. ' How a Christian can eat with 
 all them heathen hobjects a-gaping and* 
 a-staring at 'em, I can't imagine/ she said ;" 
 upon which they all laughed heartily, and 
 even Mr. Starffe made his little joke. 
 
 How enraptured they were with every- 
 thing ! How they praised, gazed, won- 
 dered, and admired ! Helwyse felt her- 
 self twice as rich as she had been an 
 hour ago, and their uncritical comments 
 brought back her old pride in her 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 ■98 BRIDGET. 
 
 treasures. She took pains to show them 
 all by turns, explaining this, descanting on 
 that, gradually growing as enthusiastic as 
 her visitors. Was anyone in all the world 
 so clever, so gracious, so sweet ? thought 
 the curate. Was any princess in fairy-tale 
 so kind and so beautiful as Aunt Helwyse ? 
 thought the children. 
 
 " That is an uncommonly fine torso," said 
 Mr. Starffe, venturing on an art-criticism 
 as diffidently as an unskilful skater on 
 ice. 
 
 "You are quite right. It is the best^ 
 thing in the room," she answered. 
 
 " And that is an exquisite little water- 
 colour sketch," continued the curate, grow- 
 ing more venturesome. 
 
 '' No, I cannot agree with you there," 
 Helwyse said. "It is an early drawing of 
 my own, but sadly crude and wanting in
 
 BRIDGET. 99 
 
 tone. See, here is a mucli better attempt 
 at the same subject ; and as you like it, 
 I will give it to you." 
 
 "Indeed. I shall be most proud and 
 happy to own it," cried Mr. Starffe, de- 
 lighted beyond measure. "I shall value 
 it more than anything I possess." 
 
 " I hope not," she said, somewhat ab- 
 sently. She was ransacking the port- 
 folio for something to give the children. 
 A prettier picture it were hard to find than 
 the slender, fair-haired, serious-faced girl- 
 artist on her knees, distributing largesses 
 to these humble admirers. When she had 
 found what she wanted, and enchanted her 
 young visitors with sketch or photograph, 
 tea was brought in, and all sat down, 
 laughing and talking gaily. Mr. Starffe 
 had the post of honour by the side of his 
 hostess, and helped her with the urn. 
 
 h2
 
 100 BRIDGET. 
 
 Brigitte cut bread and butter, Kathleen 
 presided over the jam, and the boys over 
 the cake. It was an Aladdin's feast to all, 
 and while they sat eating and drinking 
 amid these lovely pictures, gorgeous car- 
 pets, and foreign riches of all kinds, Hel- 
 wyse entertained them with stories of 
 Italian travel and experience, Mr. Starffe 
 proudly coming to her aid when she 
 halted at a classical name or date. He 
 knew his Roman history pretty well, his 
 Lempriere fairly, and could even, upon 
 occasions, quote Horace to Helwyse, who, 
 regarding him as a mine of informa- 
 tion, would ask the names of the 
 three Furies, the story of the Calydonian 
 boar, and Ovid's version of Pygmalion. 
 Mr. Starffe flushed with pleasure as he 
 found himself so useful to his lovely friend. 
 He ransacked his brains for facts and quo- 
 tations that might prove serviceable, and
 
 BEIDGET. 101 
 
 marvelled at himself when he repeated 
 aloud, with passable elocution, as he 
 thought, a stanza or two of Chapman's 
 Homer. 
 
 It was all quite delightful, but such 
 periods of untarnished bliss cannot last for 
 ever, and in the midst of this sociability 
 and enjoyment, there came a thundering 
 flunkey's knock at the front door. Each 
 started at that imperious sound, which 
 penetrated into every corner of the slen- 
 derly-built house. Kathleen ran to the 
 window, the boys followed, and all was 
 expectation, when the rustling of silk 
 skirts was heard on the stairs, and 
 a pleasant-faced, lavishly-dressed woman 
 entered, leading by the hand a little girl, 
 also attired in the extreme of fashion. 
 
 *'Ah! it is Mrs. Oornwell," said Hel- 
 wyse, cordially. 
 
 "And we are interrupting a merry party.
 
 102 BRIDGET. 
 
 J fear. I am very glad to see you again, 
 my dear Miss Fleming. But who are your 
 young visitors ?" 
 
 Helwyse presented first the curate, and 
 then the children, Brigitte and her brothers 
 seeming to expand into added largeness 
 and awkwardness under the visitor's scruti- 
 nizing, but not unfriendly glances. 
 
 " So these are French nephews and a 
 French niece just arrived, are they ? And 
 where do they live?" asked Mrs. Corn- 
 well, who was rich and benevolent, and 
 had been Helwyse's first art-patron years 
 ago. 
 
 Helwyse bade the rest finish their tea, 
 and drawing her friend into the vestibule, 
 told her of the children's sad fate and un- 
 expected arrival. 
 
 " It is hard upon poor Bryan," she said. 
 " And now he must remain a clerk till 
 they are grown up and provided for. I
 
 BEIDGET. 103 
 
 think of apprenticing one to Mr. Freeland 
 — the second boy, I think — and looking 
 after him generally." 
 
 "Do no such thing. Boys are such ter- 
 rible creatures to have to do with," an- 
 swered Mrs. Cornwell, who was the 
 mother of several. " He will come home 
 with a broken nose one day, will tumble 
 into the Serpentine the next, and you 
 won't have a whole bit of furniture in your 
 home by the time his first week is out." 
 
 Helwyse laughed merrily. 
 
 " Then he would have to go back to 
 Bryan. But, dear Mrs. Cornwell, I am 
 sure you will understand how anxious I am 
 about my brother." 
 
 " Well, help him in other ways. You 
 see, my dear, your career may just be said 
 to have begun, and if you hamper yourself 
 with domestic cares and anxieties, it will 
 spoil everything. At present your mind
 
 104 BUDGET. 
 
 is free — keep it so — at least till you marry. 
 Your duty in life is to paint good pictures, 
 at present." 
 
 " But with a clear conscience," Helwyse 
 said, smiling gravely ; " indeed it is as 
 clearly my duty to help Bryan as it is to 
 do my work well. The children's father 
 was my brother as well as Bryan's — they 
 are as near to me as to him ; and he has 
 three of his own. I would take two if I 
 could." 
 
 *' Don't be Quixotic. One will be the death 
 of you. But, my dear, bring the monster 
 with you to Beechholme, or at least one 
 of the children. I don't mind which. I 
 think the girl looks the most promising. 
 At present she is all angles and awkward- 
 ness — but what fine eyes she has ! And 
 what character in the mouth. Bring her, 
 will you ?" 
 
 " You are too kind.*"
 
 BRIDGET. 105 
 
 " Nonsense. We will see what we can 
 make out of her, and if she is nice, I 
 should not mind how long she stayed with 
 my little girls. But I must go. I only 
 came to say, how d'ye do, and to see how 
 you were looking — which is quite charm- 
 ing." And, saying this, she kissed her 
 heartily on the cheek. " And how charm- 
 ing your rooms are !" she added, looking 
 round. 
 
 " Therein lies a mystery which perhaps 
 you can reveal," Helwyse said. "I left ' 
 my rooms bare, as you remember them, 
 to find them quite magnificent. Can you 
 help me out of my perplexity ?" 
 
 In her secret heart at that moment she 
 believed Mrs. Cornwell to be the origin 
 of her recently-acquired wealth. 
 
 " I am as innocent in the matter as a 
 new-born baby. I wish I had done it, 
 but I did not," the lady answered, and
 
 106 BRIDGET. 
 
 SO the mystery was left more unfathomable 
 than ever. 
 
 When her two visitors had gone, and 
 Helwyse had told her news, the two boys 
 clapjDed their hands with joy at Brigitte's 
 good fortune. Brigitte going to stay in a 
 country house ! Brigitte going to ride in 
 a carriage ! Brigitte going to see all 
 kinds of beautiful things ! Only Brigitte's 
 face was downcast. 
 
 " It's Hilaire she's thinking about, Aunt 
 Helwyse," Patrice said. " Brigitte wouldn't 
 leave Hilaire if somebody came to wed 
 her in a gilt carriage, like Cinderella's 
 prince." 
 
 " No, I wouldn't," Brigitte answered, 
 looking sad, sulky, and suspicious, all 
 at once. "Let one of the boys go in my 
 place, Aunt Helwyse." 
 
 " Oh ! me," cried Ambroise, whose mind 
 was so much quicker than poor Patrice's,
 
 BEIDGET. 107 
 
 that he generally contrived to obtain the 
 advantage. Patrice feebly echoing, " Oh I 
 let me go, Aunt Helwyse, I am the eldest." 
 
 "But, dear boys, you are not invited," 
 Helwyse said, to whom Brigitte's per- 
 sistence seemed, for the moment, mere 
 obstinacy. " Surely you could leave little 
 Hilaire for three or four weeks, Brigitte ?" 
 
 " I cannot leave Hilaire," answered the 
 girl, reiterating the familiar phrase with al- 
 most a savage air. '^ I don't care about the 
 country. I should hate riding in a car- 
 riage. I only want to stay with Hilaire." 
 
 And there was something so pathetic in 
 the eager young face and voice as she 
 uttered the words, that Helwyse forbore to 
 press the matter. After all, who could so 
 well tell as Brigitte what made little Hilaire 
 happy or not ! 
 
 "I would take Hilaire out for a walk," 
 Ambroise said, thinking it better that
 
 108 BRIDGET. 
 
 Brigitte sliould go rather than all stay at 
 home. 
 
 *' And I would undress him at night," 
 added Patrice. 
 
 *' You would both teaze him a dozen 
 times a day," Brigitte answered with 
 temper. 
 
 Then the matter dropped, for the boys, 
 rough and tormenting as they were in 
 many ways, obeyed Brigitte as if she were 
 the sternest stepmother described in story- 
 books. 
 
 The little party soon after prepared for 
 going home, Helwyse offering to accom- 
 pany them to the station. On their way it 
 occurred to her that here was an excellent 
 opportunity of introducing the boys to Mr. 
 Freeland, who had agreed to take the aptest 
 a,s pupil. So just as Freeland was sitting 
 down to tea, after the day's work, he caught 
 sight of his five visitors at the garden-gate.
 
 BRIDGET. 1 09 
 
 He liad lodgings over a coachbuilder's 
 shop, such as many a poor artist might 
 envy; but then it must be remembered 
 that Mr. Freeland, as a working man, was 
 almost rich, and, having neither wife nor 
 children, might reasonably indulge in what 
 are really the luxuries of life, a little sun, a 
 little space, and a little more than absolute- 
 ly necessary breathing room. So he rented, 
 in the quiet little lane or alley, the very 
 existence of which would be ignored by 
 passers-by in the high road, so secluded, so 
 solitary it was, a tiny parlour overlooking 
 a bit of flower-garden, and one of the large 
 suburban parks abounding in Campden 
 Hill ; an attic to sleep in, clean, large, and 
 airy ; and a spacious workshop, and, more 
 correctly speaking, a studio at the back. 
 The scholarly taste and refinement of the 
 man were visible as you merely glanced 
 round the little parlour which barely
 
 110 BKIDGET. 
 
 sufficed to hold himself and his visitors. 
 There were books, many and good, on the 
 shelves, artistic little trifles on the mantel- 
 piece, and a bust of Dante on a pedestal in 
 one corner. He rose from the tea-table as 
 they entered, colouring with pleasure, 
 and handed a chair to each, himself stand- 
 ing all the while. 
 
 'Why would he never sit down when talk- 
 ing to her? Why could she not invite 
 him to tea as well as Mr. Starffe?' thought 
 Helwyse, who, without being at all given 
 to the study of political economy or social 
 questions, could not help feeling indignant 
 at so-called convenances sometimes. Mr. 
 Freeland was almost as good company 
 as Mr. Kingsbury, she thought, and was 
 the very soul of manliness, dignity, and 
 good feeling. Why, then, had society set 
 up such barriers between him and his real 
 equals ? Her philosophy went no farther
 
 BEIDGET. Ill 
 
 than tliis, and she did not often speculate 
 on the matter at all. 
 
 "May we go into your studio?" she said. 
 '' The boys want to see the plans of your 
 mural decorations for Beechholme Park, 
 and you have always so much to show." 
 
 "You are most welcome to see my work," 
 he answered, leading the way. Then, with 
 great courtesy, he did the honours of his stu- 
 dio, explaining this to Mr. Starffe, pointing 
 out that to the boys, abundantly bestowing 
 information upon all. It was a very large 
 place; and what with casts, plans, and de- 
 signs, there was plenty to interest them. 
 Mr. Starffe was delighted. 
 
 " How improving is all this !" he said 
 to Helwyse, enthusiastically. " How it 
 enlarges the understanding ! I shall no 
 more envy my vicar because he has been 
 to Rome." 
 
 The workman smiled, and with just a
 
 112 BRIDGET. 
 
 touch, of satire in his voice, answered — 
 " Many people come back from Rome as 
 ignorant as they went, for that matter, sir ; 
 but I have something to show you now 
 worth all the rest put together." And 
 saying this, he drew from a portfolio a 
 very beautiful photograph of Athens. The 
 view was taken from the western side, 
 showing the wide-stretching plain, the 
 long chain of Hymettus, the scattered city, 
 the majestic temple and fallen column of 
 the Olympeum, and, towering above all 
 on its airy height, the wondrous, the inim- 
 itable Parthenon ! 
 
 "Ah! that is indeed a gem. I will 
 make my next Sunday's sermon about St. 
 Paul preaching at Athens," said Mr. Starffe, 
 rapturously; then, taking out note-book and 
 pencil, added to Freeland — "Pray go on with 
 your observations, sir, and I am sure you 
 will kindly excuse me if I take them down."
 
 EEIDGET. 113 
 
 Freeland's eyes met Helwyse's with a 
 smile rippling their brown depths. What 
 business had a workman with such eyes ? 
 once asked a Belgravian beauty, contemptu- 
 ously; but for the most part Freeland 
 had been favoured rather than persecuted 
 for his noble looks. Is not beauty the 
 only passport written in every language 
 that we know of ? There it is, and neither 
 pomp nor poverty, kingly apparel nor 
 nakedness, can alter it ; neither judges nor 
 seneschals can question its authority. Is 
 not, moreover, one ill-favoured face the 
 more, one joy the less in the world ? Hel- 
 wyse, woman-like, or artist-like, if you 
 will, always felt grateful to Freeland in 
 that he was " beautiful and well-favoured." 
 
 " The great theatre, discovered within 
 our own times, is here," began their in- 
 structor. *^ Those narrow lines, running 
 parallel to each other in a semi-circle, are 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 BRIDGET. 
 
 the seats Oh ! my dear lad, what are 
 
 you about ?" 
 
 This last remark was addressed to Pa- 
 trice, who, having laid hands on a pot of 
 liquid Vermillion and Mr. Freeland's pet 
 l5:itten, which had strayed into the studio 
 after its master, was trying the decorative 
 effect of Vermillion on the animal's tail. 
 Patrice, being thus reprimanded, naturally 
 let pussy go, and what might be expected 
 took place, Ambroise convulsed with laugh- 
 ter at the sight, the rest smiling, but dis- 
 mayed. Pussy, delighted at recovering 
 freedom, and excited by the general atten- 
 tion bestowed upon her, began frisking 
 about to the best of her youthful ability, 
 smearing a clean sheet of pasteboard here, 
 a plaster cast there, working woe and de- 
 vastation everywhere. 
 
 " Catch her !" cried Freeland, desperate- 
 ly, but that word of command was injudi-
 
 BEIDGKT. 115 
 
 cious. The boys dashed forward in wild 
 pursuit, committing sundry breakages. Mr. 
 Starffe's excellent intentions were only re- 
 warded by a smear of vermillion across his 
 best Sunday pantaloons. Helwyse's pretty 
 cambric dress got so many red daubs that it 
 looked like a bed of cabbage roses strewn 
 .with scarlet poppies. Freeland escaped 
 scot-free no more than the rest. When, at 
 last, the mad chase was brought to an end, 
 and pussy secured, all joined in a hearty 
 laugh — how was it possible to do other- 
 wise ? — but the laughter was followed by 
 a pause of general dismay. 
 
 ** I am indeed sorry our visit should 
 have ended so unfortunately," Helwyse 
 began. " Do tell us if any serious mischief 
 is done." 
 
 '* Oh! make your mind easy," poor Free- 
 land answered gaily, though he knew that 
 one drawing, the work of weeks, was ruined. 
 
 i2
 
 116 .BRIDGET. 
 
 *' But your dress, Miss Helwyse — will it 
 ever come right ?" 
 
 He was thinking that, for the pleasure of 
 seeing her there again, he would willingly 
 encounter Patrice's mischievousness a dozen 
 times, and now fetching a sponge and 
 warm water, went on his knees to try to 
 wash out the stains. The boys helped, Mr. 
 Starffe held the basin of water ; a happy 
 * diversion was thus given to affairs, and 
 poor Patrice escaped with only a severe 
 scolding from Brigitte. 
 
 " That will do, I think," Helwyse said, 
 when the largest of the vermillion spots 
 had partially disappeared. 
 
 "No, indeed, here is another blotch," 
 Freeland said, wishing the task could last 
 for ever. 
 
 "And here's another !" 
 
 " And another," echoed the boys ; so by 
 the time the business was accomplished it
 
 BRIDGET. 117 
 
 was growing dark, and Mr. Starffe gallantly 
 forbade his young hostess accompanying 
 them any farther. 
 
 "We have had a most delightful visit, 
 Miss Helwyse, and a most improving one, 
 thanks to you, sir," he said, holding out 
 his hand to Freeland. ''I am only sorry 
 that my young friend's indiscretion has 
 damaged your valuable property, but at 
 that age we are all more or less prone to 
 think more of the moment's amusement 
 than its consequences." 
 
 Then, after repeated adieux, the little 
 party took leave of their entertainers. 
 
 Mr. Starffe perhaps never felt happier 
 than when walking across Campden Hill 
 to Netting Gate Station that summer night. 
 Whilst the children prattled of Aunt Hel- 
 wyse, her pretty home, her amazing talents, 
 her sweetness, her generosity, her hosts of 
 friends, he answered mechanically, lost in 
 an intoxicating dream of bliss.
 
 118 BRIDGET. 
 
 Such moments, wasted as tliey seem to 
 be, when the mind is filled to overflowing 
 with a joy, evanescent, far-off, and un- 
 reachable as the golden clouds of a sum- 
 mer dawn, have their religiousness, their 
 perpetuity, their heroism. We feel that 
 the ineffable future, so real to us for the 
 nonce, can never be ours — the love we 
 crave for, the happiness we are capable of^ 
 the perpetual existence we believe in — ^yet 
 just as devotees before some favourite 
 saint, we go on worshipping, hoping, trust- 
 ing, and the poor, common life is ennobled 
 by its very unrealness !
 
 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 peeeland's feench lessons. 
 
 TT7HEN Mr. Starffe and his companions 
 ^ ^ had taken leave, Freeland said, 
 seizing his hat eagerly — 
 
 '* It is too late for you to be walking in 
 these deserted lanes alone, Miss Helwyse^ 
 permit me to see you home." 
 
 " Thank you very much, though I have 
 no fear," Helwyse said. 
 
 The thought of that terrible incubus, 
 propriety, rarely occurred to this ingenuous 
 girl; and putting aside propriety, what 
 woman could have a more chivalrous pro- 
 tector than Arthur Freeland ? So the
 
 120 BRIDGET. 
 
 offer was accepted as a matter of course, 
 and tlie two set out. Just as they liad left 
 the garden a little maid-oF-all-work came 
 running after them, crying at the top of 
 her voice — 
 
 "If you please, Mr. Freeland, missus 
 wants to know what we are to say to the 
 French teacher when he comes." 
 
 "Bid him wait," Freeland said, colour- 
 ing to the temples ; then he turned to Hel- 
 wyse, adding, explanatorily — " T am study- 
 ing French. It is very useful in my busi- 
 ness." 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, quite necessary, I should 
 think," Helwyse answered, never dreaming 
 that he had told only half the truth. For 
 the whole of the truth was this — Freeland 
 was, of all mortals, the most ambitious, 
 not of so-called worldly good — he cared 
 little enough for that — but he was ambi- 
 tious of knowledge, of wisdom, of all that
 
 BRIDGET. 121 
 
 lifts human life above its baser part. He 
 wanted to feel that, , in so far as the mind's 
 furniture went, he was no man's scullion and 
 inferior ; that, in so far as the fashioning of 
 his own existence was concerned, it should 
 be goodly and fair to look upon, nothing to 
 shame the eyes of God and his fellow- 
 creatures — above all, nothing to humble 
 himself. So he studied all the things that go 
 to make up a complete and worthy intellec- 
 tual being — languages, literature, science, 
 art — not as the bookworm or the pedant, 
 hoarding mental gold morbidly, but as the 
 healthy-minded, inquisitive, knowledge- 
 loving man, worker, citizen. 
 
 ''I am now able to make up for past 
 time," he began, as they descended the 
 balmy, bowery walk leading from Holland 
 Park Road to Campden Hill. " In former 
 days I used never to open a book except 
 on Sundays. Books were my churches,
 
 122 BRIDGET. 
 
 priests, and sermons ; but now I lead a 
 comparatively easy life, and am able to go 
 to churcli every day." 
 
 He said this as simply and naturally as 
 a child, and just as simple and natural was 
 her answer. 
 
 " You are very learned, are you not ? 
 Mr. Kingsbury told me that you could 
 read Greek and Latin — and how much more 
 difficult that must be than French !*' 
 
 Again Freeland coloured. 
 
 " I learnt a little of all these things as 
 a boy, you must remember. Miss Helwyse, 
 and so they are easier to me now. But 
 learned ! no, that is an epithet I do not 
 deserve. I am ignorant enough, and so 
 am doing my best to instruct myself." 
 
