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 JULIE T. 
 
 " The lyfe so short, the craft so long to learn, 
 The assay so hard, so sharp the conquering." 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 ' ' I ask thee for a faithful love, 
 Through constant watching, wise." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON ST. 
 
 "publishers in Chbhraqr to gcr Jflajcstir tjje (SJuccir. 
 
 1883.
 
 r*3 
 
 V.I 
 
 u 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TA9E 
 
 > Alderdale I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Molly 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Among the Wild Roses 30 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Tea at Alderdale 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Brunskill's Move 66 
 
 ■ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 On the Verge ........ 86
 
 iv COXTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Over the Verge ioo 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 With Isabel 123 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Self-confest 135 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Advanxe 158 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Misgivings 173 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 By the Whern ' . 186 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A Black Night 232 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Past versus Present 263
 
 
 JULIET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ALDERDALE. 
 
 "And vou were verv sorrv when the Lav- 
 bournes went awav ? ' 
 
 '• I was more sorrv than anv words can 
 express. You know I am a lonely man, 
 Molly, and Lay bourne and his wife were 
 friends to me, and their children like mv bro- 
 thers and sisters. There was always some- 
 thin^ in which to be interested among: them 
 all. When thev were ^one. and Mr. and 
 Miss Gliddon had taken their place, it was 
 not like the same house. For a lon^ time I 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 2 JULIET. 
 
 could scarcely endure to go near it. I missed 
 them all, Ted and Juliet, Carrie and Sophie, 
 Sam and Phil, even the little twins. It 
 became more of a vicarage certainly, but, to 
 my fancy, less of a home." 
 
 " And how long was it before you made 
 friends with the Gliddons?" 
 
 11 Not long. Mr. Gliddon was delicate, 
 and cared more for study than parish work ; 
 so I began to help him, as I had helped 
 Laybourne, when my own work-hours were 
 over." 
 
 " I never heard how it really happened, 
 but I know Mr. Gliddon did something verv 
 unselfish. Every one always shakes his head 
 in naming him, and says, 'Ay, but Passon's 
 a gey gude mon.' What did he do, Mr. 
 Brunskill ? ' 
 
 As Molly Murdock spoke, she laughed 
 the low laugh which always made Brunskill 
 smile, so happy was it. Then she took up 
 her hood from the grass, where she had
 
 ALDERDALE. 
 
 thrown it on sitting down, and tying its 
 strings atop of it, stuck within them a bunch 
 of pink-frilled daisies. Smoothing back her 
 wind-roughened brown hair with one hand, 
 she, with the other, put on this white hood, 
 tilting it well over her brow, and getting an 
 effect of jauntiness, crisp freshness, and pure 
 coolness which Brunskill was far from being 
 the only one to think bewitching. No other 
 dales-girl in Wherndale had this knack, but 
 no other dales-girl w r ore white hoods in 
 summer and red ones in winter, for hay- 
 making, walking, and church-service, and 
 whatever was going on. Her cotempo- 
 raries patronized gaudy hats for best, and 
 lilac-printed hoods for common, and dis- 
 dained her better taste and sense with a 
 disdain largely jealous of their easy sim- 
 plicity, for which Gilbert Brunskill was 
 devoutly thankful each time he saw her in 
 the street of Moorhead or the fields round 
 Alderdale, for, far or near, there was no fear
 
 4 JULIET. 
 
 of mistaking the white hood and its wearer. 
 Involuntarily, he now leant forward to look 
 within the circle of its shadow, and their eyes 
 met, hers shining forth with limpid softness 
 to rest gravely on his ; her lips half-apart in 
 a smile which he treasured in his memory. 
 That smile, those guileless eyes, made his 
 heart leap, and sent the blood rushing to his 
 cheeks. But her heart did not leap, nor did 
 she blush. She did not realize the ardour of 
 his gaze, and he knew it. " Would to Heaven 
 she would look down when I look at her ! ' 
 he thought. He had already watched long for 
 her to look down. 
 
 They had been walking in the meadows 
 at A lderdale, meadows lately cleared of grass, 
 and lying in emerald patches on the hill-sides 
 and near the beck. The August heat had 
 tired them, and at last Molly sat down on the 
 step of a stile overhung with rowans, Brun- 
 skill taking the topmost rail a little above 
 her. The beck ran almost at their feet, the
 
 ALDERDALE. 
 
 sparkle of its eddies belying the drowsiness 
 of its murmur, its opposite banks rising 
 steeply from pasture to bent, from bent to 
 ling, whose purple blozv lay in a sultry haze 
 against the sky. Two fields away, just 
 where the valley was narrowest, the old 
 Grange stood, sunk amid the abundant 
 foliage of sycamores, oaks, alders, and wild 
 cherries, above which its blue smoke lazily 
 curled. Here a bridge spanned the beck, its 
 ivy-hung arch reflected in one of the deep 
 brown sun-flecked pools which made the 
 Whern dear to trout-fishers ; and in front of 
 the house, sheltered, warm, and fragrant, lay 
 Molly's garden, gay now with purple iris, 
 tiger-lilies, and double stocks, its borders 
 edged with tortoise-stones from the river, its 
 paths finialed with bushes of box and southern- 
 wood. The front-door and the lattices of the 
 windows in their heavy mullions were all set 
 wide open for sun and scented air to steal in. 
 Above the stocks hummed honey-laden bees.
 
 6 JULIET. 
 
 A dog drowsed on the hot door-step. Old 
 Tamar Verity, Mat Murdock's housekeeper, 
 plodded in and out in her clogs. Once she 
 went down to the water-side, and standing 
 under a barberry tree that was already tasselled 
 with red-gold flower, shaded her eyes with 
 her hand, and looked across the fields to the 
 stile where Mr. Brunskill and Mollv sat. As 
 she looked, she smiled, and then returned to 
 her work with much nodding of her head. 
 Evidently, what she had seen pleased her. 
 She walked up the path again with an air of 
 deep thought, and on the step paused a 
 moment, counting three on her fingers and 
 speaking aloud. 
 
 " It's three whole years this hay-making 
 since the lass gave up her schooling, and 
 that the masters been coming here, court- 
 ing her. Does she ken, or doesn't she 
 ken, what brings him ? She's allers the 
 same with every one. I'd fain give the 
 master a lift to speak before Noll comes
 
 ALDERDALE. 
 
 home. She thinks a deal of Noll. Lasses 
 are so daft." 
 
 Meanwhile, Brunskill was happily en- 
 lightening Molly's ignorance. 
 
 ''Mr. Gliddon and Laybourne were friends 
 at Caius," he said. " Gliddon took a Fellow- 
 ship and lived a scholar's life, with the pro- 
 mise of the excellent living his father held. 
 Laybourne was a poor tutor, minus friends or 
 prospects, and married a governess. They 
 had eight children, as you know, all hand- 
 some, clever, and high-spirited. But it 
 became impossible for Laybourne to main- 
 tain them on one hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year. Sickness came, and Mrs. Laybourne 
 and Ted became delicate. One day, when 
 the pinch was at its hardest, Laybourne wrote 
 to Gliddon, simply explaining his position. 
 That letter created a revolution in Mr. Glid- 
 don's mind — it must have verged on despair. 
 He followed the only course that occurred to 
 him. For the first time he compared their
 
 8 JULIET. 
 
 positions.. That day he sent him a cheque 
 for one hundred pounds, as a loan which he 
 never afterwards treated but as a gift, and the 
 same week he obtained the consent of the 
 Caius trustees and the Bishop of Storminster 
 to an exchange of livings with Laybourne 
 on his father's death. The old man only 
 lived a few years, and then, perfectly as 
 a matter of course, Mr. Gliddon gently 
 insisted upon Laybourne going to Marsh- 
 lands, giving up without perceptible regret 
 his cherished circle of Cambridge friends, 
 and settling contentedly in this out-of-the- 
 world place." 
 
 Brunskill's voice had gradually dropped. 
 When it ceased there was silence. Molly 
 held her breath, scarcely daring to move, lest 
 she should shake the tears down her cheeks. 
 They had sprung to her eyes involuntarily, 
 and now glistened with self-confessing bright- 
 ness ; she knew not what to do. But Brun- 
 skill knew. He drew out his handkerchief.
 
 ALDERDALE. 
 
 and passed it to her, smiling. At that smile, 
 supremely sweet, yet whimsical in its intelli- 
 gence, she gave a sob, dashing away the 
 handkerchief with one hand and the tears 
 with the other. 
 
 " It makes me cry," she said, half in scorn 
 of herself, half in appeal, which she neverthe- 
 less knew was not needed. 
 
 " I understand," he said. 
 
 " It is wonderful," she said ; " such things 
 are beautiful. How much goodness there is 
 in the world ! " 
 
 He smiled, but took care not to disturb 
 this simple faith. To him it seemed that 
 " the rarity of Christian charity " shone from 
 a quagmire of self-interest, but Molly's world 
 was Wherndale, and her simplicity precious 
 as gold to him. 
 
 " Mr. Quin, too, is good, but his kind- 
 ness to Noll costs him no self-denial," said 
 Molly. 
 
 " Yes, he is good. - He will do his best
 
 io JULIET. 
 
 for Noll, but he is a sort of hobbv for him. 
 Having no son of his own, you see, and only- 
 one daughter, he has taken him up as a sub- 
 ject for self-gratification. It is very natural, 
 since the lad happens to have his own talent 
 for painting. Juliet Laybourne was very 
 jealous of his good fortune until their own 
 befel." 
 
 4< I don't wonder, when he was onlv a car- 
 penter's son and she the vicar's daughter. 
 I wish I had seen Miss Juliet Laybourne." 
 
 "Why?" asked Brunskill. 
 
 " Noll has some sketches of her, and she 
 looks so strange, not beautiful, but uncommon. 
 He talks of her, too." 
 
 u She never allowed him to sketch her so 
 long as they were in bitter poverty. She was 
 a girl who loved and hated with equal in- 
 tensity. She loved her brother Ted as pas- 
 sionately as she hated Noll for his good 
 prospects. I never saw such a change in 
 any one as in her when she realized what Mr.
 
 ALDERDALE. 1 1 
 
 Gliddon had done for them. Until then, she 
 had been fascinating through her brilliant 
 cleverness, and perversity, and defiance, 
 which one felt were saturated with sadness ; 
 afterwards she sparkled into genuine happi- 
 ness, and became absolutely charming. But 
 she was, and always will be, an enigmatical 
 woman." 
 
 " Her brother Ted is dead, is he not ? ' 
 " Yes, and from what her mother writes 
 to Miss Gliddon, Juliet's heart well-nigh died 
 with him. I often wonder what will become 
 of Juliet Laybourne. We were always 
 mutually interested in each other." 
 
 " Was she inquisitive about you ? ' Molly 
 asked. 
 
 " That was her woman's prerogative." 
 " It is one I, too, exercise." 
 " Do you ? " he said, and laughed ; but 
 immediately afterwards he sighed, and she 
 felt she had touched a tender point, and was 
 sorry.
 
 i 1 JULIET. 
 
 u Let us go home," she said ; but she 
 made no move, and he fathomed the sug- 
 gestion at its true value, as a change of 
 subject. 
 
 "It is a pity to curtail pleasant things," he 
 said. 
 
 11 Oh, yes, I don't want to go," she said 
 quickly ; " I'm not nearly tired of our talk, and 
 it is so lovely here. Are you not very fond 
 of Alderdale, Mr. Brunskill ? " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " I thought you were, you come so often. 
 So am I ; I love it very dearly. Indeed, who 
 could help loving it, especially a day like this. 
 Even Noll, who has travelled so much, says 
 he never saw a dearer old place for a sum- 
 mer day." 
 
 She uttered these last words slowly, and, 
 bending forward, pulled a bunch of burnet 
 growing so near the stile that it had escaped 
 the scythe. Had he seen her face at that 
 moment, he would have perceived a blush
 
 ALDERDALE. 1 3 
 
 suffuse it, and a glimmer of more than happi- 
 ness beneath her half-dropped eyelids ; but he 
 neither saw nor thought of looking. To him, 
 Noll Ormrod was her cousin, her old play- 
 fellow and schoolfellow, and affected him with 
 no sense of danger ahead. Relationship pre- 
 cluded more, and the very brilliancy of Noll's 
 prospects would have made the idea prepos- 
 terous in his opinion. Though a dalesman, 
 Noll was no longer of the dale. Mr. Quin, to 
 whom the Church House at Moorhead be- 
 longed, and who was one of the popular artists 
 of the day, had discovered in him the pos- 
 session of talent similar to his own, and was 
 educating him with the intention of eventual 
 adoption. In a year or two his star would 
 set in Moorhead, to rise in Mr. Quin's brilliant 
 town life of art, fashion, and fame. That 
 Noll should think of falling in love with 
 Molly, or Molly think of Noll as more dear 
 than any one on earth, would naturally, and 
 apart from his personal feeling, have seemed
 
 i 4 JULIET. 
 
 to Brunskill nothing short of a catastrophe. 
 But it was precisely one of those catastrophes 
 which happens every day in this perplexed 
 and perplexing- world.
 
 ^J x c2^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MOLLY. 
 
 Molly was a mere child when she came to 
 Alderdale to live with her uncle. The long- 
 journey from Hipsley into Wherndale was un- 
 dertaken the day after her father's funeral, a 
 day in the depths of winter when snow lay on 
 the hills, andthere was the quiet of a gathering 
 storm in the air. Mat was confident they 
 could reach home before the storm, but when 
 they came to the moors it was heavy travel- 
 ling. He was fuddled by his frequent potations 
 at the inns they had passed, and they sud- 
 denly found themselves in the midst of a 
 blinding whirl of flakes when ten miles from
 
 1 6 JULIET. 
 
 any other shelter than that of a wall or shoot- 
 ing-butt. Their safety depended on the 
 instinct of the horse and their being able to 
 discern the gates leading into each lotment. 
 Two of these they passed in safety, after 
 hard work in clearing the snow to admit of 
 their opening ; then they became stunned by 
 the force of the wind and the stinging rush 
 of the storm. For a few minutes the horse 
 struggled bravely, then stood still, and Mat, 
 wrenching out the whip, gave it a savage 
 cut that sent it wildly plunging on some 
 feet, after which it staggered and suddenly 
 dropped, exhausted. As it did so, Molly 
 shot out over its head, but immediately 
 picked herself up without having uttered 
 a sound, and stood staring at Mat as he 
 leisurely descended with the reins still in 
 his hands, and a phlegm which seemed 
 to denote this as the ordinary method of 
 stopping a horse. He returned her stare 
 with a smile that turned her cold by its
 
 MOLL Y. 1 7 
 
 mixture of abject fear and taunting astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Thee'rt a spirity young witch," he said. 
 "If we're to die here, thee'll die game — - 
 gamier nor I, I lay ; only just close your eyes 
 first. Thee'rt all eyes with that black hood 
 round thy face, and they're a deal too like 
 thy father's for my fancy. Aren't you 
 feared, lass ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Molly. " Must we 
 walk now ? " 
 
 Mat was walking round the horse, kick- 
 ing it indiscriminately, as it lay panting with 
 frothy mouth. 
 
 "The old mare'll die," he said; "I'm 
 going to walk, though where, devil knows. 
 This is his business, truly, and he only kens 
 where it'll land us. You can please your- 
 self between walking and sitting in the 
 trap. It'll never snow that up ; you'd be 
 warm in the hay in the bottom, and 
 there's a snack of meat and bread I'd leave 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 JULIET. 
 
 thee. To-morrow I'd come and yoke another 
 horse." 
 
 As he spoke he did not look at her, and, 
 child though she was, she distrusted the 
 alternative he most encouraged. She looked 
 speculatively round her. Nothing but snow, 
 and silence but for the panting of the horse. 
 That sound would gradually cease, and she 
 imagined night coming on and dense dark- 
 ness, and herself alone with the dead brute, 
 which she would never be able to believe 
 was dead and unlikely to begin to struggle. 
 Some presentiment assured her of the danger 
 of staying and falling asleep there. She 
 thought, with a sob, of her father's strong- 
 protective arms, but, as they were no longer 
 there, bravely determined to judge and act 
 for herself. 
 
 " I'll walk too," she said, lifting up her 
 frock with quiet resolution. 
 
 And they started, well apart each from 
 the other.
 
 MOLL Y. 19 
 
 Happily, the short day was now drawing 
 to sunset, and the snow ceased. As dark 
 fell they reached a wall, from whence they 
 looked down into the valley. The air was 
 full of the roar of the flooded river, and, 
 directly below, a light was twinkling amid 
 the sycamore trees round Alderdale. To- 
 wards it they plunged, surmounting the walls 
 by the great drifts reared against them, and 
 scarcely conscious of more than that the 
 twinkling light heralded warmth, shelter, and 
 safety. Just before crossing the calf-garth, 
 Mat amazed Molly by proposing to carry 
 her. 
 
 " Not now ; no ! " she said. 
 
 He looked down at her, feeling that she 
 had comprehended his motive. 
 
 " Devil take thee!" he muttered. " Thee'rt 
 more fay nor canny. Any man or woman 
 kens I couldn't have carried thee through 
 them drifts." 
 
 Then a door opened. She saw a great
 
 ao JULIET. 
 
 wainscoted kitchen, ruddy with leaping flames 
 on the hearth ; a woman took her up, there 
 was a noise in her ears, a dancing mist all 
 round, and she fainted. 
 
 Such was Molly Murdock's coming home 
 to Alderdale. 
 
 But she had established her character in 
 Mat's opinion. He never liked but always 
 feared her, and, except when drunk, let her 
 alone. As years passed, it became more and 
 more his habit to be drunk, and the struggle 
 between the two opposite tendencies of drink 
 and thrift made life hard at Alderdale. 
 It would have been impossible for Molly to 
 have thriven in such an atmosphere but for 
 Mat's respect for Tamar Verity, who was too 
 thrifty and managing to be dispensed with. 
 He would have married her to save her wa^e 
 and clip her independence, but that she 
 scoffed at, being: anything; but a fool. Alder- 
 dale was a curious old house ; and one of its 
 antiquities was an oaken bedstead, built into
 
 MOLL Y. 2 1 
 
 the wall of the parlour, and enclosed by 
 two panelled oak doors, the interior white- 
 washed, with a sloping ceiling formed by the 
 stairs, and a niche in the wall for a candle- 
 stick. Into this Molly was thrust by Tamar 
 when Mat was seen coming down to the 
 bridge tipsy from a market or a fair, and 
 experience had taught them that it was not 
 then safe for her to be within reach of his 
 hands or voice. The legend attached to the 
 bedstead made him shun it. Treasure had 
 been found there ; a man murdered his 
 master to gain possession of it, and it was 
 said the master sometimes lay there still, 
 a bloody ghost. But Tamar, who did 
 not believe in the supernatural, used it 
 as a lumber closet ; and Molly, who feared 
 nothing so much as a drunkard, would run 
 and clamber in among the moth-eaten hair 
 boxes and a great brass milk-kettle, and one 
 or two musty pillows, condemned from use by 
 being stuffed with pigeons' feathers, and so,
 
 22 JULIET. 
 
 lying perdu, with closed doors, would sit 
 nursing her knees, listening to the rats, and 
 sometimes fancying she saw the ghost, while 
 Mat went staggering up and down the house 
 before reeling off to the lang-settle and be- 
 sotted slumbers. 
 
 These were experiences which Tamar 
 could not avoid for Molly, but her straight- 
 forward intrepidity secured her counter- 
 balancing advantages in her daily schooling 
 at Moorhead, and the half-holidays spent in 
 lakijig with her cousins. When Molly grew 
 up, Mat gave Tamar notice to leave, saying 
 that Molly could do the work now. This at 
 first struck Tamar dumb. Then she burst 
 into opposition, but finding stubborn indif- 
 ference opposed to invective, she went to 
 Moorhead to confabulate with his sister, 
 Mrs. Ormrod, who would, she knew, take 
 her side, if only for the sake of not taking 
 Mat's. Mrs. Ormrod was greatly amazed 
 when she heard her errand, not so much at
 
 MOLLY. 23 
 
 Mat's plan as at Tamar having failed to carry 
 her point. She returned with her, and quickly 
 subdued him by the simple process of giving 
 him " a bit of her mind." In her opinion, 
 there was no justice in shackling Molly with 
 the work of a farm when her tidy fortune 
 made her independent of more than a roof 
 from any of them ; and she was convinced 
 that if Anthony had not gone so suddenly 
 with spasms at the heart, he would have left 
 his child to her care, in the carpenter's bonny 
 cottage at Moorhead, where there were the 
 advantages of sobriety, prosperity, honesty, 
 and a family. Mrs. Ormrod spoke strongly, 
 and spared him neither accusation nor in- 
 sinuation. She was certain that Mat had 
 destroyed Anthony's will, in order to obtain 
 control of Molly's minority. There had been 
 no will forthcoming after his death, though 
 her husband had witnessed the signature of 
 one whose conditions were not favourable to 
 Mat. She suspected that Molly's money
 
 24 JULIET. 
 
 was feeding risky speculations towards re- 
 establishing at Alderdale a prosperity which 
 no strain at thrift could accomplish, so long 
 as there was a deeper strain on bottles and 
 barrels. 
 
 To Noll, Molly's advent had been a god- 
 send. His brothers were unequal to his 
 exactions as a genius, and unimpressed by 
 his good prospects and the importance they 
 engendered. Molly fell at once into the toils, 
 confessed that Jocky was too rough and Billy 
 a softie, and never wearied of details relating 
 to himself and his plans. Nor was it un- 
 natural that he should value her artistic worth, 
 and be stimulated to particular effort when 
 she was his model. This she was always 
 ready to be. She would don or doff anything 
 he wished, would assume any attitude he 
 fancied, and never fail in brightness and good 
 humour. When he went to Antwerp, and 
 thence to Paris, just about the time of her 
 leaving school, she missed him more than
 
 MOLLY. 25 
 
 words could express, and his holidays were 
 her halcyon days of content unspeakable. 
 He would do and say things which thrilled 
 her at the time, and were cherished in her 
 inmost heart. In his absence there were 
 certain stiles through which she never passed 
 without imagining he was again there, that 
 she felt the touch of his hand, or saw his eyes 
 bent upon her ; certain gates where they had 
 trysted, which she never opened without a 
 thought of what her happiness would be 
 when they trysted there again. At such 
 times the tenderest of lights dawned in her 
 soft eyes, her colour would come and go, she 
 moved with so buoyant a step that she seemed 
 to feel only air around her, and to have wings 
 to her actions as well as to her thoughts. 
 Old Tamar Verity saw all this, and, being a 
 calm spectator, she saw more ; but she said 
 nothing. She believed in things being allowed 
 to take their own course ; a climax must come, 
 and she could not avert it. Sometimes, how-
 
 26 JULJET. 
 
 ever, she could scarcely hold her tongue for 
 impatience at the general daftiness of folks. 
 Why did not the master speak, and bring 
 Molly to her senses ? Then that shaffling 
 Noll would find himself ousted, and Molly 
 would learn what straightforward sweetheart- 
 ing was. She would not confess to ; any 
 inward qualms as to this being the result of 
 the climax ; in her opinion, none but a fool 
 would prefer Noll to Gilbert Brunskill. I 
 
 Thus matters rested until Noll left Paris. 
 He came home for two months that summer, 
 devoted his time to sketching, and sketched 
 chiefly in the vicinity of Alderdale ; the ap- 
 pearance of his white umbrella perched on 
 the hillside acting irresistibly on Molly; and 
 causing her to snatch up her hood and run to 
 join him the moment her work was done. 
 
 11 Eh, goodness me ! " thought Tamar, one- 
 day, after having watched this proceeding, 
 and strained in vain to see under the umbrella. 
 t { There he is at it again ; and there's the
 
 MOLLY. 27 
 
 master a bit higher up th' dale, whipping the 
 beck this bright morning for the sake of 
 dropping in here to tea. And I don't believe 
 the lassie knows why he drops in, and I doubt 
 me if Noll knows rightly what brings himself 
 to Alderdale with his paints and trap-sticks. 
 She'll laugh first because t'one can't get his 
 picture to his liking, and then she'll laugh 
 again because t'other's caught no trout. But 
 it'll none be so long ; she'll find out what fish 
 the master wants — a lassie in a pink-sprigged 
 cotton gown ; and then it'll be aye to him, my 
 certie, all of a hush with her soft eyes down." 
 Molly, in her pink-sprigged cotton gown, 
 was a bewitching figure. She was fond of 
 touches of bright colour, and of Mowers stuck 
 in her brooch or w T aistband. Her face could 
 not now be said to be all eyes, even in depre- 
 ciation by Mat, but her eyes were still un- 
 usually big, and as deep as a sunny tarn. 
 When she laughed there were dimples in her 
 cheeks. At this time she laughed a good
 
 28 JULIET. 
 
 deal, a low, haunting - laugh of sincerest plea- 
 sure and joy. Her nature was highly san- 
 guine. She could not meet a trouble half 
 way, and accepted her uncle s churlishness as 
 a matter of course. She never obtruded her 
 gayest spirits on him, but reserved them for 
 her many friends, permitting nothing to damp 
 the supreme happiness of being loved and 
 admired for her own sake. She would ^o to 
 Moorhead, and give a bright word or glance 
 to every one whom she met ; at the Vicarage 
 Miss Gliddon always bestowed upon her a 
 warm kiss ; she would put her arms round 
 Tamar's neck, and never dream of a rebuff; 
 and she would run out to meet Brunskill or 
 Noll with equal lavishment of a saucy curtsey 
 or flower ready dressed for the button-hole. 
 It seemed to them, when she gave the flowers, 
 that it was a matter of mere mischief, and its 
 acceptance one of pure indifference. Hut this 
 was not so. She would pluck Brunskill's 
 with a careless snap, but Noll's was lingered
 
 MOLL Y. 
 
 2 9 
 
 over, and many rejected before she found one 
 to suit her. Their ignorance was, however, 
 balanced by hers, for she did not know that, 
 while Noll's presently withered and fell, Brun- 
 skill's was often placed, still fresh, between 
 the leaves of his pocket-book.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 
 
 Brunskill, whipping the beck that day in 
 the sunshine of an unclouded June sky, was 
 too deep sunk in thought to realize that the 
 rainy promise of the morning in which he 
 started from Moorhead had failed, and to feel 
 himself ridiculous. Hay-time in Wherndale 
 was always holiday-time; the lads were wanted 
 to drive the sledges, the lasses to rake the 
 grass into swathes, or toss it into the sunny 
 dishevelment that cajoled it into hay. The 
 fields were then thronged with bands of sun- 
 burnt workers, laughing and talking from the 
 moment the dew dried until that when the sun
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 31 
 
 sank behind the hills ; and the school-house at 
 Moorhead was empty and silent, but for the 
 unheeded bees that took their lesson in the 
 perplexity of mundane affairs presented by 
 the inside of a window-pane. Brunskill was 
 glad to leave the school-room behind. He 
 wanted to be in the open air, to be leisurely, 
 yet employed, and to think; so he strolled 
 across the fields to his favourite point from 
 which to begin his angling, and proceeded to 
 whip the beck unwearyingly up and down. 
 His whole height was visible in the limpid 
 brown pools, and he was a man of noticeable 
 height ; his figure stalwart, well proportioned, 
 and well built, his head planted firmly above 
 a rounded throat, the compact cut of his hair 
 and abundant dark beard adding massiveness 
 to a face whose every feature was at once 
 square and clear cut to a degree that might 
 have been uncompromising, but for the ex- 
 pression of tenderness which redeemed them 
 from possibility of less than attractiveness.
 
 32 JULIET. 
 
 He was only roused from his pre-occupation 
 when his line caught in a dipping branch, or 
 when it became necessary to balance himself 
 for a leap from one rock to another ; never by 
 the suspicion of a bite. However, as he had 
 no particular wish for a bite, he was enjoying 
 himself, and so were the trout, as they basked 
 in sunny crevices and watched him. 
 
 His thoughts were wholly of Molly. He 
 had now saved sufficient to authorize him in 
 asking her to be his wife ; the place and 
 manner of that asking occupied him absorb- 
 ingly, making him alternately dreamy and 
 impatient. He could not understand his im- 
 patience. It seemed preposterous that he, 
 who had been patient so long, could not be 
 so a little longer ; yet it was undeniable that 
 he was suddenly feeling an uneasiness, a 
 prompting to haste and precipitation, which 
 was utterly foreign to his experience. Pre- 
 sently these mastered him, and he could no 
 longer endure his torpid occupation. Wind-
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 33 
 
 ing in his line, he concealed it and his empty 
 
 basket among the alders, and then started to 
 
 walk towards the head of the dale for the sake 
 
 of wholesome exercise. When he returned, 
 
 it was tea-time, and he went on to the bridge 
 
 with the intention of crossing it and having 
 
 his tea at the Grange, in hopes of securing a 
 
 stroll with Molly afterwards. 
 
 He stood a moment on the bridge, looking 
 
 dreamily into the garden, and scanning the 
 
 door and windows of the house in expectation 
 
 of seeing Molly's brown head or white hood 
 
 in one or the other. But as he stood, there 
 
 came from below a sudden burst of laughter 
 
 and voices, and going to the parapet, he 
 
 looked over. There was Molly, balancing 
 
 herself a-tiptoe on a stone round which 
 
 flashed a babbling eddy of water, gathering 
 
 wild roses from branches which Noll, from 
 
 the bank above, was guiding to her reach 
 
 with his mahl-stick. She was looking up at 
 
 him and laughing, her head hanging back, 
 vol 1. 3
 
 34 JULIET. 
 
 her brown hair ruffled low on her forehead, 
 her arms bare to the elbow, and her dress 
 tilted high round her ankles, its pink sprigs 
 vying with the flowers at which she was 
 pulling ; the whole sweet, bright picture in 
 full sunlight, and unflecked by ai y shadow- 
 save that of rose-leaves. 
 
 Brunskill felt his own purpose suddenly 
 checked, not, however, by any presentiment 
 of evil or twinge of jealousy, but by her 
 lieht-heartedness. It seemed to him that she 
 must still be heart-whole, since she could be 
 so captivatingly gay. Had she been in love, 
 she must surely have been more thoughtful. 
 
 He determined then and there not to go 
 in to tea, and not to come again in hopes 
 of speaking to her until Noll was gone — to 
 wait, in fact, until he could have her to him- 
 self, and win her slowly to more seriousness 
 and shyness. He did not try to persuade 
 himself that she would have been both serious 
 and shy had it been he who was helping
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 35 
 
 her to gather her nosegay, and thus gain 
 encouragement to remain. The question 
 occurred to him, but was at once dismissed 
 with a sigh. Then he turned, and went 
 home. 
 
 When Molly had gathered as many roses 
 as she could hold, she began to reward Noll 
 for his trouble by pelting him with leaves. 
 She was in wild spirits. Ormrod did not 
 remember ever having seen her absolutely 
 heedless and perverse, and now she was both ; 
 neither had he before seen her look so pretty ; 
 her dishevelment suited her face to perfec- 
 tion, her attitude set off her figure. As he 
 looked down, catching glimpses of her be- 
 tween the boughs, he once or twice felt a 
 rush of choking emotion to his heart, a long- 
 ing to have his arms around her waist, 
 and feel her velvety cheek against his. She 
 had piqued him to-day. When he came in 
 the morning he knew he particularly wanted 
 to see her ; he had had news, and cared to
 
 36 JULIET. 
 
 o 
 
 discuss them with no one but her. He had 
 hoisted his umbrella as usual in a conspi- 
 cuous position, but she only appeared for a 
 moment in the doorway and waved her 
 hand. At dinner-time he ran down to the 
 house, but she was busy tossing the butter, 
 and would not promise to be quick. All the 
 afternoon he had watched for her more 
 than painted ; indeed, at last he became so 
 feverishly tantalized that work was impos- 
 sible, and he had packed it up and thrown 
 ihimself upon the grass, feeling half inclined 
 to go home in dudgeon, but lacking the reso- 
 lution to forego the pleasure of seeing her 
 •come at last. When she came it was nearly 
 tea-time, and he was so cross that she stared, 
 pouted, and ran down again to the beck. 
 For a moment he hesitated what to do, 
 whether to follow or teach her a lesson by 
 going ; but inclination prompted him to stay, 
 and inclination was his ruler. He got up, 
 put his hands in his pockets, and leisurely
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 37 
 
 strolled down the brant, finding her in diffi- 
 culties, and looking lovely in her humility. 
 He rushed for his mahl-stick, and during the 
 next few minutes realized that he had more 
 to say than he had had the slightest inten- 
 tion of saying six hours before. The question 
 now was how to reach her and make her listen. 
 