 They walked on, talking of the books he 
 had read, the scientific discoveries he was 
 interested in, the tracks of study he had 
 laid out for the future, Freeland answering
 
 BEIDGET. 123' 
 
 her questions with uncommon clearness 
 and precision. His language was far from 
 ornate, on the contrary, the simplest of 
 the simple ; yet so aptly chosen were his 
 words, so concise his phrases, that the 
 effect produced on his hearers was that of 
 eloquence. As a talker, he had two points 
 in his favour: fashionable company had 
 never infected him with mannerisms, and 
 nature had endowed him with a singularly 
 clear and practical intellect. He always 
 knew exactly what he had to say, and how 
 to say it, and he never clothed his thoughts 
 with certain expressions because they were 
 considered elegant. 
 
 Thus it happened that Helwyse, and not 
 a few others of his acquaintance, were 
 constantly going to him for information, 
 especially on his particular subject — name- 
 ly, decorative art. 
 
 '* I'll ask Freeland," Mr. Kingsbury would
 
 124 BRIDGET. 
 
 say, in his lofty, indolent manner, when 
 undecided as to the pattern of a picture- 
 frame, or the design for mosaic floor in 
 some " interior ;" and sure enough Freeland 
 could furnish the very idea wanted. 
 
 When they reached the garden gate Hel- 
 wyse said — 
 
 " It is very kind of you to take one of 
 the boys as a pupil. Which is it to be ?" 
 
 " Miss Helwyse, what a question ! The 
 youngest, of course — Master Patrice, as 
 you call him, would be just the tor- 
 ment of our lives. Now, the other is 
 a sharp, manageable lad, with a clever 
 knack at doing things. Did you see him 
 bring out pencil and paper, and quietly 
 sit down and draw my cast of the Capito- 
 line wolf, whilst his brother amused himself 
 with making paper balls to throw at him ? 
 The younger is the lad for me." 
 
 "Ah! lam sorry! I like that gentle.
 
 BEIDGET. 125 
 
 ungainly Patrice, who is so sorry wlien lie 
 is scolded." 
 
 *' But you would not like a kitten 
 frolicking about your studio with liquid 
 Vermillion dropping from its tail." 
 
 " No, indeed. I fear you have been a 
 sad victim to his carelessness." 
 
 *' That was a trifle, but trifles show 
 character, and Master Patrice is like 
 ninety-nine boys out of a hundred, playful 
 as a kitten and mischievous as a monkey. 
 "We must have a steady boy. Miss Helwyse, 
 or we shall never make anything out of 
 him." 
 
 He was pleased, he hardly knew why, 
 to be able to talk thus — we must do 
 this, we shall never do that, and so on. 
 In the spirit it meant nothing, yet in 
 the letter it seemed something to make 
 him proud and happy. 
 
 " And you will take him directly you 
 return from Beechholme Park ?"
 
 126 BRIDGET. 
 
 "As soon as ever I have settled down 
 to my winter's work in London. But he 
 must have no absurd notions about what is 
 or is not becoming in a gentleman, to begin 
 with. He must not mind putting on an 
 apron, for example." 
 
 *^ Of course not," Helwyse said smiling, 
 for she had seen Mr. Freelaud in an apron 
 many and many a time, and though he 
 wore it no longer, the insignia of labour 
 had never seemed to her to detract 
 from his dignity. She added, almost un- 
 consciously, 
 
 " Have not you worn an apron?" 
 
 The speech was deliciously flattering, 
 though carelessly uttered. Was it not as 
 much as to say — What difference did the 
 apron make to you ? Were not you 
 always a gentleman in the best sense of 
 the word ? What, indeed, is an apron 
 except in the eyes of the vulgar? Thus,
 
 BRIDGET. 127 
 
 at least with some natural pride and exult- 
 ation, Freeland interpreted it. 
 
 He said nothing, much too proud, much 
 too humble to say what was passing in his 
 mind. Freeland, in one sense, was proud- 
 est of the proud, in another, humblest of 
 the humble, and for worlds he would not 
 have ventured upon what might have 
 seemed an unwarrantable assumption. And 
 he thought sadly, did not that very accept- 
 ation she despised, namely, the acceptation 
 of the vulgar, divide them ? 
 
 So when they reached the garden gate 
 of her home, he merely took off his hat, 
 with the usual salutation, and turned to go. 
 
 *' I shall find you at Beechholme Park," 
 she added, as she wished him good night 
 and thanked him for his escort ; and the 
 words, so innocently uttered, lifted the 
 veil of poetry from his spirit, leaving it to 
 battle with stern realities as best it could.
 
 128 BRIDGET. 
 
 Fate had not been kind to him, Freeland 
 thought just then. But for so-called mis- 
 fortune, he might have been invited to 
 Beechholme Park as a guest and an equal, 
 instead of a paid workman and, socially- 
 speaking, an inferior. For her sweet 
 sake, he envied Kingsbury and his fellow- 
 artists now. Kingsbury would be placed 
 beside Helwyse at dinner, would drive 
 with her, walk with her, enjoy her com- 
 pany a dozen times a day; whilst for 
 himself, he was regarded, if not kitchen 
 company, at least not too good for the 
 housekeeper s parlour. 
 
 He had been asked by his employers to 
 take up his abode in the house, but refused, 
 hiring lodgings in the village instead. 
 What, indeed, had he in common with 
 tittering ladies' maids, priggish footmen, 
 and butlers and housekeepers, perpetually 
 gossiping about their master's affairs ? No,
 
 BEIDGET. 129 
 
 sucli a position would be insupportable; 
 and as tie loved the country and soli- 
 tude, lie looked forward to the isolation 
 of a lodging in the midst of fields and 
 woods. 
 
 That night he proved an intractable 
 scholar, and his French master said more 
 than once, ''Monsieur Freeland, then, is ill, 
 or why is he so absent-minded ?" 
 
 When the lesson was over, he put toge- 
 ther a few books for his holiday reading. 
 Would not those long Sundays in the 
 country make his sojourn perpetual 
 holiday to him? Two or three pocket- 
 volumes of his favourite poets, a copy of 
 Schiller's letters to a Danish nobleman, the 
 Odyssey in Greek, a pastoral poet or two 
 in Latin, and half-a-dozen works on his- 
 tory, art, and science made up the 
 number. Then he set to work to arrange 
 his rooms, so as to leave them as orderly 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 BRIDGET. 
 
 as possible, obliterating the traces of pass- 
 ing escapades in his workshop to the best 
 of his ability, sponging the spoiled draw- 
 ings with a rueful face, and locking away 
 odds and ends of a private character. 
 
 The next morning, whilst Kingsbury's 
 valet was brushing his clothes, cleaning his 
 drawing-case, filling his scent-bottles, and 
 packing up a choice assortment of light 
 summer wearing apparel, Freeland, bag in 
 liand, was slowly riding on the top of an 
 omnibus to the railway station. The 
 workman going with a slow train and third 
 class ticket, the artist, who started from 
 home an hour and a half later, caught him 
 up by means of a hansom cab and an ex- 
 press, and the two met on the platform. 
 
 " Good day, Freeland," said Mr. Kings- 
 bury, nodding affably. "Come and have 
 some talk with me to-morrow about my 
 frames, there's a good fellow." 
 
 Then he disappeared, one flunkey seizing
 
 BRIDGET. 131 
 
 Ms bag, anotlier Ms dust cloak and news- 
 paper, a tMrd taking possession of his 
 portmanteau. Freeland saw the open car- 
 riage awaiting the distinguished visitor dash 
 off in the direction of Beechholme Park ; 
 then shouldering his bag and his umbrella, 
 set out on the hot dusty road leading to 
 his destination. The carriage could have 
 taken his bags the hottest and dustiest half 
 of the way, but what proper-minded flun- 
 keys could contaminate a patrician port- 
 manteau with near proximity to a ple- 
 beian one? The Beechholme servants 
 knew Freeland perfectly well, and the dis- 
 tance he had to walk too, but to do Kings- 
 bury justice, he forgot all about him as soon 
 as he had quitted the platform. He had 
 genius, but not that rarest quality of genius 
 that expresses itself in perpetual sympathy 
 with its fellow-men. 
 
 Freeland, however, was not ill-pleased 
 
 k2
 
 132 BRIDGET. 
 
 witli his walk, which led him first through 
 a pretty village street, built terrace-wise, 
 one quaint, old-world row of cottages 
 rising above the other with hanging gar- 
 dens and moss-covered walls dividing 
 them, then gradually ascending, he had 
 magnificent woods, dimpled hills and eme- 
 rald valleys on one side, on the other, and 
 stretching far as the eye could reach, the 
 purple moors. There is no more beauti- 
 ful scenery of the pastoral kind in the world 
 than these Surrey hills, especially seen in 
 autumn, when a ripple of gold spreads 
 gradually from wood to wood, and every 
 day brings new colours and new glories. 
 Freeland's heart bounded as he respired 
 the delicious air, filled his eyes with the 
 glorious prospect, gathered the hedgerow 
 flower, listened to the answering songs of 
 robin or wren. He loved these land- 
 scapes all the better because he knew them
 
 BEIJDGET. 133 
 
 SO well, hollow and glade, copse and 
 dell, heath and lawny spaces. He 
 thought, as he walked along in the noon- 
 day sultriness, how grateful his Sundays 
 would be spent, either on the breezy hills, 
 or amid gorgeous rich gorse and heather, or 
 in the silence of the woods ; and then from 
 those happy thoughts his mind wandered 
 to the practical duties awaiting him, and 
 mentally he began his work at Beechholme 
 Park. It was a characteristic of Freeland's 
 temperament, and, perhaps, accounted for 
 the excellence of his work, that he was 
 always able to isolate himself in it, to exist 
 in it, apart from daily vexations, ailments, 
 or hindrances. Whilst the work was 
 there, and }\e had it to do, neither joy 
 nor grief, mental distraction nor bodily dis- 
 comfort, was allowed to stand between 
 what to him was sacred and himself. 
 Thus, though in his own mind he thought
 
 134 BRIDGET. 
 
 Beecliliolme Park -wanted no decoration, 
 and felt sure that its owners would never 
 care for it, except in so far as it represented 
 other people's taste to the world, just 
 because the decoration was entrusted to 
 him, he meant it to be the best he could 
 produce. 
 
 With his lodging he was well pleased. 
 It consisted of a couple of rooms in a 
 picturesque, tumble-down old farm-house, 
 standing at the end of a long winding 
 lane. There was a straggling flower- 
 garden in front, and an orchard at the 
 back, now brilliant with ripening pears 
 and plums, whilst all around lay the 
 rural features of the farm; the barnyard 
 always alive with gabbling hens; the 
 horse-pond, where the last brood of duck- 
 lings was learning to swim; the neat 
 house, so busy a scene at milking- 
 time; the turnip-house, the stables, the
 
 BRIDGET. 135 
 
 pig-sheds. All these sights Freeland 
 loved, and no less the homely music, which 
 would now wake him in the morning : the 
 crowing of the cock, the quacking of the 
 ducks, the early gambols of the little pigs, 
 the screaming of the guinea-fowls on the 
 wall, the calling of the poultry to feed. 
 
 So he settled himself in his new quarters 
 with a light heart, and as he had arrived a 
 day earlier than was neccessary, gave him- 
 self up to existing enjoyment till the ar- 
 rival of Helwyse. 
 
 " We can do nothing without Miss Flem- 
 ing," Mr. Cornwell had said, when he pre- 
 sented himself at Beechholme Park next 
 morning, — " absolutely nothing. I will let 
 you know as soon as she comes." 
 
 Mr. Cornwell was a banker, who, as 
 the phrase goes, ran up to town every 
 morning, returning in time for his seven 
 o'clock dinner. Little pleasure he could
 
 136 BIIIDGET. 
 
 have in these Surrey hills, and in his elegant 
 home, everyone thought, as day after day 
 he might be seen driving to and from the 
 railway station, as fast as his wagonette 
 could carry him. From the middle of 
 August to the beginning of February the 
 same programme was gone through — a 
 hurried breakfast, a turn on the terrace, 
 then a journey by express speed and han- 
 som cab to the City — back again to the 
 Victoria Station at five o'clock, dinner, the 
 Times newspaper, port wine, a cigar, 
 lastly tea with the ladies in the drawing- 
 room before going to bed. Such was Mr. 
 Cornweirs life, compared with which many 
 a working man's might seem easy. But he 
 was a prosperous man, he had a handsome 
 wife, a large family of fine children, and 
 enjoyed an excellent reputation for hospi- 
 tality, liberal dealings with the poor, and 
 art-patronage extended in the right direc-
 
 BRIDGET. 137 
 
 tion. Thus, perhaps, lie was in some de- 
 gree compensated for the treadmill kind of 
 life to which he had condemned himself. 
 
 A day or two passed, and no summons 
 came, but one morning, when Freeland was 
 beginning to tire of his enforced idleness, 
 an idleness, moreover, which Mr, Corn- 
 well was paying for, he was accidentally 
 made aware of Helwyse's coming. Happen- 
 ing to be at the station (how often we find 
 ourselves by chance in the place where we 
 wish to be !) he caught sight of a face that 
 he recognized, though where he had seen 
 it first he could not bring to mind. 
 
 It was a girl's face, very young, very 
 unfinished as yet, if such an expression is 
 admissible, when regarding it from an 
 artistic point of view. The nose was too 
 small, the mouth was too large, the chin 
 required more delicate moulding, whilst 
 the abundant black hair curling about her
 
 138 BRIDGET. 
 
 shoulders was as intractable as the large, 
 ungainly figure, half-childish, half-woman- 
 like ; nevertheless it was plain that the 
 promise of a superb woman was here, 
 and the eyes, large, velvety, and full of 
 expression, alone sufficed as a guarantee. 
 Freeland, who, artist-like, never saw a 
 striking face without analyzing it, forgot 
 for the moment that it was Brigitte, but 
 the girl no sooner caught sight of him than 
 she darted forward, crying at the top of 
 her voice, in her odd French-English, 
 
 "Hilaire, this is the Monsieur whose 
 Minette Patrice put into the vermillion- 
 pot." 
 
 And Hilaire, who partly for Helwyse's 
 
 sake, and partly on account of a private 
 
 little plot of her own, Mrs. Cornwell had 
 
 also invited to Beechholme Park, trotted 
 
 after, screaming excitedly, 
 
 " Oh ! how is Minette, and is the red 
 gone off her tail ?"
 
 BRIDGET. 139 
 
 Freeland stooped down to kiss the little 
 cheek that was held up to him in the great- 
 est embarrassment. Brigitte held out her 
 hand — nay, caught hold of his arm, so 
 great was her delight at recognising a 
 friendly face amid the strange surround- 
 ings. Hilaire clutched his coat lappel; 
 there was no chance of escape. 
 
 " We are going to stay here a fortnight, 
 and Aunt Helwyse has given me her blue 
 dress with the pretty buttons, and Hilaire 
 will have as much new milk as he pleases,'* 
 Brigitte said. 
 
 "And poor Patrice and Ambroise had 
 to be left behind," added Hilaire ; **but I 
 shall take them home some acorns and 
 blackberries." 
 
 Freeland, answering mechanically, glanced 
 towards the group they had left at the end 
 of the platform. There was Helwyse in 
 the midst, with Mrs. Cornwell and two
 
 140 BRIDGET. 
 
 of her little girls on one side, Mr. Kings- 
 bury on the other, two or three visitors, 
 also newly arrived, being introduced to each 
 other, and half-a-dozen servants bustling 
 about with the luggage. The children's sud- 
 den rush at Freeland and loud cries natu- 
 rally directed attention that way. Helwyse 
 looked after them, smiling, but vexed ; 
 Mr. Kingsbury and the rest of the party 
 stared in unmitigated amazement, whilst 
 the promiscuous spectators tittered. The 
 proper-minded little Cornwells looked 
 horrified, and even the good-natured host- 
 ess coloured with mortification. Were not 
 the eyes of the station-master and station- 
 mistress — that is to say, of the whole world 
 upon them, maliciously enjoying the little 
 scene ! 
 
 What could Helwyse do ? When, in 
 answer to Freeland's respectful salutation, 
 she merely bowed acknowledgment, it was
 
 BRIDGET. 141 
 
 as mucli as could be reasonably expected 
 of her ; yet, because she did no more than 
 this, he extricated himself brusquely from 
 the children's hand-clasp, made an abrupt 
 adieu, and hastened away, never turning 
 his head. Brigitte and little Hilaire stood 
 looking after him with a crestfallen air, 
 neither the one nor the other imagining 
 that they themselves were the cause of this 
 strange behaviour. 
 
 " The monsieur is not so nice as I 
 thought," Hilaire said, disconcertedly. 
 "He couldn't be angry with us, because 
 we did not put the kitten's tail into the 
 vermillion-pot, you know." 
 
 "Well, dear," Brigitte answered, ever 
 anxious to sweep away the tiniest cloud 
 from her darling's little horizon, " he may 
 be busy just now, and we shall see him 
 again to-morrow." 
 
 Hilaire was not convinced.
 
 142 BEIDOET. 
 
 " He looked quite glum, Brigitte ; he 
 couldn't have looked glummer if we had 
 dipped ten pussies into his paint-pots, I 
 am sure." 
 
 " But that may have nothing whatever 
 to do with us, Hilaire. I look glum when 
 I have the toothache, don't I ? and people 
 might just as well think I was not nice." 
 
 " Oh ! perhaps he has the toothache, 
 the poor monsieur — I never thought of 
 that," the child said, quite reassured ; then 
 they were joined by the others. 
 
 Not only this, but half-a-dozen incidents 
 on that first day of arrival at Beechholme 
 Park, made Helwyse feel as if a bear in 
 leading-strings would have been easier to 
 manage than this poor, impulsive, childish 
 Brigitte. She had not a grain of intract- 
 ableness in her composition, but she was 
 so unused to the ways of the world, so 
 unmanageable in the matter of personal
 
 BRIDGET. 143 
 
 tidiness, liberal use of strings and buttons, 
 and other means of keeping her clothes in 
 their proper place, so thoughtless where 
 the opinion of others was concerned, that 
 Helwyse had to administer a succession of 
 mild little reproofs. 
 
 Poor Brigitte ! How she rejoiced when 
 the nursery-tea came, and the day's ordeal 
 was over. The elder children of the house 
 were at school. Brigitte stood in no awe 
 of the two little over-dressed girls, who at 
 once set her to work to dress their dolls 
 for them, and patronizingly bestowed upon 
 Hilarie a cupboard full of broken toys. 
 They were good little girls enough, and 
 the elder, the slow, heavy, plain child of 
 the family, whose turn-up nose, red hair, 
 and general dulness was a constant grief 
 to both parents, soon found Brigitte 
 quite delightful. Brigitte did not carry 
 things with a high hand, like her pretty,
 
 144 BRIDGET. 
 
 clever, much-admired sister, and Brigitte 
 caressed and petted her as much as 
 strangers petted the more favoured Eosie. 
 
 So when Mrs. Corn well, magnificently 
 dressed for dinner, in white satin and 
 diamonds, made her appearance in the 
 nursery, she smiled complacently at the 
 group. There was Eosie, lording it to her 
 heart's content over Hilaire, the two as 
 bosom friends as bosom friends can be; 
 and there was the oft-neglected, unat- 
 tractive Janie, sitting on Brigitte's lap, 
 listening to all kinds of new nursery 
 rhymes. The two young sisters were 
 speaking French, too, for Brigitte and her 
 brothers adored French as the language 
 of their dear early home in Gascony, 
 and they never spoke English when French 
 would do. 
 
 " How improving for my children !" 
 thought Mrs. Cornwell, who, only a few
 
 BRIDGET. 145 
 
 weeks back, had parted with a French 
 nurse. " Yes, if the girl turns out a nice 
 girl, I will at once suggest my plans." 
 
 After two or three days, Brigitte settled 
 down without any more ado. She still 
 gave Helwyse a pang of terror now and 
 then with regard to punctuality at meals, 
 proper Sunday behaviour — for at Beech- 
 holme Park Sunday was rigorously observ- 
 ed — and personal appearance, but that was 
 all ; though the tallest person of her own 
 sex in the house, only wanting long dresses 
 and correct hair-dressing to look present- 
 able at balls, she persistently kept to the 
 nursery, not even venturing down to what 
 Mrs. Cornwell called a family dinner- 
 party, for Brigitte avoided the drawing- 
 room as if it were a plague-stricken place, 
 and could not even be persuaded to go 
 down to dinner with Rosie and Janie. In 
 the nursery she was happy, and in the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 BRIDGET. 
 
 nursery site stayed, taking long rambles 
 with Hilaire, when the little girls were 
 riding with the groom, fleeing down a side 
 alley of the park if she caught sight of her 
 fellow- visitors, enjoying the daisies and 
 buttercups and blackberries for the first 
 time in her young life without a care.
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 BENEATH THE SPREADING OAK." 
 
 rpiHE rich, warm sunshine of the late 
 
 -*- September afternoon steeped glen 
 
 and hollow in Beechholme Park with 
 
 golden light, whilst far around moor and 
 
 wood and hills lay bathed in yet mellower 
 
 effulgence. It was still too warm for 
 
 rambling in the woods, and the very best 
 
 hour of the day for sketching, so Helwyse 
 
 and one or two fellow-guests had brought 
 
 out their sketch-books, and were leisurely 
 
 working under the trees. It was a lovely 
 
 bit of woodland scenery they had chosen 
 
 as a subject — large, majestic oaks, in the 
 
 l2
 
 148 BRIDGET. 
 
 fulness, yet not decay, of years, a vista of 
 purple under the lower branches, and lawny 
 glades of ripest gold stretching beneath. 
 This was all ; yet what landscape artist 
 wants more for a summer picture ? 
 
 Kingsbury, who was a prince among 
 painters, had brought his easel, or rather 
 the Beechholme servants had brought it 
 for him, and with true artistic fervour was 
 revelling in the delicious light and shadow 
 of the nearer boughs, where patines of 
 bright gold lay motionless upon the almost 
 violet sombreness of the nnder-leaves. 
 Helwyse, who always felt herself the hum- 
 blest of the humble in the presence of her 
 master — for so indeed, artistically speaking, 
 she regarded him — contented herself with 
 sketching a magnificent group of white 
 fox-gloves, rising like a procession of fairy 
 princesses from a mossy bank close by. 
 