 11 Molly," he said, peering between the 
 boughs, " come up, that's a good girl. There's 
 something I must tell you." 
 
 " Is it good or bad ? ' 
 
 M Good — for me." 
 
 " Then I guess it." 
 
 " That's ridiculous. You may have a 
 good guess, but it'll leave you far short of the 
 truth." 
 
 "You can tell me. I'll listen." 
 
 " I won't tell you while you're there. 
 Come up. I want you near me ; I want to 
 see you." 
 
 " You can see me," said she, provokingly, 
 arranging herself accordingly.
 
 3 8 JULIET. 
 
 " Molly, what possesses you to-day ? ' he 
 cried, exasperated beyond measure, and be- 
 coming each moment more ardently deter- 
 mined to carry his point. " Don't you mean 
 to come home for tea ? Are you going to 
 spend your evening there ? " 
 
 " I'm going home this way ; there are 
 hippins," she said, turning. 
 
 He knew she would be across in a 
 moment if he were not quick, so, seizing an 
 alder branch, he swung himself down beside 
 her, took her in his arms, and sprang back to 
 the bank. When he released her, and she 
 stood beside him flushed and subdued, he 
 bent and kissed her lips, then took her face 
 between his hands. 
 
 " How dare you thwart me ? ' he said, in 
 a suppressed voice. 
 
 She did not answer or move, but she 
 trembled so much that she could scarcely 
 stand, and he, perceiving this, again encircled 
 .her, drawing her to him with one hand, while
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 39 
 
 with the other he caressed her hair, pretend- 
 ing to smooth it, but as yet sufficiently self- 
 possessed to avoid doing so, for he admired 
 it as it was. 
 
 " You knew I would have my own way 
 in the end, Molly, if you provoked me. Did 
 you want me to have my own way ? ' 
 
 11 No," she said, struggling a little. His 
 opinion of women and their ways instantly 
 prompted him to press still closer to her ; a 
 little struggle to be free must mean coyness, 
 and for that the antidote was encourage- 
 ment. He wished to encourage her, without, 
 however, having any clear impression to what 
 it must lead. 
 
 But Molly was recovering herself, and 
 although it was delicious to be so near him, 
 it was not wise, she scarcely even thought 
 right. Since he would not understand a 
 gesture, she must speak. Her firm demand 
 so much surprised him that he yielded at 
 once, and she went first tip the bank.
 
 4 o JULIET. 
 
 " You have not heard what I had to sav," 
 he said. 
 
 "No, but you have only to tell me." 
 
 This calmness piqued him, and he did not 
 speak until they reached the gate on to the 
 bridge. Then, as she put out her hand to 
 open it, he intercepted her, and stood so close 
 to her aeain that she could not move. 
 
 " Molly," he said, " I am going to Rome 
 for three years." 
 
 There was silence. She neither laughed 
 nor cried, nor looked up. He watched her 
 with cruel intentness, but could not have 
 sworn either that she coloured or turned pale. 
 She was perfectly still, keeping her eyes down, 
 and scarcely, as it seemed to him, breathing. 
 This was totally different to what he had 
 expected. 
 
 " Will you miss me, Molly ? ' he said 
 feeling the more every moment in which she 
 showed no emotion that such was necessary 
 to his happiness.
 
 AMONG THE WILD ROSES. 41 
 
 " We shall all miss you," she said, ap- 
 parently without effort. 
 
 " But you ? " 
 
 " Of course ; only you have already been 
 away so much. Will you open the gate, 
 please ? " 
 
 For a moment he inwardly vowed he 
 would not open the gate, or do anything 
 reasonable which nwht be suggested in this 
 matter-of-fact way. But she had now schooled 
 herself to look at him, and that look was so 
 unconcerned and steady that it staggered even 
 him. His confidence failed, and feeling that 
 she was utterly baffling, he did as she asked. 
 Moreover, Tamar was just then heard calling 
 them in to tea, and as she could see them 
 from the door, he thought it expedient, on 
 every account, to desist from further persis- 
 tency. He did not want any action of his 
 in such a matter blazoning up and down the 
 Dale ; another day he must choose his oppor- 
 tunity better, in hopes of finding her more
 
 42 
 
 JULIET. 
 
 reasonable. On the bridge he detained her 
 by some irrelevant remark. He was again 
 perfectly composed. It would have been 
 quite contrary to his principles to have shown 
 her less indifference than she showed him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 
 
 But it was impossible that this indifference 
 should last. Love on Molly's part, pique on 
 Ormrod's, drew them together each day more 
 closely. Ormrod refrained from going to 
 Alderdale until he was certain that she would 
 be more amenable, and his absence frightened 
 and perplexed her. She watched for him by 
 day, and at night lay awake, going over in her 
 mind every detail of that scene by the river ; 
 one moment thrilled and trembling at the 
 remembrance of his close clasp, the next re- 
 morseful over her rebuff; again made miserable 
 by the thought that he would soon be gone,
 
 44 J U LI El. 
 
 and finding no consolation in the reflection 
 that she had acted rightly. Where was the 
 advantage in having acted rightly ? She could 
 not endure the fear that she had completely 
 estranged him. The time was so short now, 
 and she felt that if they did not part as 
 friends, her heart would break. Rome was 
 as the Antipodes to her, three years a life- 
 time ; the words recurred to her like a death- 
 knell ; when once he was gone he would be 
 out of reach and her love unavailing, and 
 surely love was not meant to be unavailing. 
 She told herself without any sensation of 
 shame that she loved him ; the plea of friend- 
 ship was a poor plea, and would not satisfy 
 her. She saw nothing to be ashamed of, 
 because it seemed to her simple soul that he 
 had already shown his love ; such advances 
 as he had made could only be construed to 
 mean one thing, and she, in her folly and 
 pride, had repulsed them, and pretended that 
 they were of no value to her. The more she
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 45 
 
 thought, the more she hungered for him, and 
 the more she wept to herself when he still 
 did not come. One day she started for Moor- 
 head, determined to find him and make him 
 see what she was suffering ; but when half- 
 way, she paused, feeling suddenly that she 
 could not, must not, go any further. If she 
 had sinned she must bear the consequences, 
 but it was his place to come to her, not hers 
 to go to him, and she was fearful of betraying 
 herself to others, conscious that her face was 
 clouded by anxiety, and pale for want of 
 dreamless rest. Moreover, she knew she 
 had not sinned. Good impulses had moved 
 her to act as she had. Had she thought only 
 of herself, she would have yielded to his 
 caresses, but thoughts of him and of reason 
 and justice had influenced her. It might be 
 that these had now occurred to him too, and 
 that he acknowledged their truth and the 
 necessity for self-control. If so, she must 
 also be self-controlled, and never make it
 
 46 JULIET. 
 
 harder for him by showing him how hard it 
 was for her. 
 
 Ormrod, however, had no conscientious 
 scruples. He was a flirt ; had had affaires 
 du coeur with matter-of-fact Flemings and 
 piquant Parisians, and held women's hearts in 
 light esteem. He had no intention of marry- 
 ing for many years, and certainly would never 
 marry Molly Murdock, though she was so 
 pretty, and, as he could not help believing, 
 unfortunately fond of him. But then so many 
 girls were fond of him ; he could not prevent 
 their spontaneous affection, he could only get 
 out of the way when it began too urgently to 
 demand reciprocation. Had he been quite 
 certain that Molly was fond of him, he would 
 not have troubled himself about her ; but she 
 had baffled him, and he pondered it over in 
 his mind, and felt that he must probe her a 
 little more deeply before he could be certain. 
 It might not be prudent to give her a cousinly 
 kiss when he went away, still less to write to
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 47 
 
 her or ask her to write to him. He forgot 
 that he had already given her a kiss which 
 was more than cousinly, and urged her to a 
 confession which he had wished to be pas- 
 sionate. Neither could he think calmly that 
 Brunskill would win her. If her heart were 
 not given to Brunskill, it would be best that 
 she should fully realize to whom it was given. 
 Eventually, when " love's young dream " had 
 expired, she might marry Brunskill and be 
 tolerably happy ; but it was above all things 
 expedient that a woman should know her own 
 heart, and not risk sin and sorrow by uncon- 
 scious perjury. It was his creed that women 
 should confess themselves to their husbands, 
 acknowledge their peccadilloes in the past, and 
 swear unswerving fealty for the future. Men, 
 however, were not bound to confess any- 
 thing, their peccadilloes were mere flea-bites ; 
 the weaker vessel must resist temptation, 
 the stronger might fall and be free from 
 condemnation.
 
 4 8 fULIET. 
 
 On the following Sunday was to be held 
 the monthly evening service at Alderdale, 
 which took the place of service in church, as 
 more convenient for the people at the dale- 
 head. At these, Brunskill was in the habit of 
 officiating for Mr. Gliddon, who was thus 
 spared a long walk which he disliked, while 
 it was secured to others who enjoyed it. He 
 and Miss Gliddon generally walked there 
 together after afternoon school at Moorhead, 
 
 o 
 
 arriving in time for tea, and as they walked 
 they talked. To-day Ormrod was all the way 
 some hundred yards ahead of them. He 
 knew they were following, but w r as not dis- 
 posed to be bored by uncongenial company ; 
 he had good reasons for wishing to avoid 
 Brunskill, and Miss Gliddon was too in- 
 quisitive for convenience. The fact, how- 
 ever, of his figure being constantly in sight 
 brought him prominentlv into their minds, 
 and gave Miss Gliddon an opportunity such 
 as she had long wished for, but failed to find,
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 
 
 for frank speech on a subject very dear to 
 her. Yet she scarcely knew what to say now 
 that the opportunity had arisen. 
 
 " I shall be glad when Noll is gone," she 
 said at last. 
 
 "It will be a good thing for him, this 
 study in Rome. Mr. Quin knows better, it 
 seems, than to work by halves, "said Brunskill. 
 
 " I shall be glad for the sake of others 
 besides himself. He goes too much to 
 Alderdale. Mischief may be done before it 
 be suspected." 
 
 "Mischief 7" Brunskill repeated, instantly 
 taking alarm, as she intended that he should. 
 " You don't mean, you cannot, that he would 
 dare to trifle with Molly ? ' 
 
 "It could be nothing but trifling," said 
 Miss Gliddon, growing more bold ; " I heard 
 yesterday by chance that he has constantly 
 been there, and she with him. I don't think 
 highly of his principles. He may do for 
 amusement what she might take in serious 
 
 VOL. I. - 4
 
 50 JULIET. 
 
 earnest, and only trouble could follow. It is 
 out of the question for him to marry her ; I 
 expect he will now drift wholly apart from 
 natural ties and associations." 
 
 "If he has dared to cause her one un- 
 happy thought, he is a pitiful scoundrel," said 
 Brunskill. 
 
 Involuntarily, he quickened his steps, as 
 though to overtake Ormrod. The sight of him 
 swinging along, one hand in his pocket, the 
 other carrying a stick, with which he slashed 
 at the bracken tops, suddenly filled him with 
 irritated rage. He hated to see a man wan- 
 tonly cut down lovely and vigorous vegetable 
 growth, leaving prone a blade or flower which 
 the moment before had stood upright and 
 rejoicing in the air and sunshine. Even so 
 might the same ruthless hand cut down a 
 human flower. As this thought flashed into 
 his mind, keenly associated with Molly, his 
 flower, his Picciola, he stopped. Miss 
 Gliddon stopped too, looking at him
 
 TEA A T ALDERDALE. 5 1 
 
 in alarm, and found his eyes fixed upon 
 her. 
 
 " By heaven ! I wish I had spoken to her 
 years ago," he said, in a voice so low that it 
 was scarcely audible. 
 
 " I wish you had. Oh, why didn't you ? " 
 said she. 
 
 " I wanted something worthy of her ; God 
 knows that was it." 
 
 She thought the pain in his voice, the 
 resolution of his confession, which seemed to 
 be wrung from him under a sense of heinous 
 guilt more than of mere regret, terrible. She 
 put her hand on his arm, to bring him to him- 
 self, and relieve the tension visible in his pale 
 face and clenched fists. 
 
 " Let us walk on and hope for the best," 
 she said, gently. 
 
 The shock had been greater than she 
 expected. He seemed to have had no 
 suspicion, no misgiving, no apprehension, 
 and she, for long, had had all these, but 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 JULIET. 
 
 had not ventured to trench upon his re- 
 serve. 
 
 When they reached the Moss, a tract of 
 low-lying heather, where the moor-birds bred 
 in shelter, they were surprised to see Ormrod 
 leave the road, and strike into a path across 
 the ling leading to a ridge of rock known as 
 the Screes. It was a relief to both of them. 
 Brunskill, at least, had felt the prospect of 
 sitting down to tea with him at Alderdale 
 intolerable, now that his nerves were un- 
 strung, his senses sharpened to acute and 
 suspicious observation. 
 
 Molly met them at the door, looking her 
 own bonny self, but a little pale, Brunskill 
 thought, as he held her hand a second longer 
 than usual. However, when he named this, 
 she smiled, and said it was the heat ; then 
 slipped past him and took Miss Gliddon into 
 the garden to see a bed of pansies which she 
 had raised from seed. Brunskill followed 
 them. The pansy-bed was lovely, varying in
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 53 
 
 shade from white to amber and deepest 
 purple, each flower looking like a baby-face 
 upturned to the dallying caress of sun and 
 breeze. Miss Gliddon stooped to look into 
 their golden eyes, turning the stems gently 
 between two fingers. 
 
 " They are my favourite flowers," said 
 Molly ; " and pansy is such a pretty name, but 
 here they call them step-mothers. See," she 
 added, gathering one, " there are five petals. 
 The single one is the new wife, the two next 
 to it are her own children, and these two, the 
 lowest, her step-children. It fits nicely, but I 
 don't care to think of it in that way." 
 
 " And there is another name — heart's- 
 ease," said Brunskill. 
 
 " Oh, I never heard that," she said, look- 
 ing up as she knelt. " It, too, is very pretty." 
 
 " It is the lover's name," Miss Gliddon 
 said. " Once in the garden of a poet I found 
 pansies growing next to love-lies-bleeding, 
 and behind both, a row of St. Joseph lilies."
 
 54 JULIET. 
 
 " The meaning of all that is beyond me," 
 said Molly, shaking her head, regretfully. 
 
 " Lilies signify purity. Now, do you see 
 how well the three harmonize ? ' 
 
 " But I could never bear to think that 
 love lay bleeding." 
 
 " Could you not?" said Brunskill, looking 
 down at her as he held* the little gate open 
 for them to pass through. There was a new 
 tone in his voice, which struck instantly on 
 her ear, and she glanced at him with surprise. 
 But there was also a new look in his face, and 
 her eyes fell again from more than surprise. 
 
 Tea was ready when they went in, and 
 Mat got up from the lang-settle, to give them 
 a churlish welcome. He was brushed as to 
 his clothes, and greased as to his hair, into 
 the picture of sleek discomfort ; his coat lay 
 folded on the press ready for saruice> and he 
 hitched his thumbs into the arm-holes of his 
 waistcoat with the intention of appearing to 
 command the situation.
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 55 
 
 " How's Passon ? " he said. 
 
 " Ouite well." said Miss Gliddon. 
 
 " And how's yersel' ? " 
 
 " Still better, if possible." 
 
 "And how do you find yersel', Master," 
 said Tamar Verity, bustling in from the dairy 
 with cream and a dish of cheesecakes. 
 
 Mat persistently ignored Brunskill when 
 Passon or Passon s sister were at hand, and 
 Tamar would not have him ignored. He 
 was a prime favourite of hers, and she meant 
 him to feel welcome at Alderdale, both for 
 his own sake and Molly's. These monthly 
 services were her red-letter days, far sur- 
 passing in interest even sheep-clipping time. 
 The previous day was always devoted to 
 incessant scrubbing and polishing, and when 
 the house was complete she " cleaned hersel'." 
 
 She presented a comely aspect as she sat 
 
 1 
 
 at the head of the table, her cap starched and 
 crimped to unique dimensions, a checked 
 kerchief pinned across her chest ; and when
 
 56 JULIET. 
 
 she got up to clash to the fire for more water 
 it was seen that she wore clocks and short 
 linsey skirts. She always had a great deal to 
 say to Miss Gliddon, and to-day conversa- 
 tion mainly devolved upon them ; Mat never 
 spoke, Brunskill was unusually quiet, and 
 Molly only threw in an occasional remark for 
 fear of being thought unwell if she gave way 
 to pre-occupation. 
 
 Afterwards the kitchen was cleared for 
 service ; the table moved into the window, and 
 some benches brought in from an out-house. 
 Upon these benches the women and children 
 sat, while the men sprang, each time they 
 rose from their knees, on to various carved 
 chests standing against the walls, sitting 
 there with their legs dangling in great ease. 
 The scene was Arcadian for reverent simpli- 
 city, like a leaf taken out of the lives of the 
 Pilgrim Fathers. The flagged floor was 
 sanded, the walls and ceiling wainscoted, 
 the latter being crossed by massive beams,
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 57 
 
 where Mat chalked his accounts, and from 
 which depended lines of dried oaten clap- 
 cakes. Now and again, a glint of sunshine 
 caught a pewter dish on the de.lf-rack or a 
 brass candlestick on the mantelpiece, the 
 metal-work of one of the villainous old guns 
 slung from a crook in the ceiling or the 
 carved door of a cupboard in the wainscot, a 
 man's rugged face or the soft cheeks of a 
 girl. One lattice of the mullioned window 
 was thrown open, and in the pauses of the 
 prayers, was heard the murmur of the river. 
 The table, against which Brunskill stood, 
 was covered with a fair white cloth and 
 dressed with Tamar's pots of musk and 
 hydrangea. The homeliness of the place 
 suited the homeliness of the people, and 
 Brunskill did his utmost to make the service 
 homely, avoiding repetition, and pouring into 
 it as much simple fervour as possible. The 
 leading of the hymns devolved upon Molly, 
 who had a sweet, clear voice. She stood by
 
 58 JULIET. 
 
 Miss Gliddon at the other end of the table, 
 and Brunskill's eyes rested upon her every 
 time he looked up. He was certain she was 
 not well, for in addition to the paleness there 
 were dark rings round her eyes. Towards 
 the end of the second hymn, however, he 
 noticed more colour steal into her face, and 
 could have sworn that her hands trembled as 
 she closed her book. Suspicion rushed upon 
 him with overwhelming force. He turned 
 and threw a searching glance round, but saw 
 no sien of Ormrod. He did not command 
 the passage leading from the open door, but 
 Molly did, and she had seen Noll steal 
 noiselessly in, under cover of the dusk, and 
 take up an ambushed position against the 
 wall. Moreover, their eyes met ; he nodded 
 and smiled, and she quivered into colour 
 and nervousness all at once. She forgot to 
 find the text ; did not hear a word of the 
 brief address ; and led the last hymn in a 
 wavering voice, that seemed to reach her
 
 TEA A T ALDERDALE. 5 9 
 
 own ears across a dream. When Brunskill 
 got up from his knees as the people were 
 dispersing, she had disappeared. 
 
 Yes, she had disappeared. Ormrod had 
 signalled, pointed, and vanished. Instinct 
 told her where he was gone, and that he 
 wished her to follow. The moment there 
 was movement among the congregation she 
 slipped out, snatched her hood from its peg 
 in passing, and followed him. She found 
 him in a little gully fed by a stream that 
 loitered down from the Moss, where wild 
 cherry-trees clustered thickly. He emerged 
 from their shelter to help her to spring up 
 the bank from the river, looking, meanwhile, 
 cautiously around him. 
 
 " You are sure no one saw you ? " he said. 
 
 " Certain," she answered. 
 
 She wished to be seen as little as he. 
 Her happiness was inexpressible, and for his 
 eyes alone. She was forgiven, they were again 
 friends. He wanted her all to himself; per-
 
 60 JULIET. 
 
 haps he had reasoned away the inconvenience 
 of chill facts, and finding he could not do 
 without her, resolved to overcome every 
 barrier, and prove himself more than friend ; 
 how much more, she dared not whisper even 
 to herself. 
 
 " Oh, Noll," she murmured, "you should 
 not have come into the passage. I could 
 scarcely sing." 
 
 " What ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Indeed, I could not." 
 
 The naivete of the admission, an admis- 
 sion of whose self-betrayal she was evidently 
 unconscious, delighted his keen sense of the 
 piquant, and filled him with triumph. 
 
 " Molly, you love me ? ' he said. 
 
 She did not answer, but neither did she 
 resist in the slightest degree when he drew 
 her to him, and folded her in his arms. She 
 never doubted that her emotion was fully 
 reciprocated ; the thought did not for a 
 moment enter her mind that he was exacting
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 61 
 
 everything and giving nothing ; that the will 
 was not father to the deed, and intended to 
 lead to the only honourable climax. How 
 was she to realize in that delicious hour 
 that it was her affection to which he had 
 alluded, not his own ? 
 
 Brunskill, meanwhile, had looked for her 
 in vain. Then he questioned Miss Gliddon, 
 but she had no clue to her whereabouts ; had 
 not seen Ormrod, and suggested that she 
 might be upstairs. Presently, when the 
 people were gone, he got Tamar to go up- 
 stairs and look for her, but of course, uselessly. 
 
 " She'll be setting some of the folk," said 
 Tamar, loath to confess to uneasiness. 
 
 He laughed shortly, looking at her as 
 though he would penetrate her inmost 
 thought, and she resented it. 
 
 " I'm neither innard nor deceiving," she 
 said ; " I ken no more than yersel' where the 
 lassie is. Wait a bit and she'll turn up." 
 
 But wait there, in the kitchen, he could
 
 62 JULIET. 
 
 not. Action was necessary. Miss Gliddon 
 was gone with other company home, and 
 there was no need to hurry. He went out. 
 
 The evening was lovely. The valley 
 lay bathed in the sunset glow that deepened 
 the folded shadows on the hills. Not a 
 sound broke the stillness save the gurgle of 
 the river under the alders. But nature's 
 peace held no restitution for Brunskill, and 
 he loitered on to the bridge under a sense of 
 sickening disappointment. He had looked 
 forward to a few words with Molly, to a 
 little lingering walk at her side through the 
 meadows, and instead of these, she was not 
 to be found. And his heart was the prey to 
 a fear which gathered in heaviness every 
 moment. When he got to the Moss without 
 having seen any sign of her, he despaired, 
 and laying his arms along the top of the 
 o-ate, strove to overcome the chill that 
 clutched him. A little further on. the road 
 dipped into a hollow, where some rowans
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 63 
 
 hung over a rock cropping out from the 
 ling, and in going down it his eye was 
 caught by something white under the rowans. 
 It was not the gleam of water, there was no 
 moon to light on the rock ; involuntarily he 
 stepped on to the grassy margin, took a few 
 more steps, and then stopped suddenly. 
 
 That glimmer of white was Molly's hood. 
 He gazed at it, fascinated. Ormrod and 
 she were sitting on the rock. He could hear 
 the murmur of their voices ; he saw her draw 
 her hand from his and touch a flower in his 
 button-hole. He remembered the scene 
 beneath the bridge a few days previously, 
 to which he had attached no importance. 
 Perhaps it had held a deeper meaning than 
 he thought ; perhaps he was then urging her 
 to this, and she was dallying with him, un- 
 certain of herself, thinking perplexedly of 
 another, and that other, himself. Supposing 
 he had not gone home, but had stayed, gone 
 into the house, sat beside her, advanced his
 
 64 JULIET. 
 
 wish to monopolize her, his desire for her 
 affection — what then ? He would fain have 
 answered himself to the satisfaction of his 
 craving for her consideration, even though it 
 might have tortured him with regret ; but 
 as he looked at them, he could not. It was 
 not Ormrod's air of devotion that impressed 
 him, for he knew he had such airs always 
 at command, but it was the absence of 
 Molly's gay spirits and the abandonment to 
 quiet happiness that had taken their place. 
 
 Just then she looked up at Ormrod, and 
 he bent down close to her lips. Brunskill 
 thought he was going to kiss her, and he 
 could not endure the thought. The blood 
 rushed to his face, he clenched his hands, 
 holding his breath ; but no kiss was ex- 
 changed, and he breathed freely again. He 
 looked round him with a dazed look, feeling 
 as thoueh he had stood there for hours, as 
 though he were in another world ; which he 
 was. He had been living in a fool's para-
 
 TEA AT ALDERDALE. 
 
 65 
 
 dise, watching a Picciola grow. He had 
 meant to gather the Picciola, but another had 
 stepped in. Picciola and paradise were 
 gone ; the fool was left. 
 
 " Poor fool ! ' he said, and smiled without 
 
 a sigh. 
 
 A smile comes easiest in self-pity of self- 
 deception. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BRUNSK1LLS MOVE. 
 
 The following day Brunskill went to see 
 Miss Gliddon, having evolved from much 
 thought, a course of action for himself, but not 
 wishing to put it into practice without her 
 advice and co-operation. It had struck him 
 that Ormrod was acting secretly, and would 
 enforce secrecy upon Molly. Now, Brun- 
 skill was convinced that there was love- 
 making, and resolved that it should be 
 acknowledged by Ormrod. He must prove 
 himself honourable, or if not honourable, all 
 the world of Wherndale should know it. 
 It was an uncompromising resolution, but
 
 BRUNSKILLS MOVE. 67 
 
 would, he considered, place a greater check 
 upon Ormrod's unscrupulousness than any- 
 thing else : if he had won Molly he must 
 keep her, or be known as a scoundrel. 
 
 When he told Miss Gliddon what he had 
 seen on the Moss, she expressed no sur- 
 prise. She was not surprised, but was 
 greatly disposed to blame herself for not 
 having foreseen such a catastrophe and tried 
 to avert it by cautioning Ormrod or protect- 
 ing Molly. 
 
 " I might have known there was danger," 
 she said, " and that it would culminate 
 during this final visit. She is so pretty 
 and so trustful, and has always thought so 
 much about him. If only I had got her to 
 come and stay with me, as she might have 
 done so naturally, he would have been more 
 careful, feeling at least that he must be 
 straightforward. But I never thought of it." 
 
 11 I wish you would get her to come to 
 you now," said Brunskill. -
 
 68 JULIET. 
 
 " I fear it is too late." 
 
 "In one way, yes; but don't you see, it 
 would force him to acknowledge an engage- 
 ment ? " 
 
 11 Do you think she would come ? ' 
 
 "She has often come before. She could 
 not refuse, and she would be unsuspicious of 
 our object ; indeed, she would not imagine for 
 a moment that we were in collusion." 
 
 " Do you mean her to tell me what has 
 transpired ? " 
 
 11 Yes ; and I mean Ormrod to tell me." 
 
 " How in the world will you accomplish 
 that ? I fancy he will avoid you more than 
 
 any of us. He must have seen ' she 
 
 hesitated, looking away. 
 
 " Yes," said Brunskill. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I shall tell him that I saw them last 
 night, and what was naturally to be inferred. 
 He will detest me, but that is nothing." 
 
 " I will do my share," said Miss Gliddon.
 
 BR UNSKILVS MO VE. 69 
 
 It was true that Molly could not refuse 
 her invitation, but she was very reluctant to 
 accept it, and when she first named it to 
 Ormrod, he declared she should not go. 
 There was still a week before he was to 
 leave for London, and that week he had 
 resolved to pass chiefly at Alderdale, not 
 having dreamt for a moment that any third 
 person would step in with a check move- 
 ment. He realized at once what was in- 
 volved. It would be impossible to maintain 
 mere cousinly familiarity with Molly under 
 Miss Gliddon's sharp eyes, when Molly her- 
 self had every right to expect more, and 
 would be unable to show that she did not. 
 Yet he was far from willing to acknowledge 
 an engagement with her. The situation was 
 already embarrassing. He plunged his hands 
 into his pockets, and emitted a low, moody 
 whistle, looking apprehensively at Molly, 
 who was unconsciously pursuing her knitting 
 at his side. A suggestion lay before him, and
 
 7© JULIET. 
 
 he could not be certain that she would be 
 reasonable and see its justice as clearly as 
 he did. 
 
 " This is about the most awkward thing 
 she could have hit upon ; confoundedly awk- 
 ward, I call it," he said. 
 
 " She meant it kindly," said Molly. " But 
 it is very disappointing. If only she knew 
 about us, I'm sure she would not expect me 
 to go. I have been thinking, must I write 
 and tell her ? " 
 
 " Tell her what ? " said Ormrod. 
 
 She looked up in surprise and some re- 
 proach, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. 
 
 "About us, you and me," she said again. 
 " There is nothing else to tell her that I 
 know of; and she is such a good friend of 
 mine. I should like her to know." 
 
 " Know what ? My dear Molly, she 
 must know what friends we are ; every one 
 who has eyes, must. There is no necessity 
 to tell her more than that, that I kiss you
 
 BR UNSKILUS MO VE. 7 1 
 
 and squeeze your hand, for instance. She 
 would only say, ' Of course he does.' 
 
 " But it means so much. I can't bear 
 to think it does not." 
 
 " You must take it as a matter of course, 
 as others will. There is nothing to make a 
 fuss over." 
 
 " But people must know why, Noll." 
 
 " Do you think for a moment they won't ? 
 There is nothing over which they are sharper 
 than things of that kind." 
 
 " Well, then, if I go to the Vicarage, Miss 
 Gliddon will see, and probably she will ask me. " 
 
 " What ? She is an inquisitive meddler, 
 every one knows." 
 
 u If we are engaged," said Molly, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 It struck her at that moment that she was 
 not certain if they were. 
 
 " She will not ask you point-blank ; and 
 if she did, you must parry her." 
 
 " But I cannot parry any one."
 
 72 JULIET. 
 
 " She will not ask you," said Ormrod 
 again, trying to convince himself that she 
 would not, but thinking it highly probable 
 that she would. " It will be preposterous for 
 us to talk of ourselves as engaged to be mar- 
 ried, when marriage will be an impossibility 
 for me for many years. I fear, my sweet 
 little coz, that we must add to our prayers 
 the safe reflection that ' There's many a slip 
 twixt cup and lip.' Then if the slip happen, 
 we shall be a Icetle prepared." 
 
 " And you can bear to think of it ? " said 
 Molly, after a pause. 
 
 44 One must do violence to one's feelings 
 in this world," Ormrod said, easily; but im- 
 mediately afterwards he unwarily raised his 
 eyes to hers, and the troubled wonder in 
 them touched him into relenting. 44 Can't 
 you take a little teasing ? ' he said. " One 
 may venture to jest over improbabilities. But 
 all the same, Molly, I think this had better 
 remain a secret between you and me."
 
 BR UNS KILL'S MO VE. 7 3 
 
 " I hate secrets/' she said, vehemently. 
 
 "So do I ; never kept one yet ; but one 
 must make a beginning in good ways, and 
 this seems to me the best. It will do no 
 harm." 
 
 " But if any one asks me ? " 
 
 He laughed impatiently, tugging at his 
 moustache, and longing to scold her as a per- 
 sistent little goose. It was evident she did 
 not see the thing as he saw it, and would 
 make a trouble where no trouble was, unless 
 he yielded. A few minutes of consideration 
 assured him that in the long run it did not 
 much signify either way ; he would be at a 
 sufficient distance to follow his own inclina- 
 tion serenely, if he were careful now not to 
 compromise himself too far. 
 
 " Well," he said, " you must tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " Then I may tell Miss Gliddon, and then 
 you can come all the same." 
 
 " Don't say anything unless she asks you."
 
 74 JULIET. 
 
 "Oh, I won't ; but I shall be much hap- 
 pier, Noll. I could not bear to be deceiving 
 any one, could you ? And it is so simple, and 
 so natural, I think, don't you, dear ?' 
 
 To this he made no further answer than 
 by an awkward laugh ; but as it was accom- 
 panied by a caress, she was satisfied, and the 
 happiness reflected in her lovely face once 
 more bewitched him. 
 
 And so she went to the Vicarage, deter- 
 mined in her own mind to take full advantage 
 of his permission, and thus secure him the 
 right to come as much as he liked ; rinding 
 consolation, too, for her restricted liberty in 
 the thought that she should be able to see 
 him to the very last moment, since she was 
 three miles nearer Newbridge Station at the 
 Vicarage than at Alderdale. She had no 
 suspicion that the arrangement contained 
 more than appeared, and neither had Ormrod, 
 until Brunskill walked in upon him one morn- 
 ing, and asked if he could spare him a few
 
 BR UNSKILUS MO VE. 7 5 
 
 minutes for conversation. Ormrod had the 
 use of one of the rooms at Church House for 
 painting when at Moorhead, and it was there 
 that Brunskill found him. He was putting 
 some finishing touches to a picture, and did not 
 turn when he heard Brunskill's voice. Brun- 
 skill went up to the easel, and watched his 
 work. 
 
 " Do you recognize the place ?' Ormrod 
 asked. 
 
 " Well enough," said Brunskill. 
 
 " I shall call it The Wool-Winder, y said 
 Ormrod. 
 
 The place represented was the kitchen at 
 Alderdale, and against the open window were 
 placed two high-backed, carved oak chairs, 
 encircled by a skein of wool, from which a 
 girl was winding a ball. But the girl was not 
 Molly ; and Ormrod, who had regretted that 
 fact, was now thankful for it. 
 
 " You'll have heard that I'm off to Rome," 
 he remarked.
 
 76 JULIET. 
 
 " Your father told me. Are you going 
 at once ? " 
 
 " I expect an interregnum in Kensington 
 — perhaps a couple of weeks or so. Mr. 
 Ouin wants to show me about a little, before 
 the season's over. I know less of London 
 than of Paris." 
 
 " Have you ever met the Mompessons 
 yet ? " 
 
 " I met young Mompesson once, he whose 
 position is so pleasant, you know ; but I know 
 nothing of the others." 
 
 " Do you know that Miss Laybourne is 
 his sister's governess ? ' 
 
 " Is she, though ? No, by Jove ! I didn't. 
 I may meet her, then, though I don't know 
 that I care to. There's a portrait of her in 
 that old folio that I came across the other 
 day ; you can find it if you like. And, by- 
 the-bye, I've a little thing here I thought you 
 might value ; I'm giving a few away this 
 time. I'd made it up to leave at the school-
 
 BR UN SKILLS MO VE. 7 7 
 
 house, but you can take it with you. It's 
 Molly Murdock, sketched years ago as Pris- 
 cilia!' 
 
 As he spoke he crossed the room, and 
 took a small canvas from a table, holding it 
 out to Brunskill without looking at him, but 
 with a peculiar smile of complacency. He 
 expected it would be at once taken, but it was 
 not. There was silence, and he found him- 
 self obliged to look up. The fixed gaze he 
 met was so startling that he almost dropped 
 his proffered gift. 
 
 "Let it alone just now, will you?' said 
 Brunskill. He spoke thickly, and stopped to 
 clear his voice. " I came to speak to you," 
 he went on. " You may not care that I should 
 have that, after you have heard what I have 
 to say. It is right that you should know it. 
 Ormrod, I saw you and her on the Moss on 
 Sunday night." 
 
 " Oh ! did you ? " said Ormrod. " Well ? " 
 
 He turned abruptly, threw the little
 
 78 JULIET. 
 
 picture again on the table, and returned to 
 his easel. Brunskill followed him. 
 
 " You are engaged to her ?' he said. 
 
 " And if I am, what is that to you ? ' 
 
 " You are out-and-out engaged to her ? ' 
 
 " I suppose I am the lucky suitor," said 
 Ormrod, slowly ; and when Brunskill did not 
 speak, he added, " Upon my word, I'm very 
 sorry for you, but it's not a thing one can 
 avoid, you see." 
 
 " Remember that I know it for a fact," 
 said Brunskill, "and that others will know it. 
 She is safe where she is ; you must acknow- 
 ledge it." 
 
 " I see now how she has got there," said 
 Ormrod. 
 
 He was full of rage, but maintained out- 
 ward nonchalance, continuing to put a touch 
 here, and another there, with a steady hand. 
 Nothing more remained to be said, and 
 Brunskill, after a few moments of deep and 
 wistful thought, turned to go. Ormrod's sar-
 
 BR UN SKILL'S MO VE. 7 9 
 
 donic reflection was that he had unwittingly 
 taken a good hand, and played it well, but he 
 was determined not to show himself duped, 
 or otherwise than magnanimous. 
 
 " Pray take the Priscilla" he said, trans- 
 ferring his brush to his palette hand, and 
 twirling his moustache. 
 
 Brunskill took it, and Ormrod opened the 
 door and shook hands with him as he passed. 
 He then returned to his work, but, feeling 
 generally discomposed, failed to accomplish 
 anything satisfactory, and left it. His opinion 
 was that he had never been in such a mess in 
 his life. He had not anticipated anything 
 like this, and until now had not considered 
 himself as an engaged man ; but his anger 
 was against every one except himself. He 
 had been cajoled and duped on every hand, 
 and utterly ignored the fact that he had been 
 the first to cajole. He vowed again and 
 again during that day that he had not patience 
 to think of Molly, when she had brought him
 
 80 . JULIE J. 
 
 into such a quandary ; and yet he thought 
 only of her, and at night had so far recovered 
 his magnanimity as to yield again to inclina- 
 tion, and resolve to make the best of a bad 
 business by acting up to his profession. In 
 fact, he could do nothing less. He was cer- 
 tain that not only Molly, but Miss Gliddon, 
 would be expecting him at the Vicarage. 
 There was nothing better to do than continue 
 to make love to her ; unless he wished to 
 have a hornet's nest buzzing about his ears, 
 he must pacify every one. He could only 
 be deeply thankful that the girl to whom he 
 was called upon to devote himself for the 
 edification of a watchful public was pretty 
 and bewitching. He also drew great con- 
 solation from the fact that Brunskill, who had 
 so laudably endeavoured to punish him, was 
 himself as one punished. This last was the 
 subject of his most supreme satisfaction. 
 
 He found the situation, when viewed 
 through the medium of the Vicarage, unde-
 
 BRUNSKILVS MOVE. 81 
 
 niably pleasant. Molly at once, in her inno- 
 cence, assured him that Miss Gliddon knew — 
 had, to her astonishment, known before she 
 came ; there had been nothing for her to 
 tell. She did not add that she had been hurt 
 by receiving no congratulation. Neither did 
 Miss Gliddon congratulate Ormrod, but she 
 made everything very pleasant for both in an 
 unobtrusive way — too pleasant and smooth, 
 Molly thought, for the time flew, and she 
 could not realize how it went. They had 
 quiet strolls in the garden, quiet talks in the 
 drawing-room. Ormrod was always good- 
 humoured, always caressing. He really liked 
 her ; and nothing came more naturally to him 
 than to make love, especially when the girl 
 was pretty. She surprised him, too, by her 
 ease of manner and taking ways, that were 
 never awkward or self-conscious, or out of 
 harmony with Miss Gliddon's luxurious rooms 
 and refinement. There was many a time 
 during that brief week when she unconsciously 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 82 JULIET. 
 
 almost persuaded him to entertain the idea of 
 marrying her, so lovely did she look with 
 her dimpling smiles, so fond of him did she 
 show herself. But she was a wild flower, and 
 not meant for transplantation into ungenial 
 soil. As her declared lover, however, he left 
 nothing undone, and even one day brought 
 her a ring. 
 
 Thus, the last evening quickly came. 
 They had their last walk, their last talk, and 
 a lone-drawn-out farewell. He was starting 
 early the following morning. The road 
 skirted the glebe, and he promised to run 
 up the field for yet another word. She 
 scarcely slept at all that night, and getting 
 up early, stole out to walk off her excited 
 impatience. She could not help being im- 
 patient to see him again, although she knew 
 it would be but for one little moment, in 
 which, above everything, there would be the 
 consciousness of a long separation. Miss 
 Gliddon presently joined her, having watched
 
 BRUNSKILVS MOVE. 83 
 
 her from her window as she dressed, and 
 pitying her restlessness. She always gar- 
 dened for an hour or two before breakfast 
 in summer, and she got Molly to hold her 
 matting and knife while she went about 
 tying up her phloxes and larkspurs. The 
 garden was very gay and well-tended, the 
 laurels pruned, the grass machine-cut, the 
 borders bright with annuals that ran wild 
 amidst sweet-briar bushes and an under- 
 growth of musk. In one corner w r as a bank 
 of yellow roses ; beneath the windows, and 
 throwing its fragrance into the rooms, a 
 wealth of mignonette. Everything was old- 
 fashioned, making green-houses and forcing- 
 beds conspicuous by their absence ; but 
 everything bespoke wealth, ease, method, 
 and substantial comfortable tastes ; and Miss 
 Gliddon, in her spacious sun-hat and crisp 
 grey gingham, was as much in harmony 
 with it as Juliet Laybourne, short- frocked, 
 tuckerless, her head crowned with a bat-
 
 84 JULIET. 
 
 tered old Dunstable bonnet, had been years 
 before. 
 
 As Miss Gliddon worked she talked, but 
 Molly answered at random. Molly's eyes 
 were fixed upon the road from Moorhead, 
 but for loner unavailing^. Even Miss Glid- 
 don had begun to think it late, when at last 
 the trap appeared, a dark speck creeping 
 down the hill which was crowned by the 
 church. 
 
 " They'll only just have time to catch the 
 train," said Molly ; " and if they miss it, will 
 he come back, do you think, for another 
 night ? " 
 
 11 They won't miss it," said Miss Gliddon, 
 looking at her flushed face and shining eyes, 
 and realizing how gnawing had been her 
 impatience. " He may not have time to run 
 up the glebe, however. Go and meet him 
 half-way. Me sees us. He is waving.*' 
 
 It did not take Molly a minute to leap the 
 sunk fence and clear half the slope towards
 
 BR UNSKILLS MO VE. 85 
 
 the stile into the road. Then she heard an 
 unintelligible shout from Ormrod. The trap 
 was coming on rapidly — another moment, 
 and she expected it to stop. But it did not. 
 There was a distinct shout of " Good-bye ; 
 haven't time ! ' and it flashed past. She 
 caught a confused impression of an insolent 
 stare of admiration from the Newbridge 
 driver, a smile from Ormrod, a watch elo- 
 quently held up, and a hand waved from the 
 lips. There was a cloud of dust, and she 
 realized that he was gone.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ON THE VERGE. 
 
 It was not with his wife's approval that 
 Mr. Quin had befriended Ormrod. Mrs. 
 Quin was devoted to conventionalities, and 
 condemned as Ouixotic all that diverged 
 from her own code of established rule. She 
 resented extremely the unconventionality of 
 Providence in gifting a carpenter's son as 
 though he had been a gentleman, and the 
 countenance given to the irregularity by her 
 husband was a still greater grievance. It 
 was preposterous that she should be sonless, 
 and another woman, the wife of a working- 
 man in a Yorkshire village, the mother of a 
 son to usurp her rights. She opposed all
 
 ON THE VERGE. 87 
 
 the means at her command to more than 
 distant interest, making her health — which 
 was remarkably good in the private opinion 
 of her doctor — the plea for avoiding Moor- 
 head, and thus compelling her husband to 
 forego the delights of August on the Moors 
 and September in the Inlands. But when, 
 in spite of everything, he announced that he 
 should make an artist of the lad, she refrained 
 from the undignified position of futile re- 
 bellion, and gracefully conformed to the 
 inevitable. 
 
 " Your father will never rest on the side 
 of sense with the Ormrods," she said, one 
 day, when she and her only child, Isabel, 
 were driving by the Serpentine. This was 
 while Ormrod was still in Paris. 
 
 " Won't he ? " said Isabel, naughtily. " It 
 depends on which is the side of sense. I 
 shouldn't have thought there was any ques- 
 tion of it with papa." 
 
 " You must know all young Ormrod' s
 
 88 JULIET. 
 
 expenses are met by him, and I do not con- 
 sider it fair by you." 
 
 "It is fair by papa that he should do as 
 he pleases with his own. I suppose, some 
 
 day, Noll Ormrod will come and live with 
 us. 
 
 " Don't talk of it," said Mrs. Quin ; 4i I 
 
 only trust, if he did, you would be married 
 
 and gone. He might flirt with you. There 
 
 is no saying what might happen. But I shall 
 
 beg your father not to run the risk. I know 
 
 sufficient of the evil of such marriages from 
 
 your uncle Richard. I wish you would think 
 
 seriously of your cousin, Henry Mompesson." 
 
 " The thin^ nwht be for him to think 
 seriously of me," said Isabel, lowering her 
 parasol to hide an unexpected blush, of which 
 she was painfully conscious. 
 
 " Isabel, don't be so detestably coquet- 
 tish. Do you want him to crawl ?' 
 
 " No," said she ; " but he will have to 
 take his fate boldly into his own hands."
 
 ON THE VERGE. 89 
 
 " You know what makes him diffident." 
 
 " Do vou mean the miserable chance of 
 Uncle Richard reappearing, or being found 
 to have left an heir ? I know the risk ; and, 
 supposing we were married, the blow would 
 fall on me equally with him." 
 
 " But don't you see that he shrinks from 
 imposing such a risk upon you ? ' 
 
 " He does not," said Isabel, firmly. " He 
 thinks very little of me. At present he 
 admires Miss Laybourne more than any 
 lady he has met, but he knows she would not 
 have him, even if there were no risk attend- 
 ing his possession of the estates. Yet all the 
 while there is a matter-of-course impression 
 in his mind that he will eventually propose 
 to me. That is what his consideration 
 amounts to." 
 
 Mrs. Quin did not venture to ask how far 
 Mompesson's matter-of-course impression 
 would meet with Isabel's favour, but her own 
 impression was that she would not have said
 
 9© JULIET, 
 
 so much or placed it so plainly had her wishes 
 been likely to go contrary to his. It was 
 a tradition in the family, that there had been 
 an attachment between them from the early 
 days in the nursery at Coombe, when Isabel 
 went to stay with her cousins, to play with 
 Lily and be tyrannized over by Henry. Mrs. 
 Mompesson was fond of relating an incident 
 that took place, unperceived, as the chief 
 actors imagined, in one of the corridors, 
 during Henry's last holidays from Eton ; how. 
 after a long confidential talk, he suddenly 
 flung an arm round her neck and kissed her, 
 but instantly recoiled as she dealt him a blow 
 on the ear. Remorse seizing her the next 
 moment, she flung both arms round his 
 neck and kissed him with sobs. It was a 
 pretty scene, and one likely to dwell in the 
 minds of each and bear desirable fruit. But 
 it was a disappointment to Mrs. Quin that 
 this fruit had not been borne immediately 
 upon Isabel's release from the schoolroom.
 
 ON THE VERGE. 91 
 
 She had made up her mind that Isabel should 
 possess Coombe, and set herself as a flint 
 against the possibility of Henry losing the 
 estates through an unexpected claim from 
 any heir of her long-lost elder brother. She 
 considered that decision lav in Isabel's hands. 
 If she would exert the slightest pressure, or 
 throw herself into an outrageous flirtation 
 with another man, she was convinced that he 
 would at once take the initiative, and, out of 
 sheer alarm, finding that she was necessary 
 to him, come to the point. But to neither 
 alternative would Isabel condescend, and Mrs. 
 Ouin could only watch and wait. The con- 
 sideration of mutual affection, which was to 
 Isabel all important, she did not allow to 
 enter her mind. She could not have Coombe 
 without Mompesson, so Mompesson must be 
 thrown into the bargain. She feared that 
 Isabel took sufficiently after her father to 
 make a point of gaining more by marriage 
 that was satisfying, than. a handsome estab-
 
 92 JULIET. 
 
 lishment and high county position, and was so 
 blind as not to perceive that more than these 
 would be gained by her marriage with Mom- 
 pesson. But her lack of perspicacity was 
 atoned for by her husband. When she inci- 
 dentally repeated to him the gist of her 
 conversation with Isabel, he leapt at once 
 to the right conclusion, and determined to 
 further by every means in his power the 
 attraction which lurked in Mompesson's 
 mind towards her, since he was the man of 
 her predilection. He knew that Mompes- 
 son admired Juliet Laybourne, but treated it 
 at its worth — as a fleeting fancy, which would 
 not attain any serious proportion. To him, 
 as to many others, Juliet presented the idea 
 of a human icicle, tolerating admiration, but 
 far from either accepting or repulsing it. A 
 man could not make love to an icicle, could 
 not even admire it for long. He was confi- 
 dent that he would presently turn from his 
 distant contemplation of Juliet to draw near
 
 ON THE VERGE. 93 
 
 Isabel. Anything more monstrously ridi- 
 culous than Mrs. Ouin's qualms at the fact 
 of Ormrod coming into the house while 
 Isabel was still unengaged, he could not con- 
 ceive. 
 
 Matters were at this point when Ormrod 
 arrived. He found he was not at once to eo 
 to Rome, but had before him a London 
 season. On his arrival, the house was quiet, 
 exceptionally so for the time of year, as 
 Johns, the butler, took care to inform him. 
 Mrs. and Miss Quin were gone to the wed- 
 ding of a friend in the neighbourhood of 
 Coombe, but were to return in a few days. 
 Mrs. Mompesson and her grand-daughter 
 and Miss Lay bourne were coming up to town 
 with them, but would occupy a house of their 
 own. 
 
 Ormrod listened to this without in- 
 terest. He was not sorry to be able to 
 establish himself in these luxurious quarters 
 during the absence of the ladies. For Mrs.
 
 94 JULIET. 
 
 and Miss Mompesson he cared nothing, and 
 was too readily enervated by ease and happi- 
 ness to feel a moment's curiosity about the 
 changes time nwht have wrought in his old 
 acquaintance, Juliet. It did occur to him to 
 wonder how she would meet him — if with the 
 old antagonism, indifferently, or cordially ? 
 But he was too much occupied to decide 
 even in his own mind how she ought to 
 meet him. 
 
 The intervening days passed rapidly. 
 While Quin was at home they went out to- 
 gether, worked in the same room, and on one 
 or two occasions visited in the evenings. 
 Then Quin went away, and Ormrod roamed 
 at will through the beautiful rooms, lost in 
 admiration of their treasures of art and vertu, 
 and enjoying himself in the most lordly style 
 he could assume. During the last day or 
 two he worked little, but lounged a ofood deal 
 on the divans in the studio, reading himself 
 up in the current topics of the day, and
 
 ON THE VERGE. 95 
 
 endeavouring to acquire the last jargon of 
 criticism and jingle of controversy. Look- 
 ing back upon that period of oriental ease a 
 few weeks later, he found it difficult to believe 
 that he had indeed indulged in it without the 
 faintest presentiment of what was impend- 
 ing. It seemed impossible that an absorbing 
 passion should have burst upon him unawares, 
 rousing him instantly from the lotus-eating 
 phase of existence to the pursual of one 
 object with every faculty of which he could 
 command the consciousness. 
 
 He happened to be out when the Quins 
 returned, but was in the studio a few hours 
 later when Mrs. Quin came in from an At 
 Home with a young lady friend, and Henry 
 Mompesson and his sister. Mrs. Quin swept 
 to a chair, and in passing gave Ormrod a 
 frigid, scrutinizing stare through her devil- 
 glasses, after which she sat down, with her 
 back to him, thus giving him the benefit of 
 her coil of red-gold hair, crowned with a bon-
 
 96 JULIET. 
 
 net of red tulips to match her red dress. She 
 was ontrd, but magnificent — an admirable foil 
 to, but at the same time in harmony with, 
 the mediaeval character of the room. Her 
 niece wore nun-like garments of white — cling- 
 ing creamy, and as soft as the delicate 
 contours of her face and figure. Between 
 them, MissTatton sat down, probably feeling 
 herself, if she had perception of incongruities, 
 a decided non-success, for her complexion was 
 thick and her figure angular, and she had 
 clothed herself in decaying green, with a 
 short waist and Botticelli sleeves. She was 
 the daughter of an archaeological baronet, 
 whose place adjoined Coombe, and a month 
 in town each season afforded her the one 
 opportunity of her life to gloss her country 
 breeding" with a veneer of fashion, or, as her 
 father expressed it, to make a goose of her- 
 self. She had been endeavouring to talk to 
 Mompesson in character with her costume, 
 but finding he scarcely answered, was becom-
 
 ON THE VERGE. 97 
 
 ing noisy, which was. her idea of being 
 animated. Still, however, she did not draw 
 him, and he, by-and-by, lounged up to Orm- 
 rod's easel. 
 
 " And what sort of an affair was it ? ' 
 asked Quin, who presently strolled in upon 
 them, with his hands in his pockets, ready 
 for the genial cup of tea, which he never 
 refused. 
 
 " Charming ! " said Mrs. Quin. " I never 
 saw any one more decorative than the two 
 Everetts, playing battledore and shuttlecock 
 over a golden screen. Miss Laybourne 
 explained the Gobelins, and made a sensation 
 with her figure. She had a sort of Wand in 
 her hand, and might have been a priestess in 
 a temple with the rod of divination. Really 
 I longed for you, Oliver." 
 
 " Very Philistine of you to long for any- 
 thing," said he. 
 
 " She wore saffron," Mrs. Quin went on, 
 " and the effect was indescribable against her 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 9 8 JULIET. 
 
 dusky skin and dark hair. And then her 
 figure ! Countess Lective asked me where 
 she had been brought up. Her girls row for 
 the sake of their figures, but now she thinks 
 seriously of sending them to the Moors to 
 climb the walls and balance themselves on 
 the tops." 
 
 " What an admirable idea, especially 
 if they are chicken-hearted, and a stiff 
 breeze be blowing ! Did you tell her that 
 was what perfected Miss Laybournes 
 figure ? " 
 
 " I did not say Miss Laybourne's figure 
 w 'as perfect. She was fortunate in her occu- 
 pation t6-day. Lily," turning to her niece, 
 *' I trust you will follow Miss Laybourne's 
 injunctions, as to deportment and develop- 
 ment, in every particular." 
 
 11 Don't you think she might do better, 
 Aunt ? " said Mompesson. 
 
 " She could not do better, Henry; Miss 
 Laybourne's figure was perfection."
 
 ON THE VERGE. 
 
 99 
 
 u I agree with you," said Quin, gravely. 
 
 " So do I," said Mompesson, but he 
 laughed ; and Mrs. Quin instantly perceived 
 the toils in which she had been caught, and, 
 opening her fan with a rattle, prepared for 
 war. But before she had time to speak, the 
 door again opened, and two ladies entered 
 the room.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 
 
 One of these ladies was fair, pretty, and 
 exquisitely dressed in the height of unaesthe- 
 tic fashion. She glanced quickly round the 
 room, and smiled when she saw Ormrod, 
 making her way to him and shaking hands. 
 This was Isabel Quin, who had a habit of 
 being agreeable with every one, and pointedly 
 so to any one who might be slighted by 
 others. He went to get her a cup of tea, 
 but when he returned, Mompesson had taken 
 a chair near her, and she was talking in tones 
 of soft sparkling inflexion, peculiar to herself 
 and charming to her hearers. Ormrod with-
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 101 
 
 drew from their proximity, and finding him- 
 self near his easel, began industriously 
 buttering the edges of his palette with his 
 knife. He had a strange feeling that he was 
 only looking at his palette to avoid staring 
 at Juliet Laybourne. The subterfuge did 
 not serve him for more than a moment. He 
 was compelled to look at her by some 
 mastering force apart from his will. Their 
 eyes met as he raised his, but hers instantly 
 dropped. She remained motionless. There 
 was no movement of recognition on the part 
 of either, but each was conscious of the 
 minute observation and interest of the other. 
 
 Ormrod, however, continued to look at 
 her. 
 
 She was standing on a comparatively 
 open space of Persian carpet, apart from 
 every one, and apparently equally unheeded 
 and unheeding. Her saffron-coloured dress 
 fell in straight, yet graceful folds, unrelieved, 
 except by thick gold bands round throat and
 
 102 JULIET, 
 
 wrists. The effect of these tints against her 
 dusky skin was, indeed, indescribably fine. 
 She had taken off her hat and her face was 
 turned towards Ormrod, free from more 
 shadow than the stained windows — which 
 were uncovered when the skylight was shaded 
 — threw. But the rich dimness of the light 
 enhanced the beauty of her colouring. Her 
 features were disposed to the Greek type, 
 but, happily, were far from perfect, afford- 
 ing abundant scope for the play of expres- 
 sion. Her eyes were at once dreamy and 
 brilliantly keen. She wore her dark hair 
 turned back from her brow, and coiled close 
 to her head. As she stood, absolutely still 
 and silent, yet with infinite possibilities of 
 eloquent action in every curve of feature and 
 form — a Galatea waiting Heaven's fire — it 
 seemed to Ormrod that he had not seen a 
 more beautiful woman. He was by no means 
 certain how she would receive him, but made 
 his way to her without hesitation.
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 103 
 
 " I should not have known you," he said, 
 when he stood before her, so near, he felt, as 
 almost to touch her dress. 
 
 " You are not changed," she said. 
 
 She spoke slowly, and moved as though to 
 pass him ; then paused, and glancing half 
 over her shoulder, extended her hand. He 
 took it. The next moment she was talking 
 to Mr. Quin, and Ormrod threw himself into 
 a chair and took up an illustrated Academy 
 catalogue. But he saw neither word nor 
 wood-cut. His senses were absorbed in 
 watching and listening to Juliet. 
 
 Nor did this first impression fade. It 
 occupied him unceasingly to compare what 
 she was with what she had been. It was 
 scarcely possible to identify this tall and 
 graceful woman, with her handsome face, air 
 of keen intelligence, and swimming gait, calm, 
 composed, almost statuesque, with the old 
 Juliet of Moorhead Vicarage, who had romped 
 about, gawky and overgrown, in short dresses
 
 104 JULIET. 
 
 and a battered old Dunstable bonnet, and 
 been towards himself hostile almost to 
 absurdity. Nor was it simply that he 
 admired her. There was more about her 
 than was to be satisfied by admiration. The 
 more he thought of her, the more she puzzled 
 him. She had gained much, but also she 
 had lost much. Her calmness was not 
 natural, her eyes failed to show the intensity 
 of feeling with which at one time they had 
 every moment gleamed and shadowed. He 
 felt that whereas once her life had lived, now 
 it smouldered. In this, he was only like 
 others. No one of perception approached 
 Juliet Laybourne without a sensation of 
 speculation, whose excuse for watchful- 
 ness made its object involuntarily fasci- 
 nating. 
 
 He had expected to see her constantly, 
 but in this he was disappointed. Chance 
 ruted their meeting, and it seemed that chance 
 was not propitious at this time to their ac-
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 105 
 
 quaintance. For several consecutive days he 
 often did not see her at all, much less talk to 
 her. She came to the house ; once he picked 
 up from the studio-floor a glove which Isabel 
 said was hers ; again a flower ; but it happened 
 that he was generally out when she came. 
 Occasionally, in desperation, he went to the 
 Park at the driving hour in hopes of seeing 
 her with Mrs. Mompesson, but he only saw 
 Mrs. Mompesson and Mrs. Quin. At last, he 
 remained indoors, under the pretext of com- 
 pleting some work, and was once rewarded 
 by hearing her voice in the vestibule. She 
 even approached the studio-door, and he 
 awaited its opening with an eagerness 
 little short of anxiety, but was again dis- 
 appointed. Isabel ran downstairs laugh- 
 ing, and voices and steps retreated. In a 
 paroxysm of vexation he rushed to see, if it 
 were but the skirts of her garment, and was 
 confronted by the footman, returning from 
 closing the front-door after them. He could
 
 106 JULIET. 
 
 not have believed in such signal ill-luck, had 
 it not thus met him in spite of every effort. 
 But ill-luck was precisely what increased his 
 determination. He delighted in opposing 
 himself to opposition, whether tangible or 
 imaginary. An object easily gained pos- 
 sessed no value in his eyes from the moment 
 it was mastered. 
 
 But at last there came an hour when 
 everything favoured the opportunity pre- 
 sented to him. The Quins went out one 
 evenine to witness a Greek drama at a 
 private house, for which it had been impos- 
 sible to procure an extra invitation, and 
 Ormrod was left alone. But not five minutes 
 afterwards, Juliet came, commissioned by 
 Mrs. Mompesson to take back the last 
 number of Fors Clavigcra. She walked into 
 the studio unannounced, and in the expecta- 
 tion of finding it deserted. For one moment 
 of intense surprise and delight, Ormrod did 
 not move. The next, he jumped up and
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 107 
 
 advanced to her. She was taken unawares, 
 stopped, faltered, half turned back ; her eyes 
 fixed themselves upon him, dilated into a 
 momentary flash of joy, a blush surged into 
 her face, and ebbing, left her pale. She 
 stretched out her hands, but the next instant 
 dropped them ; then again raised one, as 
 though to forbid him to come near. This 
 little scene passed in a minute, but Ormrod 
 felt that in it he had read, as it were, a 
 volume. And he was bewildered. 
 
 He turned abruptly, and walked to the 
 end of the room. When he came back, Juliet 
 had moved, and was bending over a table, in 
 apparent examination of an etching. He 
 watched her, fascinated by the sweep of her 
 dress and the droop of her figure. But it 
 seemed that she could not endure to be 
 watched. He saw the colour again suffuse 
 her face, and she bent lower as though 
 shrinking from him. He pushed a chair 
 towards her.
 
 108 JULIET. 
 
 " Sit down," he said, gently. 
 
 Without hesitation she obeyed him. He 
 was certain that her hands had trembled as 
 she put down the etching. He was ready to 
 be magnanimous ; and to give her time in 
 which to recover herself, he brought a 
 fan of peacocks' feathers from the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 " Now, we will talk," he said, throwing 
 himself into a chair opposite to her. 
 
 " Of what?" said Juliet, slowly waving 
 the fan to and fro. In contrast with her 
 dress of pale gold, it seemed to be made 
 of jewels. 
 
 " Of Agnosticism." 
 
 — * 
 
 " Or political economy." 
 
 " Madame Bernhardt-Damala." 
 
 V Oscar Wilde." 
 
 Then Ormrod laughed, and Juliet smiled 
 slowly. 
 
 " Of ourselves," said Ormrod. u Of you. 
 You have never been to Moorhead since the
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 109 
 
 day, years ago, when you all went away 
 together. Why did you never come ? ' 
 
 " This is evidently the first time it has 
 occurred to you to wonder why I never 
 came. Only new ideas strike one so 
 very forcibly," she said, with a tinge of 
 sarcasm. 
 