 Idly stretched on the turf, with a volume
 
 BRIDGET. 149 
 
 of Shelley, from whicH he occasionally 
 read extracts, was a third guest-friend, 
 Hubert Papillon by name, who may be 
 described as one of those men who have 
 written a successful play and novel, are 
 always travelling, speak many languages, 
 and never grow old. Mr. Papillon was, in 
 fact, clever, and being rich, and a bache- 
 lor, and without any more notions of poli- 
 tics, or what are called social obligations, 
 than a well-trained singing-bird, gave up 
 his time, his talents, and his money to the 
 cultivation of that cleverness which so 
 astonished his friends. He came of three 
 stocks — French, English, and Wallachian, 
 which, perhaps, accounted for seeming con- 
 tradictions in his temperament. He was a 
 good fellow, yet in some senses a Bohe- 
 mian; and though perpetually changing 
 his tastes and hobbies, he never so far 
 changed as to lose the character of a 
 chivalrous English gentleman.
 
 150 BRIDGET. 
 
 Thus much for Hubert Papillon, and of 
 Mrs. Cornwell, who, engaged in some 
 elegant needlework for a bazaar, made up 
 the group, it is unnecessary to say any- 
 thing. 
 
 "I have arranged all the tableaux vivants 
 for your party to-morrow, Mrs. Corn- 
 well," said Papillon, disgusted at having 
 read a sonnet to which nobody paid any 
 attention. — What a bore these artists are 
 when out sketching ! — he thought to him- 
 self ; — and they are always at it! — He added 
 aloud — "But we must have Miss Clifford 
 for the Jephthah's daughter." 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Coi'nwell answered, 
 good-naturedly, *' I have telegraphed as 
 you told me to do. ' Your eyes indispens- 
 able to-morrow for Jephthah's daughter.' If 
 she does not benevolently come after that 
 appeal, nothing but her own inclination 
 will bring her."
 
 BRIDGET. 151 
 
 " That's the worst of it," Papillon said, 
 impatiently. "A woman famous for her 
 eyes is good for nothing. Miss Clifford is 
 — I won't say downright ngly — but you 
 know well enough, were it not for those 
 magnificent eyes, she would never so much 
 as be looked at. Oh, I hate you all, you 
 handsome women!" he added, glaring 
 maliciously at his hostess and lovely guest- 
 friend. 
 
 " Come, Papillon, that is quite intem- 
 perate language, you know," Kingsbury 
 said. 
 
 " I am sure I beg Mrs. Corn well's and 
 Miss Fleming's humble pardon," he said, 
 with affected meekness. *' But you must 
 confess, Kingsbury, I am greatly to be 
 pitied. Mine is a hard case. I have spent 
 days upon these tableaux vivants, in order 
 to give general pleasure and satisfaction, 
 and at the last moment Miss Clifford writes
 
 152 BRIDGET. 
 
 that she can't conveniently arrive till next 
 week, thus upsetting all my arrangements." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure you have been most 
 kind about it. And the dresses you brought 
 with you ! "Why, the railway people must 
 have taken you for a stage-manager," Mrs. 
 Cornwell put in, consolingly. 
 
 " Thank you for your sympathy. I am 
 only sorry things have turned out so un- 
 fortunately. The Jephthah's daughter was 
 to have been the crowning achievement ; 
 and now it must either collapse alto- 
 gether, or be a frightful fiasco." 
 
 " The Cordelia will console us for every- 
 thing," Kingsbury said, looking at Hel- 
 wyse for the smile and the blush, which 
 did not, however, come. Helwyse was so 
 absorbed in her white fox-gloves at that 
 moment, that this allusion to her appear- 
 ance as Cordelia passed unnoticed. 
 
 Just then there was a rush of young
 
 BRIDGET. 153 
 
 feet on the turf, and a wild, radiant figure, 
 gipsy, cliild, and woman all in one, stood 
 before them. It was Bri^itte, who, in her 
 broad-brimmed straw hafc and brown 
 holland pinafore-like dress, looked as dis- 
 hevelled, untidy, and Bohemian as could be 
 well imagined. That long, curly, black hair 
 of hers had never surely seemed so intracta- 
 ble before, whilst her garments, from which 
 the sash had dropped in her play — poor 
 Brigitte who was always losing some part 
 of her dress or other, and being scolded in 
 consequence ! — fell to her feet in folds as 
 unfashionable as those of a Greek statue. 
 But two or three days of out-of-door life 
 and perfect happiness had wonderfully em- 
 bellished the girl, and as she stood there, 
 holding out a letter to Mrs. Cornwell, all 
 eagerness and expectation, she looked quite 
 handsome. " What could not be made of 
 the child with stays, crinolines, and dress-
 
 1 54 BRIDGET. 
 
 improvers," thought Mrs. Corn well, 
 whilst the others found in the very absence 
 of these abominations something indescrib- 
 ably picturesque and noble. 
 
 *' Oh ! madame," Brigitte cried, speaking 
 French as she always did when eager, 
 "here is a telegram for you — and may 
 Hilaire and I go with Mr. Freeland to see 
 the young owl's nest at Hollow Farm? 
 Eosie and Janie are out riding, and we 
 will promise to be back before dusk." 
 
 Mrs. Cornwell looked at Helwyse. 
 Helwyse smiled assentingly, so the permis- 
 sion was accorded. For Rosie and Janie 
 to have accepted such an invitation would 
 have been out of the question, of course, 
 but with regard to Brigitte and Hilaire it 
 was quite another matter. So the delight- 
 ed Brigitte rushed off, afraid to inperil the 
 permission by a moment's delay. Before 
 Papillon had time to inquire the meaning
 
 BRIDGET. 155 
 
 of such an apparition, for he had lunched 
 out every day since his arrival, and had, 
 therefore, not encountered Helwyse's young 
 charges, Mrs. Cornwell read aloud with 
 dismay, 
 
 " From Edith Clifford to Mrs. Corn- 
 well. — Impossible to leave so soon. A 
 thousand regrets." 
 
 '* I have thought of something/' cried 
 Papillon, springing from the ground and 
 pointing in the direction Brigitte had 
 taken. *' There is Jephthah's daughter, 
 my dear friends. We might search the 
 United Kingdom in vain to find a better. 
 Edith Clifford is all very well, but Edith 
 Clifford is a fashionable young lady. This 
 girl, whoever she may be, is superb, and 
 have her we must." 
 
 " My poor Brigitte !" Helwyse said, 
 smiling almost incredulously. "I have 
 hardly thought of her looks at all."
 
 156 BEIDGET. 
 
 " AVho and what is she ? — a protegee^ a 
 mirsery-maid, a Sunday-school monitor ? I 
 am dying to know." * 
 
 "Whereupon Helwyse, who had known 
 Papillon for several years, told the story 
 of the orphan's arrival with mingled humour 
 and pathos. 
 
 " What a romantic history !" said Kings- 
 bury ; adding, with a little shrug of the 
 shoulders, " thank Heaven I have no 
 nephews or nieces who can thus surprise 
 me, for, mingled with the pleasure, must 
 have been a little dismay at such an in- 
 vasion." 
 
 "And think of Miss Fleming adopting 
 one — and a boy — a boy!", Mrs. Corn well 
 said, looking horrified. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you entertain 
 such an idea ?" said the artist, turning to 
 Helwyse with mingled admiration and 
 disapproval. " It is generous, but under
 
 BRIDGET. 157 
 
 the circumstances, Quixotic. You will 
 endanger your art-career. You will ham- 
 per yourself in a hundred ways. You will 
 no longer be your own mistress." 
 
 " That is what I say," Mrs. Cornwell, 
 added. " Her heart and soul are now in 
 her work, and that is why she does it so 
 well. But when she has a boy to look 
 after — " and the word was pronounced as 
 emphatically as if it had been an anacondah 
 or rhinoceros, or some other dreadful 
 creature — " when she has a boy to look 
 after and mend for and scold, and take to 
 church on Sundays, and buy quartern 
 loaves for every day, either Miss Fleming 
 will get ill, or Miss Fleming's pictures 
 will cease to be hung." 
 
 "What worldly nonsense you are both 
 talking ! Excuse me, my dear Mrs. Corn- 
 well, for the language, but really I am 
 amazed," said Papillon, with indolent in-
 
 158 BRIDGET. 
 
 dignation. ** Are, then, natural affection 
 and Christian charity to be banished from 
 the world, lest there should be one picture 
 painted or one book written the less ? I 
 honour Miss Helwyse for her resolve, and 
 I will take the monster you speak of to 
 the Zoological Gardens every Sunday — 
 provided his aunt goes too." 
 
 " That is a poor display of the Christian 
 charity you spoke of just now," Kingsbury 
 said. " I speak solely as an artist, and 
 as from time to time Miss Fleming does 
 me the honour to ask my opinion, I ven- 
 ture upon offering a word or two of friendly 
 advice now." 
 
 " Which she won't take, I'm sure. But 
 God knows what a god-send is this Miss 
 Brigitte to me ! The very best Jephthah's 
 daughter in the world dropped from the 
 <jlouds ! You will manage the business for 
 me, will you not, Miss Fleming ?"
 
 BRIDGET. 159 
 
 " I will try ; but Brigitte is not easy to 
 be persuaded." 
 
 " Bribe her with something pretty — coax 
 her, only gain her consent somehow, and I 
 shall be eternally grateful. I have set my 
 heart upon the matter, you see, and Mrs. 
 Cornwell also." 
 
 " I have found out the way to win 
 Brigitte's affections, and if everything else 
 fails, will see what I can do," Mrs. Corn- 
 well said. " She is so devoted to her 
 little brother, that to please him she would 
 figure as Jephthah's daughter before all 
 London." 
 
 *' Bravo!" Papillon cried, delightedly. 
 
 " Tell Brigitte that, if she consents, 
 Hilaire shall sit up to see the piece, and all 
 four shall have supper after in the nursery, 
 and crackers." 
 
 '' Ah ! I should never have thought of 
 that. Dear Mrs. Cornwell, how kind of
 
 f 
 
 '160 ■ / BRIDGET; 
 
 * '^' 
 
 / you ! I am sure Brigjtte will do all that 
 - is asked of her," -Helwyse" answered ; then 
 the conversation dropped into another 
 channel. * 
 
 By-and-by tea was Jbrought out, after 
 
 * which Mr^. Cor awell Vrose, saying that 
 
 ■it was time £dl* h^ea^ to fetch her husband 
 
 from the station. ^Helwys^ also put up 
 
 »• - • 
 
 her painting things, and leaving the two 
 
 „men still unden the oak-trees, she set off to 
 
 meet the chilal'en alone. * - " 
 
 • A little ploucj wsts on ■ Ijer face, and 
 
 a little weight lay on her*; heart, she . 
 
 W^ly. knew why. Was it bemuse -she 
 
 saw that "her ' oracle dfeapprpved 6£ tjijs' 
 
 « ' *=" ■ , 
 
 resglve to help poor Bryan?* Did he •; 
 
 ' • * . ■» ■ 
 
 see in her conduct a falling: '•off from 
 
 those precepts he hai'^scT long- and sp 
 earnestly ineijilcated, » namely, that 4ihe 
 life devoted * to ayt must be single-pur- 
 poseij self-sacrificing, coJisecrated as the. 
 
 ^
 
 Fidget. # 161 
 
 life of the Hebre^w 'Samuel' or tlie Greek 
 
 ■•■**■ * ■ ■ .. 
 
 Ion within the walls. of the^ temple? Did 
 he regard her^determinatioi;! tfot only as' a 
 piece of Quixotism, bnt'' as "a swerving from 
 
 the high allegiance she }iad^ sworn, to' from 
 
 ** ^* * . ■* * 
 
 hpr childhood up;wards? Qf, if none of^ 
 
 these thoughts were imhis m!n,d, why had 
 
 his voice been so suddenly xjcjld, his face so 
 
 unsympathetic ? 
 
 Poor Helwyse began to j|eel for the 
 
 first time that life was .growing a problem 
 
 and a perplexity. She mu^ stand by 
 
 Bryan, yet^ there wais nothing fti the worTd^ 
 
 sOy sweet fo her as Kingsbury's^ pfeises. 
 
 He st6©d out from the crowd of her fellow* 
 
 artists as a grand, mediasval, woaderfully- 
 
 endowed genius, whose lightest "ajfpiroval 
 
 , "^ . i*- 
 
 was a guarantee of future fame, whose?* 
 
 merest criticism was a^^esspn to be pon- 
 dered over for years. How kind, and 
 ^ good, and helpful a friend he had been to 
 ' VOL. I. V M; 
 
 4»
 
 162 BEIDGET. 
 
 Ler from tlie very beginning of her artistic 
 career ! She could not endure the thought 
 of disappointing him now. 
 
 Thinking these thoughts as she walked 
 pensively through the dusky lanes, she sud- 
 denly heard merry young voices, and came 
 upon the three all at once, Freeland in the 
 midst, Brigitte clinging to his arm, Hilaire 
 holding him by the hand. A kind of pa- 
 ternal tenderness had been developed in 
 Ereeland's nature long ago, when yet a 
 mere boy he had found himself the natural 
 protector of helpless little sisters ; and it 
 was renewed now. 
 
 " Oh ! auntie," cried Hilaire, ecstatically, 
 " we have had such a treat ! Mr. Freeland 
 put up a swing for us, and gave us harvest 
 cake, and I took one of the little owls in 
 my arms, I did." 
 
 ^' Such queer things, as prickly as por- 
 cupines, and with such eves and mouths !"
 
 BRIDGET. 163 
 
 Brigitte added, laughingly trying to ex- 
 tend lier own sufficiently by way of imita- 
 tion. " You must see them, auntie." 
 
 Helwyse, having greeted Freeland, gave 
 her hand to Hilaire, and the four walked 
 in a friendly line homewards. After that 
 vexatious encounter at the station, Free- 
 land had taken refuge in the coldest, most 
 business-like behaviour, and it had been 
 easy to keep this up, so long as they were 
 in Mrs. Cornwell's boudoir, with work- 
 men standing by, and a hundred things to 
 be thought of during the interview. But 
 now, when the children had again brought 
 them together in this easy, natural way, 
 aud they were walking side by side amid 
 delicious woods, and under a purpling sky, 
 with pale stars trembling through a prim- 
 rose cloud, and an ineffable peace and 
 sweetness around and above them, all his 
 old craving for equality came back. He 
 
 m2
 
 164 BRIDGET. 
 
 craved an equality that sliould be recog- 
 nised by the world, as well as by Helwyse's 
 own heart, an equality incontestable, guar- 
 anteed, permanent. 
 
 But he felt joyous, and when Helwyse, 
 having heard much more about the young 
 owls, expressed a wish to see them, he 
 said eagerly, 
 
 " Will you come and see them, then, to- 
 morrow afternoon, Miss Helwyse? I shall 
 be back to tea at six o'clock " 
 
 " And will you give Aunt Helwyse tea 
 and harvest cake, too, and show her every- 
 thing ?" Hilaire said. 
 
 " Not to-morrow, thank you. It is Mrs. 
 Cornwell's party, you know, and I have 
 promised to help in the preparations. But 
 may I come the next day ? and I think Mr. 
 Kingsbury would like to come, too; perhaps 
 we could sketch the young owls in their 
 nest," Helwyse added, not noticing with
 
 EBIDGET. 165 
 
 how little alacrity Freeland assented this 
 time. 
 
 Then they talked of birds and their ways, 
 Freeland bestowing information abundant- 
 ly, and able to answer all the questions put 
 to him. Helwyse, artist-like, ever pondering 
 over some fresh idea, always found here a 
 ready fund of knowledge and suggestions. 
 Freeland could tell her where to go for 
 exactly the bit of forest scenery she want- 
 ed, could accurately describe this bird and 
 that, could imitate every woodland note, 
 and knew the names of every wild flower, 
 shrub, or tree that grew thereabouts. So 
 they talked eagerly till they reached the 
 park-gates. 
 
 There his ease and gaiety forsook him. 
 The stately, brand-new iron gates of 
 Beechholme Park were like barriers shut- 
 ting him out of Paradise, in other words, 
 from the world in which Helwyse moved.
 
 166 BRIDGET. 
 
 as lovely and as mucli removed from him 
 as the star shining so radiantly over their 
 heads. 
 
 He was about to turn back after a formal 
 greeting, when Hilaire threw up his arms^ 
 imperatively demanding a kiss, and Bri- 
 gitte held out her hand with a friendly 
 good-bye. 
 
 '' Dear Mr. Freeland, may we come and 
 see you again soon ?" said Hilaire, whilst 
 Brigitte echoed the wish in other words. 
 
 How could Helwyse hold back ? She 
 also advanced with outstretched hands and 
 said in the friendliest tones, 
 
 " Thank you very much for being so 
 good to the children, Mr. Freeland. I will 
 not fail to be at Hollow Farm the day 
 after to-morrow at six o'clock," 
 
 Then they separated ; Helwyse to has- 
 ten indoors and make the speediest pos- 
 sible toilette with Brigitte's help, Hilaire
 
 BRIDGET. 167 
 
 looking on; Freeland to stroll home- 
 wards in the heavy, silent sweetness of 
 the twilight, looking back more than 
 once at the brilliantly lighted mansion he 
 had left behind.
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 jephthah's daughter. 
 
 ll TRS. CORNWELL never omitted 
 ^^-*- the reading of nursery prayers, 
 which she did in a lively, unsentimental 
 way, making them as interesting as 
 story-books. She had not a grain of sen- 
 timentality in her composition ; so when 
 she sat down at the head of the table in a 
 pretty, bright-coloured morning dress, 
 with a pleasant smile on her handsome 
 face, you might be sure there would fol- 
 low no lachrymose dissertations on juve- 
 nile sinners and saints, and their treatment
 
 BRIDGET. 169 
 
 in the world to come. Slie instead would 
 read the story of Joseph and his brethren, 
 and of Miriam and the infant Moses, much 
 as if they were incidents of ordinary daily 
 life, leaving her young hearers to draw 
 the moral for themselves. To-day, being 
 entirely pre-occupied with her party, and 
 wishing to set Papillon's mind at ease 
 about the tableaux vivants without delay, 
 she read the narrative of Jephthah's 
 daughter. When the reading was over and 
 she had kissed them all before descending 
 to breakfast, she said, certainly with a 
 Macchiavellian insight into the real state of 
 affairs — 
 
 " I have such a treat in store for you all 
 to-night, provided Brigitte will do some- 
 thing for me. You are to sit up till ten 
 o'clock to see the company and the cha- 
 rades, and have supper afterwards and
 
 170 BRIDGET. 
 
 crackers and a camellia each to wear !" 
 '' Oh !" was the universal cry of ecstasy. 
 Then in a brief, innocent way, as if 
 she were merely asking her to shut the 
 door, Mrs. Cornwell mooted the subject 
 of Jephthah's daughter. 
 
 Brigitte, of course, was trapped. The 
 idea of appearing before Mrs. Corn well's 
 guests was simply dreadful to her. She 
 felt afraid of breaking down, but to break 
 down a dozen times were nothing in com- 
 parison to Hilaire's disappointment. She 
 consented with a dismayed face, and, as 
 soon as breakfast was over, retired to her 
 favourite seat in the bay window, with the 
 Bible in her hands. She said to herself 
 that the thing must be done well, since she 
 had promised to do it. Would not failure 
 be not only ungrateful, but unfair ? Her 
 kind friend's share of the compact would 
 be abundantly fulfilled, she knew that, and
 
 3KID0ET. 171 
 
 how mucli was she indebted to her already I 
 Never before had Hilaire looked so strong 
 and rosy, whilst every day in this enchanted 
 place was health-giving and blissful to 
 him. She must, she would succeed for 
 conscience and Mrs. Cornweirs sake. 
 
 So, perched on the broad window-sill 
 behind a red curtain, her long limbs drawn 
 up under her, her arms folded behind her 
 head, the open Bible on her knees, she sat 
 conning the story of the heroic Hebrew 
 maiden. 
 
 It was new to Brigitte, for she had not 
 been brought up to read the Bible among 
 her Catholic relations, and as she read, and 
 re-read, she seemed farther off than ever 
 from arriving at a satisfactory interpreta- 
 tion. When, an hour after, Helwyse entered, 
 she rose and said, putting down the book 
 in despair, 
 
 " Aunt Helwyse, I do not in the least
 
 1 72 BRIDGET. 
 
 know how I shall do it. You see, I don't 
 understand the story. If Jephthah had 
 been my father I should have so hated him 
 for his cruelty that I am sure I should 
 have escaped from the mountains." 
 
 " There is another way of looking at it," 
 Helwyse said. " Suppose you had not 
 been the first of his children to meet 
 Jephthah, but there were several, and the 
 one to be sacrificed was a little sister or 
 brother you loved very much, would you 
 not at once have consented to die in that 
 one's place?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! if it were Hilaire," Brigitte 
 answered, a gleam of indescribable love 
 and devotion lighting up her dark eyes. 
 ^* I see what you mean, Aunt Helwyse. I 
 think I can do it now. I will alter the 
 story in my own mind ; I will fancy myself 
 about to die, not for the sake of a cruel 
 father, but for a little brother like Hilaire.
 
 BEIDaET. 173 
 
 That would not be so very hard, I think." 
 " Well, come with me to try on the 
 dresses," Helwyse answered cheerfully. 
 "You need not think anymore of the piece 
 now, I am sure." 
 
 " But I must think about it. Aunt Hel- 
 wyse. You see, there will be so many 
 people to look on, and if I do not do my 
 part, I shall feel that I have cheated Mrs. 
 Cornwell." 
 