 " I fear I thought more of the past than 
 the future." 
 
 " Then I am sure you would not wish to 
 see me again." 
 
 " But why not ? " 
 
 " I was so detestable in those days." 
 
 " Are you certain you could not be yet ? ' 
 
 " I could." 
 
 " Well, be detestable. It would still add 
 flavour to your fascination. Be anything you 
 like." 
 
 " I shall not give you equal licence." 
 
 -No? Why not?" 
 
 She did not answer, but looked gravely at 
 him for a moment, and then, to his dismay,
 
 no JULIET. 
 
 suddenly rose and swept her dress round on 
 to one arm. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, in soft, emotionless 
 tones. 
 
 " You are not going?" he exclaimed, 
 springing to his feet. " We have had no time 
 yet, no talk. You have told me nothing of 
 any one. I want to know what they are all 
 doing, how they are. I know, of course, of 
 your loss — your great — " 
 
 He stopped, paralyzed by her look. She 
 was staring at him helplessly; her eyes dilated 
 in the effort at self-control, until they suddenly 
 filled with tears that dropped in tortured slow- 
 ness on to her cheeks before she seemed to 
 notice them. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry," faltered Ormrod, 
 appalled by those tears. " Sit down and rest. 
 I will not speak ; I — must I leave you ? " 
 
 But again she took him by surprise, for 
 instead of burying her face in her hands with 
 unrestrained, relieving sobs, she strangled
 
 OVER THE VERGE. in 
 
 emotion in a smile that was piteous in its 
 mingling of agony and gaiety. 
 
 " Do you understand now ? " she asked. 
 " I never came, because I could not — bear — 
 to come." 
 
 He did not speak, only pushed a chair 
 towards her, for she was trembling, and she 
 dropped into it with a strange sound, half 
 sob, half laugh. 
 
 11 I have never told any one. Why do I 
 tell you ? " she said. 
 
 He looked at her as though he saw her 
 through a mist. It was like a dream, and yet 
 he felt in every pulse that he had only to put 
 out his hand and her arm would be there. 
 This was Juliet Laybourne ; but Juliet living, 
 moving, speaking, thinking, in an unfathom- 
 able, half-resentful way of himself. Presently 
 she began to speak of Ted, his gentle life, his 
 quiet death. The news of Ted's death had 
 reached him years ago, in the midst of his 
 work and light-hearted attainments of success.
 
 ii2 JULIET. 
 
 •" Poor fellow ! ' he had said, in hackneyed 
 phrase, not giving a thought to the manner of 
 his death, or to those whose hearth would 
 now have the sad distinction of a vacant chair. 
 But indifference vanished during Juliet's 
 recital. Long before she finished, he was 
 touched to actual sympathy, and when at last 
 her voice ceased, he ventured to express this 
 sympathy in his look. She caught that look, 
 faced it, and her fictitious calm gave way 
 before she had time to think of what it ex- 
 pressed. She thought only that the sense of 
 her grief and desolation was now no longer 
 only her own, that she had shared them with 
 another human being. Full consciousness of 
 what Ormrod had been to her thoughts during 
 years of separation, and of what he might in 
 the future be, burst upon her. She turned in 
 her chair, flung out her arms, and, laying her 
 head upon them, gave way to a passion of tears. 
 Ormrod sprang up. He went near and 
 touched her. But she took no notice. He
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 113 
 
 spoke in a low, eager murmur, scarcely know- 
 ing what he said, but she did not answer. 
 Her frame shuddered with sobs. He realized 
 that for the moment he was powerless to help 
 her, and left the room. 
 
 These were the first tears Juliet had shed 
 for Ted. In the early days of her sorrow no 
 one had been able to influence her. Her 
 mother might implore her to talk to her, 
 might talk to her herself, laying bare the 
 sacred sorrow that clutches at a mother's 
 heart-strings on the first loss of a child — a 
 sorrow of which, if women talk at all, it is to 
 their husbands, for very love and full compre- 
 hension between wedded soul and soul. Lav- 
 bourne might take her to the grave, bring her 
 face to face with the griefs and sufferings of 
 others, speak of the cross which each must 
 take up in one form or another, and of the 
 nobility with which the life of Christ has sur- 
 rounded human pain ; her sisters and brothers 
 
 might seek and find comfort in reminiscences 
 vol. 1. 8
 
 ii 4 JULIET. 
 
 and tears ; but all was without effect on Juliet. 
 
 Her mother used to think anything would be 
 
 less terrible than her stony pursual of her 
 
 duties, the parched stare of her eyes while she 
 
 worked and laughed and talked as usual, her 
 
 steady avoidance of the one dear name, and 
 
 indifference to the prayers with which she 
 
 and her husband assuaged their grief in the 
 
 realization that 
 
 " Death is Life's best, 
 And he wins most who earliest goes to rest." 
 
 In the end this sorrow bade fair to para- 
 lyze her, soul and body. Doctors warned 
 them that nature could not long withstand its 
 ravages. Juliet herself was fain to break it, 
 but could not, and began to consider her own 
 days numbered. 
 
 At this crisis, Laybourne wrote to Doctor 
 Thorns, the rector of Coombe. Coombe was 
 only a few miles distant from Marshlands, and 
 there was warm friendship between the two 
 clergymen, as there had previously been be-
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 115 
 
 tween the Doctor and Mr. Gliddon. Indeed, 
 their acquaintance dated from Laybourne's 
 pastorate at Moorhead, when the Doctor had 
 occasionally gone over with Mr. Gliddon to 
 see him. Between Juliet and him there had 
 always existed a whimsical sort of mutual 
 admiration. He was many years older than 
 herself, and the fact of his being unmarried 
 gave the young Laybournes much romantic 
 speculation. They were convinced that he 
 had had a disappointment, and must be a. 
 misanthrope and misogynist. He was, how- 
 ever, neither, but a man with wide and cheer- 
 ful interest in others, whom a solitary life had 
 somewhat hipped, and who delighted in 
 giving way to various odd twists of thought for 
 the sake of the licence granted to eccentricity. 
 He was generally taken to be older than he 
 was, since chronic rheumatism gave him a 
 slight limp, and often necessitated the use of 
 a stick. For the last few years his home had 
 been presided over by a widow, a distant con-
 
 n6 JULIET. 
 
 nection of his own, whose life had been full 
 of vicissitudes, and who was thankful for a 
 quiet home in her old age. He had found 
 this arrangement very advantageous, since it 
 admitted of his asking lady-friends to visit 
 the rectory, and among these Mrs. Lay- 
 bourne and her girls had come most fre- 
 quently. 
 
 When he received Laybourne's letter he 
 took a turn or two in his garden, then ordered 
 the chintz room to be prepared for a visitor, 
 and started on his mule for Marshlands. 
 Arrived there, he took matters into his own 
 hands, and after a long talk with Mrs. Lay- 
 bourne, bade Juliet pack a trunk to be sent 
 by the Grantham carrier, and took her home 
 with him. They did it ridc-and-tic ; first 
 the doctor, and then Juliet, on the mule ; and 
 they were four hours doing it, along country 
 lanes, with woodbine on the hedges and 
 bryony skeins among the ripening hips and 
 haws and brambles ; across a bit of shim-
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 117 
 
 mering marsh, with dark alders and pale 
 willows silhouetted against the low sky-line, 
 and through villages where he was known 
 and greeted on every hand ; and they talked 
 the whole way, and now and then he won a 
 laugh from her. 
 
 Then they reached the Rectory. His 
 hobby was rose cultivation, and all his rose- 
 banks were laden with their second bloom of 
 the year. He took her among them, and 
 waved his hand in the pride of possession. 
 
 " Here you are," said he, " a thorn among^ 
 them all ! Shame on you ! you a woman, 
 with a woman's noble heart. You won't 
 leave us until that heart is 'asa tree of the 
 Lord, full of sap,' that shall flow freely to 
 good or be tiss-tossed into hell-fire, proved 
 lifeless. Now, my thorn, you are my prisoner, 
 and I am Hope." 
 
 " Delicious ! ' cried Juliet, throwing back 
 her head, with somewhat of the old verve 
 kindling over her face. " I am a thorn, and
 
 n8 JULIET. 
 
 I love to be told it. But you, Hope ! No ; 
 don't insult Pandora's taste so far." 
 
 They already thoroughly understood each 
 other, and he gave her the fillip she needed. 
 In a month she was forgetting physical 
 weakness and thorny attributes. In three 
 months she was strong. It was Christmas 
 then, but she did not go home ; and when 
 the doctor pledged her in the loving-cup of 
 Twelfth Night, it was as his Christmas-rose. 
 This made her thoughtful in a totally new 
 groove of thought. 
 
 "It is a pity you are not twenty years 
 younger," she said. 
 
 "Why?" he asked, carefully searching 
 for a soppet in the great silver tankard. 
 
 u You know why," she said, suddenly 
 abashed, and shrugging her shoulders at the 
 irksomeness of the feeling. 
 
 11 You think I should have married you ? ' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That is true. I would, since you would."
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 119 
 
 " Thank you," she said, earnestly. 
 
 There was a pause, broken by his holding 
 up before her the stick to which rheumatism 
 often caused him to resort in winter, and 
 shaking it while his keen eyes peered past it. 
 
 11 See," said he, " this is my insignia of 
 fool-hood. " Don't you know we are two 
 very naughty people to breathe such a word 
 as marriage ? You Siren ! are you going to 
 make this a Calypso isle ? Are you dead to 
 the all-potent social convenances?' Don't 
 you know that it. is only proper for you to 
 be here as my friend, adopted child, grand- 
 child — what you will ; but the moment 
 aught nearer and dearer sprang to the fore, 
 it would be highly improper, until we'd stood 
 at the altar as acknowledged spectacles for 
 the common herd ? Don't make-believe you 
 are in love with me. Some day you'll hit a 
 young fellow, the right man, driving straight 
 as an arrow." 
 
 " It may be pleasant to have a lover,"
 
 120 JULIET. 
 
 said she, reflectively. " I've never thought 
 of such a thing before." 
 
 "Never! Not Brunskill, over yonder, 
 due north ? " 
 
 " Brunskill ? No," she cried, with won- 
 dering eyes. 
 
 " Nor that complacent sapling of a 
 genius ? " 
 
 " Not unless Love can reach the pitch of 
 Hate." 
 
 * It can, sometimes," said he, wagging 
 his head. " Nor any of the curates ? ' 
 
 " They are Sophy's and Carrie's prey." 
 
 " I see — small meat altogether." 
 
 " If you like." 
 
 " Then the madness has still to come, 
 poor wight ! " 
 
 " I choose to think it has come, in spite 
 of the convenances" said she, with fascinating 
 arch perversity. 
 
 " And I choose, perforce, to rule that it 
 hasn't."
 
 OVER THE VERGE. 121 
 
 She laughed. " Am I very improper ? ' 
 " I know not what you are, but I like to 
 think a wholesome old thing — ' To the pure 
 all things are pure. However, not another 
 word of all this, or home you go to-morrow. 
 Now for that Andante in F y and then your 
 beauty-sleep, Calypso." 
 
 It is certain the subject was never re- 
 curred to, for she remained yet two years 
 under his care, which would not have been 
 had he seen danger to her in it. They were 
 two years of healthy study and relaxation, 
 and ripening of that captivating anomaly — 
 Platonic friendship. She was to the world 
 as his daughter, but congenial tastes and 
 sympathies made her more than that. At the 
 two years' end he sent her into Germany 
 for a course of music ; then on into Italy, to 
 study the Venetian and Florentine schools 
 of painting ; and finally joined her for a 
 mutual ecstasy in Rome. But do or leave 
 undone what he would, a yearning melan-
 
 122 JULIET. 
 
 choly of retrospection and anticipation grew 
 on her, becoming her normal condition, 
 smouldering under her most careful gaiety, 
 and making her that attractive Sphinx — a 
 beautiful, sad woman, with eyes 
 
 " The homes of silent prayer," 
 
 and questionings of Fate. 
 
 Afterwards she returned to Marshlands, 
 but succeeded only in perplexing the com- 
 monplace home hearts, and being unable to 
 settle down, satisfied her uneasy hankering 
 after work and Coombe by accepting the 
 post of governess to Mrs. Mompesson's 
 erand-dauofhter at the Hall.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WITH ISABEL. 
 
 When Ormrod's immediate feeling of sym- 
 pathy in Juliet's abandonment of grief wore 
 off, which it did almost as soon as he left her, 
 it was succeeded by one of triumph, that 
 quickly gave place to pique. He had recog- 
 nized the value of her confidence, and counted 
 upon it as ensuring him the advantage of 
 familiar friendship, an advantage in every 
 way gratifying to his conceit, for she was 
 handsome, clever, noticeable and noticed, and 
 for a man to be seen at her side would natur- 
 ally lead to the inquiry, " Who is he ?' He
 
 i2 4 JULIET. 
 
 felt that she would give him prestige. But 
 it seemed that he had counted without his 
 host. She gave no sign of any intention to 
 be seen with him, or indeed of remembering 
 his existence. He was left to brood over 
 what had happened, and to lash himself into 
 impatience for what might happen. Mean- 
 while, the round of engagements which, a few 
 weeks before, possessed the proportions of 
 events, dwindled into the mechanism of mere 
 duties, and life became barren of events 
 because Juliet was invisible. 
 
 " Is Miss Laybourne ill?' he at last 
 asked Isabel. 
 
 " Grandmamma is. She's got one of her 
 nervous attacks. They arise from mental 
 anxiety — suspense, in fact, over Uncle 
 Richard. I don't suppose he'll ever turn 
 up, but she has periodical fits of remorse 
 and anxiety, and the affair has always had a 
 fascination for Miss Laybourne. She can 
 control Gran better either than Sibbert or
 
 WITH ISABEL. 125 
 
 mamma. Then you see she's not a very happy 
 girl — that is to say, she's had a great grief, 
 and she thinks it's meant to educate her. 
 Very morbid, is it not ? I often say the 
 best thing that could happen to her 
 would be to fall desperately in love. But 
 she says love's a misnomer for pain. I 
 saw her to-day. She looks a little worn, 
 but happier than usual. I told her so 
 and she thawed a little ; generally she is as 
 cool as an icicle. She cried, just a tear or 
 two." 
 
 " And she rarely cries ? " 
 
 " Oh, never. She did not cry when her 
 brother died. She is neither cold-hearted 
 nor proud, though." 
 
 " I should think she is nothing that is not 
 good. I never saw any one like her," said 
 Ormrod, in a more fervid tone than he was 
 aware. 
 
 Isabel turned suddenly and looked at him 
 with interest.
 
 126 JULIET. 
 
 " Do you mean to fall in love with her ? ' 
 she asked. 
 
 Ormrod blushed violently, and his brush 
 trembled in his hand — two evidences of feel- 
 ing which were to Isabel convincing, apart 
 from his constrained laugh. 
 
 " Do you consider falling in love is always 
 active, Miss Quin ?" 
 
 " I fancy she would snub you," said Isabel, 
 with her usual frankness. 
 
 " Snub me ! ' he exclaimed, in disgust. 
 
 " Though I never knew her snub any one." 
 
 11 Then, why me ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I don't know. I am only a woman and 
 of unreasonable opinions." 
 
 As she spoke she looked at him scru- 
 tinizingly, half in perplexity, half in disdain. 
 There are some people who, while fully con- 
 scious of being looked at, can appear uncon- 
 scious and undergo the most penetrating 
 observation with a preoccupied air. Orm- 
 rod was one such. He was usine his scumb-
 
 WITH ISABEL. 127 
 
 ling-brush, with his head slightly on one 
 side, and continued to use it while Isabel 
 noted every detail of his physique. She 
 could not but acknowledge that he and 
 Juliet would each be an admirable foil for the 
 other, for he was a handsome, well-made man, 
 of fair complexion, chestnut hair, and bold 
 blue eyes. He was wearing a brown velvet 
 painting jacket, to which a loose arrangement 
 of collar and tie added picturesqueness. 
 But though he might readily have been 
 termed a fine-looking fellow, he did not assi- 
 milate with the position which he was pro- 
 posing for himself. Isabel could not resist 
 advising him. 
 
 " Mr. Ormrod," she said, earnestly, " she 
 has fascinated you as she fascinates every one. 
 Don't give way to it ; you'll cripple yourself 
 for work. She never sees admiration, she 
 passes it by, it does not touch her. They 
 are returning to Coombe very shortly. Don't 
 allow your thoughts to go .with her."'
 
 128 JULIET. 
 
 " Then you think I may not see her again 
 before they go." 
 
 " I don't know. It depends upon herself." 
 
 " On Thursday you are all going to the 
 rose show at the Palace. Will she go ? ' 
 
 " I don't think so. She told me the other 
 day she simply wanted to be back at Coombe. 
 There's Doctor Thorns, you know." 
 
 " Doctor Thorns ? ' he repeated. 
 
 " Oh ! they're only friends, Platonic 
 friends. That's as much as she allows her- 
 self." 
 
 " I should like to see her before she goes," 
 he said, naively. 
 
 11 I am sure you would." 
 
 " I wish you would tell her so, Miss 
 Ouin." He had ceased to paint, and was 
 regarding her anxiously. 
 
 " I will tell her nothing," said Isabel, 
 emphatically. 
 
 11 Oh, very well," said Ormrod, in perfect 
 good temper. But she felt that this appa-
 
 WITH ISABEL. 129 
 
 rent indifference meant anything- but acquies- 
 cence — that, in fact, he was obstinate as well 
 as self-confident, and would evolve some way 
 by which to carry his point. She thought 
 a great deal about this conversation, and 
 endeavoured, on the first opportunity, to lead 
 up to it with Juliet. But she found Juliet 
 perfectly unassailable on the subject of Orm- 
 rod. She was busy at the time painting 
 foxgloves on a brown satin panel ; the flowers 
 had just arrived fresh from the Coombe spin- 
 neys, and she was bent on taking full advan- 
 tage of their freshness, and much the more 
 bent when she found who was in Isabel's 
 mind and on her lips. Isabel could make 
 nothing of her, and was, on the whole, more 
 surprised by her reticence than by Ormrod's 
 confidence. It would have been so natural 
 to discuss him ; apart from interest in his 
 future, there were so many associations con- 
 nected with him at Moorhead, not only on 
 the part of Juliet at the Vicarage, but of her- 
 
 VOL. 1. 9
 
 13° JULIET. 
 
 self at Church House, when in past years 
 her father had made full use of it as a shoot- 
 ing-box. But Juliet waived all these con- 
 siderations, was devoid of her usual trenchant 
 opinions, and would not even look up from her 
 occupation. Isabel began to think the affairs 
 of others mystifying, a climax in her expe- 
 rience which was simplified by the sudden 
 elucidation of her own affairs just at this 
 time. 
 
 In recrossing Kensington Gardens that 
 day she met Mompesson, who turned with 
 her. She did not know that he had been 
 seated on one of the shadiest seats, and had 
 seen her coming from afar, watching her 
 indeed from the moment of recognition with 
 a sudden rush of decided admiration which 
 flooded his heart with a feeling to which, as 
 he rose, he swore to give vent then and 
 there. It was hot, tropically hot, and he 
 commended her prudence for not being in 
 the Park, where the gentlemen were wearing
 
 WITH ISABEL. 131 
 
 white trousers and puggarees, and the ladies 
 were invisible beneath their parasols. She 
 was looking as cool and fresh as though 
 it were a dewy morning at Coombe. Her 
 pale blue gingham with its dainty lace set off 
 her complexion and golden cloud of hair to 
 perfection. And where had she got these 
 fresh sweet peas that looked as though they 
 had just been gathered from the borders in 
 the Coombe kitchen gardens ? Their frag- 
 rance and many-tinted pink were delicious 
 to him, recalling those great walled gardens, 
 whose sunny corners sheltered beds of lilies- 
 of-the-valley and close plantings of rare 
 polyanths ; where a pheasant had once 
 nested, and Bel and Lily and he went every 
 day to peep at her ; and there were flaunting 
 borders of larkspur and columbine, and iris 
 and pinks. Had not the happy trio run 
 riot among them many a time, breaking the 
 tallest spikes, tearing their clothes in the pea- 
 rods, eluding gardeners, nurses and gover-
 
 t 3 2 JULIET. 
 
 ness, until at last they could run no more ? 
 Those happy hours ! Coombe, with its 
 stately house and park and woods, were all 
 inseparably associated with this bright and 
 dainty Isabel. The hour was come when 
 she must be ensured, not only for the past 
 but for the future. He told her so, suddenly 
 and without finesse. The shock of unmiti- 
 gated happiness was almost more than she 
 could calmly bear, and he saw this and took 
 her to a seat where she could rest and recover 
 herself. In the end, this most natural of 
 conclusions had come suddenly upon both. 
 When she saw him coming towards her 
 across the turf, she had no anticipation of the 
 event lying in the nutshell of the next few- 
 moments, and he would have been astounded 
 an hour before had he been told that she 
 would, at the end of that time, be his pre- 
 mised wife. She was realizing now, when 
 all possibility of suspense was removed, how 
 great that suspense would have been ; and he
 
 WITH ISABEL. 133 
 
 was thinking that only one other event than 
 this could have proved to him how dear she 
 was, how very dear — her preference for some 
 one else. 
 
 " Thank God ! ' he exclaimed, fervently, 
 "it's settled. What a fool I've been to hesi- 
 tate. I might have known you would have 
 me. 
 
 " You know now," she said, happily. 
 
 " And you don't dread the risk, Bel ? I 
 have Coombe now, and may have ; but sup- 
 posing Uncle Richard, or — supposing " 
 
 " I dread no risk," she said ; u you and I 
 shall always have each other." 
 
 "In any case I shall not be penniless — " 
 
 ''And we could go abroad to retrench." 
 
 "Certainly. But I hope we shall live 
 and die at Coombe. You suit Coombe ; your 
 style suits it. You forgive my aberration 
 over Miss Laybourne ? " he added, with a 
 
 laugh. 
 
 11 It was not aberration. You may
 
 '34 
 
 JULIET. 
 
 admire her yet," said Isabel. How far, how 
 very far away, and how absurdly impossible, 
 did the old qualms over Mompesson's love 
 now seem ! 

 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 
 
 The day of the Palace Rose Show ap- 
 proached, and Ormrod had not seen Juliet, 
 although he had missed no opportunity for 
 endeavouring to do so. It had occurred to 
 him that she was purposely avoiding him. 
 His mood was precisely what Isabel 
 had foreseen. He waived her advice and 
 undauntedly pursued his own course, writing 
 to Juliet when he became convinced that he 
 would not meet her. In his letter he begged 
 her to go the Palace, urging his comparative 
 loneliness and his desire to see again one 
 whom he could not but regard as an old
 
 136 JULIET. 
 
 friend, whose continued friendship he would 
 value more than he could express. It was a 
 short letter but a clever one, inasmuch as 
 each word had been chosen for more than its 
 own value, and was pregnant with meaning 
 deeper than appeared on the surface. 
 
 He posted it himself, but received no 
 answer. On the day of the show they drove 
 out to the Palace, having arranged to meet 
 the Mompessons at the fountain in the nave. 
 Mompesson, however, met them as the car- 
 riage stopped. He was alone, and evidently 
 had not a thought in his mind but of Isabel. 
 Ormrod felt himself in the position of an 
 outsider ; she had always been kind and 
 thoughtful to him, relieving him of all feel- 
 ing of isolation without appearing to consider 
 him isolated, and now Mompesson was walk- 
 ing her off with a grand air of possession. 
 Ormrod looked after them discontentedly. He 
 had heard that Lily was not there, but no 
 one had asked about Juliet ; and since it was
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 137 
 
 certain that she would not have come alone 
 with Mompesson, nothing was left to him 
 but the aoro-ravation of baulked desire. He 
 was turning to saunter off alone and nurse 
 his disappointment, when Isabel looked back 
 and beckoned of him, even coming to meet 
 him. 
 1 " She is here," she said. 
 
 -Alone?" 
 
 " With Doctor Thorns. But his rheu- 
 matism is bad just now, and he can't walk 
 far. You have only to find her." 
 
 " Only to find her ! ' Hopeful words, with 
 asp-like meaning ! He went into the Palace, 
 eagerly scanning the crowd. It was like a 
 scene in fairy-land, this great crystal dome, 
 with the forest trees beneath it, whose green 
 was fresh and unsmirched by dust, the masses 
 of tropical plants, the big, cool circle of the 
 fountain, with the dripping of its water 
 mingling - with the music of the band outside, 
 the babble of voices, and chatter of parrots
 
 138 JULIET. 
 
 swinging from bough to bough. The vast aisles 
 were filled with a shifting, surging crowd, 
 vying in colour with the dazzling hues of 
 roses, over which seemed to be rlung a veil 
 of transparent foliage ; and he looked at it 
 with a sinking heart. To search for any one 
 was as likely to be successful as an expedi- 
 tion into the jungle for a mouse. He had 
 no idea what she was wearing, and there 
 seemed an unusual proportion of tall figures. 
 He squeezed his way down the rows of roses, 
 but found their fragrance overpowering and 
 their luxuriance vulgar. Then he went up 
 into the galleries, which were apparently 
 deserted. Some one was playing upon the 
 great organ, and the harmony rolled from 
 end to end of the vast building above the 
 kaleidoscopic scene below. He sauntered 
 along, looking down upon it all in philosophic 
 contemplation of its bizarre vanity. The 
 fragrant, sultry air was full of sound, but 
 nothing was distinguishable. It was oddly
 
 SEL F CONFEST. 1 3 9 
 
 chaotic, a Rimmel-scented, violet-powdered, 
 Rachel-cosmeticked pandemonium of extra- 
 vagantly-dressed men and women, bent upon 
 deluding themselves and others into the im- 
 pression that they were happy, and succeed- 
 ing only in 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Ormrod is with the Ouins at 
 last." 
 
 That was Juliet's voice. He stopped 
 instantly. He had come to a corner beyond 
 which the gallery opened into a spacious 
 square ; she must be sitting just round the 
 corner. He stood glued to the spot, 
 without a thought either of advancing or 
 retreating. 
 
 " He is very handsome," Juliet went on, 
 in the low clear voice he had longed to hear 
 again. " I am surprised with him. He does 
 his education credit. I should like you to 
 see him." 
 
 " Don't they march him out, then ? Bad 
 speculation for him — simply to inhabit the
 
 140 JULIET. 
 
 studio,'' said Doctor Thorns, with jerky in- 
 cisiveness. 
 
 " He does come out ; he is here to-day, 
 but I have not seen him, and do not wish 
 to." 
 
 " Why not, in the name of all that's holy ? ' 
 
 " I used to hate him very much, you 
 know." 
 
 " But you've outgrown such vulgarities. 
 Is he fascinating ?' 
 
 "He has tact," and she seemed to speak 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " The young dog ! I feel more- jealous of 
 his tact than his good looks. Handsome, 
 clever, and tactful — not bad, eh, Calypso ? 
 One of those cases in which Nature is kind, 
 and one doubts the blindness of Dame For- 
 tune. He has a career before him." 
 
 "A fine career!" Juliet exclaimed, with 
 enthusiasm ; and Ormrod would have given 
 much to see her at that moment. "It is a 
 finer career than Mr. Quin's/' she went on ;
 
 SELF- CONFEST. 1 4 1 
 
 " he has all to win, all to make, and it is in 
 him to succeed. Genius commands success 
 now-a-days. Mr. Quin means to take him to 
 Italy; but he must be original in his subjects." 
 
 " Give him some of your verses to work 
 from — Cyoeraeth, By the Sea-ho, Ballad of 
 the Yore ; all good for personification." 
 
 " And there is another thing," she said, 
 slowly ; " he must marry well." 
 
 '* Cela va sans dire. But compare well. 
 Is its superlative a fortune or intellect ? ' 
 
 There was a pause. Evidently she was 
 deeply thinking. Then came a short sardonic 
 laugh, a Mephistophelian chuckle, from the 
 doctor, and she seemed to start, speaking 
 hastily — 
 
 " I hav'n't quite decided ; I " 
 
 "Ha, ha!" he interposed; "-I've a mind 
 to keep in your good graces, so I vote for 
 intellect and good looks. So do you in your 
 heart. Out with it ! Pish posh ! no red 
 hair and money bags, stumpy figure and
 
 M2 JULIET. 
 
 grimacing mouth, if a man wants to trade on 
 his wife. What's such a woman in Society ? 
 A cypher. But imagine genius and intellect 
 wedded. Come, Calypso, be honest ; acknow- 
 ledge that you award the palm to intellect." 
 
 " I always do," she said ; and Ormrod 
 could fancy how his keen, shrewd eyes were 
 gleaming upon and baiting her. 
 
 " ' Will you walk into my parlour ? ' said 
 the spider to " 
 
 " Doctor ! " said Juliet, sharply, with a half 
 laugh, and then there was a movement, a 
 sweep of soft skirts, a loud and sarcastic 
 " Ahem ! " and the tap of a stick. Ormrod 
 knew they were getting up, but he stood as 
 if paralyzed. It was impossible to assume 
 an air of unself-consciousness, and saunter 
 up to them naturally in the ordinary course 
 of things; and neither did it seem at the 
 moment that he could get away before they 
 should see him. But he must get away if he 
 meant her to be unsuspicious, and to speak
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 143 
 
 to him again as a friend. With a superhuman 
 effort he broke the spell that seemed to bind 
 him, and ran softly along the gallery, until he 
 reached a recess, into which he plunged. 
 There he had time for thought, and deter- 
 mined, at all risks, not to lose sight of them 
 again ; so he returned to the stairs near which 
 he had stood, and peering down perceived 
 that they were just reaching the bottom. It 
 was easy to follow them into and through the 
 crowd, and so out on to the terrace. 
 
 They did not walk far, and as soon as 
 they sat down he went up to them. 
 
 Juliet was leaning back fanning herself, 
 and looking dreamily across to the fountains 
 flashing in the sun ; Doctor Thorns sat with 
 his hands crossed upon his stick, his eyes 
 travelling unblinkingly over earth and heaven, 
 except when from time to time he turned and 
 fixed them upon her as though, for once, she 
 puzzled him, and he were trying to solve the 
 conundrum. Just as Ormrod came up, she
 
 144 JULIET. 
 
 had met this penetrating look with a provok- 
 ing arch laugh. It seemed that she laughed 
 readily with him, and the contrast was ex- 
 asperating when, on hearing Ormrod's voice, 
 she turned quickly with a glance of cold 
 surprise. 
 
 But it did not abash him. He was per- 
 fectly cool and collected. 
 
 " I am so very glad to see you," he said. 
 
 " I am here because Doctor Thorns came 
 over from Coombe on purpose to see the 
 roses," she replied, with a touch of defiance. 
 
 " Roses are a hobby of mine," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Then you will have viewed these with 
 the understanding of the wise," rejoined 
 Ormrod. " I prefer this view — the hazy dis- 
 tance against this flashing water and ^av 
 crowd. The gardens are pretty. There are 
 some monsters somewhere, are there not ? ' 
 
 " Down by the tanks. I have never seen 
 them," said Juliet.
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 145 
 
 " Perhaps we can go down presently," he 
 observed. 
 
 He had taken a chair on the far side of 
 Doctor Thorns, and was looking across him 
 at her ; but she avoided his eyes. He was, 
 however, a quick observer on occasions of 
 this kind, and felt rather than saw that she 
 was nervous, a condition for which there was 
 every excuse, with the doctor listening to and 
 observing all. Ormrod was not nervous. On 
 the contrary, he was beginning to feel himself 
 master of the situation, and confident of 
 managing her. 
 
 " Yes, go and see them, by all means," 
 said the doctor. " They are not fascinating 
 creatures ; but then nothing was fascinating 
 in their day, probably not even the serpent. 
 Don't neglect your education, Calypso ; it 
 runs into unexpected grooves sometimes — 
 narrow ones, too." 
 