 It was not without much persuasion 
 that the girl could be induced to leave her 
 solitary corner in the window ; but when 
 she found herself among the gorgeous 
 dresses that Papillon displayed in order to 
 dazzle her, she forgot all about the little 
 brother and the sacrifice. With half 
 childish, half womanly delight, and a 
 coquetry now brought into play for 
 the first time, she allowed herself to be 
 attired in one magnificent dress after the
 
 174 BBIBGET* 
 
 other. Papillon was enra^Dtured with his 
 new acquisition. Her wild, black hair, 
 large yet not ungraceful limbs, mobile 
 features, and fine eyes, charmed him 
 as much as her almost infantine naivete 
 and childishness. She was still, in 
 fact, a mere child, all precocity had 
 been the development of suffering and 
 self-sacrifice ; and beneath this gravity 
 and sedateness beyond her years lay a 
 capacity for joyousness and enthusiasm 
 new even to herself. 
 
 Two or three other guests had arrived 
 that morning, and much time was occu- 
 pied in arranging the various tableaux to 
 Papillon's satisfaction. Brigitte's imper- 
 sonation alone pleased him. Helwyse 
 made a charming Cordelia, Kingsbury a 
 noble Caractacus, but a Cordelia and a 
 Caractacus a little too like Helwyse and 
 Kingsbury. Brigitte, and Brigitte only,
 
 BRIDGET. 175 
 
 seemed to grow into the r61e, and leav6 
 her former self behind. 
 
 "My dear little girl," Papillon said. 
 Brigitte was almost as big as himself, but 
 being double her years, he felt privileged 
 to use such language. '' Only do as well 
 to-night as you are doing now, and to- 
 morrow I will give you anything you ask 
 of me." 
 
 "Will you hold Hilaire on Eosie's pony 
 while he trots round the lawn ?" she asked. 
 
 " That is no favour. The grooms are 
 there on purpose to do it. No ; ask for 
 something you can see and hold in your 
 hands," answered -Papillon, who was indo- 
 lent in hot weather. 
 
 " Well, will you climb to the top of the 
 big fir tree at the end of the plantation, 
 and fetch me one of the young squirrels ?" 
 
 "The squirrel would bite and scratch 
 you," Papillon said, with another wry
 
 176 BRIDGET. 
 
 face. " You shall have bonbons instead." 
 " I want nothing ; I was only teazing," 
 Brigitte answered, laughing gaily. Then 
 she returned to the nursery to tell Hilaire 
 of all the wonderful things he was to see, 
 and to amuse all three children till evening 
 came. Even the nurse was busy below, 
 and Brigitte was the best nursemaid in 
 the world, full of resources and possessed 
 of indefatigable patience. Mrs. Cornwell 
 congratulated herself more than once that 
 day upon the piece of benevolence which 
 had turned out so well. 
 
 The company was a superb one, and the 
 festive appearance of Beechholme Park 
 seemed fairyland to Brigitte and Hilaire. 
 It was the first splendour they had seen, 
 and Hilaire quite made up his mind that a 
 mine of gold lay somewhere in Mrs. Corn- 
 well's estate, only waiting to be coined when 
 the owner wanted it. The four children
 
 BRIDGET. 177 
 
 stood on tlie stairs to see the visitors 
 pass into the dining-room, Hilaire, with 
 the utmost difficulty, being prevented 
 from clapping his hands at the sight of 
 Mrs. Cornweirs pink satin and diamonds. 
 
 Neither children nor guests observed 
 another spectator of the scene, who, hap- 
 pening at that moment to be crossing 
 the hall, paused for a moment in the 
 shadow of a vestibule till the procession 
 passed by. It was Freeland. There were 
 several finishing touches to be put to the 
 temporary theatre at the eleventh hour, 
 and when Papillon had quitted him an 
 hour before it was with the anxiously- 
 uttered injunction — 
 
 " Mind, Freeland, I rely on you to have 
 everything in order." 
 
 So, with hamnier in hand, he had altered 
 a curtain here, put up a few lights there, 
 re-arranged decorations, just accomplish- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 BRIDGET. 
 
 ing the last stroke as the dinner was 
 announced. 
 
 Though wholly unobserved, he was so 
 near the marshalled guests that her dress 
 touched him as she passed by — for of 
 course he had no eyes but for Helwyse. 
 How lovely she looked, he thought, and 
 liow perfectly she was dressed, though by 
 far the simplest of all ! That white 
 robe so graceful and artless that it might 
 have been worn by an Arcadian shep- 
 herdess on May Day, whilst with the sweet 
 smelling, creamy blossomed stephanotis 
 blossoms in her hair and on her bosom, 
 she looked the very personification of 
 sweetness and spring-like innocence. 
 
 Helwyse was young enough and fair 
 enough to want no other splendours, but 
 you may be sure that in the eyes of the 
 world, that is to say, of Mrs. Corn- 
 well's lady friends and women servants,
 
 BRIDGET. 179 
 
 she was far from faultlessly attired. 
 Freeland watched her till she dis- 
 appeared amid the gay silks, feathers, and 
 glittering jewellery of the rest ; then 
 fetching his hat, precipitately left the 
 house. He had been invited, nay, cor- 
 dially pressed to stay and see the evening's 
 entertainment, but refused, knowing well 
 what such an invitation meant. There 
 would be a champagne supper in the 
 housekeeper's room, with simpering ladies' 
 maids in rustling black silks, and super- 
 cilious butler and upper footmen, all epi- 
 curean in their eating and sparse of 
 Christian charity in their tittle-tattle. Can 
 we expect a corn crop when we have 
 planted tares, or look for sweet apples on 
 a crab tree ? Our servants are as Vanity 
 Fair — not as God made them. 
 . Freeland walked across the park in the 
 lovely summer starlight, not repiningly, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 BRIDGET. 
 
 only a little out of heart, and it must be 
 admitted, out of temper. He felt a cliild- 
 isli longing to beliold Helwyse as Cordelia, 
 and it seemed hard that after having toiled 
 all day at the preparations, he should not 
 be rewarded by a glimpse of her there. It 
 was all very well for Mrs. Cornwell to 
 say — " Pray don't go home, Freeland. 
 Mrs. Beech will take care of you, and I 
 am sure a glass of good champagne will 
 do you good." Mrs. Cornwell must know 
 that he ha'd nothing in common with Mrs. 
 Beech and her friends of the upper kitchen. 
 But his position only seemed anomalous 
 for Helwyse's sake. He would battle with 
 his folly, and so master it that it should 
 never torment him again. After all, were 
 they not good friends, and was she not 
 always sweet and good to him, and glad 
 to be in his company ? He must be satis- 
 fied with this, and when the boy was
 
 BRIDGET. 181 
 
 under his care, there would be count- 
 less opportunities for seeing her oftener 
 still. He sat down to his solitary tea 
 thus with no uncheerful air, lighted 
 his reading lamp, and after three 
 hours' hard study, retired to rest whilst 
 Beechholme Park was still blazing with 
 lights. 
 
 Meanwhile Brigitte, who had been 
 thinking of nothing but Jephthah's daugh- 
 ter during the nursery tea, descended to 
 the dressing-room, passionately longing to 
 do her part well for Hilaire's sake. When 
 the last touch was put to her toilette by 
 Helwyse, and the curtain was about to be 
 drawn up, she sighed, or rather breathed, 
 a little prayer, and from that moment, till 
 it dropped again, so identified herself with 
 the scene that she almost believed it was 
 real. Hers was indeed a glorious imperson- 
 ation, and alike pose, attitude, and expres-
 
 182 BRIDGET. 
 
 sion were of her own choosing. No one 
 
 had said to her, you must try to look 
 
 thus, hold your arms that way, kneel thus 
 
 — she had thought of everything herself, 
 
 and seeing the sudden imaginativeness and 
 
 power the occasion had called forth in this 
 
 apparently common-placeyoung girl, Papil- 
 
 lon delightedly let her have her way. 
 
 There was a round of applause when the 
 
 curtain dropped, and Brigitte was called 
 
 for again and again, but Brigitte had fled. 
 
 After a vain search for her elsewhere, she 
 
 was found in the nursery, with Hilaire on 
 
 her knees, Hilaire's little arms round her 
 
 neck, his applause being all she wanted. 
 
 She had changed her dress, and the sudden 
 
 transformation was wonderful, the rapt, 
 
 passionate, heroic woman of a few minutes 
 
 ago being again a mere child, living in the 
 
 world of childhood only. 
 
 " You must really come downstairs,"
 
 BRIDGET. ] 83 
 
 Papillon said, " there are so rhany people 
 waiting to be introduced to you. You were 
 splendid, my dear cliild." 
 
 "What nonsense — isn't it, Hilaire?" 
 JBrigitte said; "and we wont go down- 
 stairs, will we, Hilaire ? No, we will stay 
 up here and enjoy our crackers in peace." 
 
 " Oh ! will you be so unkind, Miss 
 Brigitte?" 
 
 " It is not unkind at all, and you know 
 it is not. Nobody wants me so much as 
 Eosie, and Janie, and Hilaire ; and please 
 don't stay any longer, Mr. Papillon, be- 
 cause we want to begin our supper.'' 
 
 Papillon went away laughing, and re- 
 peated the story in the drawing-room, of 
 course making the best of it, for to him 
 this naive, brilliant, unformed half-French, 
 half -Irish girl was the one novelty and 
 charm in a society to him dull, flat, stale, 
 and unprofitable. He acknowledged that
 
 184 BRIDGET. 
 
 Helwyse was sweet to look at and sweet to 
 listen to, but Helwyse, fresh and unworld- 
 ly as she was, had none of Brigitte's deli- 
 cious frankness, untameableness, wildness 
 — he knew not by what name to call it. 
 And then, to his thinking, Brigitte pos- 
 sessed beauty — as yet unfinished and 
 undeveloped, but beauty still — of a rarer 
 kind than Helwyse. Those clouds of curly 
 black hair, those violet Irish eyes, 
 so deep, so passionate, so indescribable; 
 those large grand features, that would tone 
 down into symmetry by-and-by, entrapped 
 his fancy and exercised his imagination. 
 The girl was a riddle, a romance, a specu- 
 lation, and he had arrived at an age 
 when to be thus interested and perplexed 
 was a novel and acceptable sensation to 
 him. 
 
 Brigitte, quite unconscious of the curi- 
 osity she had aroused, was making a
 
 BRIDGET. 185 
 
 hearty supper with her young companions, 
 telling stories, singing songs, playing the 
 mimic, doing a hundred things to make 
 them merry. Then, when the mea;l was 
 over, the crackers were pulled, and it was 
 time for the little people to go to bed, 
 as no nursemaid appeared, she performed 
 the business of undressing and washing, 
 finally retiring herself. When, at mid- 
 night, Mrs. Cornwell came for a final 
 glance round, she found all darkness and 
 silence. The children's clothes were neatly 
 folded and put away, the little girls cosily 
 tucked up in their cribs, and Hilaire sleep- 
 ing softly by Brigitte's side. 
 
 " That girl is worth her weight in gold," 
 thought Mrs. Cornwell. " But for her, 
 Eosie and Janie would have been sadly in 
 the way to-day." 
 
 And the next morning the following 
 conversation took place between host and
 
 186 BRIDGET. 
 
 hostess before they descended to the 
 breakfast-table — 
 
 " You are quite sure, my dear, that you 
 have no objection to the plan ?'\said Mrs. 
 Cornwell. 
 
 "What possible objection can I have? 
 If the girl is a nice girl, and if E-osie and 
 Janie are fond of her, there is nothing to 
 say." 
 
 "And of course it is a great advantage 
 to the children to be speaking French per- 
 petually. It is as good as keeping a French 
 maid for them." 
 
 " Much better, I should say." 
 
 " And I am sure it will be a comfort to 
 dear Helwyse to have one of the four 
 orphans provided for, even for a time. Re- 
 sides, I shall let Brigitte have musiclessons, 
 and other advantages." 
 
 " Of course — of course." 
 
 " Then it is settled. I wish another
 
 BRIDGET. 187^ 
 
 matter seemed as likely to be settled too.'* 
 
 " And what is that ?" 
 
 " I am losing patience with Mr. Kings- 
 bury. It is now five years since he and 
 Helwyse have been thrown together. 
 Surely it is high time for him to speak 
 out, if he wishes to marry her." 
 
 " My good Rose, why do you want Miss 
 Fleming to marry anyone ? She is happy 
 enough. She has plenty of friends, and is 
 in a fair way to make her fortune. Let 
 her be." 
 
 ** But Mr. Kingsbury has really behaved 
 to her more like a lover than anything 
 else.'^ 
 
 "Well, he is going away to-day, isn't 
 he? So you will not be annoyed any 
 more by witnessing his attentions." 
 
 *'But that is just the trouble. Mr. 
 Kingsbury has been here for several days. 
 I have given him every opportunity of
 
 1 88 BRIDGET, 
 
 seeing Helwyse. If he goes away without 
 speaking to her, I shall set him down as a 
 trifler." 
 
 " I daresay he is no more a ^trifler than 
 most men. If he saw another man likely 
 to carry off the prize, he would at once 
 enter the lists, and try to carry it off him- 
 self. That is how marriages are made, 
 my dear." 
 
 " Then I hope Helwyse will not think 
 of him at all, and marry some one else." 
 
 " I hope she wiU remain as she is, 
 and go on painting her pretty pictures. 
 But make haste, Rosie. We must really 
 cut down prayers to seven minutes and a 
 half — for a second Psalm always deprives 
 me of my third bit of toast.'' 
 
 Then the usual dressing-room dialogue 
 closed, and Mr. Cornwell descended to 
 take the five minutes' turn in the lawn, 
 which constituted his sole enjoyment of
 
 BRIDGET. 189 
 
 the magnificent standard-roses and sylvan 
 scenery, cultivated so assiduously. Prayers 
 and breakfast followed, both being got 
 through at a rapid pace, after which the 
 brougham drove up with automatic punc- 
 tuality, and he was driven to the station 
 just in time to catch the express. 
 
 Poor Mr. Oornwell ! The village children 
 plucked blackberries and sweetbrier from 
 his hedges ; the gipsy or vagrant encamped 
 in cosy little enclosures off his waste lands ; 
 the schoolboys for miles round went nut-' 
 ting in his woods or fishing in his brooks ; 
 the stray London artist or artizan rejoiced 
 in the beauty of his domains, alike in spring- 
 tide and autumn, haymaking and harvest ; 
 but scant possession, in the spiritual sense 
 of the word, could the owner be said to 
 have of all these. 
 
 The primroses might star the mossy 
 ground with gold, or the hyacinth spread an
 
 190 BRIDGET. 
 
 azure cloud over dell and glade; the skylark 
 miglit pierce the blue vault of Heaven in 
 its arrowy flight, filling it with joyful 
 song ; the yellow hillsides might be flecked 
 with large purple shadows in harvest-time ; 
 the woods change to purple and crimson, 
 and the lonely robins sing to each other 
 from barren hedges, all these eye-rejoicing, 
 heart- stirring sights and sounds were lost 
 to the rich governor of Beechholme Park as 
 he sat in his dreary counting-house from 
 morning till night. 
 
 What an irony of fate is this so-called 
 good fortune sometimes ! Mr. Cornwell 
 was always saying to himself, " I am a 
 prosperous man, thank God, and when I 
 have worked a few years longer, I shall 
 retire from business and enjoy a country 
 life." But could he enjoy it as he fondly 
 imagined he should do? Would not so 
 many long years of indefatigable money-
 
 BEIDGET. 191 
 
 making wear off the keen edges of tliose 
 sensibilities, by virtue of which a man is 
 capable of enjoying good and lovely 
 things ? In vain the wild flowers 
 bloom for us, the birds pipe for us, the 
 poets sing to us, if we have refused to 
 gaze on them and hearken to them in our 
 youth !
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BRIGITTE LISTENS TO PROPOSALS. 
 
 fTIHE next morning, by way of rewarding 
 -*- Brigitte for her amiable behaviour, 
 Mrs. Cornwell took her into the library 
 and made those tempting proposals we 
 have already heard of. A year at 
 Beechholme Park, a pony to ride, music 
 lessons, new dresses, and a trip to London 
 every now and then, surely here was as 
 bright a prospect as the heart of any 
 young girl could desire! But Brigitte 
 listened coldly, and answered, without 
 hesitation. She did not care about all these 
 things, she said, and nothing would induce
 
 BEIDGET. 198 
 
 her to leave Hilaire even for a year. 
 
 Then Mrs. Corn well tried motherly re- 
 monstrance and a little gentle moralizing. 
 Was not Brigitte carrying sisterly attach- 
 ment too far ? If Hilaire were old enough 
 to reason with her on the subject, would 
 he not urge her to accept such an offer ? 
 Would it not indeed be selfish of him to 
 do otherwise ? And Hilaire was not the 
 only person to consult — there was her 
 uncle Bryan and his young family. Had 
 Brigitte thought of them ? she said kind- 
 ly, but with a slight shade of reproach. 
 
 " You must consider," she added, " that 
 it would be greatly to Hilaire's advantage 
 to do as I ask you. The money your uncle 
 Bryan must meantime necessarily spend 
 on you, might be spent on Hilaire. You 
 say he is delicate, he needs then all the 
 more care and comfort '' 
 
 *' That is just why I cannot leave him," 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 BRIDGET. 
 
 Brigitte said. " He is almost always ail- 
 ing, but when I am with him, he forgets 
 all about it. I amuse him in a dozeu 
 different ways, and I am sure no one else 
 would do it." 
 
 " Of course you must do as you please, 
 but there is yet another consideration. If 
 you get a good education yourself — which 
 it seems your uncle Bryan cannot afford 
 to give — you would be enabled later to 
 maintain Hilaire, or at least to give him 
 the comforts he requires. You could earn 
 money and spend it upon him." 
 
 Brigitte reflected for a little. 
 
 " I can do that by-and-by," she said, in 
 the same tones of quiet decision. " I shall 
 better be able to leave him when he is 
 older and stronger ; and then I do not 
 mind where I go or what I do in order to 
 help poor Uncle Bryan. It is not myself 
 I care about," she added, with tears in her
 
 BEIDGET. 195 
 
 eyes, and a quivering of the under-lip. " I 
 could bear to be parted from him, of 
 course, if I made up my mind to it ; but I 
 could not bear to have him unhappy. It 
 would break my heart." 
 
 " You are a good girl, Brigitte, and I am 
 sure no one can blame you for such devo-r 
 tion. But, my dear, children do very 
 quickly forget things." 
 
 " Mrs. Cornwell, don't ask me to do it. 
 He could never forget me. No one 
 loves him as I do," the girl said, bursting 
 into tears, and of course her friend 
 ceased to persuade. Perhaps Brigitte 
 would have opportunities of learning at 
 home — she was still young, and must make 
 up for lost time, and so on. 
 
 But hardly were Brigitte's tears dried, 
 and her misgivings set at ease, when a 
 fresh trial awaited her. Mrs. Cornwell 
 having given her a basket of flowers to 
 
 o2
 
 196 BRIDGET. 
 
 arrange, left lier alone in tlie library,, 
 wliere, half an hour later, Papillon found 
 her, humming to herself not over cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 "And what are you thinking of?" he 
 asked, as he entered the room, and sat 
 down to watch her at work. Two vases 
 had been already filled, but a heap of roses 
 and lilies still lay on the table, Brigitte 
 handling them as lovingly as if they were 
 human beings. She had stuck a splendid 
 crimson flower in her hair, another in her 
 bosom, and in her dark blue cotton dress, 
 with its long straight skirt and loose hang- 
 ing sleeves, might have been taken for an 
 Eastern flower-girl. The picture struck 
 Papillon 's fancy, and bringing out pencil 
 and sketch-book, he began to draw it while 
 they talked. 
 
 " I was thinking," she said, quite inno- 
 cently, " that I wish I could earn some 
 money."
 
 BRIDGET. 197 
 
 " And what would you do with it ?" 
 
 " Oh ! so many things. I should first 
 of all buy Hilaire a little blue coat with 
 silver buttons ; then I should spend a pound 
 or two on learning to read and write ; and 
 the rest, of course, I should give Uncle 
 Eryan." 
 
 He laughed heartily. 
 
 *' Are you such a terrible ignoramus as 
 not to know how to read or write ? I am 
 not clever, but perhaps I could teach you 
 
 so much." 
 
 « 
 
 " I mean English," Brigitte answered, 
 pettishly. " How could I learn English 
 properly when there was no one to teach 
 me? I can read and write French, of 
 course. But arithmetic, now. Can you do 
 sums?" 
 
 *' Quite easy ones," answered the young 
 man, still laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! will you teach me ? You see, if
 
 198 BRIDGET. 
 
 I could do sums, and play on the piano, 
 perhaps Uncle Bryan would let me keep a 
 little school. I will act Jephthah's daugh- 
 ter for you as often as you like if you will 
 teach me to do sums." 
 
 " Well, when you have arranged your 
 flowers, if you fetch a slate and pencil, we 
 will begin at once ; and if you are tract- 
 able, you shall have a lesson every day." 
 
 She made such haste to finish her task 
 that it was done long before his own. 
 Holding up the sheet he said, 
 
 " Come, as you and I are making bar- 
 gains, let us come to terms about this' por- 
 trait. If you will sit patiently till it is 
 done — in water-colours — you shall have a 
 little blue coat for Hilaire." 
 
 " No, I won't have it, but I will sit for 
 the portrait. Hilaire can do without the 
 little blue coat, and if I learn to do sums.
 
 BRIDGET, 199 
 
 I sliall be able to buy him one before long 
 with my own money." 
 
 " I think I can put you in a better way 
 of earning money than by keeping a 
 school," Papillon said, putting down his 
 sketch-book. " Put on your hat, there is a 
 good little girl, and come out of doors 
 with me. I want to have a long talk with 
 you." 
 
 Brigitte put on her broad-brimmed 
 straw hat delightedly, and taking his hand, 
 the two set out for a stroll. She liked 
 Papillon better than any of her new 
 friends at Beechholme Park, firstly, because 
 he was half French and always spoke the 
 language of her beloved France; secondly, 
 because, without taking much trouble 
 about Hilaire, he was kind to him in many 
 ways, giving him birds' eggs and bonbons, 
 and buying him toys whenever he drove 
 to Guildford.
 
 200 BRIDGET. 
 
 So, hand-in-hancl, they took a sliady side 
 path that led down to the road, and cross- 
 ing it, were soon on the ridge of a wide- 
 stretching moor, glorious with heath and 
 gorse in full bloom. Only the lightest 
 cumuli, downy white and feathery, floated 
 across the clear blue sky, whilst not a 
 sound broke the stillness of the gold and 
 purple wilderness around. It was an ex- 
 hilarating landscape, yet not wanting in 
 wildness, all the dimpling greenness and 
 softness of the hills and valleys below being 
 lost to sight. Far as the eye could reach 
 lay heath and brushwood, no smoke of 
 shepherd's hut curling upwards from the 
 brown expanse, no spire or chimney top 
 breaking the monotony of the horizon. It 
 was difficult to believe that a scene so 
 romantic and so solitary could be within 
 little more than an hour's journey of Lon- 
 don ; yet so it was, and a brisk descent of
 
 BRIDGET. 201 
 
 two miles would take tlie pedestrian to tlie 
 smiling village and bustling railway- station 
 the Cornwell houseliold visited so often. 
 The two sat down on the borders of this 
 magnificent prospect, undulating sweeps 
 of brightest gold and purple stretching 
 beneath a turquoise sky, and Papillon 
 said, 
 
 " Is not this a beautiful place, Brigitte ? 
 Is it not a pleasant thing to be rich, and 
 to be able to choose such beautiful places 
 to live in ?" 
 
 " I have never thought about it. Why 
 should I ? If I were rich, I should live 
 in my dear France. Ah ! you should see 
 Grenoble !" she said. 
 
 " Well, you would like to have money 
 to travel in France sometimes, would you 
 not ?" 
 
 ''Yes," she answered, with a sudden 
 cloud on her young face, thinking of the
 
 202 BRIDGET. 
 
 neglected graves in Daupliine. " I should 
 like to go to Grenoble once a year and put 
 immortelles on papa's and mammals 
 graves." 
 
 " But there is no reason why you should 
 not do all these things by-and-by — at 
 least, if you will be guided by me," he- 
 went on, warily; "you could help your 
 uncle Bryan, you could do something for 
 your elder brothers, you could buy little 
 Hilaire everything he wants — even goat's 
 milk — if you would follow my advice." 
 
 "Do tell me what I am to do," she 
 cried, flushing with expectation. "I am 
 sure Hilaire would get quite fat, if he had 
 goat's milk all the year round, and every- 
 thing that fattens people is so dear in 
 London, Aunt Emmie says. Oh, what 
 have you thought of for me, Mr. Papil- 
 lon ?" 
 
 *' It is a serious matter, and you must
 
 BEIDGET. 20B 
 
 consider before making a decision ; but it 
 is just such a proposal as I should make 
 to my sister, if I had a young sister like 
 you, and we were both poor and wanted 
 to make our fortunes. I have thought it 
 over very carefully, and if you consent, I 
 will help you by every means in my power, 
 and stand by you as long as I live." 
 
 ^^Oh! what is it?" 
 
 " Tell me first, have you ever tried your 
 hand at acting ? You must have helped 
 in charades and that sort of thing some- 
 times ?'' 
 
 " Of course, in our play.'' 
 
 " And are you afraid of reading aloud 
 or speaking before large numbers of peo- 
 ple ? For instance, supposing as Jephthah's 
 daughter, you had a long speech to make, 
 could you do it, do you think ?" 
 
 *' I would try. I think I could. I am 
 not afraid of anything sometimes — I mean,.
 
 204 BRIDGET. 
 
 i£ I thouglit I were earning money for 
 my poor boys, I am sure I should never 
 remember if people were looking at me or 
 not. I forgot all about it last night. I 
 quite fancied myself Jeplitliah's daughter, 
 only it was in Hilaire's place that I was to 
 loe offered up as a sacrifice." 
 
 Papillon watched her animated face de- 
 lightedly. 
 
 " You are a splendid little girl," he said; 
 '* and now listen to me. I believe that you 
 possess a talent of an uncommon order, 
 Brigitte, a talent for acting, I mean. I 
 feel sure, from the way in which you per- 
 formed your part last night, that if you were 
 properly trained, either as an actress or 
 dramatic reader, you might win both 
 fame and fortune. But it would take years 
 to attain perfection in this art, even with 
 the most brilliant talents in the world." 
 
 " Who would train me?" Brigitte asked,
 
 BRIDGET. 205 
 
 looking sadly disappointed. *' And Hilaire 
 could not stay with me, I suppose. Is that 
 all ?" 
 
 " Don't be too much in a hurry to draw 
 conclusions. No one can be made an 
 actress or a dramatic reader in a day, or 
 without a good deal of expense. Your own 
 good sense must tell you that. But if you 
 do possess, as I believe is the case, just the 
 talent required to make a dramatic artist 
 of a high order, would it not be worth 
 while to spend both time and money about 
 your education, though you could not reap 
 the benefit for many years ? When the 
 time came, remember that you would make 
 more in a day than you could do in a year 
 by your little school. You could buy as 
 much goat's milk and as many little blue 
 coats for Hilaire as you pleased !" 
 
 '* He would be grown up," she said, with 
 a blank face. " And of what use to talk
 
 206 BRIDGET. 
 
 of impossibilities? Uncle Bryan can't 
 spend a penny about me, Aunt Emmie said 
 so, and I must try to earn money at once. 
 But it must be at home. I would rather 
 starve th^-n leave Hilaire ! Everyone wants 
 me to leave Hilaire, but I won't !" 
 
 " Patience, patience ! You talk of im- 
 possibilities, my little girl, but are they not 
 of your own making ? I would make the 
 thing possible for you, if you chose. I 
 have a friend, a lady, who is one of the 
 finest living actresses, and out of her 
 friendship for me, I am sure she would 
 take you as a pupil. She is good, and 
 kind, and beautiful, and I am sure you 
 would love her very much." 
 
 ** And where is the money to come 
 from?" Brigitte added, wishing now to 
 raise as many obstacles as possible. 
 
 " That is my affair. I would undertake
 
 BRIDGET. 207 
 
 to find the money, and when you are rich, 
 you should pay it back/' 
 
 Brigitte opened her large black eyes, and 
 looked at him incredulously. 
 
 " Why are you so kind to me ? I do not 
 understand ?'' 
 
 "I am like the rest of the world, and when 
 I am benevolent, I try to do myself a kind- 
 ness at the same time," Papillon answered. 
 He never blushed except when praised for 
 a good action. " Well, I will try to explain. 
 I write plays, then. Did you know it ?" 
 
 " Yes, I hear Aunt Helwyse and Mr. 
 Kingsbury talking about the Gipsy Queen, 
 and they said it was not so good as the 
 Poachers Daughter^''' Brigitte said. 
 
 '* How unkind of them ! But my plays, 
 then, are performed in London, and it is 
 very difficult for me to find a heroine to 
 my mind. So few actresses really care 
 about their parts, and throw heart and
 
 208 BRIDGET. 
 
 soul into them. Now, I am sure you 
 would do this, if you entered seriously 
 upon the career, and if you will let me 
 help you, you shall be trained to the stage, 
 on purpose to act the part of my heroines 
 and please me." 
 
 ''Are you quite sure I should be able 
 to make money as easily as you say?" 
 Brigitte urged, still looking for obstacles, 
 still thinking of Hilaire. 
 
 '* We should find that out, and would 
 not go on if your powers seemed insuf- 
 ficient. Come, you will try, will you not ? 
 Think what a fine thing it would be for 
 you to make money and friends as your 
 Aunt Helwyse is doing — only actresses 
 make more than artists, generally speak- 
 ing — to be rich and independent, in fact." 
 
 He went on, watching the young, chang- 
 ing face, wholly unable to divine her 
 thoughts.
 
 BRIDGET. 209 
 
 "I have as yet not mentioned this to 
 anyone. I wished first to hear what you 
 had to say, and if you refuse it shall re- 
 main a secret between us two. But do not 
 be too hasty about it. Eemember how 
 much you would be able to do for your 
 brothers ; and I am sure you would lead a 
 happy life." 
 
 " Should I live with you ? I should like 
 that." 
 
 " Well, not exactly, I think, but I should 
 see you very, very often, and you would, of 
 course, look to me for everything, and come 
 to me whenever you needed advice " 
 
 " What is the use of talking of it ?" she 
 cried, with a sudden change of voice, and 
 an expression of deep pain. '* I like you. 
 I am sure you would always be kind to me. 
 I should love to be an actress better than 
 anything. But wherever I go I must take 
 Hilaire with me." 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 BRIDGET. 
 
 " Then, my dear Brigitte, you cannot 
 study for the stage." 
 
 '*You do not know how it is, no one 
 knows," she said, ahnost piteously. It 
 seemed to her as if, between them all, her 
 friends would finish by compelling her to 
 give up Hilaire. " I care more about him 
 than anything in the world. I have had 
 him to care for since he was a tiny baby. 
 No one can understand how fond we are 
 of each other." 
 
 '' Suppose I leave you for a quarter of 
 an hour to think it over by yourself," said 
 Papillon, kindly. ''It is quite right and 
 natural that you should think so much of 
 your little brother, but remember that if 
 you consent to be parted from him for a few 
 years now, it is only to better his prospects 
 in the future. In fact, you would not only 
 enrich yourself, but become the stay and
 
 BEIDGET. 211 
 
 support of your whole family — and remem- 
 ber that such an opportunity may never 
 occur again." 
 
 The tempter went on, putting bribe after 
 bribe before the young inexperienced mind 
 till it wavered. Brigitte sat still, her hands 
 clasped on her knees, her eyes bent on 
 the ground, torn by conflicting desires. On 
 the one hand, was poverty, humiliation, 
 daily cares innumerable, and a life of toil 
 and privation for herself and her orphaned 
 brothers ; on the other, independence, ease, 
 prosperity for all. JS'ot that, as far as she 
 herself was concerned, she cared at all for 
 money or money's w^orth. Papillon's offer 
 did not for a moment conjure up before 
 her imagination such dreams as would have 
 dazzled most young girls under the same 
 circumstances. She never once thought 
 of the luxuries, pleasures, and triumphs 
 awaiting her in the enchanted world of 
 
 r2
 
 212 BRIDGET. 
 
 which he spoke. She only thought of 
 Hilaire having all the dear-bought com- 
 foi'ts he needed, of the boys being fairly 
 started in the world, of Uncle Bryan and 
 Aunt Emilia repaid for their sacrifices, and 
 freed from their burden, of a thousand bless- 
 ings she could shower down upon them all ! 
 Poor Brigitte had never found time to 
 think of herself, and the only selfish 
 thought that flitted across her mind now 
 was this — how pleasant to be near Papil- 
 lon always, to have a kind friend ever at 
 hand, ready to teach and admonish, but 
 not to scold ! His light-heartedness and 
 good-nature had quite won her heart. 
 She felt more at ease with him than 
 with any of her new friends at Beechholme 
 Park, and he always addressed her in 
 the tongue of her beloved France — a sure 
 road to her confidence. But could she 
 ever leave Hilaire ? Even for his own
 
 BRIDGET. 213 
 
 advantage, could slie ever leave liim ? He 
 was delicate and ailing, and depended so 
 entirely upon lier ; he fretted even if slie 
 were out of his sight for an hour. No, 
 the matter was not to be thought of for a 
 moment. It was kind of Mr. Papillon to 
 offer to do so much for her — she felt sure 
 no one else would ever be half so kind — 
 but the thing was impossible. 
 
 She would plod on with her little school, 
 and bear Aunt Emmie's crossness as best 
 she could. She would work hard at her 
 sums, and might perhaps be able to pay 
 for Patrice's schooling by her earnings. 
 In a few years' time he also would be able 
 to go out into the world, and perhaps they 
 could all four make a little home together 
 near Uncle Bryan. That had hitherto been 
 her cherished dream of the future, the 
 goal and perspective acme of her hopes 
 and expectations. She must stay with
 
 214 BRIDGET. 
 
 Hilaire, as she had promised her dying 
 mother — anyhow, she must stay with him 
 till he was old enough to shift mtliout 
 her. In time he would grow up into a 
 man, but till then Aunt Emmie, Mrs. 
 Comwell, and Mr. Papillon might urge, 
 tempt, and coax in vain. She would never 
 leave Hilaire. 
 
 Thus reasoned Brigitte as she sat amid 
 the splendours of that September morning. 
 She did not heed the lark singing over- 
 head, nor the bumble-bee humming close 
 by, nor the large purple shadows dropped 
 by the passing clouds on the far-off sweeps 
 of gorse and heather. She was only con- 
 scious at that moment of the difference 
 between this free, exulting, happy nature, 
 and her own poor little perplexed life. A 
 problem it had ever seemed, but a problem 
 hardest of all to solve now, since she had 
 to choose between two duties — duty to
 
 BRIDGET. 215 
 
 herself, Uncle Bryan, and tlie boys, and 
 duty to Hilaire and her dead mother. 
 
 When, at the end of a quarter of an 
 hour, Papillon came back, there was such 
 a look of past conflict and painful resolve 
 on her face, that he stooped down to kiss 
 her, as if she had been a five-year-old 
 child needing consolation. The kiss and 
 the kind word accompanying it were too 
 much for poor Brigitte's overwrought 
 mind. She Qould not help crying a little, 
 but, when it was over, smiled gratefully 
 upon her comforter, and looked herself 
 again. 
 
 ^* Don't make me think any more about 
 it," she said. " I should have liked no- 
 thing so well, if Hilaire could have stayed 
 with me. I know you would always be 
 very kind, and I do want to earn money. 
 But let me forget it all, because it is im- 
 possible."
 
 216 BRIDGET. 
 
 " You are a good girl. I cannot, of 
 course, blame you ; I am sure you would 
 always try to do what is right," he an- 
 swered very kindly. " Well, whenever 
 you are in need of a friend, remember that 
 you have one in Hubert Papillon. Do you 
 know where I live ?" 
 
 " 'No J indeed," Brigitte said, making up 
 her mind that she would embroider him a 
 pair of slippers or a pocket-handkerchief 
 for New Year's Day. " Will you write it 
 in my Paroissienne ?" 
 
 And straightway she produced a tiny, 
 well-worn prayer-book, which had been 
 her Catholic mother's, and which the child 
 always carried about with her as a sacred 
 relic. There was a space on the blank leaf 
 pasted inside the cover, and under the 
 name, scrawled in a childish hand — Brigiite 
 Fleming — he wrote carefully in pencil,
 
 BEIDGET. 217 
 
 *^ Hubert Papillon, No. 5, Bryanstone Square, 
 London,'^ 
 
 " There ! if you ever change your mind, 
 my dear, or if you are in any trouble, and 
 you think I can help you out of it, write 
 to me. Think of me," and as he said this, 
 he made a wry face, which she did not see 
 — " as a father, you know." 
 
 " No, I won't," answered Brigitte, kiss- 
 ing her precious Paroissienne before she 
 put it back into her pocket. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you — don't ask me," she 
 said, turning away her face ; and then 
 Papillon suddenly recollected the sad story 
 he had heard of Brigitte's early trials with 
 that often half-mad father of hers, who 
 had drunk away his children's small heri- 
 tage. 
 
 " Well, as a brother, then ?"
 
 218 BRIDGET. 
 
 " No, as an uncle ! But now will you take 
 me home ? I am sure it must be nearly din- 
 ner-time, and I promised Aunt Helwyse 
 never to be late. Do you mind if I run 
 on before and leave you behind, because 
 you won't get scolded, you know ?" 
 
 Papillon re- assured her by his watch, 
 and they leisurely descended the heath, 
 talking gailj?" of many things. The man of 
 the world, the dandy, as his friends often 
 called him, the dilettante artist and author, 
 found himself amused and attracted by the 
 naivete of this half -French, half- Irish girl, 
 as he had seldom been before. He had 
 the reputation of being indifferent to 
 female charms, and though a frequenter of 
 fashionable drawing-rooms, and an adept 
 in the art of flirtation, was never known 
 to have been in love. Report went farther 
 still, and accused him of having no heart 
 at all. But everyone liked him, and he
 
 BEIDGET. 219 
 
 was well known for many kind, nay, chival- 
 rous actions, of a piece with this intended 
 generosity to Brigitte.
 
 220 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEST OF YOUNG OWLS. 
 
 WHILST Brigitte and Papillon were 
 out on tlie hills, an animated art- 
 discussion was going on in Mrs. Cornweirs 
 boudoir. Kingsbury, Helwyse, and Free- 
 land had planned the decorations together, 
 and up to the present time harmoniously ; 
 but, with regard to the boudoir, opinion 
 was divided. Kingsbury, taking up palette 
 and brush, dashed in one pattern for the 
 mouldings; Helwyse, another; Freeland, 
 a third — which of the three should be de- 
 cided upon ? 
 
 " Miss Fleming must choose whether she
 
 BRIDGET. 221 
 
 will have her charming little idylls framed 
 in classic, Eastern, or domestic style," 
 Kingsbury said. " For my part, I am far 
 from satisfied with my own suggestion. I 
 merely give it as the best I can offer." 
 
 "But," Freeland put in eagerly, his 
 whole mind engrossed on the work, *' par- 
 don me, Mr. Kingsbury, I cannot help 
 thinking that the decorations here should 
 be considered more^in their relation to the 
 rest than anything else. To do otherwise 
 would surely be like building a house with 
 a Renaissance facade, Gothic chimneys, 
 and Tudor porticos." 
 
 ''Mr. Freeland is right, I think," Hel- 
 wyse said, reluctantly. " Your design is 
 very classic and beautiful, Mr. Kingsbury, 
 but I think my modest little frescoes would 
 be overwhelmed by it." 
 
 " Not at all. First see how the colours 
 I have selected throw up your drawing.
 
 222 BRIDGET. 
 
 You must make it firmer, broader, more 
 telling." 
 
 " True. Those sporting children are 
 sadly wanting in character and expression 
 as yet," Helwyse said, almost sadly. The 
 least word of disapprobation from him 
 made her feel as if excellence were wholljT- 
 unattainable. 
 
 " They are the merest suggestions at 
 present. But you have begun well. Only 
 don't let Freeland beguile you into timidity 
 about the borders. Make your work as 
 good as you can without thinking of any- 
 one else's at all." 
 
 " That is iust what I say — only I prefer 
 my border," Freeland said, smiling, though 
 just a trifle vexed ; and he saw that Kings- 
 bury was just a trifle vexed too. Both 
 looked at Helwyse, for the decision de- 
 volved upon her. Would she for a moment
 
 BRIDGET. 223 
 
 hesitate between the opinion of a renown- 
 ed Academician and a humble house 
 decorator? 
 
 She coloured a little ; but though the 
 thought of displeasing Kingsbury was in- 
 supportable, the transparent truthfulness 
 of her nature won the day. She could not 
 feign even the homage that she felt due to 
 him from his devout disciple and admirer, 
 and, raising her candid eyes, said — 
 
 " And so do I. I think, moreover, that, 
 as Mr. Freeland is charged with the dec- 
 orations as a whole, he is perhaps the best 
 person to decide the matter." 
 
 " Certainly," Kingsbury answered, far 
 too good-natured and polite to feel more 
 than a shade of disappointment that Hel- 
 wyse should be ruled by anyone but him- 
 self, adding — "And, after all, Freeland, 
 you are so much of an artist yourself that
 
 224 BRIDGET. 
 
 you have no business to consult us at all." 
 Freeland coloured mtli pleasure, whilst 
 Helwyse thought to herself, who in the 
 world was so generous, so large-minded as 
 her benefactor ? — using the word, of course, 
 in an intellectual sense. But she saw that 
 she had, perhaps, in the slightest degree, 
 yet palpably, annoyed him, and could not 
 help fancying to herself that his leave- 
 taking was less cordial than usual. For, 
 very soon after that consultation was over, 
 the carriage drove np to convey him to the 
 station ; and at the children's dinner that 
 day there were two clouded faces. Brigitte 
 was thinking of the brilliant prospects she 
 had just thrown aside, whilst Helwyse felt 
 sorry to lose her friend. She loved Kings- 
 bury's society ; she missed it as the best 
 thing in the daily existence at Beech- 
 holme Park now. There — as far as she 
 knew — her feeling for him ended. Mr.
 
 BRIDGET. 225 
 
 Cornwell, wliose quick eyes at once noted 
 Helwyse's downcast looks, felt unjustly- 
 angry with her distinguished visitor. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, could have been more 
 circumspect than Kingsbury's behaviour to 
 his beautiful young fellow-artist. Papillon 
 ventured upon a dozen friendlinesses that 
 the other would never have dreamed of ; 
 Papillon praised, blamed, and criticised 
 her drawings almost impertinently ; why, 
 then, was it that the first was held guilty, 
 whilst the last was let off scot-free ? 
 
 It were, indeed, hard to say, except the 
 settled opinion of common friends — that 
 Kingsbury's liking meant love, and Papil- 
 Ion's nothing at all. Both men had known 
 Helwyse from the beginning of her art 
 career; both openly admired her talent, 
 her beauty, and herself; and both were 
 men any noble-minded girl might safely 
 consent to marry. But common friends 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 BRIDGET. 
 
 felt sure that the one wanted to marry her, 
 and the other did not, and felt disappointed 
 at Kingsbury's slowness to realise their 
 expectations. 
 
 To-day Helwyse and Brigitte also soon 
 shook off their pensiveness. Life was so 
 good and so gladsome at Beechholme 
 Park! 
 
 Throughout the early part of the glow- 
 ing, breezy afternoon, Brigitte and the 
 children were playing in shady dells and 
 hollows, watching the squirrels among the 
 reddening maple branches, gathering spikes 
 of spindle-berry — coral of the woods ! — 
 plucking rich purple blackberries from 
 secluded hedges, finding Ladies' tresses and 
 Jews' ears in damp corners. Eosie and 
 Janie had never cared for these things 
 before, but the joy of Brigitte and Hilaire 
 in country things infected them, and they 
 also learned to love the woodlands. Then
 
 BRIDGET. 227 
 
 Brigitte, when in buoyant spirits, as she 
 generally was at Beechholme Park, would 
 sing, dance, tell stories, act the mimic, and 
 amuse them in a dozen ways. A little 
 happiness, a little freedom from cares, had 
 wonderfully developed the girl's nature. 
 She found herself able to enjoy as she had 
 never done before, and enjoyments may be 
 to some natures the very best moral teacher 
 in the world, widening, uplifting, enlarg- 
 ing. 
 