 Ormrod knew that this was a hit at him ; 
 but he did not care, for Juliet had risen with- 
 
 VOL. I. IO
 
 146 JULIET. 
 
 out the slightest perceptible hesitation, and 
 stood ready to walk with him. For once he 
 was incredulous of his luck. Were thev 
 really going alone? It seemed that they 
 were, for the doctor sat still, and Juliet was 
 opening her parasol. Ormrod felt as though 
 he trod on air as they slowly passed along the 
 terrace and down the broad steps to the 
 grass. 
 
 " It is my innings now," he said. "It was 
 awfully trying to my temper when Mompes- 
 •son walked off ' instanter with Miss Ouin. Of 
 course, I knew he had a perfect right to her, 
 but there was not a soul about whom I knew, 
 and there was nothing I cared to do." 
 
 " How have you spent your time, then ? 
 The roses were lovely." 
 
 " Certainly ; but one knew they would be, 
 and I like to be surprised. I have spent my 
 time in looking for you." 
 
 11 Then I hope you were surprised when 
 you found me."
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 147 
 
 11 That pleasure didn't need any theatrical 
 accessory," he said ; " and I knew you were 
 here, and only wanted looking for." 
 
 Juliet did not answer. She felt, as he 
 did, that this was only light skirmishing to 
 tnve them time for arranging their forces for 
 the attack. She had not left the crowd and 
 come down here to be quiet for the sake of 
 frittering her time in hackneyed remarks, 
 whose aroma of compliment was detestable 
 to her. On the contrary, she had nerved 
 herself to say a great deal, and to say it, too, 
 forcibly and significantly. The exceptional 
 opportunity, and a cowardly desire to get 
 him away from the scrutiny of Doctor Thorns, 
 had actuated her to respond calmly to his 
 wish, and she really felt that otherwise she 
 was unbiassed and free from individual plea- 
 sure in being quietly alone with him. But 
 the very fact of her impressing this upon her- 
 self proved that she had feared, or expected, 
 an intenser feeling, and that, had not this
 
 148 JULIET. 
 
 opportunity arisen, she might have been dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 It was Ormrod who broke first on to the 
 debateable ground by asking if she had re- 
 ceived his note. 
 
 " Yes," said Juliet. 
 
 " And you would not have come here but 
 for Doctor Thorns ? ' 
 " No." 
 
 She spoke firmly and dispassionately, and 
 he was nonplussed. 
 
 " You must have had some good reason, 
 for I should not like to think you either fickle 
 or inconsistent," he said. 
 
 11 I had the best of reasons. I meant to 
 act as seemed best, both for you and me," she 
 said, in a low tone. 
 
 " And perhaps for me more particularly ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 She glanced at him as though impelled by 
 some irresistible attraction. It was a glance, 
 half passionate, half imploring, and made him
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 149 
 
 feel that heaven hung upon her answer. But 
 she did not answer. They had come to a 
 shady corner, with a seat, and she drew to- 
 wards it, proposing that they should sit down, 
 more for the sake of saying something trivial 
 and inconsequent, and sounding her own 
 voice, than because she wished to sit down, 
 for no sooner had they done so than she re- 
 gretted the motionless proximity, and longed 
 to get up again and walk away. However, 
 she might not have done so had she known 
 that she must. 
 
 Ormrod was leaning forward, poking the 
 gravel with his stick, and carefully intent 
 upon the number of prods it took to make a 
 respectable hole. He had looked at her once 
 or twice, but her face was turned away. 
 Never in his life had he wished to say so 
 much, and been so utterly at a loss how to 
 say it. 
 
 " You speak as though there were danger 
 to us in friendship," he said, at last ; " but
 
 i5o JULIET. 
 
 surely I might run a risk without involving 
 you in it. And there is much in which 
 your influence might be of immense service 
 to me." 
 
 " But it has not struck me as necessary 
 that I should exert any influence for your 
 benefit," she said, smiling slightly. 
 
 " If you could be interested, I should be 
 grateful." 
 
 " I am interested," she replied, with 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Miss Quin said you would snub 
 me. 
 
 " I don't wish to snub you I should 
 despise a man whom I thought fit to snub, 
 and I don't wish to despise you." 
 
 " I sincerely hope you will do the reverse," 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 "I daresay I shall, justly," she said, and 
 then she was silent, wondering at her 
 irksome difficulty in speaking. The whole 
 conversation seemed to go on stilts. He
 
 SELF- CONFEST. 1 5 1 
 
 had expressed himself frankly; but she 
 dare not be frank, lest she should be free, 
 and lapse into animated, fascinating remi- 
 niscence and anticipation. There was a 
 great deal she should like to say, but it did 
 not seem safe. She was equally afraid ot 
 him and of herself. 
 
 Miss Laybourne," said Ormrod, sud- 
 denly; "have you taken a vow of celi- 
 bacy ? " 
 
 " No," she said, turning and meeting 
 his eyes with a large startled wonder in 
 her own. 
 
 " And why do you shrink from admi- 
 ration ? " 
 
 "I do not," she said; " no, I enjoy 
 it. I should be a canting hypocrite if 
 1 did not. It is pleasant to give plea- 
 sure, and I know I have the power in 
 many ways. It is a gift, and commands 
 admiration." 
 
 14 Probably if any one could honestly con-
 
 152 JULIET. > 
 
 fess that they saw nothing to admire about 
 you, you would have an impression that 
 they were rather dense and uncompre- 
 hending." 
 
 " There is a little stupidity in the world," 
 she said archly. 
 
 But though he was observing her care- 
 fully, he felt that that archness was scarcely 
 spontaneous — in her voice certainly, but 
 carrying no illumination to her pale and 
 serious face. As yet she did not respond 
 to him. 
 
 " Do you wish to consider me stupid ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 "Oh no! Why? How could I?" she 
 said, turning again toward him. But as yet 
 she had not caught the drift of this exami- 
 nation. 
 
 " You only wish me to accept myself as 
 such ? " he pursued. 
 
 " No; that would be absurd." 
 
 "Then how is it? You don't wish me to
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 153 
 
 acknowledge, even to myself, how very much 
 I admire you, still less to allow the slightest 
 hint to convey itself to you, and yet you 
 credit me with sense and feeling." 
 
 " Scarcely with taste, however," she said ; 
 and for a moment he thought she was des- 
 perately offended ; but then she added in a 
 voice that struggled to be calm, and suc- 
 ceeded only in being tremulous, "You should 
 not say such things. They are an offence to 
 good-breeding, a solecism. Je vons admire 
 must be suggested, not expressed." 
 
 " I will never again fall into the error," he 
 said, bowing. 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Simply because there will never be oc- 
 casion. I have expressed frankly a feeling 
 which will never have to give way to 
 another." 
 
 " Oh ! You do not know yet," Juliet ex- 
 claimed vehemently, and her low, passionate 
 voice thrilled him. She had turned pale too,
 
 i 5 4 JULIET. 
 
 a sign of feeling which he well remembered ; 
 and then there rushed over her face a tide of 
 warm colour that intensified the limpid bril- 
 liancy of her eyes, and, self-confest, she 
 looked at him with pathetic, deprecatory 
 reproach that was delicious and yet intoler- 
 able to herself. 
 
 Involuntarily, Ormrod rose and stood be- 
 fore her. A suspicion of the truth had flashed 
 upon him, carrying him back to half- forgotten 
 episodes of boyhood with startling vividness, 
 and clothing them in a light bewildering in its 
 unexpectedness. For a moment he felt 
 delirious, and that he must act upon the 
 feeling ; but Juliet looked up, meeting his 
 awakened questioning gaze, and, conscious of 
 her own wavering to weakness, took instant 
 alarm, and rose too, exercising a strong self- 
 control that staggered j 1 j m ulto emulation in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 "You are talking nonsense/ 1 she said, 
 coldly. "What do you know of the world?
 
 SELFCONFEST. 155 
 
 You have met no one. You should act in 
 nothing without experience, and that can only 
 be gained by time. When you have travelled 
 and been in intercourse with others vou will 
 feel this." 
 
 He did not speak. He was pale with the 
 effort at self-repression and the shock of being 
 thrown back upon himself. But he looked 
 denial, and her colour rose again as she 
 walked on, conscious of his new knowledge, 
 but battling against the longing to challenge 
 it. Her mind was in a tumult. Her reso- 
 lutions had faded into air, her intentions 
 proved themselves chimeric, and yet she was 
 elated, exultant, bewilderingly happy in a 
 resentful, combative style peculiarly her own. 
 She knew now how much she had cared for 
 him years ago, and from what conflicting 
 feeling love was gaining the mastery over 
 hate ; but it was her wish not again to chal- 
 lenge grief and disappointment, to be acted 
 upon rather than to act, being possessed by
 
 156 JULIET. 
 
 her idea of the safety and wisdom of those 
 who take life dispassionately. Thus she 
 struggled against this new satisfaction, 
 though conscious that her scruples were 
 theoretic, since human beings cannot be 
 statues, and suspicious that feeling was 
 not vanquished, and still held depths 
 that might prove themselves beyond her 
 control. 
 
 This excitement told upon her, making 
 her flushed and brilliant ; and as they walked 
 back, meeting many whom she knew, not a 
 few remarks were passed upon her. and, 
 necessarily too, upon her companion. Both 
 felt this observation, and she kindled under 
 it, talking on safe social topics, unconscious 
 of the fascination low tones acquire when 
 earnest over trivialities. And Ormrod 
 walked by her side, spinning loose pebbles 
 with his cane and listening to all she said, 
 incredulous of the confession on which they 
 had verged a few minutes before, except
 
 SELF-CONFEST. 
 
 i57 
 
 when he glanced at her, and realized how 
 different was this face, with its glowing eyes 
 consciously avoiding his, to that of tranquil 
 coldness that had fronted him on the terrace 
 an hour before.
 
 
 -_5^i 
 
 JSrj 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ADVANCE. 
 
 Ormrod was wrong in the supposition that 
 Juliet had purposely avoided him. She had 
 simply been careful not ro throw herself in 
 his way. She knew they must constantly 
 meet, for there was now little prospect of his 
 leaving England before the new vear, and he 
 was fully identified with the Quins and their 
 movements. But although she longed to 
 meet him, she had been shy of doing so. 
 Once or twice she had wnc where she ex- 
 pected he would be, but they missed each 
 other, and her temperament was exactly 
 opposed to his, in that the oftener she missed
 
 ADVANCE. 158 
 
 him the better she was able to satisfy her 
 disappointment by reflecting that they were 
 evidently not intended to meet. This feel- 
 ing was in no way abated when she received 
 his letter, and there seemed little chance of 
 her seeing- him again before thev returned to 
 Coombe. Nor did his letter affect her. She 
 had declared to Isabel that she should not go 
 to the rose show, and her resolution did not 
 swerve. When the prospect of seeing him 
 became imminent, she found that she both 
 longed and dreaded to see him, for she was 
 not by any means certain that she should be 
 able to maintain her self-possessed composure, 
 and not betray feeling, however slightly. She 
 was not ashamed of her tears, and the relief 
 had been far too great for her to resent her 
 own emotion ; but the more she thought of 
 them, the more it seemed that they had 
 formed a bond between Ormrod and herself 
 such as she had never made with any other 
 man. If he, too, had felt this, then he must
 
 160 JULIET. 
 
 know that he possessed an influence over her. 
 So long as she was in doubt on this point, she 
 thought herself safest away from him. His 
 letter set this doubt at rest. It became evi- 
 dent not only that he had felt it, but that he 
 wished to ratify it and push it to its utmost 
 limits, But she would not answer that letter, 
 or place herself in communication with him. 
 She neither wished to be hurried nor to hurry 
 him. Ratification mi^ht or micrht not ensue. 
 It was written in the book of fate, and what 
 was written w T ould arrive. Involuntarily, 
 her attitude became that of expectation. 
 
 She was surprised when Doctor Thorns 
 unexpectedly arrived. She knew, the mo- 
 ment she saw him, that he must have come 
 to see the rose show, and that he would per- 
 suade her to go with him. The hour had 
 brought the man, and both were to play 
 upon her. She decided before he asked her 
 that she would go with him, and if she met 
 Ormrod would accept it as a sign that it was
 
 ADVANCE. 161 
 
 decreed they should meet and that their 
 friendship should advance. She felt that 
 they must meet with self-consciousness, and 
 that, as a step to more than friendship, no 
 emotion was so eloquent and betraying as 
 that of self-consciousness. Doctor Thorns 
 was, however, useful to her in more than the 
 direct way ; he gave her confidence in her own 
 powers of composure. 
 
 Afterwards, when it was all over, and she 
 sat late into the night thinking, she was 
 obliged to own that her composure had, 
 however, signally failed her. She had begun 
 well, but Ormrod's line of argument had 
 been too strong for her, and she had be- 
 trayed trepidation before she realized that 
 she was feeling it. She wondered greatly at 
 the ebb that succeeded with such insistency 
 the flow of the tide of her feelings, and be- 
 came again passive as she groped for its 
 significance. In the succeeding days, she 
 met Ormrod casually in many places, and 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 JULIET. 
 
 under a variety of circumstances, but none 
 afforded an opportunity for conversation of 
 a private nature. The probability of meet- 
 ing, however, filled their minds with constant 
 speculation, and fired an interest which might 
 otherwise have smouldered. 
 
 Doctor Thorns was still in town. He 
 had intended to return home the day after 
 the rose show, but sent, instead, for a port- 
 manteau of clothes, and remained. He had 
 been quick to take alarm for Juliet, and — for 
 himself. The perception that another was 
 in the field roused him to the knowledge 
 that he was already there, and determined 
 him not to yield an inch of his ground. But 
 he could not yet seriously believe that Orm- 
 rod was a rival whom he must fear. He 
 dubbed him an " audacious young dog," 
 whom she had fascinated, but whose in- 
 fluence over her could only be that to which 
 every woman must temporarily yield when 
 she becomes an object of adoration to a
 
 ADVANCE. 163 
 
 member of the opposite sex. That this in- 
 fluence could be lasting, he would not 
 acknowledge to himself; yet he acted as 
 though he did acknowledge it, and, before 
 the end of his visit, was constrained to face 
 it as a fact. But it was a fact that seemed 
 to him sacrilegious, and he swore that its 
 fulfilment must not befall. He was a keen 
 observer of character, and had in those days 
 abundant opportunity for observing Ormrod. 
 Apart from his own pretensions, he saw that 
 Ormrod would make her no worthy husband. 
 He was shifty, not to be depended upon, 
 meretricious. It was preposterous that she 
 should think of throwing herself away upon 
 such a fellow. He was not, in this view of 
 the case, actuated by jealousy ; neither did 
 he care that Ormrod was the son of a car- 
 penter, knowing well that in these days it 
 does not signify what a man has been, com- 
 pared with what he is ; but the hitch lay 
 precisely in the contemptuous designation of
 
 1 64 JULIET. 
 
 him as a fellow. He would not call a good 
 man a fellow ; she must marry a good man 
 who would do her justice, and about whose 
 morals she would never suffer a misgiving. 
 He was not by any means sure of Ormrod's 
 morals, or that he possessed other than an 
 apology for principles ; and this justified him 
 in laying plans totally opposed to those 
 Ormrod was laying. 
 
 At this time, Ormrod was laying plans 
 with a resolution and clearness of aim which 
 were utterly novel to him, but not dispro- 
 portionate to the value of the object before 
 him. He had been, in the first place, fasci- 
 nated by Juliet, then flattered, piqued, per- 
 plexed, and again satisfied. But when he 
 attained this satisfaction, it was at the cost 
 of contentment. She might be kind and 
 gracious ; but those counted as nothing, so 
 long as she was not more. He must win 
 the utmost man can win from woman, or it 
 seemed to him that life would not be worth
 
 ADVANCE. 165 
 
 living, and his own existence intolerable. 
 He had almost forgotten Molly. The fact 
 that he was supposed, at Moorhead, to be 
 devoted to her as a lover, now seemed so 
 preposterous, that he laughed, pooh-poohed, 
 and overlooked the necessity for disabusing 
 her mind of the idea, as his had already been 
 disabused of it. His whole soul was bent 
 upon winning Juliet. He found himself in 
 love with her. She seemed to him a peerless 
 woman. 
 
 When, at last, Mrs. Mompesson was 
 declared by her physician fit to travel, he 
 determined that he must make his venture 
 with Juliet. He could not allow her to leave 
 with the momentous question still in abey- 
 ance. He knew that she had already, with 
 tact and decision, escaped from many oppor- 
 tunities that had been favourable, or might 
 easily have been made so, for approaching a 
 delicate subject ; and he would have liked 
 to know how far she regretted this elusion.
 
 1 66 JULIET. 
 
 There was no surer index of his sincerity 
 and single-mindedness at this crisis than the 
 fact that he was troubled for the first time 
 in his life by diffidence. He could not feel 
 certain of success, and the uncertainty dis- 
 tracted and harassed him. 
 
 It was arranged that, on the night before 
 the Mompessons were to return to Coombe, 
 they should dine with Mr. and Mrs. Quin. 
 When Ormrod heard of this, he resolved 
 that he would then seize or make his oppor- 
 tunity. Probably Juliet was conscious of 
 this determination ; but she was not conscious 
 how she would be biassed. Doctor Thorns 
 had contrived to exert an influence over her 
 without obtruding himself, and she was 
 doubtful of herself, and not unvaryingly en- 
 couraging to Ormrod. She, however, dressed 
 that night with more care and thought than 
 she had ever expended upon her toilette 
 before ; and when she entered Mrs. Ouin's 
 drawing-room, she felt that the result was
 
 ADVANCE. 167 
 
 happy. Though she might not care for 
 admiration, she would have missed it had it 
 not existed. Ormrod had not the bliss of 
 taking her down to dinner. She was appor- 
 tioned to Sir Marmaduke Tatton, to his 
 unbounded satisfaction ; and Doctor Thorns 
 sat opposite to her. Isabel had arranged 
 this. She was not so absorbed in her own 
 prospects as to ignore those of others, and 
 having by this time gained a tolerably clear 
 perception of the currents that encompassed 
 Juliet, could not resist endeavouring to in- 
 fluence them according to her own notion of 
 the fitness of things. These notions took 
 an aggravating form, now and then, from 
 her wish not to place Juliet on a par with 
 Ormrod. When he found himself placed at 
 table to-night, below the salt, as it were, his 
 determination became the firmer. There 
 are minds which rebound like elastic from 
 adverse pressure, and gain impetus to tend 
 in an opposite direction than that intended.
 
 168 JULIET. 
 
 After dinner he sat a few minutes only 
 over his wine, and returning to the drawing- 
 room, made his way at once to Juliet. She was 
 standing near the piano, looking through some 
 music, and turned when she heard his voice. 
 
 " I want to show you my last effort," he 
 said. " Will you come with me to the studio 
 for a few moments ? ' 
 
 His voice was low, and he was uncon- 
 cealedly nervous. Under such circumstances 
 in her lover, a woman either loses or acquires 
 self-control. Juliet acquired it, but yet ac- 
 ceded so gracefully that he gained encourage- 
 ment, as she wished him to do. They went 
 out so quietly as to be unobserved, and found 
 the studio empty, but illuminated. Juliet 
 took an envelope from her pocket, and placed 
 it in his hand. 
 
 "It is my poem of Cyoeraeth" she said. 
 " Read it, as you wished to do, and tell me 
 if you find it what you want for the idea of 
 which you told me."
 
 ADVANCE. 169 
 
 He did not answer, but drew towards her 
 a chair, whose cushions and opossum skin he 
 arranged before begging her to sit down. They 
 seemed to have forgotten the picture on his 
 easel. When she was seated, and he had 
 brought her a footstool, he opened the enve- 
 lope. 
 
 " At this moment I have scarcely patience 
 to read it," he said. 
 
 " I will repeat it to you," she said ; and 
 without hesitation she began to do so. 
 
 " She girt herself in her robes of grey, 
 She girt them close around, 
 As they trailed with a tremulous, beating sway 
 
 Alow on the misty ground ; 
 The cold damp lay on her wind-blown hair, 
 
 Wild hair as black as the night, 
 While her face was fair, her feet were bare, 
 And her raiment misty-white. 
 
 ' Maiden, who are you ? ' cried I, 
 As she softly passed me by. 
 Mournfully came her reply — 
 ' I am Cyoeraeth ! ' 
 (Ah ! the poison of her breath !)
 
 r 7 o JULIET. 
 
 " The cold damp lay 'neath her darkened eyes, 
 The drops fell from her brow, 
 Like answering tears to the echoing sighs 
 
 Of her sad voice, strained and low. 
 It lay like shadows on her hair — 
 Wind-toss'd, and black as night, 
 While her face was fair, her feet were bare, 
 And her raiment was misty-white. 
 
 ' Maiden, why come you ? ' cried I, 
 As she softly passed me by. 
 Mournfully came her reply — 
 ' I come a little while with Death ! 
 He calls me his queen — Cyoeraeth ! ' 
 (Ah ! the poison of her breath ! ) " * 
 
 As she finished, Ormrod involuntarily 
 
 sighed. 
 
 " You make me shudder," he said. 
 
 Juliet smiled, somewhat uncertainly. She 
 had thrown all her dramatic power into the 
 recitation, and her eyes had gazed through- 
 out into vacancy with a mournfulness from 
 which he recoiled. The exertion had ex- 
 hausted her, coming, as it did, close upon 
 personal feeling, and she sat silent. 
 
 * K. C, author of "Songs of Many Days."
 
 ADVANCE. 171 
 
 " Who was she ? " he asked. 
 
 " The Welsh goddess of mists and mala- 
 ria vapours." 
 
 " I wish you would not look as though 
 you had seen her," Ormrod said, " unless you 
 will sit for her. Your face is haunting. I 
 shall never get a better model for the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 He was leaning against an easel, looking 
 down at her, and she looked up involuntarily, 
 thrilled by something inexpressibly fervent 
 and significant in his voice. But scarcely for 
 a moment did she dare to meet that glance 
 that made her pale, and sent a strange, wild 
 light over her face, a will-o'-the-wisp light of 
 love that flickered fitfully, and then left her 
 quiet and unresponsive once more, strong in 
 her own strength, with conscious power still 
 at her command. 
 
 He came down and stood before her with 
 folded arms. 
 
 u You tantalize me," he said.
 
 172 JULIET. 
 
 " I cannot help it," she answered, scarcely 
 above a whisper. " You must give me time/' 
 
 " I will give you anything you wish. You 
 know for what I wish." 
 
 " I only wish for that at present." 
 
 "It is very little/' he said, " apparently. 
 So little, that I should scarcely be satisfied, 
 but that it seems to me pregnant of much in 
 the future. It is easy to wait when one has 
 faith." 
 
 "It is faith that I lack," she said, with 
 wistful tremulousness. 
 
 M In me ? Try to acquire it, will you ? 
 I will give you until Christmas, when we 
 shall probably meet at Coombe," he said, 
 softly. 
 
 " I will try," she said. 
 
 And he bent down, raising her hand to 
 his lips, and kissing it in a way that made 
 her heart beat madly, and compelled her to 
 sit still a moment to recover her senses.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MISGIVINGS. 
 
 And this was all that passed. It seemed so 
 little, so short, that afterwards Juliet could 
 scarcely believe all of which it had been 
 significant. Ormrod did not dare to urge her 
 further, nor did she feel that she could have 
 borne him to do so. Rut in their minds 
 everything of which they had long been con- 
 scious as importunate was settled, and both 
 knew that it was so, and that a full and 
 mutual declaration was only a matter for 
 time. Meanwhile, Juliet, at least, felt that 
 there was a halo thrown around her life, 
 deliciously vague and intangible, but through
 
 174 JULIET. 
 
 which she could at any moment stretch forth 
 her hand to meet his. 
 
 They sat in the studio a little longer, then 
 returned to the drawinpf-room, where the 
 gentlemen now were. Isabel, sitting on a 
 distant couch with Mompesson, saw them 
 enter, and sprang up at once to ask her to 
 sing. 
 
 " Have you been enjoying yourself? " she 
 said, as they went together to the piano. 
 " You have a tell-tale face, after all, dear ; do 
 you know ? " 
 
 "I try to know," said Juliet; " but 
 I find it the most difficult thing in the 
 world." 
 
 " So bad already ! " cried Bel. " Yet what 
 a fascination in linking the old with the new. 
 He was sure to fall in love with you ! v she 
 exclaimed, softly, with an arch glance over 
 her shoulder, as she struck the first notes of 
 Virginia Gabriel's " When Sparrows Build ; ' 
 and Juliet, inspired more than she knew by
 
 MISGIVINGS. 175 
 
 this assurance, turned to the room, and sang 
 as she had never sung before. 
 
 Doctor Thorns came up to her after- 
 wards, breaking the silence that fell upon 
 her listeners after the last lingering 
 chords. 
 
 " That will do," he said, in his dogmatic 
 fashion. "Shut the piano, and don't let us 
 treat it as a pearl among swine by wanting 
 another. " Now," he. added, placing a chair 
 for her, "how much have you discovered of 
 Narcissus's previous proceedings ; how many 
 Deorna lasses has he in that folio of his ? how 
 many hearts has he broken already ? " 
 
 " We were not talkine of — 
 
 >> 
 
 " Oh, no," interrupted this peremptory 
 man, who was in one of his most aggressive 
 moods, "not talking, but looking things un- 
 utterable. That is the way. Well, now, 
 you may be a fool, but I am not, and I don't 
 mean you to marry a knave ! Control your- 
 self, and let us be sensible. You shall have
 
 176 JULIET. 
 
 another talk with him, and my cool judgment 
 shall set you straight." 
 
 As he spoke he got up and walked 
 across to Ormrod, who was looking at some 
 American woodcuts with Lily. 
 
 " Come and join Miss Laybourne and 
 me," he said, bluntly, and Ormrod rose, flash- 
 ing a grateful look to Juliet, under the im- 
 pression that she had sent for him. In 
 another moment the three formed a group 
 apart from every one else, and the doctor 
 opened a fire, which Juliet was far indeed 
 from suspecting, under cover of Mrs. Ouin's 
 quill-scratching on one side, and on the other 
 Isabel's audacious compliance with Mompes- 
 son's request for some ballads. 
 
 The doctor felt that the moment for 
 action had arrived. When he entered the 
 drawin«f-room after dinner and found neither 
 Ormrod nor Juliet, a great misgiving seized 
 him. Could it be possible that she was 
 infatuated, and would listen to his suit ? He
 
 MISGIVINGS. 177 
 
 had during the last few days written confi- 
 dentially to Miss Gliddon with inquiries 
 about Ormrod, and her reply satisfied his 
 worst suspicions. But Juliet's manner to 
 Ormrod had misled him ; he concluded his 
 misgivings were unnecessary, and communi- 
 cated nothing to her. Now, however, he 
 resolved to push a sorry truth home upon 
 both, but, as it were, by haphazard. He drew 
 him gradually into easy conversation on 
 various subjects, then referred to Moorhead, 
 declaring that he never lost interest in a place 
 he had once known and people he had 
 once met. Cursorily, he asked after many 
 Wherndale people, dwelling some time upon 
 Brunskill, and at last seeming by an effort to 
 remember Alderdale and the Murdocks. 
 
 " There was a taking little lass there 
 when I last saw it," he said ; " a child with 
 something of the Babes in the Wood story 
 about her. Has the old place hipped her at 
 
 all, or is she as bonny as she promised ? ' 
 VOL 1. 12
 
 178 JULIET. 
 
 " Some think her unusually bonny — the 
 cotton-gowned type, you know," said Ormrod. 
 
 " Beauty of Wkerndale, I suppose ? She'll 
 be putting her head into the noose soon. 
 Who does she favour ? " 
 
 " Brunskill wants her, but she'll be hard 
 to win," said Ormrod, after the pause of 
 scarcely a moment. 
 
 " Coquette ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! " 
 
 The words were uttered as by one having 
 authority, and the doctor saw that he was oft' 
 his guard, by the complacent smile curving 
 his moustache. This smile was, however, 
 repressed when he raised his eyes and met 
 the doctor's. The gaze they encountered 
 caused them to fall again, with the further 
 damning evidence of a blush and uneasy 
 
 O J 
 
 movement in his chair. These si^ns of con- 
 cealment were sufficient, since in the doctor's 
 opinion he was not the man to blush from 
 feeling. There was a pause, which Ormrod,
 
 MISGIVINGS. 
 
 179 
 
 in spite of his consciousness of shifty pur- 
 pose, was the only one of the three not to 
 consider momentous, for he did not under- 
 stand Doctor Thorns, still less fear him, and 
 thought him simply grotesque, irritable, and 
 prying. Juliet, however, was roused to 
 suspense, and sat excruciatingly expectant. 
 The doctor had forborne to glance at her, 
 knowing his glance would have expressed 
 triumph ; but accustomed as she was to his 
 penetration and quick aim, this reflective 
 silence, like the cat's, that crouches before it 
 springs, could only be significant. She had 
 forgotten his deliberate purpose in drawing 
 Ormrod out at all ; the conversation had 
 flowed so smoothly as to lull her misgivings 
 over their agreeing ; she was enjoying herself 
 precisely in the safety for which she had 
 hoped, and it did not even yet enter into her 
 mind that Ormrod had something to conceal. 
 She glanced at him, but he was staring at 
 the carpet, apparently lost in thought ; then
 
 i8o JULIET. 
 
 at Doctor Thoms, and his concentrated ex- 
 pression made her gasp. Instinctively she 
 knew that he was preparing a master stroke, 
 that strategy had bored its patient way to 
 daylight, and that the daylight would be 
 blinding. 
 
 " You intend to spend these holidays with 
 the Gliddons, don't you?' he said, turn- 
 ing to Juliet with a commanding nod, that 
 enforced not only self-control but acquies- 
 cence. 
 
 "Yes," said Juliet, compelled, she knew 
 
 not how. 
 
 " Where are they going ? To the sea ? ' 
 
 asked Ormrod. 
 
 " No, no. She goes to them, at Moor- 
 head, you know," said the doctor. 
 
 "At Moorhead!" he exclaimed, in un- 
 mistakable dismay, and looking up suddenly 
 at Juliet, he met her large gaze of startled 
 and agonized apprehension. 
 
 44 Don't eo ! Not this year ! ! he added,
 
 MISGIVINGS. 181 
 
 involuntarily, in a tone of entreating explana- 
 tion. 
 
 "Why shouldn't she go ?" demanded the 
 doctor, uttering the very words that were 
 beating in her head without her lips having 
 power to express them. 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing," said 
 Ormrod, lamely, and again he looked at 
 Juliet, throwing into his eyes all the passion 
 and persuasion of which he was capable. He 
 knew now that he had been entangled ; the 
 doctors resolute, calm deliberation assured 
 him of the fact. But Juliet might relent. 
 Surely she would abandon this intention, of 
 which she had been cruel not to warn him. 
 He did not penetrate the stratagem, or per- 
 ceive that she was not a free-agent, and now, 
 on the brink of discovery, he saw the enor- 
 mity of his conduct, and felt that nothing he 
 could say would palliate it in her considera- 
 tion. He did not think of Molly, but he saw 
 himself denuded by his own infatuated care-
 
 i$2 JULIET. 
 
 lessness of what he now held most dear — 
 Juliet Laybourne's esteem and love. The 
 thought drove him to desperation, and he 
 determined to make one last effort to gain 
 time and win her over to believe in him. He 
 got up and put his hand on her arm. 
 
 " Come with me a moment," he said, in 
 a low voice, that strove to be self-assured 
 and was only hoarse. 
 
 Juliet shivered, looking at him fixedly 
 and sitting still. 
 