 '* Why, Brigitte," Hilaire would say, 
 wonderingly, "how is it you so seldom 
 sang and danced in France ? " 
 
 Then for a moment her face would cloud 
 as she recalled the trouble and tumult of 
 those early years. 
 
 Meantime, Helwyse, seated by an open 
 bay window of the spacious drawing-room, 
 was amusing herself with palette and 
 sketch-book in that dreamy, half-inspired 
 
 q2
 
 228 BRIDGET. 
 
 mood, often so productive, and always so 
 delicious to the born artist. She was 
 leisurely sketching a group of majestic 
 Japanese lilies in a blue vase, but every 
 now and then would lay down brush and 
 palette to breathe a little sigh of enjoyment 
 as her eye wandered over the exquisite 
 garden landscape and purpling wood be- 
 yond. A great writer has said, '' Every 
 painter should live in a palace ;" and there 
 is no doubt that the perpetual sight of 
 lovely and splendid things do work mar- 
 vellously on the imagination, and influence 
 it more than is generally supposed. Hel- 
 wyse never for a moment lost the sensation 
 of perfect intellectual contentment that 
 always awaited her at Beechholme Park. 
 The large, tastefully-furnished rooms, the 
 well-selected pictures adorning the walls, 
 the choice tapestries, the gorgeous Persian 
 carpets, the combined airiness, elegance.
 
 BRIDGET. 229 
 
 and freshness, gave her a constant feeling 
 of satisfaction and pleasure. She adored 
 loveliness in every shape — how else would 
 she ever have deserved the name of artist ? 
 — and to be surrounded by it, reminded of 
 it, inspired by it all day long, was to live 
 in a state of perpetual benediction. 
 The facility for being left alone with our 
 thoughts offered to us in great houses is 
 moreover one of their greatest privileges. 
 
 For hours Helwyse had been sitting un- 
 disturbed in the drawing-room, dreaming, 
 meditating, or painting, as she list, the 
 soft air wafting fragrance with every breath, 
 and now and then a shower of crimson 
 creamy rose-leaves to her feet. She hardly 
 knew how the time had sped, when sud- 
 denly the door opened, and Papillon, put- 
 ting in his head, said, 
 
 " Come, Miss Fleming, are you going to 
 forget your promise to visit the young
 
 230 BRIDGET. 
 
 owls, because it is time to be off. Can I 
 fetch your hat ? — and may I fetch Brigitte 
 •too?" 
 
 " I don't know if Mr. Freeland has left 
 off his work yet. It is of no use to go 
 without him," Helwyse said, and putting 
 away her painting things, the two went in 
 search of Freeland and Brigitte. 
 
 Freeland had gone home, however, and 
 Brigitte was not to be found, so Papillon 
 and Helwyse started for the farm alone, 
 taking a round by the woods. Mr. Corn- 
 well was to sleep in town that night, Mrs. 
 Cornwell was maiking calls miles away, and 
 the dinner, if dinner it could be called, 
 was put off indefinitely. "We will dine 
 whenever we find ourselves so disposed, so 
 you can stay out painting as long as you 
 please to-day, my dear," the hostess had 
 said to Helwyse at starting; and both 
 Helwyse and Papillon were determined to
 
 BEIDGET. 231 
 
 enjoy the liberty thus afforded them to the 
 utmost. 
 
 "' We will see the owls, and you can 
 make your sketch," he said. *' Then I will 
 take you a wonderful walk, across the 
 moors. But I wish Brigitte had come, 
 too. I have taken an uncommon liking to 
 that child, and I may as well tell you now 
 what kind of proposal I made to her this 
 very morning." 
 
 Just then they heard their names called 
 loudly, and, looking back, saw Brigitte 
 coming after them as fast as her feet could 
 carry her. 
 
 " The servants said you had been asking 
 for me, so I felt sure I might come ; and 
 Hilaire is as happy as possible, helping 
 Eosie and Janie to make cakes," she said, 
 as soon as she recovered breath, then, 
 giving a hand to each, walked on between 
 them.
 
 232 BKTDGET. 
 
 Outside tlie woods all was glow and 
 colour, but as soon as they entered 
 tlie solemn arcades of oak and elm, they 
 passed into a dusky realm of silence and 
 shadow. Here and there flashed mar- 
 vellous gems of colour, airy little cups of 
 Vermillion, delicate leaflets of orange, in- 
 verted bells of pale amethyst, or large tufts 
 of crimson and gold — those gorgeous and 
 fanciful flowers of the under-world we 
 designate by the unmusical name of fungi ; 
 or they traversed a light and airy vestibule 
 of interlaced birch and larch, the sunshine 
 flooding the screen-work of tender leaves 
 with deepest, warmest gold, or they 
 dipped and climbed ferny hollows and 
 honeysuckled banks, having the woods all 
 round them, with now and then a glimpse 
 of deep blue hills far away. 
 
 Hollow Farm was a pleasant, old-world 
 nook, and it never looked cosier than
 
 BEIDGET. 233 
 
 now. To Papillon, who loved ease and 
 comforts when they came in his way, the 
 sight of Freeland's cool parlour, with its 
 easy chairs and cheery tea-table, was as 
 grateful as those woodland spectacles he 
 had just descanted on so rapturously. 
 
 " This is delightful," he said, sinking into 
 a chair and fanning himself. "We have 
 had a very hot walk, and I am sure I never 
 felt so disposed for tea in my life before. 
 What a capital fellow you are to think of . 
 giving it to us, Freeland." 
 
 '* I thought Miss Helwyse and the young 
 lady might be tired," Freeland said, edging 
 away. " Will you kindly ring if you want 
 anything. I — I am going to look after the 
 young owls." 
 
 " Nonsense ! If you don't share it with us, 
 we will refuse your hospitality," Papillon 
 said, pushing a chair towards him. "Come, 
 no excuse. Brigitte will pour out the tea.
 
 234 BRJDGET. 
 
 and you shall talk to Miss Fleming and me. 
 I am quite exhausted, what with the heat 
 and the hills." 
 
 Freeland looked at Helwyse, not without 
 embarrassment. She said quite naturally, 
 as she took off her hat and mantle and 
 laid them aside, 
 
 " Of course. And how charmingly your 
 landlady has arranged the tea-table ! What 
 delicious sweet- Williams and picotees ! May 
 I have one, Mr. Freeland ?" 
 
 Naturally there was nothing left for 
 Freeland to do but hand her the flowers 
 and sit down, which he did, beaming with 
 pleasure. At first he felt a little pardon- 
 able awkwardness, but Helwyse was so 
 kind, Papillon so amusing in an indolent 
 sort of way, and Brigitte so loquacious, 
 that by-and-by he talked like the rest, and 
 felt quite at home. 
 
 "I say, Freeland," Papillon said, sud-
 
 BEIDGET. 235 
 
 denly, as lie sent up his cup for a sixth tea, 
 " why don't you give up the technical part 
 of your work altogether and go in for 
 the — " he stopped short, being on the point of 
 saying ** gentlemanly/' and added — "for the 
 artistic? You could do it so easily. You 
 would make more money. You would put 
 yourself in quite a different position. You 
 would like the work much better. I am 
 not in jest, but as serious as can be, I do 
 assure you. Go to Italy with me in Novem- 
 ber, study hard for a year, and come back 
 
 a " again that unmanageable word 
 
 " gentleman'' was on his lips — " and come 
 back an artist." 
 
 Freeland coloured to the roots of his 
 hair as he slowly answered — 
 
 *'I have thought about it, but I don't 
 know if it is worth while. I am a very 
 good decorator. I might cut a poor figure 
 at painting."
 
 236 BRIDGET. 
 
 '' Well, you needn't paint. Wliat I mean 
 is, give up doing workman's work ; get up 
 a good knowledge of drawing and design- 
 ing, and stick to that ; devote two or three 
 years to study and travel, then find out 
 what you can do." 
 
 Again Freeland looked at Helwyse, and 
 again she answered, with perfect natural- 
 ness — Brigitte herself could not have been 
 more candid — 
 
 '* I quite agree with Mr. Papillon." 
 
 That was all. Papillon would fain have 
 discussed the subject further, but Free- 
 land contrived to turn the conversation 
 into another channel. He could have 
 talked freely of himself and his affairs to 
 Helwyse alone, but he could not do it in 
 company, and it was a relief to him when 
 they went out of doors. 
 
 The evening was deliciously soft, many- 
 hued and mellow. As they crossed the old-
 
 BKIDGET. 237 
 
 fashioned orcliard, with its low-branched 
 fruit-trees, the slanting rays of the setting 
 sun were lending new richness to red-ripe 
 pear and apple. Amid these gorgeous hues 
 stood out the fruit-laden damson-trees, 
 bosses of velvety purple, whilst every breath 
 of wind brought down some over-ripe plum 
 or pear to the ground. The long, thick 
 grass through which they walked was yet 
 warm with the day's sunshine, only an ox- 
 eyed daisy, tall, stately, and star-like, break- 
 
 • 
 
 ing here and there the monotony of dusky 
 green. All the fowls had gone to roost; the 
 cows were in the neat house ; and the farm- 
 yard, usually so full of life, and so resonant 
 with rustic music, was solitary and silent. 
 On one side lay the stack-yard, and behind 
 this the sun was setting — the tower-like 
 piles of pale gold corn being flooded with 
 amber light. 
 
 They entered the barn, and Freeland,
 
 238 BRIDGET. 
 
 having first ascertained that the mother 
 Owl had flitted, led the way to the loft, 
 and brought down the young owls from 
 their nest in the roof to be inspected. 
 Certainly, odder little beings it were hard 
 to find, at first sight looking as if made 
 up of mouth and feet — in fact, extra- 
 ordinarily like those mythic birds of 
 antiquity, with monstrous head, and no 
 body to speak of. There is something 
 comic and pathetic, too, in the smallness 
 of their size, and general helplessness, con- 
 trasted with their aggressive, nay, warlike 
 behaviour — eyes, beak, and quills all look- 
 ing on the defensive. 
 
 But to make a sketch was not easy. 
 The light was going. The mother owl 
 was beating her wings impatiently against 
 the rafters, and Papillon was growing im- 
 patient for the projected walk. So, after 
 a hasty attempt, Helwyse shut up her
 
 BEIDGET. 239 
 
 sketch-book, and they started homewards, 
 Freeland accompanying them to the farm- 
 yard gate. 
 
 " I think I could manage to get you a 
 better view of the nest if you really wish 
 it, Miss Helwyse," he said. " But you 
 would have to mount a ladder and use a 
 lantern to draw by. You see, the evenings 
 get shorter and shorter, and if you come 
 before the old bird is fairly off on her 
 rounds, she won't leave us a minute." 
 
 " Thank you very much. I think I must 
 have another try. It would make such a 
 quaint little picture. But I will let you 
 know." 
 
 He was about to say good night, and 
 return indoors, when Papillon cried — 
 
 " You mustn't go yet, Freeland. I want 
 you to show us the way home by Pine Edge 
 — that is to say, if you are disposed for a 
 walk, and have nothing else to do. I could
 
 240 BRIDGET. 
 
 find it out by daylight, but the dark roads 
 are so perplexing." 
 
 Of course Freeland consented, and 
 Brigitte and Papillon being busily occupied 
 in a French talk about their beloved 
 France — for Papillon loved France like a 
 Frenchman, as indeed he called and re- 
 garded himself — Freeland followed behind 
 with Helwyse. She had on a white dress 
 — it was a passion with Helwyse to wear 
 white dresses in summer time — and he 
 noticed on her neck the blue Venetian 
 beads of the mysterious casket. It was 
 still so warm that she permitted him to 
 carry her sky-blue mantle, which he 
 did as tenderly as if it had been her- 
 self, thinking all the time that the sil- 
 very stars twinkling through the blue 
 beheld no sweeter, purer being on God's 
 earth than this white-robed maiden by his 
 side. Everything she wore, everything she
 
 BRIDGET. 241 
 
 did, everything she said, was, in his eyes, 
 dear, lovely, and sacred. No other wo- 
 man, were she heroic as Lady Godiva, 
 gifted as Sappho, beautiful as King Can- 
 daule's bride, could be compared with her. 
 
 They walked along, at first talking only 
 of the twilight landscape, the glorious sky, 
 the wide stretching prospect on either side ; 
 at last Helwyse said, after a pause — she 
 had noticed her companion's thoughtful- 
 ness, and naturally attributed it to the 
 recent conversation — 
 
 " I am quite sure Mr. Papillon is sincere 
 in his proposals. He had before men- 
 tioned the subject to me. Why do you 
 not accept his invitation, and go to 
 Italy?" 
 
 *'Is it worth while? I am not quite 
 sure. What Mr. Papillon means, in plain 
 words, is this — make a gentleman of your- 
 self, don't be a workman any longer. But 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 BEIDGET. 
 
 supposing the transformation is possible, 
 even easy, is it worth making r" 
 
 " I should say, yes, taking into account 
 your tastes, education, and habits of life 
 generally. You seem to me to have much 
 more sympathy with our class than your 
 own — I mean with the class to which you 
 ought to have belonged." 
 
 " Yes, I should like well enough to live 
 as I once dreamed of doing. I would 
 much rather have been an artist, like Mr. 
 Kingsbury, than a workman like Arthur 
 Freeland. Still may not this craving be, 
 after all, the mere outcome of vanity and 
 personal ambition, and, if so, would it not 
 be contemptible to encourage it ? I might 
 be laughed at by my best friends for my 
 pains." 
 
 " They would not be your friends if 
 they laughed at you. But there is cer- 
 tainly another and a much higher con-
 
 BEIDGET. 243 
 
 sideratioi]," Helwyse said, earnestly. " You 
 belong — not in the spirit, I am sure, but in 
 the letter — to what is called the working- 
 classes. I suppose there are very few 
 others, if any, like you. You must do 
 them' good." 
 
 ** That is just what I feel," he answered, 
 in an eager tone. " I am no politician, I 
 am no political economist, I neither 
 make nor meddle with affairs that do not 
 concern me. But as a man, a workman, 
 and a citizen, I do try, with all the strength 
 that in me lies, to make my life as good 
 and true as it can be made. Whether I 
 succeed or not is quite another matter. I 
 am sure that such individual efforts are 
 not lost in the long run, and that single- 
 mindedness and self-denial, no matter on 
 how humble a scale, are wanted more than 
 anything else to raise the workman from 
 his present position." 
 
 R 2
 
 244 BETDGET. 
 
 " And if you left his ranks, lie would 
 have one good example the less. I under- 
 stand you exactly," Helwyse said, touched 
 and interested. " Yes, it is a noble sacri- 
 fice." 
 
 '' Stay, I do not think noble is quite 
 the word. You overrate what I am do- 
 ing. It has been only lately that the 
 thought of a rise in my social condition 
 has occurred to me. As yet I have sacri- 
 ficed nothing. But the temptation now 
 harasses me at times. I cannot help 
 dwelHng on it and encouraging it. I know 
 that I am more useful where I am, and I 
 feel that perhaps I might not get what I 
 want if I become what I wish to be. Yet I 
 am restless, and, ashamed to say, at times 
 discontented." 
 
 "But you need not forsake the work- 
 man's cause, if, in your own person, you 
 cease to be one yourself. These club and
 
 BRIDGET. 245 
 
 reading-rooms you have so often talked of 
 would go on all tlie same, and you could 
 keep up an interest in tliem and help such 
 schemes wherever and whatever you were." 
 '' No, Miss Helwyse, I think you are 
 wrong there. If I lift myself into a higher 
 social position, I must cease to have part 
 and lot in my old life. Just think of 
 it. Here is a man who has been 
 preaching to his fellow-workmen, all his 
 life, the duty of raising himself — not out 
 of his sphere — but out of himself, out of 
 his grovelling tastes and habits, out of his 
 ignorance, his want of self-respect, his 
 narrow class feeling, his selfishness. He 
 has been ringing the changes on that 
 theme for years ; he has, as far as circum- 
 stances would permit, been consistent, 
 hitherto, setting the quality of his work 
 and the conscientiousness of his daily life 
 before everything else. Well, on a sudden,
 
 246 BRIDGET. 
 
 he turns round and says, ' I have been 
 befooling you, my men, all along. This is 
 what I have really been striving after, tlm 
 is the prize I really meant when I talked 
 to you of righteousness and a good life !' 
 and he should hold up to their view, not the 
 reward he had before talked of, namely, 
 self-esteem and good report among honest 
 men, but worldly prosperity, or, if you 
 please to call it, social advancement, in 
 other words, the enjoyment of a more 
 agreeable, more refined, genial existence. 
 Should I not deserve some hard names 
 after such conduct. Miss Helwyse ?" 
 
 *' I am not sure. I think you have a 
 right to enjoy the fruits of your self-denial 
 and self-culture. In spite of all you say, I 
 am inclined to support Mr. Papillon." 
 
 They had ascended a steep winding 
 road, and were now on the brow of a sharp 
 hill crested with pines, overlooking a
 
 BRIDGET. 247 
 
 large, lovely valley and the white walls of a 
 little village shining amid the silvery green, 
 whilst beyond, golden goblet shedding 
 amber-coloured wine, rose the harvest 
 moon, and emptied its crimson radiance 
 upon the scene. 
 
 Their companions were far in advance, 
 and Freeland felt that such an opportunity 
 of speaking openly to her might not soon 
 happen again. As they lingered, gaz- 
 ing on this exquisite prospect, he said 
 quickly, 
 
 " Tell me one thing, Miss Helwyse. If 
 I do resolve to follow Mr. Papillon's 
 advice, would it make any difference to 
 you ?" 
 
 "Why should it?" she answered again, 
 with that perfect naturalness which made 
 him feel how far he was from being under- 
 stood. ** I have always felt the sincerest 
 regard for you. I have always looked
 
 248 BRIDGET. 
 
 upon you as a friend. You would not be 
 changed, you know." 
 
 And saying this, she smiled archly. It 
 seemed to her so odd that Freeland could 
 suppose any change in his outward circum- 
 stances would alter her opinion of him. 
 Whether he remained a workman to the 
 end of his days, or inherited a title and for- 
 tune, she should always look upon him as 
 a gentleman in the best and highest sense 
 of the word. 
 
 " You do not understand me," he went 
 on, rather reproachfully. " Would it make 
 you feel as if we were equals — socially 
 speaking, I mean ?" 
 
 Again Helwyse smiled, nay, laughed, a 
 grave little laugh ; and as they stood there 
 side by side, leaning upon a rustic gate, 
 touched his arm encouragingly, and said — 
 
 '* Indeed, I have never felt as if it were 
 otherwise. I do not come of blue blood,
 
 BEIDGET. 249 
 
 any more than you. I happen to have been 
 brought up and educated rather differently, 
 that is all ; and now we naturally mix with 
 different sets of people. But when we are 
 talking together, as we do now, I forget 
 all about it. I am sure that Mr. Papillon 
 and most of my friends forget it too." 
 
 Her candour made it seem to him im- 
 possible to go on. He dared not put into 
 words the thought of his mind, and with- 
 out putting it into words, he saw that he" 
 should be misunderstood. But as yet he 
 had no courage. He merely said — 
 
 '' You may forget it, and many of your 
 friends. But of course that is a differ- 
 ence ; and whilst I remain a workman, it 
 must be. If I were socially ranked with 
 any of them — Mr. Papillon, for example — 
 you can understand that we should meet 
 on a different footino^." 
 
 " Of course," she answered, laughing
 
 250 BRIDGET. 
 
 merrily. "For instance, you would be 
 going to Beecliholme Park now, and you 
 would liave to wear a dress coat and, a 
 white tie, and would most likely be asked 
 to take Mrs. Hampshire in to dinner. I 
 think it would bore you. I think you would 
 lose as much as you would gain by the 
 change. I think I like you best as you 
 are." 
 
 " There !" he said, not without a touch 
 of irritation. "You are laughing at me 
 yourself, and yet just now you seemed in- 
 credulous when I talked of appearing con- 
 temptible in the eyes of others. ISTo, I 
 shall most likely stay where I am, and re- 
 main a humble decorator to the end." 
 
 He was not affronted, but vexed. She 
 saw it, and hastened to make amends. 
 
 " I am sure you must know that in my 
 heart I should never laugh at anything you 
 might do, but should honour and respect
 
 BRIDGET. 251 
 
 you always,*' she said. He thanked her for 
 the speech ; then they quitted the gate by 
 which they had lingered so long, and fol- 
 lowed the road winding downwards towards 
 Beechholme Park. There were stars shining 
 in the deep blue heavens, and glow-worms 
 — lesser stars — twinkling amidst the dusky 
 green, and woodland perfumes were wafted 
 by as they went along. In spite of the tem- 
 porary check her words had given to his 
 day-dreams, Freeland let all the loveliness 
 and repose of the scene steal over his 
 heart. Talking earnestly of many things, 
 they reached the park gates, where Papil- 
 Ion and Brigitte joined them.
 
 252 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TRAVELLING THIED-CLASS. 
 
 |l /I EANTIME, the visit of Brigitte and 
 ■^'-^ Hilaire was drawing to a close, and 
 after three weeks' sojourn in fairyland, the 
 day was fixed for them to return to Lon- 
 don, under Papillon's protection. Helwyse 
 was to stay a few days longer, in order to 
 get on with her frescoes ; and then a new 
 relay of visitors for the pheasant-shooting 
 would enjoy the hospitality of Beechholme 
 Park, till host and hostess quitted it for 
 their winter residence in Kensington. 
 
 Poor Brigitte, as well as Hilaire, would 
 have shed some natural tears at leaving
 
 BRIDGET. 253 
 
 this spacious Paradise for tlie tiny garden, 
 small rooms, and not unfrequent scoldings 
 of Hornsey Rise, but for various consola- 
 tions. Rosie and Janie liad generously 
 packed a box of broken toys for Hilaire, 
 adding a new box of bricks, as Rosie said, 
 " for the look of the thing ;" while Mrs. 
 Oornwell, whose motherly heart warmed to 
 all boyish humanity, no matter how awk- 
 ward, clothes-destroying, or mischievous, 
 ordered a hamper of jam to be packed for 
 Patrice and Ambroise, adding also, perhaps 
 " for the look of the thing, " some hot- 
 house flowers for Aunt Emmie. But the 
 crowning delight and bribe to happy spirits 
 was Papillon's parting gift in the shape of 
 the prettiest little blue coat for Hilaire ever 
 seen out of a pantomime. It had come from 
 London, was of sky-blue velvet, had half a 
 dozen little pockets, mother-of-pearl but- 
 tons as large as pennies, and so well became
 
 254 BRIDGET. 
 
 Hilaire's fair hair and delicate complexion, 
 that, as Brigitte declared in raptures, he 
 looked like an anp^el. Papillon would have 
 much preferred to give his favourite a 
 trinket for herself instead, but knew her 
 already too well to doubt that a present to 
 Hilaire would be much more acceptable. 
 Brigitte, in fact, did not seem to care about 
 lierself at all; and when she saw her darling, 
 who was really a most winsome and angel- 
 faced little child, arrayed in the longed- 
 for garment, she was so happy that the 
 two danced for joy, and finally both falling 
 upon Papillon, almost smothered him with 
 kisses. 
 
 When they arrived at the station, they 
 had a little quarrel. Out came from be- 
 neath her glove exactly the sum for a 
 second-class ticket and a half to London, 
 upon which Hilaire said naturally, 
 
 " We are going to be grand to-day.
 
 BRIDGET. 255 
 
 for when Brigitte and I travel alone, 
 we always go tliird-class, don't we, 
 Brigitte?" 
 
 " But Aunt Helwyse said we were to go 
 first, if you prefer it," Brigitte added, 
 apologetically. " I have got more money 
 in my pockets, only T would rather not 
 spend it, if you please." 
 
 " Let your money stay where it is," said 
 Papillon, with some vexation, and, appear- 
 ing not to notice the proffered half-sove- 
 reign and two shillings, produced a couple 
 of sovereigns from his waistcoat-pocket, 
 and took three first-class tickets. He had 
 never travelled otherwise in his life, and 
 would not for worlds have been seen with 
 a young lady entering a second, much less 
 a third-class railway carriage. But Brigitte 
 was far the most vexed of the two. It 
 irritated her that Papillon would not take 
 her money ; and when, after a good deal of
 
 256 BEIDGET. 
 
 entreaty, lie was prevailed upon to do so, it 
 grieved her that Aunt Helwyse had not 
 sent them up alone. 
 
 " I can quite well take care of myself and 
 Hilaire to the world's end," she said, 
 almost ready to cry ; " so if you won't 
 travel second-class with me the next time 
 we make a journey together, you shall go 
 by yourself, and Hilaire and I by ourselves 
 at the other end of the train." 
 
 " Well, do not look so cross/' Papillon 
 answered ; " and do not scold me any more. 
 I will travel fourth class next time." 
 
 ''Nonsense. You know there is no 
 fourth class," Brigitte said, talking to him 
 very much as if he were Hilaire. *' I hate 
 to see money wasted — anybody's money, I 
 mean ; and I am sure you would not waste 
 it if you had been put to such shifts as I 
 have." 
 
 *^ And three hundred and sixty-five sous
 
 BRIDGET. 257 
 
 make eighteen francs and twenty-five cen- 
 times a year, and that much buys a coat 
 or a dress. That is what Brigitte is al- 
 ways saying," Hilaire added, thinking he 
 might moralize also. 
 
 " Come, suppose we amuse ourselves 
 some better way than by doing sums," 
 Papillon began. '* Let us each tell a story." 
 And straightway he began a fairy-tale of 
 his own inventing. Brigitte followed the 
 example. Hilaire told his tiny little tale, 
 then Papillon produced sugar-plums, and 
 they munched them for the rest of the 
 way. 
 
 When they arrived at Waterloo Sta- 
 tion, there was another little battle. 
 Papillon wanted to put his charges 
 into a cab, give them lunch at a restau- 
 rant, then send them home under the 
 care of a flyman he knew of, but Brigitte 
 resisted stoutly. She wished he would 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 BRIDGET. 
 
 leave her to manage her own affairs, she 
 said ; she could quite well get home, 
 luggage and all, by train for a quarter of 
 the money. A conflict thereupon took 
 place between Papillon's Sybaritism and 
 chivalrousness. Should he follow the dic- 
 tates of his inclination, jump into the 
 nearest hansom cab, and drive to his club 
 alone ; or should he accompany Brigitte 
 on that tedious railway journey from one 
 end of London to the other she described 
 so enthusiastically ? Finally, he did nei- 
 ther one nor the other, but satisfied his 
 conscience with a compromise, accompany- 
 ing the two young travellers as far as 
 King's Cross, and seeing them into a 
 Hornsey train. 
 
 Poor Papillon felt himself a bit of a 
 martyr as, in his spotless white waistcoat 
 and irreproachable dust-coat, he followed 
 the triumphant Brigitte into a crowded
 
 BRIDGET. 259 
 
 third-class carriage of tlie Metropolitan 
 Eailway. Tlie weather was hot and dusty, 
 and their fellow-travellers happened to be 
 rather stout working women with bundles 
 and day-labourers returning home with 
 their baskets of tools. Papillon looked at 
 Brigitte's supremely contented face in 
 amazement. Was it possible that she had 
 neither eyes nor nose for these unsightly 
 and unsavoury surroundmgs ? He felt 
 angry with her for her insensibility, and 
 he could not so far enter into her feelings 
 or circumstances as to realise the absolute 
 necessity of such miserable little economies. 
 In his eyes to travel third-class seemed 
 about as undignified and unseemly as to 
 go unwashed, wear dirty or ragged clothes, 
 or commit any other violation of propriety 
 and decorous behaviour. 
 
 That journey from Waterloo Bridge to 
 King's Cross by undergound railway, in com- 
 
 s 2
 
 260 BEIDGET. 
 
 pany of herring baskets and pots of paint — 
 for poor Papillon happened to be placed be- 
 tween an itinerant vendor of herrings and 
 a house-painter with his pots and tools — 
 seemed interminable. At last he could 
 bear it no longer, and leaning forward, 
 gasped out to Brigitte in French, 
 
 *' My dear child, have you a scent- 
 bottle ?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes," Brigitte said, looking greatly 
 concerned — '^ at least, my vinaigrette. But 
 do take my place near the window." 
 
 " Give me the vinaigrette !" cried Papil- 
 lon, desperately. 
 
 Brigitte handed him her vinaigrette, and 
 bethought herself of a little eau-de-Cologne 
 she had in her basket. Hilaire suffered 
 from headaches, and she always carried a 
 little about with her, if possible, in case of 
 need ; so she produced her bottle, and the 
 delighted Papillon, taking out the cork,
 
 BRIDGET. 261 
 
 emptied the contents on the top of his 
 head. Then he felt better, and sniffing 
 the vinaigrette from time to time, contrived 
 to reach his journey's end without depriv- 
 ing Brigitte of her seat. 
 
 When they were fairly at King's Cross, 
 they had to change carriages, and here 
 another trial occurred. Brigitte, ever on 
 the alert to save her halfpennies, having 
 first laden Hilaire with parcels as big as 
 himself, next seized the rest, in spite of 
 all that Papillon could say, and thus laden, 
 proceeded to the other end of the platform. 
 Then there was another elaborate packing 
 into another close and crowded compart- 
 ment, and finally the moment of departure 
 for Hornsey came. Brigitte, about to make 
 her adieux, suddenly noticed Papillon's dis- 
 mayed looks, and not for a moment dream- 
 ing the cause, cried eagerly — 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Papillon, I am sure you are
 
 262 BRIDGET. 
 
 feeling ill. Would you like me to go liome 
 witli you ?" 
 
 She had been used to the care of help- 
 less humanity of the other sex from her 
 earliest years, first acting almost a maternal 
 part to her often drink-stupefied father, and 
 afterwards taking the place of a mother to 
 her younger brothers. It seemed the most 
 natural thing in the world to make this 
 offer to her kind friend. Might he not 
 faint in the streets and be robbed ? Might 
 he not tumble down and hurt himself ? 
 
 " Thank you, my dear. I am quite well, 
 I assure you, only oppressed by the heat. 
 Good-bye," he said quickly, and again shak- 
 ing hands, hastened away, laughing inward- 
 ly, though out of temper, and feeling gene- 
 rally uncomfortable. There was a hansom 
 cab outside the station, and jumping in, he 
 drove straight home, ordered a warm bath 
 and clean clothes (one might almost have
 
 BRIDGET. 26S 
 
 supposed, from the numerous disinfecting 
 processes he went through, that he had just 
 come out of a plague-stricken place), then 
 having smoked a cigar and taken a choice 
 cup of tea slightly flavoured with brandy, he 
 drove to his club to dine. 
 
 The next day he joined a party of friends 
 bound to Switzerland and the Tyrol, and, 
 as was very natural, forgot all about 
 Brio^itte Fleming. 
 
 Meanwhile poor Brigitte and Hilaire had 
 not been welcomed home as rapturously as 
 they might have expected. Patrice and 
 Ambroise, of course, were overjoyed to see 
 them again, and so were the little girls, 
 especially as they had come home laden 
 with toys and jam; but Aunt Emmie 
 looked cross and harassed, and though she 
 kissed Hilaire kindly and seemed pleased 
 at his improved appearance, Brigitte saw 
 at once that things were not going smooth-
 
 264 BRIDGET. 
 
 ly at Hornsey Rise, When Hilaire's little 
 blue coat was displayed — by far the most 
 costly juvenile garment that bad ever been 
 seen in the modest household — a pang of 
 maternal jealousy went through Emilia's 
 heart. Why should these orphans be 
 dowered whilst her own darlings were 
 passed by ? Why should Brigitte and 
 Hilaire be feted in the houses of the 
 rich, whilst Kathleen and her sister staid 
 at home? Why should Hilaire wear a 
 velvet coat, and Norah a stuff gown ? Poor 
 Emilia, mother-like, human-like, could not 
 but look at these young careless things as 
 intruders upon her children's standing 
 room, devourers of her children's heritage. 
 She never for a moment lost sight of the 
 fact that the bread and butter bestowed 
 upon Brigitte and her brothers, might have 
 procured jam and cakes for the little girls, 
 that the money spent on Patrice's boots
 
 BRIDGET. 265 
 
 might have purchased a feather for Kath- 
 leen's hat. And, perhaps unreasonably, 
 it seemed to her now that even at Beech- 
 holme Park her own children had been 
 forestalled bv these. Who could tell but 
 that Mrs. Cornwell would have invited 
 Kathleen and Margie, and what an advan- 
 tage for them to mix in such society, and 
 what a pleasure for the children too ! 
 Again, all Helwyse's care and generosity 
 would now, of course, be lavished upon 
 the new-comers, and Kathleen, Margie, and 
 Norah pass unnoticed. Even Helwyse's 
 kind proposal of adopting Ambroise vexed 
 and irritated her. The boy must natural- 
 ly, living with Helwyse always, see more 
 of the world, that is to say, of the culti- 
 vated, clever, intellectual world, than his 
 little cousins, and would, in some sense, 
 grow up to be their superior. Emilia 
 tried hard not to show all this, tried hard
 
 266 BRIDGET. 
 
 to acquit herself of her duty to her hus- 
 band's foundlings, but she could not always 
 maintain self-control. 
 
 The intense narrowness of the maternal 
 instinct, when left to itself, and uninfluenced 
 by other and wider sympathies, was here 
 manifested. To Emilia it seemed monstrous 
 that Bryan should feel as tenderly towards 
 these children as his own, that he should 
 even sacrifice their well-being to that of the 
 orphans, that he should for a moment com- 
 pare his duties to both, as if they could be 
 at all alike ! She could not conceive of a 
 love and a pity sublimer, tenderer, holier 
 even, than that of a mother for her nursling, 
 namely, the lovely, angelic, wide-reaching 
 tenderness and yearning of a noble nature 
 towards the friendless, the fatherless, the 
 forsaken ! She could not realize the import 
 of those wonderful words of Jesus of Naza- 
 reth — "Blessed are the meek, for they
 
 BRIDGET. 267 
 
 shall inherit the earth." Nor could she 
 any more have understood the beautiful 
 aphorism of an apostle of humanity of our 
 own day, whose whole life was a sermon 
 upon his text — ^' Aux i^lus desherites^ le pliis^ 
 d amour y Alas ! in this frailty of the heart 
 and intellect, poor Emilia but resembled the 
 rest of humanity before it is emancipated 
 from the trammels of material selfishness 
 and the prison walls of spiritual blindness. 
 Must we not believe that there were admir- 
 able mothers among the slave-holding aristo- 
 cracy of ancient Rome and modern America? 
 — tender matrons who could not bear a 
 wind to blow upon their darlings unkindly, 
 yet could complacently see a slave-mother 
 bereft of her suckling? Infinite, indeed,, 
 is the gulf between that maternal instinct 
 which leads a lioness to fight for her young, 
 and that wondrousHiigher love, begotten of 
 Christianity, and all lofty teachers, which
 
 268 BRIDGET, 
 
 sees in everything helpless, hopeless, or 
 oppressed, an orphandom to love, shield, 
 and do battle for ! 
 
 As might only be expected, the box-ful 
 of broken toys occasioned first of all a 
 great rejoicing, and lastly a quarrel. Bri- 
 gitte had agreed with Hilaire that as the 
 others had not enjoyed themselves at Beech- 
 holme Park, the toys should be equally 
 divided into six portions, to which the little 
 fellow assented good-naturedly enough, 
 though looking on rather sadly whilst the 
 process of dividing was gone through. 
 Now it happened that among the rest was 
 a catapult, a whole, entire, and new cata- 
 pult, and we all know well enough that if 
 we want to put a boy into ecstasies, we 
 have only to spend a shilling upon one of 
 these highly objectionable toys. Patrice 
 caught sight of the tr^sure, and, for the 
 life of him, could not refrain from breaking
 
 BRIDGET. 269 
 
 the rules Brigitte had imposed, namely, 
 that not a word should be said till the lots 
 were ready, when Hilaire was to choose 
 first, and the rest by turns. 
 
 '* Oh, Brigitte," cried Patrice, " I am 
 the eldest, and a catapult is a boy^s toy. 
 May I have the catapult as my lot? I 
 don't care about anything else." 
 
 "No, I should like the catapult," said 
 Kathleen, less because she cared about it 
 than that she wished to assert her rights. 
 "I am the eldest of the girls, Brigitte, and 
 mamma says girls go always before boys." 
 
 " What use can a catapult be to you, 
 Kathie ?" Patrice said, reproachfully. " Oh, 
 fie, you tomboy !" 
 
 That irreverent speech was too much for 
 a proper-minded little person like Kathleen, 
 who liked her cousins well enough, and 
 particularly Patrice^ — except when he called 
 her names. So she flew into a little passion,
 
 270 BRIDGET. 
 
 finally declared she cared about none of the 
 toys whatever, and went downstairs in 
 tears, pouring out her grievances to her 
 mother. Emilia was too busy with the 
 supper to pay any heed to her complaint 
 just then, but when, ten minutes later, the 
 others came down, Patrice having been 
 scolded by Brigitte into relinquishing the 
 catapult, she said angrily — 
 
 " No, Patrice, I cannot have you sit down 
 to supper. Whilst you persist in upsetting 
 the house, and calling Kathleen names, you 
 must please keep out of my sight." 
 
 It was certainly a little hard upon Patrice. 
 The table was spread with the good things 
 out of Mrs. Oornweirs hamper, and 23ermis- 
 sion to sit up to supper was so rare a privi- 
 lege ! Then he had not heard half Brigitte's 
 news yet, and he wanted Uncle Bryan to see 
 his toys, and advise him as to repairs. 
 
 Without a word he went back to the
 
 BRIDGET. 271 
 
 nursery and sat down on his little bed in 
 the dark. Tears streamed down his cheeks 
 as he thought of Kathleen's pettishness 
 and Aunt Emmie's injustice. After all he 
 had decided to give up the catapult, and he 
 had not intended to insult Kathleen, but 
 Uncle Bryan would be sure to hear all 
 about it, and would look at him coldly next 
 morning. 
 
 He wished he could do -something to earn 
 his own living, so as to be independent. 
 Would Uncle Bryan let him go to sea, he 
 wondered, to serve in a ship ? He felt 
 sure — for the truth had dawned upon the 
 boy slowly — that Aunt Emmie did not 
 want him, th^t she would be glad to have 
 him away. And Ambroise was going to live 
 with Aunt Helwyse. That was a bitter 
 disappointment. Aunt Helwyse was nicer 
 than anyone. He should have loved to be 
 with Aunt Helwyse, only Ambroise was to
 
 272 BRIDGET. 
 
 go because he had a taste for drawing. 
 When, a little later, Brigitte entered softly, 
 bearing a candle and a plate piled up with 
 bread and jam — poor Patrice had as enor- 
 mous an appetite as any boy in London — 
 he burst into tears afresh. 
 
 Brigitte placed her candle and plate on the 
 table, then, sitting on the bed beside him, 
 scolded him for his tears, and they talked 
 together, cheek laid to cheek, and arms en- 
 twined. 
 
 " What good does crying do? — you know, 
 to be sent out of the room isn't a great 
 misfortune," she said. " Don't call Kath- 
 leen a tomboy any more, and it won't hap- 
 pen again." 
 
 " But, Brigitte," Patrice answered, wip- 
 ing his eyes with his sleeves, '*it is sure to 
 be me Aunt Emmie scolds. I am sure I 
 am not a worse boy than Ambroise, but he 
 always gets off."
 
 BRIDGET. 273 
 
 *' Well, dear, you are the biggest — per- 
 haps that is the reason ; and, you know, 
 Ambroise is more careful in what he says. 
 Isn't he, now ?" 
 
 " I wish I could goto sea, Brigitte — that 
 I do." 
 
 " But you would get scolded at sea, 
 Patrice. No, get on at school as fast as 
 you can, and when you and Ambroise can 
 both earn enough, we will all live together 
 in a little house. I shall keep a school, 
 and every year we will put by twenty 
 pounds in the savings' bank !" 
 
 The candle gave a bright light, the 
 bread and jam looked uncommonly tempt- 
 ing, and Patrice gradually imbibed Brigitte's 
 cheerfulness. He moved to the table, 
 and, sitting down, quietly munched away, 
 quite recovering his spirits by the time the 
 last slice was consumed. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BRIGITTE LAYS OUT HER MONEY. 
 
 ZOOMING home, poor Brigitte thought, 
 ^^ was not a pleasant thing. She then 
 reahzed, for the first time, in its full bitter- 
 ness, the fact of her unwelcomeness in her 
 uncle's house. Outwardly the orphans 
 were treated exactly like the children of 
 the house — that is to say, they were fed 
 with as liberal a hand, they slept on beds 
 as soft, they were clothed as warmly. But 
 do we not all know that there are two 
 ways of doing kindly or even just things, 
 and that the one hits us like a blow, the 
 other caresses us like a benediction ?
 
 BBIDGET. 275 
 
 Emilia, whilst intending to do her duty by 
 these orphan children, always acted with 
 the consciousness that her husband's eyes 
 were upon her. She determined that, as 
 far as food, shelter, and clothing went, 
 Bryan should never say she was a sparing- 
 handed step-mother. In fact, rather than 
 incur such a suspicion, she went to the 
 other extreme, doling out the largest por- 
 tion of the Sunday cake, or the half- 
 holiday jam-pot, to the intruders. 
 
 All this was done, not with a vain-glori-' 
 ous air — Emilia was not the person to 
 pride herself upon anything she did — but 
 with the look of a martyr. Childhood is 
 callous — childhood is careless. The boys 
 thought Aunt Emmie kind enough when 
 she did not scold ; only Brigitte detected 
 the lack of love, the gracelessness, the re- 
 luctance, underlying all these outwardly 
 
 maternal acts. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 BRIDGET. 
 
 Had Brigitte analysed her feelings, she 
 would have come to the conclusion that 
 her want of tenderness and sympathy for 
 Aunt Emmie almost amounted to dislike. 
 But Brigitte never thought of doing this. 
 She was old enough to understand how 
 matters stood, and as long as Aunt Emmie 
 allowed her to remain with Hilaire, she 
 felt grateful, if not affectionate. And Aunt 
 Emmie was never unkind to Hilaire. The 
 clinging little thing, with his fair curls 
 and delicate, sensitive features, who loved 
 everyone, and possessed the beautiful gift 
 of being happy always, had exacted her 
 tenderness as his right from the first, and 
 she would even scold the little girls if they 
 were rough or unkind to him. Hilaire 
 was not infrequently indeed a bone of con- 
 tention, for Emilia, under the pressure of in- 
 creasing anxieties, was getting into a habit 
 of perpetual irritability, and Kathleen and
 
 BBIDGET. 277 
 
 her sisters would often wonder what made 
 mamma so cross. 
 
 There were many reasons why the little 
 sum Emilia was constantly doing mentally 
 — namely, four and three make seven ! — 
 should appear so serious to her. In the 
 first place, husband and wife could not 
 agree as to the best mode of dealing with 
 their difficulties. Emilia, strictly practical, 
 limited her remedies to the strict necessi- 
 ties of the case. She thought it monstrous 
 and unreasonable that Bryan should sen- 
 timentalize over the matter, and set him- 
 self to do, not only what he must, but what 
 he could, for his brother's orphans. Why 
 not apprentice Patrice at once to some . 
 respectable tradesman, let Brigitte go to 
 the Stoke Newington school, and thus 
 lighten their burden effectively, and at 
 once ? Helwyse had offered to provide 
 for Ambroise, which was only fair and
 
 278 BRIDGET. 
 
 riglit ; but of course, if Helwyse were to 
 marry, or travel abroad, or do anything 
 else unexpected, tlie boy would have to 
 come back to them. On the other hand, 
 she urged, if Bryan foolishly refused to do 
 any of these things — if he persisted in 
 striving after impossibilities, and in acting 
 without any reference to realities — it was 
 of no use to deny the fact — ruin stared 
 them in the face. 
 