 " I must speak to you," he said, still more 
 urgently. 
 
 " No," she said. 
 
 "And you will go?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He remained for a moment in the same 
 position, and she sat thrilling under his touch, 
 which had involuntarily tightened into a grip, 
 that spoke volumes of his fear of losing her. 
 It was the longest moment of her life. Every 
 nerve was strained to the utmost in hope and
 
 MISGIVINGS. 183 
 
 yearning that he would give some sign that 
 he loved her, no matter what stood between 
 them — some sign of which no man could rob 
 her, not even the doctor, who, she dimly felt, 
 would expect her gratitude for his penetra- 
 tion. And her patience was not in vain. 
 Ormrod suddenly pulled himself together, 
 and gave her full measure of the only thing 
 possible under the circumstances — a look into 
 which was crowded love, reproach, entreaty, 
 and passionate, reassuring appeal. It made 
 her dizzy, turned her pale, suffused her eyes 
 with happy tears, swept the ghost of a smile 
 over her whole face, and left her trembling. 
 
 Then he went away. She heard the door 
 close upon him. 
 
 Isabel passed just then, and looked at her 
 curiously. 
 
 " How ill you look ! Are you faint ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " I was never better in my life," said Juliet, 
 rising, and involuntarily throwing her arms
 
 1 84 JULIET. 
 
 above her head like a tragedy-queen. She 
 did not glance at Doctor Thorns, who seemed 
 to dwindle beside her, but he drew her apart 
 into the curtained recess of a window. 
 
 " Is it too late ? " he asked. 
 
 She laughed, with a gleam of brilliant 
 defiance in her eyes. 
 
 " He is a knave," urged the doctor. 
 
 "Take care what you say," she remarked, 
 quietly. 
 
 " You are his dupe." 
 
 " Perhaps you are mine." 
 
 He started as though she had struck him, 
 but she was smiling, and he knew the arrow 
 was not intended to be poisoned. 
 
 " You are intoxicated, drunk, but not with 
 wine, Calypso." 
 
 " Let me be," she said. 
 
 "Juliet, Juliet! would you marry a 
 knave ? ' he broke out, peering at her ; and 
 his voice rang with keen pain. 
 
 " Dear friend," she said, touched and
 
 MISGIVINGS, 185 
 
 touching, " after all I am a thorny rose, am I 
 not?" 
 
 And that was as much sense or nonsense 
 as he could get out of her. She left him, 
 and went and sang again, a wild and pas- 
 sionate song of Schubert's, that had some- 
 thing dirge-like in it, over which her whole 
 soul seemed to triumph. 
 
 Then they went home, and she girt her- 
 self up to go to Moorhead at last.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 BY THE WHERN. 
 
 No sooner had Ormrod vanished from 
 Moorhead, taking with him the outward and 
 visible nightmare which haunted Brunskill's 
 mind, of the Sunday evening on the Moss, 
 than Brunskill was drawn into closer contact 
 with Molly than he had ever believed would 
 be possible, except under conditions now 
 rendered impossible. 
 
 Circumstances are often cruel under the 
 guise of kindness, and they had been in his 
 case. When Molly went to the Vicarage, it 
 was with the intention of leaving at the end 
 of a week or two, but Mr. Gliddon managed 
 during that time to catch a cold, which deve-
 
 BY THE WHERN. 187 
 
 loped into a severe attack of bronchitis, and 
 when Molly talked of going home, Miss 
 Gliddon declared she must stay ; there were 
 many things she could do, besides affording 
 her cheerful company. Parish work devolved 
 upon Brunskill, he being ready and willing, 
 and Miss Gliddon devoting herself to the 
 sick room. Every day found him at the 
 Vicarage, giving and receiving details of 
 work. It was hard to go while Molly was 
 there, to have to keep up the old demeanour 
 of unobtrusive consideration now that its life- 
 germ had dwindled into a mere husk ; agony 
 to control himself, to hide from her his self- 
 knowledge, to be conventional yet not repel- 
 ling. All these necessities forced themselves 
 upon him the more strongly from his long 
 self-control. Happily, Molly was at this 
 time too self-absorbed to be very observant, 
 but though she thus escaped the evil of per- 
 ception and surprise, she ran into the cruelty 
 of innocent confidence in him and his un-
 
 1 88 JULIET. 
 
 varying kindness, absolutely drawing to 
 him and compelling his attention. She 
 thought him quieter than usual, that was all. 
 Thus there very quickly worked in his 
 brain a madness which it became almost 
 intolerable to keep under. And yet he 
 did keep it under, he could not tell how ; but 
 something helped him, kept him straight in 
 self-denying purpose, clear of self-blame. He 
 never knew how it was. He was only con- 
 scious of a burning unrest, of a constant 
 craving to be near her, and when he was, 
 of icy quiet that melted into fervent heat 
 again the moment he was alone. He used to 
 go up to the Vicarage chiefly in the evening, 
 and find her either in the crarden, flitting!' 
 busily with scissors and matting among Miss 
 Gliddon's flowers, or cosy with her work in 
 the pretty drawing-room ; and there was no 
 doubt that she was elad to see him. He 
 was an old friend ; in those days she regarded 
 him as fatherly.
 
 BY THE WHERN. 189 
 
 But Brunskill felt far from fatherly as he 
 sat by her, lulled by the charm of her femi- 
 nineness, of her pretty ways that were in- 
 tensely restful to a man coming in from his 
 day's work among rough folk. They did 
 not talk much. He was content simply to 
 sit regarding her as she worked unconscious, 
 rousing now and again from thoughts that 
 carried her far away, to make some remark, 
 ask some question, glance at him, smile and 
 look down again. He watched and watched 
 in pale silence, never tired of watching, 
 absorbed in the present moment. It was 
 afterwards, when he had placed his hand 
 silently in hers, without daring to lift his eyes, 
 and the door had closed upon her and shut 
 him out alone, that that maddening rush of 
 thought to the " might have been," over- 
 whelmed him and sent him into intenser soli- 
 tude than his walk home or his own rooms 
 could afford, sent him up the hills to the vast, 
 wild, quiet moors.
 
 190 JULIET. 
 
 How awfully quiet they were, stretching 
 round him for miles, their outlines unbroken 
 in the twilight, or black as ink against the 
 slow spreading of steely light, as the moon 
 peered above their edge, and sent its smile 
 to suffuse the sleeping valley and conjure up 
 strange shadows ! He used to walk for 
 miles, plunging knee-deep in ling, sinking in 
 rush and sphagnum, leaping from the gaunt 
 rocks, startling sheep and moor birds, and 
 exhausting himself physically and morally. 
 But he wrung the neck of his grief, exorcised 
 the demon of self, quenched the animal in 
 him, and felt something else growing from 
 which he did not shrink, but which he got to 
 hug close home to his heart and live with — 
 something wholly intangible, to which he 
 could sfive no name, but which saved him 
 from riding roughshod over his own feelings, 
 through the accepted consciousness that it 
 was good to live with, because it made him 
 a better man.
 
 B Y THE WHERN. 1 9 r 
 
 Thus he fought his fight alone with God 
 and nature, and gradually drew deeper and 
 deeper draughts at the proffered cup of 
 simple faith. Then he grew calm, self- 
 possessed, with power to ignore the havoc 
 worked, the blank made, and to look forward 
 to the ripening of other interests. 
 
 But such a struggle takes time ; it is long- 
 drawn out, and events pressed on through- 
 out it. 
 
 Molly's visit came to an end, and she 
 went back to the sordid atmosphere which 
 was becoming more and more natural to the 
 presence of Matthew Murdock ; for he was 
 drinking more deeply each week, exacting 
 more economy from Tamar, and losing more 
 money in risky speculations and fuddled 
 bargains with cattle-jobbers and wool-buyers 
 than any other man in the Dale. 
 
 Molly went home to all this from her 
 happy time at the Vicarage one August 
 evening, when the ling was in its best " blow "
 
 1 92 JULIET. 
 
 on the Moss, and the gnarled, wind-bent 
 rowans in the hollow where she and Noll had 
 plighted troth were aglow with big tassels 
 of scarlet berries. She gathered some of them, 
 and some yellowing bracken and fragile hare- 
 bells from the rushy pasture where the cows 
 were, knowing the bowls in the kitchen 
 would be empty for want of her. There was 
 no one to be seen as she crossed the bridge 
 and went up to the door that was set ajar for 
 the sunlight to fleck the sanded floor. Gene- 
 rally, Tamar was waiting to welcome her with 
 a strong instinct of motherliness to a mother- 
 less girl, but far now from any sign of her 
 big cap and bleached apron, there was no 
 sound of her pattens, no chinking of milk 
 cans from the dairy, or clatter of pails and 
 thudding of sticks about the calves in the 
 earth. All was silent, and she ran into the 
 kitchen to put down her flowers before going 
 to look for her. Matthew was on the lang- 
 settle smoking, and she spoke to him, and
 
 BY THE WHERN. 193 
 
 was running out again when he called her 
 back. His voice was thick, but she had seen 
 at a glance that he was not in liquor, and she 
 went back and stood waiting. 
 
 Matthew sat a moment looking at her. 
 He generally ignored her, but even he could 
 not but feel, now that she flashed in like a 
 gleam of sunshine, that the old place looked 
 the better for her presence. There was cer- 
 tainly something inexpressibly winsome and 
 "betterly" in this girlish figure, with her 
 shadowy eyes looking forth from the quaint 
 framing of the hood, which still came more 
 natural to her than a hat such as other girls 
 wore. He looked and broke into a reluctant 
 gurgling chuckle. 
 
 " I'm none maddled at his craze," he 
 said. 
 
 Molly stared at him in uncomprehending 
 
 amazement, never previously having seen 
 
 him jocose. 
 
 " Has he set thee home ? ' he asked. 
 vol. 1. 13
 
 194 JULIET. 
 
 "Who, Uncle?" Molly said. 
 
 " Who ? who, indeed? Just hear the 
 lassie's innocent ways ! Folks are none so 
 blind as you'd have them thought. I may 
 be a lone man, Molly Murdock, but, by 
 Heaven! I've gone a courting in my time, 
 ay, a deal further nor ever he's had to come ; 
 and I've had my mare's tail clipped while 
 she waited in the stable, and wasn't laughed 
 out of it, but went again. That was up to 
 Angram, right under Great Whernside. 
 and I whistled as I gained on the house 
 and the lass came out to my whistling. It 
 lasted a summer, and then she got tired o' 
 listening and I got tired o' whistling, and 
 she wed another man, who stepped right 
 across the threshold at the first and humored 
 
 on 
 
 her without more ado. I was always a shy 
 man, took a deal o' making up to, and maybe 
 thee'rt cut after me. Now did he set thee 
 back to-day ? " 
 
 " Who ? " Mollv asked acrain.
 
 BY THE WHERN. 195 
 
 " Who ? The Master," said Mat, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Mr. Brunskill ? Certainly not," she said, 
 and there was unmistakable decision and 
 truth in her straight, unabashed gaze. 
 
 "And why didn't he?" 
 
 " He would not think of such a thing. 
 Why should he ? He did not wish to, and I 
 did not want him. He is very busy for Mr. 
 Gliddon." 
 
 " Men shouldn't be too busy to look after 
 their sweethearts." 
 
 "Sweethearts, yes; but I am not Mr. 
 Brunskill's sweetheart." 
 
 " Thee'rt not ? How's that ? He's fair 
 crazed over thee. I've seen it long enough, 
 and other folks have cracked on it to me. 
 It's none a despisable chance, lass. Times 
 are bad, and he's none a farmer to dance to 
 the devil's own tune of contrary seasons, and 
 American produce, and free-trade, and floods ; 
 and I cannot fancy you settled to a bit
 
 196 JULIET. 
 
 counter. The Master's a gentleman, I've 
 always said it ; but, gentleman or no gentle- 
 man, if he's been playing off and on with 
 
 thee, by , I'll horsewhip him. I may be 
 
 a drunkard and a rascal, but I'll none have 
 a niece of mine slighted and befooled, for 
 
 fingers to point at. No, by ! Why, 
 
 thee'rtpoor Tony's lass, for all thee'rt so fay." 
 The tears leaped to Molly s eyes ; she saw 
 he was genuinely perplexed, and it perplexed 
 her how to answer him, for the sudden 
 realization of an unexpected fact bewildered 
 her. She longed to tell the truth, since he 
 seemed to have no suspicion of it, but some- 
 how Ormrod's affection dwindled before this 
 assurance of Brunskill's, and the brute force 
 displayed in Matthew's knuckles, as he 
 uttered his vehement oaths, frightened her. 
 She had seen him in a rage, even when not 
 drunk, and her arms knew what a gripping- 
 wrist he had when he wanted to emphasize 
 his words. She dared not challenge either
 
 BY THE WHERN. 197 
 
 when alone, even in loyalty to Ormrod, and 
 yet she longed to be honest, and trust him 
 not to be angry at the thwarting of his will, 
 for that unexpected allusion to her father 
 proved that there was one soft spot even in 
 his heart, and she could have thanked him 
 for it and for the readiness to take up the 
 cudgels on her behalf. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle," she said, "never mind me. 
 I'm all right." 
 
 " All right ! ' he said ; " ay, you're all 
 right just now. We're none ruined yet, but 
 the time may come when you'll want a roof 
 over your head, and see hunger before you." 
 
 " There's my money. Use it," she said, 
 timidly. 
 
 " Your money be ," said Matthew. 
 
 She was silent, certain now that her 
 money had been lost, so far as its squander- 
 ing went, and regarding herself from that 
 moment as penniless. 
 
 " Now, what will you say to him ?'
 
 1 98 JULIET. 
 
 " Uncle, don't think of such a thing," she 
 said, earnestly. " It is impossible ; and even 
 if what you say about his caring for me be 
 true, he knows it is impossible, and won't 
 ask me." 
 
 " Then there's some hitch ? ' 
 
 Molly hesitated. Should she tell the 
 truth, and then turn and fly ? She looked 
 at his sullen face and powerful figure, 
 measured the distance between the lane- 
 settle and the door-way, near which she 
 stood, and wondered if her bedroom door 
 were open, and the bolt well oiled. It would 
 not be the first sudden flight by many from 
 oaths and an uplifted arm, but Tamar had 
 always been there to interpose. There was 
 still no sound or sign of her, and the house 
 felt strangely empty and deserted. 
 
 " Uncle, where is Tamar?' she asked, 
 urgently. 
 
 " So you've missed her at last. Well, 
 
 she's gone. 
 
 >}
 
 BY THE WHERN. 199 
 
 Her face blanched into a picture of dis- 
 may, grief, and fear. 
 
 " Gone ! " she exclaimed, in a low, horror- 
 struck voice. 
 
 Everything seemed to darken round her, 
 the light to be blurred, her hearing to thicken. 
 Matthew said something which she did not 
 catch. She felt herself entrapped, and ex- 
 aggerated the misery of her position into one 
 of actual danger in the first shock of finding 
 herself alone with her uncle. Then he got 
 up and went out, and she made a slow pil- 
 grimage round the house, finding to her 
 astonishment that all the work was done, and 
 everything clean and orderly ; but she was 
 too bewildered to ask any questions. The 
 one fact of Tamar being away, and herself 
 left to brave out alone all Matthew's moods, 
 whether drunken or sober, to bear the brunt 
 of his churlishness and withstand his sottish 
 familiarity, was too appalling to her imagina- 
 tion for it to grapple anything further. She
 
 200 JULIET. 
 
 did not even wonder how he had got quit of 
 her, how she could have consented to go 
 without, at least, warning her, contriving in 
 some way to communicate with her, or leav- 
 ing a message with some trustworthy person. 
 She had never spent a day, still less a night, 
 alone with Matthew at Alderdale ; in her 
 idea, Tamar was inseparably connected with 
 the place, and such a catastrophe as her de- 
 parture was simply overwhelming. She lay 
 awake half the night, with the question of 
 what she should do if she did not come back 
 beating dully in her brain. She knew she 
 could not bear then to live at Alderdale, but 
 in her inexperience she did not know if she 
 had the legal power to oppose Matthew's 
 will and wishes, and leave him. It was not 
 the work that she shrank from, or even the 
 responsibility, but it was the drunkenness. 
 Her horror of a tipsy man was instinctive and 
 deep-rooted, and she had never tried to over- 
 come it. Tamar took intoxication as a matter
 
 BY THE IV HERN. 201 
 
 of course, and when Mat was seen coming 
 reeling over the bridge, or swaying from side 
 to side on his trusty mare, she simply " fet- 
 tled " the lang-settle cushions, locked the cup- 
 board, and despatched Molly to bed, with a 
 stolid indifference that roused the girl's wonder 
 and admiration, and made her vainly wish 
 over and over again that she herself were not 
 such an arrant coward. But as she never did 
 more towards overcoming her cowardice than 
 to listen trembling on the safe side of the 
 bolted door, as he staggered upstairs with an 
 intermittent accompaniment of hiccoughing, 
 swearing, and threats, she was still a coward, 
 and felt that small credit was due to herself 
 for resisting the impulse to stuff the sheet 
 into her ears, and avoid the fascination of anti- 
 cipating each succeeding stumble and stutter. 
 And now she was alone with him, and 
 subject to a scene of this kind any night. 
 No wonder she shivered, and revolved plans 
 for escape, for returning to Miss Gliddon, or
 
 202 JULIET. 
 
 going to Mrs. Ormrod and absolutely refus- 
 ing to come back until Tamar did, or a sub- 
 stitute for her was found. The old Grange 
 seemed to have become ghostly too ; never 
 had the rats made such a noise behind the 
 wainscot, the moonlight laid such shifting, 
 eerie streaks upon the walls, the shadows 
 assumed such human shapes, the river sobbed 
 so, as it swept under the alders ; the whole 
 long night seemed so hopelessly long. Some- 
 times she scarcely dared to breathe, for fancy- 
 ing she heard Matthew's stealthy step going- 
 down to the cupboard where the gin was 
 kept ; and then again she tossed to and fro 
 in useless, impatient longing for the moon to 
 set, or the river to sink into silence, or more 
 coolness to quench the dry heat of her little 
 room. It was only at daybreak that she fell 
 asleep at last, and then it was a sleep of un- 
 happy dreams, too vivid not to keep her still 
 restless and to make her wake again un- 
 refreshed.
 
 BY THE WHERN. 203 
 
 But broad sunshine is a jovial fellow when 
 it surprises one late abed ; and when Molly 
 awoke and found it laughing in her face in 
 : place of the haunting moonshine, she laughed 
 at her fears of the night, rallied her courage 
 and donned again her sanguine, happy spirits 
 What a fool she had been to be tormented by 
 shadows! She would act quietly and de- 
 liberately, without childish haste ; yes, even 
 try to win her way, and exert a good influence 
 over Matthew. He had taken her by sur- 
 prise, but still he had been kind, and her 
 whole demeanour should prove that she 
 trusted him. And she must seize the very 
 first favourable opportunity to tell him about 
 Noll, for otherwise she felt as though she 
 were acting, a lie, and doing an injustice to 
 one of her best friends. He must think no 
 more of Mr. Brunskill in any other light than 
 that of a friend, and she must be careful in 
 nothing to give colour to that rumour, but in 
 everything to prove her loyalty to Noll.
 
 2o 4 JULIET. 
 
 Thus she sang in her heart as she went 
 about the milking and the calf-feeding, and 
 wondered how in the world she had got the 
 notion into her head in the night that the 
 bonny beck was not singing, but sobbing, on 
 its way. There was no sob in it now, as it 
 glanced sparkling and eddying round rock 
 and over shallow, sun-kissed and shadow- 
 flecked and tree-caressed, like a happy maiden 
 with lovers to choose among, and only a 
 smile for them all. 
 
 Matthew, however, was in his most surly- 
 mood, and did not speak throughout break- 
 fast, so she did not name Tamar, or trv to 
 glean any particulars ; but she had peeped 
 into the room, and found all her work-a-day 
 things in the drawers as usual. Her best 
 gown and shawl and bonnet were gone, a 
 fact which pointed to the probability of her 
 having been hastily summoned to some event 
 among her own kinsfolk over in Swaledale — 
 most possibly a burying, which is the most
 
 BY THE WHERN. 205 
 
 important incident in domestic Dale annals ; 
 and when the meal was cleared away, and she 
 had watched Matthew start for the high-lying 
 pastures, where he was busy harvesting the 
 brackens for cattle-bedding in winter, she ran 
 up the side of the little Alder beck to the 
 smaller farmstead where the hind lived. His 
 wife was just issuing forth to her drying- 
 ground with a basket of clothes on her hip, 
 and Molly relieved her of her bag of 
 pegs. 
 
 " I'll help you," she said ; " I know it was 
 you who cleaned up for us last night." 
 
 Betty Carling nodded. 
 
 " Tamar came up and asked me to mind 
 things a bit," she said ; " but it was to be 
 against her home-coming, not yours, missy. 
 She told me Murdock'd passed his word you 
 should stay away so long as she did, for she 
 kenned the Passon'd only be too pleased to 
 have you about. When my man telled me 
 you'd crossed the bridge at sundown, I knew
 
 2o6 JULIET. 
 
 Murdock'd broken his word. I hope he was 
 civil tull thee, eh ? " 
 
 " I got a fright when I found Tamar was 
 gone. How long do you think she'll be — 
 over Newbridge market-day ? ' Molly asked, 
 as she proceeded to shake out the clothes 
 and dexterously peg them on the line to the 
 wind's eye. 
 
 " She went day before yesterday. They 
 fetched a trap for her, but her brother 
 wasn't dead, for all they'd lifted him out of 
 bed on to the floor an hour back. He'd been 
 took with a fit, and was black in the face with 
 choking, but couldn't quit, so they thought 
 there must be pigeons' feathers about, for all 
 Tamar's mother was the most careful woman 
 in such things, and it seemed to give him the 
 best chance of quitting easy to spread the 
 bedding on the boards, so he'd likelv be crone 
 lon£ before Tamar reached him. She thought 
 the burying'd be three days after. Folk don't 
 keep their corpses so long now-a-days, and
 
 BY THE IV HERN. 207 
 
 very well it is; saves a deal of tallow and 1 
 worry, and's a sight more decent, to my 
 thinking." 
 
 " I'm afraid the funeral won't be until 
 afternoon, so Tamar won't get back that 
 night, will she ? " said Molly. 
 
 " Nay, not from Swaledale. Make your- 
 self easy, she'll none travel that time of day. 
 The feast'll be going on an hour too, and 
 they're well-to-do folk, and'll have a real good 
 one. He was a widower, you ken, and I've 
 heard Tamar tell of a ham that hung from a 
 beam above his wife's bed when she lay dying. 
 She used to look and look at it, and got it on 
 her mind if only she could have a bit she'd 
 be better. But he wouldn't hear of such a 
 thing. ' Nay, nay, woman/ he said ; ' that's 
 for thy burying.' And she died, and he telled 
 the tale when he carved it at the feast after." 
 
 " Old wretch ! he deserves to be a pig in 
 another world ! ' said Molly, with a keen 
 sense of vengeance startling to Betty, who
 
 2o8 JULIET. 
 
 only saw in the incident a nice adjustment of 
 reasonableness and civility. 
 
 " Maybe she'll stay over Sunday," she 
 suggested, agreeably. 
 
 " Oh ! I do hope not," Molly exclaimed, 
 looking over her shoulder in alarm as she 
 stood on tip-toe to " fettle " an unruly 
 sheet. 
 
 14 I lay you're scared at Murdock's cups," 
 said Betty. 
 
 44 Yes, very much," Molly said. 
 
 44 And he never gets sober from a market 
 now." 
 
 " Never ; but Tamar does not care. I 
 sometimes think she would not hesitate to 
 whip him, if she were so minded. She really 
 treats him like a child." 
 
 14 It's certain sure Providence is soft over 
 drunkards, just as if men did their best duty 
 by fuddling their senses. Well, Newbridge 
 Market is the day after the burying, by my 
 calculations, and I lay she'll be back even if
 
 Bl THE WHERN. 209 
 
 she does think you're at Passon's. She's as 
 ready to shake up the lang-settle cushions for 
 Murdock drunk as she is to act motherly by 
 you, missy — a sound woman all round, I 
 call her." 
 
 "If she isn't back, I don't know what I 
 shall do," said Molly, sighing. 
 
 " I'll do for you," announced Betty, cheer- 
 fully clapping her on the back. 
 
 But Betty Carling up at the high farm 
 
 was not Tamar Verity in Alderdale Grange 
 
 itself, as Molly realized again when daylight 
 
 faded and she finished the day's work with 
 
 Matthew silently watching her through the 
 
 clouds of smoke emitted from his long pipe. 
 
 His silence oppressed her; she found herself 
 
 stealing about with mousey steps, and would 
 
 have recoiled from the sound of her own 
 
 voice had she begun to sing and hum as 
 
 usual ; and when at last she went upstairs, 
 
 she lingered a moment before closing her 
 
 lattice, under an almost uncontrollable longing 
 vol. 1. 14
 
 210 JULIET, 
 
 to scream and evoke an answering voice out 
 of the pulseless night. 
 
 It was after dinner the following day that 
 Mat announced briefly that he was going 
 some miles beyond Moorhead, to try to 
 clinch a bargain with a new wool-buyer who 
 had appeared in the lower part of the Dale, 
 and was giving something like old-fashioned 
 prices for good stuff. Molly liked expe- 
 ditions of this kind as little as she liked mar- 
 kets, but was determined not to show any 
 misgivings, and helped him to saddle the 
 mare as blithely as though he had been going 
 on a road without " publics " to bring Tamar 
 back. Then she went in for his whip, and 
 just before he mounted, she yielded to a sud- 
 den impulse and reached up to him with a 
 timid kiss. 
 
 He turned and stared at her. 
 
 <k What's that for ? " he asked. 
 
 " Don't you like it, Uncle ?" she said. 
 
 " Is it a bribe ? I'm none the shaved
 
 BY THE WHERN. 211 
 
 spark for such as that," he returned, un- 
 graciously. 
 
 " It isn't a bribe, I know you don't care so 
 far ; but," she added, wistfully, " if such a 
 little thing can help to keep you right, don't 
 be ashamed of letting it ; will you ? ' 
 
 He did not answer, but mounted and rode 
 off, leaving her to wonder, with a sigh, if she 
 had not angered rather than pleased him ; and 
 then she finished her home-work, and, com- 
 mitting the cows and calves to Betty's care, 
 started for the Vicarage to ask after the 
 " Passon." 
 
 She chose the path along the valley by the 
 Whern. It was very hot, and not a breath of 
 wind stirred the alders and oaks and mountain- 
 ash that overhung the stream. But she had 
 plenty of time before her, and rested here and 
 there, now on a stile, now on a grassy knoll, 
 until she reached the pasture at the turning 
 of the valley, where Blaesfield rears its 
 huge brown shoulder against the sky, and
 
 212 JULIET. 
 
 rolls downwards to Beggarmote Scar. Just 
 beyond this the river disappears into a rocky 
 fissure in the hill-side known as Goyden Pot, 
 and takes its three miles' course to Moorhead 
 Vicarage underground, with a rush and a 
 roar, and a fiendish grinding of rocks and 
 tossing of uprooted trees, terrible to see when 
 the livid water hurls itself into the cavern in 
 high flood. To-day there was no flood, and 
 it was thinly loitering in with an air of com- 
 plete innocence of din and fury. Above, a 
 beautiful moory ridge stretched against the 
 serene summer blue, alternating in rock and 
 ling and scrub, until it clothed itself in black- 
 green pines at Thedra Wood. 
 
 It was Molly's favourite bit in all her be- 
 loved Dale — better than the " Tops," than the 
 Foss at Haden Carr, than Stean Beck, and 
 even the Moss ; and she sat down near a 
 trough, moss-grown and grotesquely- spouted, 
 to enjoy it all, drink it in, as it were. But 
 she had not sat above a minute, when the
 
 B Y THE WHERN. 2 1 3 
 
 gate through which she was going, swung to, 
 and she saw Gilbert Brunskill coming towards 
 her, with great, even strides, and a smile on 
 his face. 
 
 " I am in luck," he said, sitting down 
 near her without more ado, not at her side, 
 but on the grass in front, where he com- 
 manded her fully. 
 
 " We are going different ways, if that be 
 luck," she said. 
 
 " I don't think we need for once," he 
 answered ; " I fancy you are going to the 
 Vicarage. Well, I can tell you how the vicar 
 is, and I have a book for you from Miss 
 Gliddon, which I will carry for you which- 
 ever way you go. You want to read a bit of 
 Ruskin, don't you ? It is fortunate Miss 
 Gliddon has a friend who can lend it to you. 
 It's a mere fragment, a sheet torn out, as it 
 were, and will only make you long for more, 
 I fear. Now, need you go on ? ' 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Molly, ruefully.
 
 214 JULIET. 
 
 "You seem ungrateful." 
 
 " I should have enjoyed the walk and the 
 talk, and now shall just go tamely back 
 again, and perhaps find Betty peeping into 
 my drawers, which will cost me a cough and 
 sudden blindness." 
 
 " Why tamely f Ideas are not confined 
 to the lower end of the valley." 
 
 " But you really must not come further, 
 now." 
 
 " I am going up to Haden Carr." 
 
 " Then you'll want your tea," Molly 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "If you please," he said. 
 
 She was silent, alarmed, and perplexed ; 
 determined not to give him his tea, for fear 
 Matthew should return and find them, and 
 yet too soft-hearted to refuse it from what 
 would seem mere prudish motives, only 
 worthv of disdain. 
 
 
 
 " There is something on your mind," he 
 remarked presently.
 
 BY THE WHERN. 215 
 
 " Oh ! you must not come, you can't come 
 in," she said, incoherently. " Tamar is 
 away," she added lamely, abashed by his 
 silent amazement. 
 
 " A most excellent reason." 
 
 " I could give you a better," she said, 
 nettled. 
 
 " I should like to have it." 
 
 " But I will not," she said. 
 
 " Yes, you will. I have a clue. The 
 proprieties are penetrating even to Alder- 
 dale, are they not ? " 
 
 She glanced at him, blushing, with a dis- 
 tressed smile. 
 
 " Oh, Molly ! ' he said, in a deep tone of 
 regret and expostulation. 
 
 11 I cannot help it " 
 
 "Of course you cannot," he interrupted. 
 " It rests wholly and entirely with me, and 
 no breath of gossip shall touch you. I will 
 go with you to-day just to the door, and it 
 shall be the last time."
 
 216 JULIET. 
 
 "You are very good," she said; but he 
 shook his head. 
 
 For some moments they were silent, and 
 she, stealing anxious glances at him, saw that 
 he was lost in thought. Many things had 
 passed through her mind, as she looked 
 from rock and river and wood, to bent 
 and ling, and " Heaven's blue," before, 
 with a deep, involuntary sigh, he spoke 
 again. 
 
 " Since this has to be the last time, may I 
 talk freely to you ? ' he asked ; and seeing 
 what he wished to see on her face, calm assent, 
 he rose, adding in a voice at once shy and 
 confident, 
 
 " Let us walk quietly on. It will be 
 easier to say what I have to say.'' 
 
 She complied, and he gave her a quick 
 glance in which pain and pleasure were 
 largely mingled. 
 
 " Molly," he said, abruptly, "there are 
 things in my past life which I have a fancy
 
 BY THE WHERN. 217 
 
 to tell you. I have always thought I should 
 like you to know them, and I see no reason, 
 even now, that you should not. I can trust 
 you to respect my confidence. They affect 
 no one but myself, and I have never yet 
 breathed them to human creature. Has it 
 ever occurred to you that there is some 
 secret in my life ? " 
 
 " I have often thought there is some 
 unhappiness," she said. " I have seen a 
 strange look come over your face when you 
 have been thinking, and heard you sigh ; and 
 you have no friends, and seem to be so much 
 alone." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " quite alone ; you are 
 right. Walk slowly, Molly ; there is a great 
 deal to say. If that be true about the sins 
 of the fathers being visited on the children, 
 I am a doomed man ; for, one winter night, 
 years ago, when I was a little lad, my father 
 came home drunk and killed my mother." 
 
 Involuntarily they both stopped and stood
 
 2i8 JULIET. 
 
 looking at each other. She did not speak, 
 but the mute horror in her eyes changed 
 slowly to a pity which he — in his craving for 
 sympathy after the impenetrable reserve of 
 years — felt to be divine. But for that pity 
 he must have turned and fled from the sound 
 of his own words ; now that, at last, the 
 horrid truth had been uttered to a fellow- 
 being aloud, for the four winds of heaven to 
 carry where they listed, he was appalled by 
 the sound of it. Ceaseless thought, tolling 
 through the centuries, has no potency com- 
 pared with one utterance. 
 
 Then Molly held out her hand, and he 
 wrung it, trying to speak, but failing. Blind- 
 ing tears had rushed to his eyes, his face was 
 one fervid glow of colour, that ebbed quickly, 
 leaving him ashy pale, with a sense of ex- 
 haustion, as after some great exertion. 
 
 " You will never tell it," he said. "Ah, 
 I should not ! It does not bear telling. Such 
 tragedies are best buried ; but not so long
 
 BY THE WHERN. 219 
 
 ago I thought you would be the one to 
 whormat must be told before — in honour — at 
 
 any cost — — 
 
 He stopped, looking full at her — a look 
 of which, for hunger, imploring, and con- 
 trition, she had never seen the like. It was 
 the more pitiable, from the ghost of a smile 
 that he managed to send wavering across it, 
 and that told her of the brave, leal heart 
 behind. 
 
 " I don't mean to say that he did it on 
 purpose ; it was not deliberate murder, so 
 far as I know," he said, presently, as they 
 walked on ; " God only knows what it was ; 
 but it seemed of the worst to me, as he 
 knelt over her on that floor, and she gave 
 one smothered scream, and I could do no- 
 thing but shriek at him in useless, agonized 
 passion, as I realized why she was writhing. 
 At last she was still, and a silence as of 
 the grave fell over the house. Then he got 
 up and took me by the collar, and pushed
 
 220 JULIET. 
 
 me before him up to the garret and locked 
 me in. There was a window, however, and 
 I got out on to the slates and listened. 
 Presently he opened the front door and 
 came out into the garden, and I, crouching 
 against a chimney in dark shadow, saw him 
 go and lean on the wall, his face buried in 
 his hands. He was sober then, for he 
 walked steadily. I wondered what he would 
 do. I was certain he was crying, as he was in 
 very truth ; I could hear his sobs, and they 
 seemed to tear him. Once he staggered 
 back and threw his arms up towards heaven, 
 as though adjuring God as witness to his 
 agony of mind. Then he went in again. 
 I heard him moving about ; and in a few 
 minutes he came out with something that I 
 took to be a stick, and walking quickly 
 across the fields was soon lost in the dark- 
 ness. I waited for some time, but as he did 
 not return, I made up my mind to get down 
 by dropping from the house-roof to that of
 
 BY J HE WHERN. 221 
 
 the scullery, and so to the ground. Just as 
 I reached the ground, a shot was fired in the 
 distance, and it flashed upon me that my 
 father had been carrying a gun ; but I did 
 not imagine the further horror of his having 
 destroyed himself. I sprained my ankle 
 in my last drop, but crawled into the 
 house." 
 
 "He had placed her on a couch, as though 
 
 she were sleeping, and in such a position 
 
 that the jaw could not drop, had smoothed 
 
 and dis-spread her waving brown hair, and 
 
 scattered everywhere, dewy red roses from 
 
 the bushes under the wall. I sat down, 
 
 holding her hand, and fell asleep. When I 
 
 awoke, there were people in the room. They 
 
 had brought my father. He was found in 
 
 a dub, shot through the head. He must 
 
 have stood on the bank, so as to fall in 
 
 simultaneously with firing. There was an 
 
 inquest, but no evidence beyond mine. He 
 
 had been madly drunk, that was all that
 
 22 2 JULIET. 
 
 could be found in extenuation ; but it ensured 
 them one grave; and some good soul strewed 
 it with more red roses." 
 
 " I should have liked to do that," Molly 
 said. 
 
 " If ever you happen to be near that 
 
 place, Cambley-under-the-Cheviots, go into 
 
 the churchyard, and near an old thorn, in 
 
 one corner, there is a low granite slab, with 
 
 the initials ' M. and R. B.' Put a flower 
 
 there, will you ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said. "And did you live 
 
 alone ? Was there no house near ? ' 
 
 " We lived three miles from Camblev, in 
 a thoroughly lonely district, backed by the 
 hills, and the house was fully half a mile 
 from the high road. We rarelv saw any one 
 except at church, and were often snowed up 
 in winter. My mother never liked it, and 
 was constantly begging my father to leave. 
 The roads were bad, and in some parts dan- 
 gerous, from their sheer unprotected height
 
 BY THE WHERN. 223 
 
 above the river. When he was late home, 
 she would stand by the hour together in the 
 porch, with a shawl over her head, and often 
 the wind and rain beating against her, lis- 
 tening for the ring of his horse's hoofs, and 
 praying now and then aloud. He was so 
 often drunk, and she feared he would fall off 
 his horse into the river." 
 
 "And had you no servants— no one in 
 the house ? " 
 
 He did not answer for a moment. 
 
 " You push me hard," he said, with a 
 sigh ; " and yet I am certain the whole ter- 
 rible affair was the result of an impulse of 
 drunken passion that had affected his brain 
 and maddened him. But it was stranee that 
 that access of fury should seize him the one 
 night when we were alone. The hind had 
 gone to a fair, and we were changing women- 
 servants ; thus the coast was clear. But he 
 was not a wicked man, Molly — only weak 
 and dissipated. I think he had always been
 
 224 JULIET. 
 
 dissipated, as a young man, from what my 
 mother sometimes said ; and after they were 
 married it increased upon him. They lived 
 in the south at first, in a remote corner of 
 Exmoor, where I was born, and my little sister. 
 She died there, and he would stay no longer. 
 So they went to Cambley, and he bought a 
 farm. My mother loved him passionately, 
 and he, too, loved her. No one could be 
 more affectionate than he when he was sober, 
 and she hung on his every word and look. 
 I always associate her with that line of 
 Tennyson's — 
 
 "I do not understand, I love," 
 
 for they were not otherwise congenial. He 
 was highly educated — a First Class man of 
 Oxford ; and she could barely read her Bible. 
 People round knew him instinctively to be 
 a gentleman. He had a handsome face and 
 a commanding air. She was simply lovely, 
 in the soft and gentle way distracting to 
 men."
 
 BY THE WHERN. 225 
 
 " And had they no relations, no friends 
 coming and going ? " 
 
 " None," he said, answering only her 
 second question, though she did not know it. 
 11 The Vicar of Cambley sent me afterwards 
 to the national school in Carlisle, boarding 
 me in the town. He took the management 
 of matters, acting for my interests at the 
 expense both of time and trouble. There 
 was no one else to do it, and he had always 
 been our friend. So long as he lived he 
 looked after me, and I spent the holidays 
 with him, he treating me as a gentleman and 
 impressing it upon me that I was such. 
 He had sold the farm and invested that 
 money and a balance of ^150 in the bank,, 
 to be ready for the time when I must choose 
 my calling in life. It was his wish that I 
 should go to Oxford. ' You are naturally a 
 student, and a University course will fit you 
 for any position,' he said, with deeper mean- 
 ing than at the time I could fathom. Mean- 
 vol. 1. 15
 
 22 6 JULIET. 
 
 while, I was to take a scholarship attached 
 to the national school that should raise me 
 to the grammar school I did so, and was 
 just on the point of taking another, that 
 would have drafted me on to Brazenose, 
 when my old friend died, and some papers 
 of my father's, found in his care, were for- 
 warded to me. I read them and changed 
 my mind." 
 
 " Because you felt it right to do so ? ' 
 Molly asked. 
 
 11 I don't think I thought of the right and 
 wrong at all," Brunskill said. " They placed 
 matters in so different a light that I was 
 completely thrown off my balance and acted 
 on impulse, under the feeling that I could 
 bear nothing to which I was accustomed and 
 must start afresh. I threw up everything, 
 went on the tramp, and arrived here just 
 when there was a berth vacant which I could 
 fill. I took a fancy to the place. I have 
 been happier here teaching village children
 
 B Y THE WHERN. 227 
 
 than I expected ever to be again at the time 
 of my coming ; so happy, that I can appre- 
 ciate my troubles." 
 
 " And believe that the sins of the 
 fathers are not visited on the children ? ' 
 Molly said, with her sweetest serious- 
 ness. 
 
 Brunskill hesitated, looking far ahead 
 where the sky dipped behind the hills, and 
 then turning his clear, penetrating gaze on 
 the figure at his side. 
 
 " At least there is amelioration," he said ; 
 " let it rest there. I have a favour to ask of 
 you before our parting to-day buries mutual 
 confidences — a promise to exact. If ever 
 you find yourself in circumstances of trouble 
 or perplexity in which it should occur to you 
 that I could be of help, will you come to me 
 for help?" 
 
 "You are very good," she said, hesitating. 
 
 " That is not what I want." 
 
 " I know, but I was thinking it would
 
 228 JULIET. 
 
 depend on the nature of the trouble. There 
 are some which I could take to no one." 
 
 " I trust you will never be so greatly- 
 tried, " he said. 
 
 " So do I ; I could not be so brave as 
 
 you." 
 
 " Well ? " he said, inquiringly, after a little 
 
 pause. 
 
 "Yes, I promise/' she said, "with that 
 reservation. I couldn't do without sympathy, 
 but then you see I am only a woman." 
 
 " And thus know too how to sympathize," 
 he interrupted. 
 
 " I don't think so," she said, shaking her 
 head ; " I have said nothing to you.'' 
 
 " I didn't want you to say anything. I hate 
 the interest which keeps up a running com- 
 mentary," Brunskill exclaimed vehemently ; 
 " which says, Really ! Oh dear! Goodness 
 gracious I How fright full How terrible ! You 
 have listened and you have looked — that is 
 sufficient ; and if I have been selfish in telling
 
 BY THE WHERN. 229 
 
 you so tragic a story, I know you will for- 
 give me, and be glad to have eased my 
 trouble. There is not another soul in the 
 world to whom I would have told so much. 
 Once I was tempted to tell Laybourne, but 
 he had too much knowledge, and the risk 
 would have been too great. I must have 
 told him all or nothing. Now, Molly, I have 
 not told you all." 
 
 " I knew you hadn't," she said. 
 Their eyes met and they laughed, Brun- 
 skill, however, stifling his laugh in a sigh that 
 was almost a groan. 
 
 "What a comprehending soul you have!" 
 he exclaimed ; " you knew, you wondered, you 
 were silent. ' Thus far and no farther has he 
 told me,' you thought, and were perfectly 
 proud and content. I can't tell you more ! 
 There is no occasion to broach it ; my 
 father's wish enforces silence on my part, 
 and I should have only disregarded it under 
 one circumstance. You know what that is.
 
 2 3 o JULIET. 
 
 Oh, Molly, if you could have loved me as I 
 love you ! " 
 
 " Hush ! ' cried Molly, imperatively, turn- 
 ing pale. 
 
 They had reached the last stile, and he 
 waited for her to pass through. As she did 
 so, their eyes met again ; his ashamed and 
 intensely humbled, hers looking tender pity 
 through a mist of tears. That look, those 
 tears, well-nigh unmanned him. He followed 
 her and seized her hand. 
 
 " You think me unkind ? ' he said. 
 
 14 No, never ! " she exclaimed. " How 
 could I ? I know you too well. I am not 
 thinking of myself in any way. It is 
 you. I am so sorry for you. What can I 
 do?" 
 
 44 Nothing. Ah ! you must not be 
 sorry — not for me ! ' Brunskill said ; and he 
 dropped her hand, standing still a moment, 
 as he communed with his heart and sought 
 stillness and strength.
 
 BY THE WHERN. 231 
 
 " Molly," he said, coming up with her 
 again, " I don't want your pity, remember 
 that ! I want you to be happy — if you have 
 happiness, I shall have through yours. 
 Do you understand ? That is my convic- 
 tion, and I shall act up to it. I shall pray 
 for your long-continued happiness. As for 
 myself, don't you know there is always some- 
 thing to do for others to make up for what 
 one misses for oneself?" 
 
 Molly was past making any effort to 
 speak. She shook her head with a waifish 
 April smile and held out her hand. 
 
 Brunskill wrung it passionately. 
 
 " God keep you ! ' he said, scarcely above 
 a whisper, and so left her.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 
 
 It was late before Brunskill ^ot home that 
 night, and when he went into his sitting- 
 room he was amazed to find Matthew Mur- 
 dock in the arm-chair, his head sunk on his 
 chest, and sound asleep. The opening- of the 
 door awoke him, and he stumbled to his feet 
 with a foolish, swaggering leer. 
 
 " I've driven a good bargain this fore- 
 noon," he said, in answer to Brunskill's look 
 of inquiry, " and there's nought puts a man 
 in such good spirits as the feeling that he's 
 outwitted some one with greater parts nor his 
 own in a general way. It's like a draught of 
 good ale to a dry throat. So I thought I'd
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 2 3 3 
 
 be neighbourly and call and see you, Master ; 
 and your landlady said you'd likely not be 
 long, so I sat down and waited and fell over. 
 You haven't favoured Alderdale so much 
 lately, but that seemed natural, since the 
 bait's been gadding." 
 
 Brunskill did not speak, but he knew 
 perfectly well that this was the clear plan of 
 a tug of war that would be best grappled 
 without skirmishing. He went round the 
 table and sat down on the sofa opposite 
 Murdock, who sat down too. 
 
 "Is my meaning clear ? ' asked Matthew, 
 disconcerted by the silence and severe gravity 
 of the other man. 
 
 " I suppose you mean your niece by the 
 bait?' Brunskill said then. 
 
 "You're right, bdarn" cried Matthew, 
 clapping his hand on his knee. " I thought 
 you were a quick one, and I like your honest 
 way of meeting it. It's only Dale louts that 
 glint all sheepish and shy like the lasses them-
 
 234 JULIET. 
 
 selves, but you're none a Dale lout, as I've 
 always held. There's something above us in 
 your breeding, and I lay you're square all 
 round ; I lay you're none one to shirk truths, 
 or you'd none have that there picture on 
 your walls for all the world to see. A bold 
 stroke that, I call it." 
 
 Poor Brunskill ! He glanced up at the 
 "Priscilla' above the mantel-piece. It had 
 that merit of a thoroughly good portrait — 
 the capability of the eyes to follow those of 
 any person who looked at them, and they 
 looked at him now. It was his dearest pos- 
 session. ll Do you too testify against me ? ' 
 he thought. 
 
 " You seem to forget that your niece and 
 Noll Ormrod were pupils of mine for many 
 years," he said. " When he left Moorhead 
 he gave me this as a remembrance of both, 
 but chiefly of himself. That is the history 
 of my possession of it." 
 
 " I lay a sovereign or two would back the
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 235 
 
 job. It seems to me a real good one, and 
 likely for cash," said Matthew. 
 
 " It is very good," said Brunskill, " and 
 will be valuable one of these clays as an early 
 work of a great artist. But in my case it 
 entailed no barter. It was a gift. He knew 
 my interest in both, and that it was not 
 probable I should value anything more than 
 this." 
 
 Matthew chuckled, snapping his fingers 
 expressively. 
 
 " He's a sly one, is Noll, and you're not 
 far behind " 
 
 " Not at all," Brunskill interrupted. " Had 
 he thought for a moment that his own in- 
 terests were at stake he would not have done 
 so foolish a thing. But he knew they were 
 not. When he found there was a complica- 
 tion it did not alarm him ; he knew with 
 whom he had to deal." 
 
 "There's something there I don't under- 
 stand," said Matthew.
 
 236 JULIET. 
 
 " It is quite self-evident," said Brun- 
 skill. 
 
 " Ay, may be it is to you, who have light 
 on it all round, but I haven't. Will you 
 speak a bit straighter ? " 
 
 " I will, after you have told me your 
 object in coming here at all." 
 
 "That's easy told," said Matthew. "It 
 was done in kindness, b'darn. I thought it 
 was time you and the lass were making it up, 
 and I came to encourage you by telling you 
 of my consent and good- will. No offence, I 
 hope." 
 
 He was growing uneasy, feeling that 
 Brunskill was rather too much of a gentle- 
 man for his lin^o ; too incisive, easv, and 
 self-possessed to be an admirer of Molly's, 
 according to his idea of what that involved ; 
 and could make no headway against this 
 perspicacious reception, which seemed to 
 expect matters of great moment to come 
 under discussion presently, and to be setting
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 237 
 
 aside as subsidiary the only one seething in 
 his own brain. 
 
 <4 Not the least offence," said Brunskill, 
 without flinching. " But you are under a 
 misapprehension, Mr. M unlock. Your niece 
 is engaged to be married to her cousin, 
 Noll Ormrod. I thought it was generally 
 known." 
 
 Matthew sprang to his feet with a great 
 oath, and Brunskill rose too, resting his hand 
 on the table and looking calmly across at 
 him. 
 
 " Is that truth ? " asked Matthew. 
 
 " It is quite true," said Brunskill. 
 
 " By G — ! and she may be thinks it a 
 light matter to fool a man like me ? " 
 
 ** I don't know how she can have fooled 
 you," said Brunskill. " Others have known 
 without asking her. You have to thank your 
 own habits of indifference and unofenial sur- 
 liness for not having had it discussed with 
 you as a matter-of-fact -"
 
 238 JULIET. 
 
 " That's a lie!" burst from Matthew; " IVe 
 none been indifferent. I've oft told Tamar 
 to make you welcome to our best ; and only 
 t'other day I was cracking to the lass about 
 you, and she made no such fuss that it wasn't 
 a fact that you loved her. As for Noll, she 
 told me nought. He used to come loafing 
 about the Grange, but it was always with his 
 painting- work ; and they were cousins, and 
 had done their tasks and laked together, and 
 it seemed natural. I never dreamt she'd be 
 such an arrant fool as choose that limb, 
 who'll turn her over, as we turn rubbish 
 into a beck, one of these days, when it 
 was so certain sure that she'd you too 
 at her call, only she seems such a blind 
 daftie as never to have known that. Why 
 the devil didn't you get first innings. 
 Master ? " 
 
 " How do you know that I did not ? ' 
 Brunskill asked. 
 
 11 I ken because she was so innocent over
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 239 
 
 being your sweetheart, and she's none the 
 lass to put on or lie." 
 
 " There you're right," said Brunskill. 
 
 " He'll never marry her," said Matthew, 
 with an insinuating leer, after a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 " What has that to do with me ? I am 
 her friend now, and always shall be." 
 
 " Friend — ay, bdarn ! But such friend- 
 ship's ticklish, like the Whern overflowing its 
 banks and never stopping till some deathly 
 harm's done. Now, I've no mind to have my 
 name fouled, remember." 
 
 " You brute ! " said Brunskill, in ; a deep 
 tone of ra^e. 
 
 " I've reason on my side," said Matthew, 
 sullenly. 
 
 " The reason of a sot — not the respect- 
 able reason of a respectable man. The sooner 
 you understand that this matter rests between 
 her and me alone, the better. She and I are 
 under perfect mutual understanding ; she has
 
 2 4 o JULIET. 
 
 no more to fear from me than Noll has, and 
 beyond that understanding I shall take no 
 step by the authority or at the instigation of 
 any man." 
 
 14 Thee'rt a fool, a damnable fool ! Thy 
 love's been calf-love, then ? ' said Matthew, 
 with a long taunting jeer. 
 
 " That's best known to myself," said 
 Brunskill, under an overwhelming desire to 
 fell him ; but, instead, he strode to the 
 door, and held it wide open, without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 Murdock looked at him, and knew he 
 must go. Brunskill was deathly pale ; his 
 eyes glowed with suppressed passion, the 
 veins on his brow stood out like whip-cord ; 
 he looked as though he could have fallen 
 upon him and shaken the breath from his 
 body ; and Matthew slunk past trembling. 
 
 He went to the inn for his horse, and 
 drank deeply while waiting for it, the anger 
 at his baulked shrewdness focussing the while
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 24 1 
 
 round Molly. She was unprotected and the 
 weaker ; he could wreak his anger on her. 
 This idea, once hatched, gained force and 
 feasibility as the fumes of dry liquor 
 mounted to his brain, and bred a madman's 
 desperate expediencies. All the way home 
 he brooded over them, chuckling exultingly 
 at Tamar's absence, plotting revenge, nurs- 
 ing the blind rage natural to the thwarting 
 of his will, and swearing with terrible oaths 
 to punish her for his own obtrusive folly 
 in going to Brunskill on such a fool's 
 errand. 
 
 But on one point he calculated wrongly. 
 Tamar had returned. Molly found her pat- 
 tering about the house when she went in 
 after her walk, and they had had a long talk 
 after tea. Tamar had told her all about the 
 funeral, and Molly had told Tamar all about 
 her talk with Matthew, and asked her to tell 
 him of her engagement. She did not name 
 
 Brunskill, but Tamar knew the bent of 
 vol. 1. 16
 
 242 JULIET. 
 
 Matthew's mind on the question, and easily 
 guessed that some urgent representation had 
 made her, too, urgent for a full confession. 
 It was hard work with Tamar not to expos- 
 tulate before this decided step was taken. 
 Preference for Brunskill's suit was one of the 
 few points in which she agreed with Mat- 
 thew ; indeed, in her opinion, none but a fool 
 or a lass-in-love would have hesitated a 
 moment between the two. " Noll's a fair 
 weather chap," she had said once to Molly. 
 In her own mind she added, " And the 
 master'd be the stronger and cannier the 
 more the wind blew and the rain fell, like the 
 house built on a rock." But still an instinct 
 of delicacy forbad her to make the compari- 
 son aloud without her advice having been 
 asked, and she saw Molly was a " lass-in- 
 love," and that there was no doing anything 
 with her. 
 
 And then they heard the horse's hoofs on 
 the bridge, a great thumping in the stable.
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 243 
 
 and Matthew's low stormy swearing as he 
 crossed the yard. They had heard such 
 sounds before a dozen times, and yet to-night 
 it struck both of them somehow that a climax 
 had come, and they looked at each other 
 with foreboding. 
 
 Tamar was for hustling Molly off to bed ; 
 but for the first time she resisted and stood 
 her ground. 
 
 " Eh ! my lassie." said Tamar, " he's had 
 a bout with some one ; he's none gone in 
 liquor, just dipped, and that's always worst. 
 There's no saying that he won't fall on thee 
 if he's been hearing of Noll." 
 
 " Very well," said Molly, " I was a coward 
 the other day ; I won't be now. I'll face the 
 truth and have done with it." 
 
 Matthew came in, and he carried a gig- 
 whip in his hand, whether from accident or 
 intention they never knew. But when they 
 looked at his face, it was easy to associate 
 the whip with his mood, easy to remember
 
 244 JULIET. 
 
 that men had raised such things against 
 women when the scathing of words and curses 
 did not seem to touch them sufficiently. 
 
 It made Tamar shudder ; but she did not 
 lose her presence of mind, and, going up to 
 him, she touched it, saying, cheerfully, 
 
 " Why, Matther, man, the passage peg's 
 the place for that, as ye ken. Let me lay 
 it by." 
 
 Matthew, however, stared at her. 
 
 "You here!' he said, pulling the whip 
 from her. " Well, it makes no difference now ; 
 no more difference nor there is between this 
 here stout piece of leather and that there 
 muzzle-loader," pointing to one of the vil- 
 lainous old guns slung on crockets above the 
 mantel-piece. " Either'll serve my purpose 
 if things go against me. It's none you I've 
 to deal with now, Tamar Verity ; it's my 
 niece. Molly ! " 
 
 "Yes, Uncle," said Molly, turning and 
 facing him.
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 245 
 
 11 I'll uncle thee!' said Matthew, raising 
 one hand menacingly ; " I'll uncle thee, thou 
 bold, brazen lass, with thy wilfulness and 
 foolishness ! Such a mess as you're making 
 of yourself! What are you thinking about, 
 to turn from a man like the Master yonder, 
 for a sly dog like Noll Ormrod, and make a 
 laughing-stock of me ; me, the shrewdest 
 man in all t'Dale, who's never been outwitted 
 by buyer or jobber ! And next thing'll be 
 you'll be a laughing-stock too, all the folk 
 pointing and jibing at t'lass who believed 
 Noll Ormrod 'd put up with such as her when 
 he was a grand Londoner, with fine ladies 
 to choose among. What'll you do then, 
 eh ? " 
 
 " I can think of that when he comes to it," 
 she said. 
 
 " Think ! — ay, and maybe expect the 
 Master'll be ready to take up with other men's 
 cast-offs. Thee'rt fair a sucking-lambkin, 
 Molly. Tamar, dost fancy thy cade-lamb ?'
 
 246 JULIET. 
 
 " I should expect nothing of the kind ! ' 
 Molly exclaimed. 
 
 " What would you expect, then ? Flirky 
 ways are none content with spinster days. 
 There's no saying what you mightn't come 
 to — it might be that mucky and foul ; for if 
 you're a maid you'll have to face the world, 
 maybe in hunger and starvation. Molly, if 
 you tak the Master, I'll die more easy when 
 my time comes — meet your father more easy ; 
 poor Tony, who was daft enough to trust 
 me. 
 
 " No, Uncle," she said, undauntedly; " I'm 
 very sorry, but I'm daft enough too to 
 trust Noll. I'll never break faith with 
 him." 
 
 " You won't ? " 
 
 "Never!' she repeated. " And if you 
 have anything on your conscience, if you have 
 done wrong by me, is it I who must punish 
 another, letting alone myself, to make your 
 mind easy ? Uncle, if you'd gone straight,
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 247 
 
 you'd have done your duty by me. I can- 
 not help you to mend it if you've gone 
 crooked." 
 
 you ! 
 
 She did not speak. 
 
 " Maybe you think you've got right on 
 your side ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have," she said. 
 
 " And what's right by might ? " he asked ; 
 " God or the devil, which is the stronger ? 
 There's nought o' God in my heart, and 
 there's a canny bit o' the devil both in my 
 hand and heart, and he shall have a fling, ay, 
 as sure as there's a hell gaping, and you're 
 two weakly women ! ' 
 
 11 Run to the door, and get away sharp 
 and call Carlings," said Tamar, in an urgent 
 whisper. 
 
 " You go," said Molly ; " I'm not a bit 
 frightened." 
 
 " He's mad " 
 
 But Matthew had overheard. He turned
 
 248 JULIET. 
 
 and closed the door, tightened his hold on the 
 whip-handle and advanced into the middle of 
 the kitchen. Then he raised the whip, swung 
 the lash dexterously round his head, and 
 brought it on to the floor with a hiss, after a 
 curving sweep that switched the pewter- 
 dishes on the delf-rack and the brass candle- 
 sticks on the mantel-piece. 
 
 It was done with a diabolical deliberation 
 that spoke volumes for his intentions. Molly 
 looked round wildly. Tamar was signalling 
 to her to edge behind him ; but she stood 
 paralyzed. Both were certain that the next 
 slash would fall on them, and Tamar's last 
 hope was to save Molly. But she saw she 
 could not move ; suspense and expectation 
 chained her to the spot where she stood. So 
 Tamar hazarded a plunge, and gained the 
 door. Matthew turned, but too late. She 
 had wrenched it open, and was speeding 
 down the passage, then across the garth, with 
 cries for help ; until in the unmooned gloom of
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 249 
 
 the falling night, she reached the High Farm, 
 and battered at the door with clenched fists, 
 until she was answered and heard hasty steps 
 coming downstairs. 
 
 Then she sped back, and in recrossing 
 the garth was dimly conscious of hearing a 
 gate clash, the gate just beyond the bridge 
 she thought, but was too dazed and scared by 
 the silence about the house to attach any im- 
 portance to it at the moment. As she went 
 in, some one ran against her, clutched her, 
 and then pushed her away with a force that 
 sent her staggering against the wall. It was 
 Murdock, hurrying out blindly. But he did 
 not speak, and went on in a stumbling, spas- 
 modic way which made it evident he could 
 not go far or fast. 
 
 Tamar let him be. It was for men to 
 deal with such as he. She sped on into the 
 unstirred silence and gloom of the kitchen. 
 The candle had been knocked over, and all 
 was in darkness. She groped about for
 
 250 JULIET. 
 
 matches in sickening fear — almost expectation 
 — that every moment foot or fingers would 
 come in contact with something soft, motion- 
 less, yielding. 
 
 But they did not, and at last she struck a 
 light and threw a piercing glance all round 
 into the wainscoted, black shadowiness of 
 the big old place. There was, however, 
 nothing in it that either was or had been 
 alive ; but another blow had evidently been 
 attempted, for the brass candlesticks were on 
 the hearthstone, and one of the guns w r as 
 hanging 1 slantwise from one crocket. That 
 told a tale. Surely the whip had caught in it 
 and lost its impetus. She realized this with 
 unspeakable relief, and could face the ques- 
 tion, " Where is Molly ? " 
 
 Carling had now followed her, and in a 
 few words she told him all. A search for 
 Matthew was cautiously instituted, cautiously, 
 because she believed the drink had at last 
 flown to his brain. But they soon found
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 2 5 1 
 
 him, leaning against the stable-door, subdued 
 and confused, and willing to go quietly 
 to bed. 
 
 Then Tamar's thoughts turned wholly to 
 Molly. From the moment of leaving the 
 kitchen she had neither seen nor heard any- 
 thing of her. No sound had reached her 
 ears, although she had expected the sudden 
 sharp cry of pain rendered sharper by fear ; 
 but whatever had passed had been done in a 
 silence more hideous than sound. It was 
 only after searching all through the house and 
 buildings that she suddenly remembered the 
 clashing of the gate ; and wondering she had 
 not before associated it with Molly, she and 
 Carling set out on to the Moss in search of 
 her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Molly was far on the way to 
 Moorhead. She had not paused once in her 
 wild run. She was impelled by a fear too 
 great for anything but rapid action, for to her 
 too it had seemed as though Matthew had
 
 252 JULIET. 
 
 gone mad. She scarcely knew how she had 
 got out of the kitchen. She remembered 
 there was a sudden darkness from the stroke 
 of the whip that was meant to reach her, 
 catching the candlestick, and throwing it down 
 on the floor with a jangle that evoked a 
 horrible oath from him. She had had pre- 
 sence of mind to see the opportunity for 
 escape which this gave her, if only she could 
 reach the door without coming in contact 
 with him. Standing still for a moment or 
 two until she was sure of his position by his 
 fumbling for matches among the clinking 
 things on the chimney-piece, and the volley 
 of oaths to which he gave utterance in his 
 baulked rage, she took two or three noise- 
 less steps out into the passage, and then, 
 lapsing into a hasty, frightened run, made 
 instinctively for the gate on to the high road. 
 Once on the Moss, she felt comparatively 
 safe. She had listened as she ran, and was 
 sure she was not pursued, but it did not occur
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 2 5 3 
 
 to her to slacken her speed. While she had 
 stood in the kitchen, with her nerves and 
 energies strained to the utmost to seze the 
 opportunity for escape, there had come before 
 her a vivid picture of Brunskill's mother 
 lying dead upon the floor after that " use/ess 
 agonized writhing" had ceased, and this, grow- 
 ing more vivid every moment, augmented her 
 excited trepidation. 
 