 " Well," Bryan said coolly, after listen- 
 ing one evening to such a tirade — alas ! he 
 had heard it many a time before — " the 
 ruin, my dear, will be that of your choos- 
 ing, not mine. I have reckoned up the 
 cost of school bills and the children's keep 
 as well as you. If you do as I advise you, 
 we shall send Mary Ann away, take Kathie 
 and Margie from school, move into that 
 cheaper house we saw last week at Hollo- 
 way, and then be no worse off than we
 
 BRIDGET. 279 
 
 were before. We pay fifteen pounds a 
 year for tlie two little girls' schooling ; 
 Mary Ann costs us, I am sure, thirty 
 more, and by moving to Holloway we 
 shall get a house for one-third less 
 than this. After three or four years, the 
 elder boys will be off our hands, Brigitte 
 will be able to earn something, and there 
 will still be plenty of time to think of 
 schools for Kathie and Margie." 
 
 " You are the first person I ever heard 
 of who preferred the interests of other 
 people's children to his own," Emilia said, 
 also cold and bitter. 
 
 *' My dear Emmie, listen to reason. If 
 Patrice gets no education now, he will 
 have to serve behind a counter all the days 
 of his life — nay, I don't know if he is quite 
 scholar enough for that yet. If, on the 
 contrary, we put him into the way of earn- 
 ing his living like a gentleman, he would
 
 280 BRIDGET. 
 
 not only be in a decent position, but able 
 to help the others by-and-by. You don't 
 know what it is, that serving behind the 
 counter." 
 
 **He wishes to go to sea," Emilia said. 
 " Why not let him follow his inclinations ? 
 You don't seem to realize, Bryan, what a 
 burden the children are upon us. I could 
 not pay the baker last week. It was quite 
 impossible ; and unless you can allow me 
 more for the weekly bills, they must go. 
 We must do as other people do, and run 
 into debt." 
 
 " Send the nursegirl away, and take the 
 
 little ones from school. Let Brigitte mind 
 them." 
 
 " How inconsistent you are, Bryan ! Is 
 
 it not for Brigitte's good that she should 
 
 go to that Stoke Newington school at 
 
 Christmas ? Mrs. Skimp is still willing to 
 
 have her, and would train her for a gover-
 
 P-EIDGET. 281 
 
 ness. As to Mary Ann, how is one servant 
 possibly to do the work for nine people ? 
 We should be worse than slave-drivers." 
 
 " But why not take Kathie and Margie 
 from school till Hilaire is a little older, and 
 Brigitte might leave him? They learn 
 very little as yet. Brigitte, I am sure, 
 could teach them as much, and fifteen 
 pounds is fifteen pounds." 
 
 *' Oh ! Bryan, it would break their hearts. 
 They are so happy at Miss Leeson's. It is 
 such a blessing, too, to get rid of them all 
 day long. I have enough to worry me 
 without that, I am sure." 
 
 " Then 1 will go and give notice to quit 
 this house at Christmas, and hire the other 
 one," Bryan answered, desperately, and 
 taking up his hat. " That would be a 
 saving of as much. We must save some- 
 where. I would give you more money for 
 the weekly bills if I had got it. I have
 
 282 BRIDGET. 
 
 not got it, and can't get it. We must do 
 with what we have. I have walked into 
 the City every day this week to save three 
 shilhngs in omnibuses. I am always think- 
 ing of what I can save in little things — of 
 w^hat use if you will not help me ?" 
 
 " I am sure I try to save too," Emilia 
 said, ready to cry. " I don't know what 
 we are to do. It is not myself I care a 
 straw about, but the children. I am dread- 
 fully afraid of those cheap houses at Hollo- 
 way. I think they cannot be healthy, 
 being let at such a rent. We might all 
 get typhoid fever! At any rate, let us 
 think about it." 
 
 '' It will be of little use to think of all 
 these things when it is too late. If ruin 
 stares us in the face, at least you cannot 
 say I have not warned you," Bryan re- 
 joined, and worried, angry, hurt, and 
 aggrieved, he put on his hat, not to go to 
 his landlord and give him notice to quit,
 
 BRIDGET, 283 
 
 but to take one of those moody rambles- 
 which were now his only consolation. 
 
 Poor Bryan and poor Emilia ! To the 
 careless outside world it might seem as if 
 they were making mountains of molehills, 
 and the sum perpetually recurring to their 
 minds, as a problem, a riddle, and a maze 
 — four and three make seven ! — was 
 nothing so very terrible, after all. But 
 fathers and mothers who have had much 
 such experience, will know better, and 
 that to feed eleven mouths with what had 
 before fed seven is no easy matter. Of 
 course had they grappled with the diffi- 
 culty together, bringing combined self- 
 sacrifice, good sense, and resolution to 
 bear upon it, the question would have 
 received a speedy and hopeful solution. As 
 it was, each felt the other to be wrong, and 
 neither would give way. Bryan accused 
 Emilia of wanting in generosity towards 
 his brother's children ; Emilia found him
 
 284 BRIDGET. 
 
 wanting in fatherly duty to his own. 
 Bryan was determined to bring up Brigitte 
 and her brothers like Kathleen and her 
 sisters. Emilia felt it no injustice, but 
 rather a decree of nature, that the orphans 
 should suffer for their father's fault. Bryan 
 found Emilia lacking in foresight and large- 
 heartedness ; Emilia thought Bryan wholly 
 unpractical and Quixotic. Thus the two 
 were separated rather than brought together 
 by this supreme trial of their lives, and 
 were every day with their own hands broad- 
 ening the tiny rivulet that had begun to 
 divide them. They were drifting farther 
 and farther from each other's sympathies, 
 farther and farther from each other s com- 
 prehension. Mistrust quickly leads to 
 misunderstanding, and when two people, 
 bound together by the closest ties, once 
 leave off explaining and justifying them- 
 selves in each other's eyes, it is easy to
 
 BRIDGET. 285 
 
 see what will follow. Both obstinately pur- 
 sue the line of conduct they have laid down 
 — obstinately, ungraciously, and alone. 
 
 Dreary indeed were those autumn days, 
 both without and within. Helwyse was 
 away, her work still keeping her at Beech- 
 holme Park, so that her bright presence no 
 longer occasionally broke the dull round of 
 daily cares. Even good, friendly Mr. 
 Starffe caught cold, and was perpetually 
 coughing and melancholy. The brief spell 
 of fine autumn weather had gone, leaving 
 mists, and clinging clouds, and persistent 
 drizzle behind. If a clear, sunshiny day 
 came, Brigitte was out with Hilaire, who, 
 childlike, did not appreciate the difference 
 between this murky London climate, and 
 the blue skies and bright winter of his 
 native France. Happy childhood ! that for- 
 gets everything, not only kindness and un- 
 kindness, but also the flowery scenes and
 
 286 EKIDGET. 
 
 gracious surroundings through which it 
 passes in a dream ! Only Brigitte pined 
 secretly for the abundant sunshine and 
 transparent atmosphere of Dauphin^. 
 Only Brigitte, when pondering and alone, 
 unconsciously repeated to herself the bur- 
 den of Mignon's song. Only Brigitte had 
 buried her heart in her childhood's home. 
 But the girl resolutely tried to make the 
 best of things, and never once drew Hilaire's 
 attention to the fogginess and dreariness of 
 s> London autumn. When the weather 
 brightened, she took him for long walks 
 to Muswell Hill, where they picked up 
 the ripe horse-chestnuts he so loved to 
 play with; or they lingered on Mount 
 Pleasant, to count the trains as they scour- 
 ed by ; or they climbed to the top of High- 
 gate Hill, and standing on the bridge, gazed 
 wonderingly at that awful mysterious Lon- 
 don, of which as yet they knew nothing.
 
 BRIDGET. 287 
 
 The hanging woods were bereft of the glory 
 that had enchanted them in Surrey ; there 
 was no lustre on the green valley of Old 
 Hornsey, no colour or joy in the once smil- 
 ing landscapes of Tottenham and Wood 
 Green. The damp, clinging atmosphere, 
 like a sponge, had sucked all the brightness 
 out of the scene, leaving it cold, grey, 
 watery. But so long as Hilaire could trot 
 by Brigitte's side, holding her hand, and 
 pouring out childish confidences, he was 
 well content. The two would never tire 
 of talking about Beechholme Park when 
 they were alone, recalling the smallest cir- 
 cumstance with ever fresh delight, ** We 
 did this, we did that at dear Mrs. Corn- 
 welPs. When I am grown up I will 
 send her a beautiful gown," Hilaire would 
 say, whilst Brigitte, in her turn, would 
 wish herself rich again and again, so as to 
 be able to send a New Year's present to Pa-
 
 288 BRIDGET. 
 
 pillon. When the walk was over, and the 
 three little girls had come home from 
 school, Brigitte would tell them stories 
 over the fire, Hilaire sitting on her knee, 
 the others gathered round. 
 
 "Brigitte is certainly handy with the 
 children," Emilia thought, but she neverthe- 
 less hoped she would be induced to go to 
 the Stoke Newington school at Christmas. 
 
 For Brigitte the worst part of the day 
 was supper time, when all the children 
 were in bed, and Uncle Bryan had come 
 home. Sometimes the meal would be eaten 
 in dreary silence. Uncle Bryan reading the 
 paper. Aunt Emmie never raising her eyes 
 from her plate ; at others they would at- 
 tempt to talk, invariably stumbling upon 
 a thorny subject, sure also to end in silence. 
 Bryan always refused to discuss domestic 
 matters before Brigitte, and if Emilia un- 
 warily mentioned the baker's bill, or the
 
 EEIDGET. 289 
 
 high price of meat, he abruptly, even 
 roughly, changed the subject. 
 
 " We will live on bread and water," he 
 said one day angrily, '* only do not let the 
 poor children feel that we grudge them 
 their portion." 
 
 "But when are we to talk of these 
 things if not at supper-time?" Emilia 
 responded, in her turn angry. ^' I must 
 tell you what our expenses amount to. 
 If I am not to consult you about this, 
 whom else ?" 
 
 " "We will have a little talk on Sunda}^," 
 Bryan said, in a beseeching tone. " I have 
 walked all the way from the City, I am 
 dead tired. You must know that I want a 
 little rest now." 
 
 "I am sure Sunday is not a day to de- 
 vote to worldly things, but as you please," 
 rejoined the wife ; and thus, for the hun- 
 dredth time, an attempt at explanation left 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 BEIDGET. 
 
 matters worse than they were before. In 
 former days, as soon as the supper-tray 
 was removed, Bryan would bring out a 
 volume of poetry or fiction, Cowper or 
 Wordsworth, Thackeray or Charlotte 
 Bronte; and whilst the wife stitched away at 
 some useful juvenile garment, the husband 
 would read aloud, not only with expression, 
 but with considerable dramatic power, for 
 Bryan had a gift of this kind. Or he 
 would bring out his own modest little 
 poems, and read them to his indulgent 
 critic, pencilling corrections as he went 
 along. Such bright hours of recreation was 
 over, and the city clerk's spare moments, 
 before looked forward to so eagerly, were 
 now the longest and dreariest of the 
 week. 
 
 So November came, to thoughtful house- 
 wives the most anxious of the year;
 
 BRIDGET. 291 
 
 when the clothes-cliest, and the coal-cellar, 
 and the blanket-closet have to be inspected 
 carefully, with many a sigh for the cold, 
 dark, pinching months to come. There 
 was no help for it! The orphans were 
 shivering in their slight garments, Hilaire 
 looked blue with cold, so Bryan desperately 
 ordered warm clothes for all four, trusting 
 to Providence to pay the bill. 
 
 Still there were things wanted that even a 
 father of seven cannot think of, and when 
 Emilia got out a store of warm flannel 
 nightgowns for the little girls, she did it 
 with the apologetic thought — " They are 
 here, so the children may as well wear 
 them, but, of course, if it came to buying, 
 Kathleen and the rest would have to go 
 without as well as Hilaire." 
 
 It happened to be a bitter cold day when 
 Aunt Emmie came down with her arm full 
 
 U i.
 
 292 BRIDGET. 
 
 of little flannel nightgowns, thinking thi& 
 thought, whilst she said to Brigitte, care- 
 lessly — 
 
 " Just help me to mend and put on but- 
 tons, Brigitte. I am sure it is a mistake 
 to wrap children up so much, but when 
 once begun, you must go on with it." 
 
 Brigitte did not utter a word, but sat 
 down to her task with a wistful face. The 
 room in which Hilaire slept was a very cold 
 one, looking due north. He had caught a 
 slight cold on the first foggy day, and 
 coughed at night. Oh, what would she 
 have given for one of those snug little gar- 
 ments in which to wrap her darling ! How 
 could she say anything ? How could she 
 hint at another want, when so many had 
 been generously supplied ? She could only 
 try, as she had tried again and again, to 
 hit on a scheme for earning a little money.
 
 BRIDGET. 293 
 
 The deliglitful little plan of the school 
 had been rudely nipped by Aunt Emmie in 
 the bud. 
 
 *' Kg, Brigitte," she said, decidedly, *' I 
 won't have it, so divest your mind of the 
 idea as quickly as possible. A school, in- 
 deed ! Why, you could only teach infants, 
 and a pretty noise and dirt and upset it 
 would make, having a dozen children pad- 
 dling in and out all weathers ! If you really 
 wish, as you say, to do something for your-, 
 self, and relieve your uncle and me of ex- 
 pense, there is a much better way, as you 
 know. Go to Stoke Newington. You 
 would get ten pounds the first year, and 
 twenty the next, if you did well. Think of 
 that." 
 
 Brigitte did think of it, but 'to leave 
 Hilaire now seemed more than ever impos- 
 sible. The rude English climate was try-
 
 294 BRIDGET. 
 
 ing the little fellow sadly ; and but for 
 her vigilance he would most certainly have 
 fallen an early victim to it. Never shep- 
 herd dog guarded his master's property 
 more assiduously than Brigitte watched 
 over her pet. If a gleam of sunshine broke 
 the prevailing gloom, he was at once taken 
 out of doors. If a breath of east wind was 
 blowing, he was kept by the fireside. No 
 little heir to a mighty kingdom had ten- 
 derer care, and his tiniest ailments were 
 warded off by that best of all medicines : 
 never-ceasing watchfulness and love. 
 
 One day Aunt Emmie handed Brigitte 
 half-a-sovereign, and twopence in coppers, 
 saying — 
 
 '' Here, Brigitte, put on your hat and 
 cloak, and go to the High Street, Islington, 
 to buy 3^ourself a hat. Uncle Bryan says 
 he cannot go to church with you any more 
 in that scarecrow, and yjDu are quite old
 
 BRIDGET. 295 
 
 enougli to be entrusted with making little 
 purchases for yourself. If you can get 
 the hat for less than half-a-sovereign, 
 you can buy yourself a pair of woollen 
 mittens, or something useful, and here is 
 twopence for the omnibus. Pray take care 
 of your money, and lay it out to the very 
 best advantage." 
 
 Poor Brigitte set out delightedly. It 
 was not that she cared so very much about 
 having a new hat, coquetry at present 
 being sadly undeveloped in the prematurely 
 matronly young girl. She was charmed 
 with such a proof of Aunt Emmie's confi- 
 dence in her, and as she hastened to reach 
 the omnibus stand, thought of nothing but 
 the best manner of deserving it. She made 
 up her mind that never half-sovereign in 
 the world should be laid out so judiciously 
 as this most precious one. But ten whole
 
 296 BRIDGET. 
 
 shillings for a hat was not to be thought 
 of ! Surely the half would more than suf- 
 fice, and not only mittens for herself, but 
 flannel nightgowns for Hilaire might surely 
 be obtained for so large, so unparalleled a 
 sum ! The flannel nightgowns were, in 
 fact, on Brigitte's brain, and when she 
 found herself in that Vanity Fair of unaris- 
 tocratic London, the High Street, Islington, 
 she had neither eyes nor perception for 
 anything else but the piles of flannel placed 
 so temptingly in the doorway of every 
 draper's shop. No matter how gay and 
 pretty was the millinery displayed to tempt 
 Islington coquettes, no matter how insinu- 
 atingly cheap were the prices of fascinating 
 little hat or bonnet, Brigitte glanced care- 
 lessly at all and almost reached the "Angel" 
 with her half-sovereign intact in her 
 glove.
 
 EEIDGET. 297 
 
 But she must really spend it, and as she 
 stood before a large shop on the Green, 
 literally crammed with Welsh and Saxony 
 flannel, she could no longer contain herself. 
 The irresistible temptation to enter a gin 
 palace could not more completely possess 
 a tippler than Brigitte's longing to make 
 little Hilaire warm and snug these chill 
 nights. ^' Aunt Emmie cannot be angry," 
 she said to herself at last, "and I will buy 
 new trimming for the old hat, and a brown 
 veil to cover the crown on bright days. I 
 must have the flannel." 
 
 So she plunged into the midst of the 
 fleecy piles, to her young mind the most 
 lovely objects in that magnificent display, 
 and, it is hardly necessary to add, came 
 out with the smaller half of the precious 
 gold piece. But hardly had she gone a 
 hundred yards when a second temptation,
 
 29S BEIDGET. 
 
 hardly less overwhelming than the first, 
 took possession of her. 
 
 This time it was a chemist's shop, and 
 no more than gay ribbons, flowers, and 
 feathers had intoxicated the girl's fancy 
 just before, did the various little luxuries 
 arranged with so much taste in Mr. Es- 
 sence's window, arrest her attention now. 
 She did not indeed see the bright-coloured 
 glass scent-bottles, the ivory-handled hair- 
 brushes, the elegant little mirrors, and 
 other dainty trifles therein displayed, her 
 quick, eager glance having been at once 
 attracted to a good-sized green bottle, 
 bearing the unenticing inscription — Pure 
 Cod-liver Oil. 
 
 " Oh !" thought poor Brigitte, " I must 
 have that bottle of cod-liver oil for Hilaire. 
 He looks just as pale and thin as he did 
 this time last year, when Dr. Tisane said —
 
 BRIDGET. 299 
 
 * Mind and give him cod-liver oil whenever 
 he looks like that.'" And again she re- 
 peated to herself — "Aunt Emmie cannot 
 be angry vrith me, for I will buy hat-trim- 
 mings, and a veil to cover the shabby parts 
 on bright days." 
 
 A second time the temptation was 
 stronger than that of absinthe, opium, or 
 gin to the inveterate self -poisoner, and she 
 plunged in, issuing flushed and triumphant 
 with the bottle of cod-liver oil hugged to 
 her heart, as if it had been a case of 
 jewels. 
 
 Alas ! she looked a little crestfallen when, 
 at last, the purchase of the trimmings had 
 to be made out of the poor little re- 
 mains of the half-sovereign. The price of 
 the ribbon selected was of the very cheapest, 
 the texture of the veil, to hide all defects 
 when the sun shone, of the very thickest,.
 
 300 BRIDGET. 
 
 the result, looked at perspectively, far from 
 encouraging. But Brigitte comforted her- 
 self with the thought that even if Aunt 
 Emmie were a little angrj, she must for- 
 give her for Hilaire's sake. 
 
 Emilia was sitting at the window when 
 Brigitte rang the front bell, and the first 
 glance at her parcel told her all was not as 
 it should be. She rose to open the door 
 with heightened colour and an indignant 
 voice. 
 
 ^'Really, Brigitte, I will never trust you 
 with a penny again. What in the world 
 have you got in those big parcels ? And a 
 bottle above all things ! I suppose you 
 have been buying scent for your handker- 
 chiefs, or wash for your hair " 
 
 "Dear Aunt Emmie, pray do not be 
 angry," Brigitte said, feeling at that mo- 
 ment the guiltiest creature under the sun.
 
 BEIDGET. 301 
 
 " I have got new trimming for tlie old bat, 
 and with a gauze veil that will hide all im- 
 perfections, I assure you, it will do quite well. 
 But Hilaire is so cold at night, and I am 
 sure he will catch fewer colds when he 
 wears flannel nightgowns. And it isn't 
 scent or hair- wash in the bottle, aunty," 
 the girl added, ready to cry. "It is only 
 cod-liver oil for Hilaire. He always takes 
 it in winter time, and I wouldn't mention 
 it before, because I knew it was an expense 
 — pray do not be angry." 
 
 ** You should have told me that you in- 
 tended buying these things. Of course 
 we would get w^hatever is really necessary 
 for Hilaire, that is to say, if we could afford 
 it. The money was intended for a Sunday 
 hat, and a Sunday hat you were bound to 
 buy. But it is a lesson to me to do my 
 own shopping for the future."
 
 302 BRIDGET. 
 
 That was all, and when Brigitte had 
 carried her parcels ujDStairs, no further 
 allusion was made to the transaction. Still 
 Aunt Emmie never offered to help her 
 with the nightgowns or the hat, 
 sent her on no more errands of the 
 same kind, and insisted upon her stay- 
 ing from church on bright days. * The 
 girl felt that she was misunderstood, 
 misrepresented, and, what was worse still, 
 jDunished for doing her duty. Was not 
 her duty to Hilaire to be considered before 
 every other ? She could not persuade her- 
 self that it was wrong to go without finery 
 in order that he should be kept warm and 
 in good health. 
 
 The little household, one and all, looked 
 forward to Helwyse's return. Helwyse 
 would take Ambroise away, in poor Emilia's 
 ^yes an enormous relief. Helwyse would
 
 BEIDGET. 803 
 
 brighten the monotony of this daily tread- 
 mill, thought Bryan. Helwyse would relieve 
 the prevailing gloom in many ways. Why 
 was Helwyse so long away ? 
 
 END 0¥ THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 ♦ (»■
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS-URIANA 
 
 3 0112 045828487