 The night was dark and close. There 
 was no moon, and the sky was too cloudy for 
 stars. Occasionally there came a flash of 
 lightning, summer lightning, that glanced be- 
 twixt the ragged edges of the clouds scud- 
 ding above her. She could not accustom 
 herself to these flashes, but in the suspense 
 of expecting them, became exhausted and 
 breathless. Each one startled her into a 
 faint cry, for her nerves were unstrung, and 
 she was tired with hurrying over the stones 
 and ruts of the rough road. Each one, how- 
 ever, showed her where she was, for the
 
 254 JULIET. 
 
 darkness was thickening, and when she 
 stretched out her hands into it, it seemed to 
 possess a substance whose consistency she 
 could calculate. To her excited brain, it 
 seemed like huge wings that poised without 
 one flap of motion. She felt continually that 
 she ousdit to reach their ed^e and emerge 
 into the buoyant light and air of day. 
 
 But every quivering flash only confirmed 
 the vastness of the night, and showed her 
 the clouds parting and meeting and hurrying 
 together with a certainty of aim and motion 
 that seemed as though it must produce a 
 sound. She would have been glad of a peal 
 of thunder, as a relief to the heaviness that 
 brooded all around ; but none came. The 
 wind stirred now and then into a moan that 
 rattled the stark rushes, and when that died 
 away all was quieter than before. And 
 through all, the darkness, the silence, the 
 lightning that shot athwart both, she ran on 
 and on until the Moss was far behind her,
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 255 
 
 impelled by the mastering fear of her uncle 
 and his purpose, exaggerating them into 
 murder — fancying she saw the dead face of 
 lovely Mrs. Brunskill " in such a position 
 that the jaw could not drop;" influenced by 
 the many influences of her return home to 
 find Tamar gone, of her lonely days and 
 nights with Murdock, of Brunskill's story and 
 Murdock's rage, influences far greater than 
 that of the wings that were sustaining them- 
 selves above the world and seemed to move 
 with her. 
 
 But presently their horror absorbed the 
 others. Instinctively she began to race those 
 wings, from which there seemed no escape. 
 She had not been out an hour, but surely 
 days had lapsed for ever into one long dark- 
 ness. As this feeling forced itself upon her, 
 she stopped and clasped her head in her 
 hands. Could any one have seen her, they 
 would have known she was losing her senses. 
 She felt herself, dimly, that it was so. The
 
 256 JULIET. 
 
 wings seemed to be descending, to be press- 
 ing on her, and her reason, her powers of 
 resistance, were surely failing. It was as 
 though she must sit down to leave some 
 space around her ; and she sat down with the 
 dumb horror of fear and suspense and bewil- 
 derment growing upon her, and creeping 
 into her very brain. 
 
 She sat down, and soon she fell asleep. 
 
 When she awoke, the dawn was breaking, 
 but there had been a shower, and she was 
 wet through. For all this, however, she 
 cared nothing, since it was no longer dark ; 
 but getting up, looked round. It was some 
 time before she could tell where she was, for 
 she had unwittingly diverged from the road 
 and gone down the fields towards the valley. 
 Her thoughts were astray, and she could not 
 fix them on her position. She looked 
 vaguely round, but somehow her brain did 
 not clear, and she could not think. She felt 
 dizzy and exhausted, and knew not what to
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 2 5 7 
 
 do, or whether to do anything but simply to 
 sit down again. 
 
 Beyond the shoulder of Blaesfield there 
 came just then a shimmer of light. It spread 
 behind the ridges of the eastern hills, and, 
 gradually creeping into the valley, tinged the 
 mists of morning with a saffron tint — a tint 
 so dim, so impalpable, so subtle in its mere 
 suspicion of colour, that it was surely the 
 shadow of colour rather than itself. There 
 was no glow in it, no obtrusive confidence, 
 such as the setting sun flings abroad. This 
 was a blush, nothing more ; and as it stole up 
 from the underworld it seemed that its light 
 was just as much as a star would diffuse, in 
 the rolling voids of space around it. 
 
 How could Molly look and not be be- 
 witched ? She was a dale's girl, and yet had 
 never seen a summer sunrise. She was a 
 dale's girl, and as such had the ardent love 
 of Nature's infinite canvas which only fami- 
 liarity with and reverence for Nature can 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 25S JULIET. 
 
 inculcate. She stood and gazed upon it, 
 fascinated, enthralled. Was this how the 
 great burning sun encroached upon the 
 realms of night ? this, its wooing of dewy 
 country and empty streets ? As it spread 
 softly and slowly over the upper world, 
 she began to walk, and walked instinctively 
 towards it. 
 
 Down the dew-laden fields she went, her 
 eyes fixed on that calm herald of the day. 
 It gave her peace and forge tfulness — what 
 more did she want ? She went through the 
 farm -yards at Limley, where a dog barked at 
 her, as well it mi^ht at a inrl walking abroad 
 thus early, hoodless, with clothes that clung, 
 limp and heavy with rain, to her figure. It 
 did not disturb her, however, and she crossed 
 the stream, passed Goyden Pot and Reggar- 
 mote Scar, and turned with the turning of 
 the valley. The golden shimmer had spread 
 faintly all up to Whernside, and stretched 
 before her, alluring in its delicate vagueness ;
 
 A BLA CK NIGHT. 2 5 9 
 
 but she was beginning to be conscious of 
 
 great weariness and stiffness, her head 
 
 throbbed, and every step was a difficulty, 
 
 sending, as it did, shooting pains through all 
 
 her limbs. 
 
 There is a meadow just before the 
 
 Alderdale pastures, that is bordered on one 
 side by the river, on the other by a belting 
 of trees. It looked very solemn and quiet 
 now when Molly reached it, and she felt 
 suddenly powerless to go further. There 
 was a strange dizziness in her head ; every- 
 thing seemed to be spinning round, trees,, 
 river, grass, hills, and sky, all running chaoti- 
 cally into each other and blotting each other 
 out. She sat down on a stone where the 
 water touched her feet, and laving it out in 
 one palm, bathed her hot head and smoothed 
 her hair, that was hano-ino; down her back in 
 soft dripping lengths ; and presently she 
 began to plait it with weak, uncertain fingers. 
 But they were not equal to the task, and
 
 2 6o JULIET. 
 
 dropped to her side ; and she involuntarily 
 leant back and laid her aching head upon the 
 bank. 
 
 This was how Brunskill found her. All 
 night long he had been searching. Tamar and 
 Carling had made their way to Moorhead, 
 and he, sitting up ostensibly reading, but 
 really the victim of a presentiment of some- 
 impending calamity, which made study and 
 sleep equally impossible, had been the first to 
 hear them at Mrs. Orm rod's at the other end 
 of the village. Full of sickening fear, he 
 rushed out and devoted himself to the search. 
 Twice already he had passed through this 
 field, and now at the third time his eye was 
 instantly caught by that white heap against 
 the river, that might have been a snowdrift 
 for motionlessness. Another moment, and he 
 was kneeling over it and calling her bv her 
 name in a voice that changed from tender 
 pity to sharp agony of apprehension, when 
 she did not answer.
 
 A BLACK NIGHT. 261 
 
 He lifted her, and the movement seemed 
 to rouse her. She opened her eyes, fixing 
 them on him, but he saw that they were 
 vacant in their pathetic, feverish brilliancy, 
 and did not know him. His arms closed 
 round her with convulsive passion of posses- 
 sion as he gazed down at her, uttering 
 every endearing epithet of which he could 
 think. 
 
 " And he knelt over he 7% and she writhed, 
 and at last she was still" 
 
 Those were the words that presently 
 oozed from Molly's lips, and she screamed in 
 frantic fear, and struggled in his arms. 
 
 It froze his blood to hear her. Those 
 were his words of the previous afternoon — 
 not twelve hours ago — his words ! 
 
 Had they maddened her ? 
 
 " The sins of the fathers shall be visited 
 upon the children." Was that true after all ? 
 Was this the real visitation, in which there 
 could be no softening? Had his anguish to
 
 262 JULIET. 
 
 fall through her suffering, her suffering to 
 fall through his? Brunskill groaned. Of 
 all thoughts now, this was the most terrible 
 to him. 
 
 GS^^^S^^*
 
 «*_- 
 
 CA\ 
 
 ^ lO^K 4S3| fiSjr ^p, . Tj. 
 
 5 > , , 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 
 
 " What had you been saying to her ? She's 
 constantly talking of you in her delirium, 
 associating you with murder and suicide and 
 all kinds of horrors. She scarcely names 
 Murdock. She seems to imagine Noll is 
 kneeling over her, and strangling her, or 
 something, and then she says, ' Oh, don't, 
 don't, Mr. Brunskill ! ' just as though you 
 were hurting her. Had you been discussing 
 such things ? " 
 
 It was Miss Gliddon who spoke. She 
 had just returned from Alderdale, from watch- 
 ing with Tamar in Molly's room, and hear- 
 ing all the wild, hideous images which her
 
 264 JULIET. 
 
 distraught brain was dwelling upon as 
 realities. They had been unable to make 
 any sense out of them. Murdock and his 
 whip and her flight, seemed to be wholly 
 absorbed in some previous horror, of which 
 they knew nothing. There were strange 
 allusions to Tamar's absence, to Matthew's 
 watchfulness, to the quiet house, the long 
 nights with their ghostly moonshine, the 
 eerie sobbing of the river, the reckless scour- 
 ing up and down of rats behind the wains- 
 cot ; but although it was evident all these 
 had left their impression upon her imagina- 
 tion, they were wholly subsidiary to some 
 horrible crime with which BrunskilTs name 
 was constantly associated. It had made them 
 shudder to hear her. 
 
 And then Brunskill met her on the way 
 home. 
 
 "How is she?' he looked, rather than 
 asked, his face haggard, his eyes suspicious 
 and imploring and hungry.
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 265 
 
 " She is very ill, and will be worse yet," 
 Miss Gliddon said, bluntly, and she stood 
 still and stared at him. " What in the world 
 have you been tehing her ? ' she asked. 
 
 He did not answer. His eyes fell. 
 
 They walked on, he sunk in miserable 
 thought, she confused, astonished, inclined to 
 be angry and blame him for she knew not 
 what. 
 
 Suddenly an idea struck her, flashed 
 across her face like an illumination, but the 
 nature of it made her shrink from giving it 
 utterance. Instinctively she edged away 
 from him and cast a furtive glance of pene- 
 trating scrutiny over his whole person and 
 bearing. 
 
 He was quick to feel it. Always keenly 
 sensitive, the present over-wrought state of 
 his feelings roused him at once to notice this 
 slight, involuntary action of withdrawal, this 
 drawing away of the skirts of her garments, 
 this broadening of her Phylacteries and
 
 a 66 J U LI El. 
 
 shrinking from the contamination of moral 
 leprosy. 
 
 " Don't ! " he said. 
 
 It was a little word, but the movement of 
 his hand accompanying it, the low tone of 
 poignant suffering, carried shame and con- 
 fusion to her soul. She rallied her strict 
 sense of justice, her sound unprejudiced judg- 
 ment, and renounced the Pharisaical condem- 
 nation into which she was drifting. 
 
 " I know what you were thinking," Brun- 
 skill said. 
 
 "What? But stop — don't, if you would 
 rather not." 
 
 " I would rather. There is no fear of my 
 being tempted to perjure myself. You were 
 thinking that once upon a time 1 had com- 
 mitted a crime — let us say. murder — and that 
 I had confessed it to her under promise of 
 secrecy and because I could not now marry 
 her. I wanted her pity for my remorse, I 
 suppose; her belief in my penitence. No!
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 267 
 
 I have been selfish, but not so selfish as 
 that." 
 
 She was silent, self-convicted of her quick 
 falling- away from the straight path of charity 
 which does not " cast all doubt upon the 
 darker side ; ' and he mistook the spirit of 
 her silence. 
 
 " You think only guilt could be thus 
 penetrating of suspicion ? ' he asked, with 
 dulled sarcasm. 
 
 " Quite the reverse," she said. ' l I was 
 thinking only a clear conscience could be 
 thus frank in facing suspicion." 
 
 " I could swear to the perfect truth of my 
 refutation," he said. 
 
 " I don't want you to swear. 1 believe 
 you," she assured him, earnestly. 
 
 " You thought you had scented the fox ? ' 
 he asked, with a faint smile. 
 
 11 I remembered that you were considered 
 to be a Bohemian, that so far as anything was 
 known of you, you might be ' Nobody's
 
 268 JULIET. 
 
 child '; and because this generated a mystery, 
 of course I concluded the mystery must be 
 dark, and you dark too. But that is human 
 nature, to credit a man with sin before good- 
 ness. You must forgive me. I had forgotten 
 that the Ethiopian cannot change his skin; and 
 more shame to me after the experience of all 
 these years." 
 
 " I would never have touched her hand 
 had mine been wicked. I could never have 
 looked into her eyes, no, not even to learn 
 purity and goodness ! But your suspicion 
 was natural enough after what she must have 
 said." 
 
 " And there were grounds tor her say- 
 
 • II 
 
 ing it 
 
 " Many topics come under discussion in 
 conversation." 
 
 "Certainly, but some are much better left 
 alone, as in this case. Something has cer- 
 tainly predisposed her to lose her wits under 
 Murdoch's brutality. Betty Carling says she
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 269 
 
 was much frightened on coming home and 
 rinding Tamar away. I know she had a 
 great horror of drunkenness." 
 
 " That was what we had been talking 
 about. Only yesterday 1 met her in the 
 fields, and we sauntered and talked." 
 
 " And you were telling her of cases that 
 had come under your observation ? " 
 
 11 Of one. She was fascinated ; but I did 
 not know, I had no idea, that she had that 
 horror of drunkenness. She said nothing. 
 Of course I might have known that it was no 
 subject for her ears ; but I was selfish, blindly 
 selfish ! " 
 
 " For the first time in your life, then," 
 Miss Gliddon said, warmly. " There, don't 
 reproach yourself, or we shall have you ill 
 next. What a look you look! Have you had 
 any breakfast ? No ! and you were up all 
 night. Come with me home, and you shall 
 eat properly. You must eat! I know you're 
 sick at heart, you poor fellow, but all the
 
 2 7 o JULIET. 
 
 more reason you shouldn't be sick in body. 
 Yes, yes, I have sense on my side, have 
 I not ? " 
 
 He could not help smiling. She was so 
 peremptory, so authoritative, as though he 
 were a child ; and unused as he was to this 
 true womanly instinct of caretaking and tem- 
 poral supervision, the mingling of amusement, 
 astonishment, and gratitude that it awoke in 
 him, was the very best tonic that could have 
 been administered. 
 
 It was true that long days and nights of 
 suffering and delirium were before Molly, but 
 they could assure him that her brain was only 
 affected by the fever ; when that subsided, it 
 would be clear and strong as of old. Every 
 morninof found him at Alderdale. The 
 climax things had reached was too i^reat to 
 allow of his being held back from showing 
 his interest in her bv any speculation as to 
 what Murdock and the gossips would say. 
 It was he who had found her, and carried her
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 271 
 
 home and put her under Tamar's care, and 
 then saddled the horse and galloped all the 
 way to Newbridge for the doctor. Thus he 
 had established, by active service, his right 
 to the first daily bulletin. The doctor came 
 in the afternoons, and Brunskill waylaid him 
 as he passed through the village on his home- 
 ward way, and insisted on having the truth, 
 and neither more nor less. Then he sat 
 down and penned the report to Ormrod. He 
 had been the first to write to Ormrod. No 
 one else seemed to think of him. Tamar 
 could not write, not being " scholard " enough 
 to know her letters, letting- alone form them ; 
 Miss Gliddon was still preoccupied with her 
 brother ; Mrs. Ormrod had gone weeping to 
 Alderdale, and been chiefly useful in enter- 
 taining the gossips, scolding Matthew, and 
 soliloquizing at Molly's bedside with arms 
 akimbo ; and thus the task seemed to Brun- 
 skill to devolve upon himself alone, and Tie 
 undertook it as a matter-of-course.
 
 2 72 JULIET. 
 
 He heard in return now and then. 
 Ormrod wrote at first to express his sorrow, 
 to ask for full particulars, to hope she would 
 soon be convalescent — a thoroughly proper 
 letter, whose conventionality a woman would 
 have fathomed quicker than a man. Brun- 
 skill never felt its heartlessness. He judged 
 him by himself, chided himself for the chary 
 details he had given, and at once set to work 
 to atone for the fault, producing as the result 
 such a letter as John Alden might have pro- 
 duced had he written instead of spoken to 
 Priscilla. Wholly in innocence of the elo- 
 quence which his heart gave to his hand, he 
 continued to write in this simple yet fervid 
 style, which did not fail to impress even 
 Ormrod. Such a fact as that of Ormrod 
 having already swerved from his first love, 
 never entered his mind. 
 
 Miss Gliddon came into the school-room 
 one morning with an open letter in her 
 hand.
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 273 
 
 " Who do you think is coming ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 " Ormrod, of course," he said, a dull flush 
 mounting into his cheeks, at the instantaneous 
 thought that he would see Molly, that he had 
 the riodit to see her. 
 
 " Oh, no," Miss Gliddon said, with an 
 impatient shrug, " I should think, if the truth 
 were known, he's thankful to be away, and 
 relieved from the necessity of showing active 
 interest, which often entails trouble, you see. 
 No, it is not Noll — a far greater stranger 
 than he, is coming. It is Miss Laybourne — 
 Juliet." 
 
 " Miss Laybourne — what is bringing 
 her ? " 
 
 " I know as little as you. It is two years 
 
 since I last asked her, and she has just now 
 
 noticed the invitation. I suppose she was 
 
 tired of saying ' No,' and so waited until she 
 
 could say 'Yes.' It is one of her usual 
 
 clever, graceful letters, and she seems to have 
 vol. 1. 18
 
 274 JULIET. 
 
 overcome all her reluctance, and really to be 
 looking forward to it." 
 
 " It will be very nice to see her." 
 " Very, and I shall want your help in 
 entertaining her. Jules is far from strong 
 yet, and a little fresh company will do you 
 good. The Feast is coming on, you know, 
 and the children will have a week's holiday, 
 and you shall come up to the Vicarage." 
 
 " That was a capital idea of mine, quite a 
 happy thought," she reflected, as she went 
 along up the village. " I declare, the pro- 
 spect of having Juliet, really in the flesh, at 
 last, was too much for my nerves. I expect 
 she's very blue, quite beyond me and my 
 rusty powers, and she'll want to talk, to hold 
 forth, perhaps ; for she's sure to have opinions 
 and fads, and to lose no opportunity for 
 benefiting mankind with them. Now, I 
 could not tolerate that kind of thing. Her 
 letters are all very well, just sufficient aroma 
 of art and fashion to make them piquant and
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 275 
 
 interesting to an old maid, whose light burns 
 faintly, but appropriately, in an out-of-the- 
 world valley, set round with hills, one of 
 which accommodates a churchyard for her 
 final Hie jacet ; but then, letters are different, 
 the fumes of the meal — not the meal itself, 
 and just tickle your senses into speculating 
 on the nature of the solids and liquids, and 
 sweets and bitters, that will be served up 
 presently. And I haven't time any more 
 than inclination, to sit still and knit, and say, 
 Yes and No, Indeed and Really, to subjects of 
 which I know little, and for which I care less ; 
 or to go out walking, and be philosophized, 
 or geologized, or botanized with, in the craze 
 girls have now for mastering every branch 
 of knowledge, and only completing their 
 educations on their death-beds, when neces- 
 sity compels them at last to close their observ- 
 ing eyes, and hermetically seal their inquiring 
 minds. No! if she did that to me, I would 
 humour her so far as to declare 1 was a
 
 276 JULIET. 
 
 devoted crustacean, and I would prove my 
 words. I must have my own say. It's im- 
 possible to be silent because another woman 
 thinks she has something to say that's better 
 worth listening to, for, of course, she hasn't, 
 or one thinks she hasn't. Now, Brunskill 
 and she will do admirably. He'll listen to 
 her, because she's a woman ; and shell listen 
 to him, because he's a man. I do wonder 
 she's never thought of marrying, but she may 
 have for what I know. I daresay I shall 
 hear everything ; she was always a good girl 
 to me, was Juliet, and it w r asn't all on account 
 of my empty bloater-pots and ginger-jars. I 
 declare I'm longing to see her now, and I 
 quite dreaded it before, and Brunskill would 
 never ^uess the invitation was selfish, or an 
 impulse. I wonder what she'll be like." 
 
 She had not to wonder long. Juliet fol- 
 lowed very close upon her letter, arriving one 
 night at sunset, when there was just suffi- 
 cient touch of frost in the air to make a fire
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 277 
 
 acceptable, and to give a never-to-be-forgotten 
 glow of warmth and welcome to the cur- 
 tained windows, the velvet-covered chairs 
 and sofa, the snowy-draped round table, 
 where the softly-shaded lamplight sparkled 
 upon faultless silver, and crystal, and 
 china, and the fur-rug, where a glossy little 
 terrier lay extended in roasting slumber. 
 They had not expected her quite so soon, 
 and Miss Gliddon was upstairs, so Juliet 
 walked in alone. She had walked up the 
 glebe for old-time's sake. The glebe with 
 the dark outline of the house against the 
 sky, the hills gently folded, the murmur of 
 the stream along the valley, all were familiar. 
 But not so the garden, which she could dis- 
 tinguish as tasteful and tidy ; and far less this 
 cosy luxurious room. She stood just within 
 the door, looking at it ; even the kettle on 
 the hob hissed, as though exulting at the 
 change, its steam curling saucily into the flash 
 of the coal among the peat and wood. She
 
 278 JULIET. 
 
 saw the peat in a moment. How many a 
 sledge had she helped to fill from the gaunt 
 array of stacks on the moors ; how many a 
 skirt-full had she brought in from the lean-to 
 in the yard ! No one in the house could 
 stack them so economically, and yet effec- 
 tively in the grates, as she ; and they — Ted — 
 had dubbed her Stoker. 
 
 That was years ago ! She stood now — a 
 handsome girl, handsomely dressed, the gleam 
 of a white fur-lined cloak on her arm, her 
 throat clasped round with silver, a flash of 
 jewels on her fingers as she drew off her 
 gloves. Miss Gliddon came downstairs with 
 little ejaculations of surprise and welcome, 
 fired off like rockets, and ran in pushing a 
 last hair-pin through her cap. 
 
 "Oh! my dear," she said, "to think 1 
 was not ready — to think " 
 
 But that second reflection, which might 
 have been only number two in a round dozen. 
 was for ever lost ; for Juliet had turned sud-
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 279 
 
 denly, and thrown her arms round her neck, 
 and laid her head upon her breast, bending 
 in her height, and claiming a sympathy such 
 as a child would have claimed ; gathering it 
 to herself as a child would have done. She 
 did not speak, but maintained that silent clasp 
 until the sob that had gathered j n h er throat 
 was gone, unsobbed out ; and no trace of emo- 
 tion remained, unless it were that repressed 
 tears gave that wonderful limpid brilliancy 
 to her eyes, when at last she faced the light. 
 
 Miss Gliddon withdrew a few paces and 
 surveyed her. 
 
 ' * What do you think of me?' Juliet 
 asked, smiling. 
 
 " Oh ! it is all stale news to you," Miss 
 Gliddon said, shrugging her shoulders ; " you 
 know it — ' divinely tall, and most divinely 
 fair ; ' only you are dark. Where did you 
 get that warm olive skin? It is Spanish. 
 You should wear a lace mantilla, and be a 
 donna. You are beautiful, Juliet."
 
 28o JULIET. 
 
 . "Am I ?" said Juliet. "And yet, what 
 does it matter ?" she added. " I remember 
 I used to think it must surely be better to 
 be beautiful than ugly ; that it would give me 
 more chances in life. But one's ideas change." 
 
 " I won't allow you to be cynical," said 
 Miss Gliddon, briskly preceding her upstairs; 
 u you will be quite out of character with the 
 country, if you are ; and I won't have the 
 people's morals corrupted. Here, if we are 
 unlucky, we grin and bear it, as the saying 
 goes ; we don't turn and kick." 
 
 " And you think that is what cynicism 
 does ? " 
 
 " No; I know that is what cynicism is — 
 the last, low, cowardly growl of the storm. 
 Besides, fancy being cynical with that voice ! 
 My dear, your voice is delicious, low-pitched, 
 melodious — made for faith, hope, love. It 
 wants a didactic voice to be effectively and 
 consistently cynical, therefore you are en- 
 tirely unfitted for it ; so remember ! '
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 281 
 
 " I had no idea you were so clever," said 
 Juliet. 
 
 This was as a battle-cry to Miss 
 Gliddon. 
 
 " My dear," she said, in sincere expostu- 
 lation, " I am not clever. That is exactly 
 what I am not. Don't harbour such an idea 
 for a moment. I am simply a devoted — — — " 
 
 In her alarm, she was on the point of 
 expending her artillery at once, which would 
 have been awkward, since she had no pre- 
 sent intention of proving her words — Juliet's 
 manner so far having disarmed her ; but she 
 was interrupted by the Vicar calling her, and 
 setting down the candlestick, disappeared 
 without more ado. 
 
 " Yes," thought Juliet, under the impres- 
 sion that she was completing the sentence as 
 it was meant to be completed, " she is simply 
 a devoted woman. There is no doubt about 
 it, so she was as honest over herself as over 
 me ; and she is devoted, too, in a good cause,
 
 282 JULIET. 
 
 which is not what all women are. I wonder 
 if I am." 
 
 They had a delightful evening. The 
 Vicar deserted his study and joined them, 
 and was for once roused from his abstraction 
 sufficiently to fence with Juliet and enjoy her 
 vigorous talk on modern men and things ; 
 and Miss Gliddon found herself content to 
 sit and listen, knitting, and admiring every- 
 thing about her visitor, from her clear, low 
 voice and her face, which was so animated 
 in spite of its unfrequent smile, to the turn 
 of her head, the easy unselfconscious grace 
 of her finely-developed figure, and the little 
 fascinating tricks of action in her hands. 
 
 " Ah ! she is delightful," she said to 
 Brunskill, the next day, when he came up 
 and found her busy in the garden. 4< She is 
 writing some letters just now, but will be out 
 very soon. You will be amazed with her. 
 The wonder is she was not married long 
 aero ; but it must be her own fault. Doctor
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 28 
 
 .-> 
 
 Thorns has often told us, you know, what 
 she was, but we never imagined her so fine- 
 looking, and her manner so winning. I de- 
 clare I am not in the least frightened of her." 
 
 "Frightened of whom?' asked a voice 
 behind them ; and they both turned, and 
 Brunskill held out his hand, a flash of de- 
 lighted surprise and fun lighting up his face. 
 
 " You were the ogress," he said. 
 
 "I ?" 
 
 Juliet smiled ; but there was an air of 
 perplexity about her as she stood and looked 
 at him, still holding his hand, and apparently 
 working out some mental puzzle difficult to 
 grasp. 
 
 " Have I never seen you since we left ? ' 
 she asked. " I don't mean spoken to you, 
 Mr. Brunskill, for, of course, I know we have 
 never met point-blank, but in travelling. 
 Surely you have passed me somewhere by- 
 road or by rail ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Miss Gliddon. " He
 
 2 S 4 JULIET. 
 
 has never been out of the dale since we came, 
 have you ? " 
 
 " No," said Brunskill. 
 
 " I have seen some one very like you 
 then," Juliet said; "but I cannot remember 
 whom. I shall, however," she added, con- 
 fidently. 
 
 He winced, drawing back with a slight 
 smile that revealed rather than concealed 
 some cause of unhappiness, and did not 
 escape her notice. 
 
 "You don't look well," she said. "Not 
 that you have aged in the least, but you have 
 an anxious look, which you should not have 
 here, where the air is so pure, and must 
 keep the brain free from cobwebs and the 
 spirits buoyant. What is it ? ' 
 
 " Even here, we live ! he said. 
 
 " I understand. Even here, life involves 
 hope and fear, joy and sorrow. ' Each heart 
 its suffering knows.' Yes, that is true, all the 
 world over."
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 285 
 
 " You look well, in every sense of the 
 word, Miss Laybourne.' 
 
 " I am very well," Juliet said. " But then 
 I may not be, long." 
 
 " Now there is the cloven hoof again," 
 Miss Gliddon exclaimed. " How dare you 
 be so morbid, Juliet ? Brunskill, you must 
 rout it out of her. Of course, there are 
 suffering, and sin, and disease in this life ; 
 but we must not anticipate either one or 
 the other. We must rise above them. I 
 wouldn't give a fig for the man or woman 
 who would shirk discipline. It's the greatest 
 compliment the Almighty can pay us, to lay 
 burdens upon our shoulders. It shows that 
 we are made of stout stuff, and equal to the 
 wear and tear of Time. Then comes Eter- 
 nity, and our wounds are healed, our rents 
 patched up, nothing but scars left — and 
 those scars are honourable. ' Friend, go up 
 higher ! ' that will be their meaning, and sud- 
 denly we shall see face to face, no longer
 
 s*86 JULIET. 
 
 through a glass darkly. Everything will be 
 clear ; above all, the sense in the wounds 
 and rents." 
 
 " Very true," Brunskill said, softly. 
 
 11 I don't see it," said Juliet to him. She 
 had listened impatiently, her face darkening 
 and frowning, and, now that Miss Gliddon 
 had left them, plunging in among the musk 
 and sw r eetbriar bushes to tie up some tall 
 sheaves of phloxes, she walked on with him, 
 eager for argument. " How can she tell ? ' 
 she asked. 
 
 " You mean that you think there can be 
 no experience to glean here in this mono- 
 tonous existence — just large enough for ' the 
 daily round, the common task ' ? ' Brunskill 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, of course.' 
 
 " She has not lived here all her life," he 
 said, gently. " And, besides, don't you think 
 the lives of all old maids enfold some 
 story — some idyll of love ? YVe are made
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 287 
 
 for love ; it is natural that like should rush 
 to like, that we should expect to meet some 
 one who shall be even dearer to us than our- 
 selves. But there are slips and misses, mis- 
 takes and misunderstandings, with fatal con- 
 sequences ; and then, Ginevra-like, we slip 
 into a chest to hide, and the lid falls, the 
 spring clasps — something has gone out of us 
 that never more sees light of day, and hence- 
 forth what is left lives to be practical. The 
 glamour is gone, there is no beacon-light on 
 the future, we live in the present, do our 
 little best, and presently lie down and die. 
 No ties of husband, or wife, or children, bind 
 us to earth. On the contrary, we have long 
 
 felt that — 
 
 " ' Death is Life's best, 
 And he wins most who earliest goes to rest.' " 
 
 " It is wonderful," Juliet said, medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 " Not at all; it is very simple — the sim 
 plest of all the woofs that God weaves.
 
 2 38 JULIET. 
 
 1 You want that, but you must not have it, it 
 is not good for you,' is what He says. You 
 have only to bend your will to His — and 
 what easier ? Don't you know the fable of 
 the wise man to his child ? * Take two 
 pieces of wood, and lay one athwart the 
 other, and you have a cross at once ; but lay 
 them by one another — God's will by yours 
 — and there is no cross.' " 
 
 " I did not mean that at all by saying it 
 was wonderful," said Juliet. " I was think- 
 ing of the strangeness of you and Miss Gl id- 
 don having reached such conclusions, not 
 because they are religious, but because they 
 must arise from experience. Have you 
 talked much together, and convinced each 
 other from theory ? " 
 
 " We have never broached the subject. 
 I was surprised by the warmth with which 
 she spoke. It seemed to lay bare so much. 
 Perhaps the sight of you — young, hand- 
 some, glowing — reminded her of her o\ui
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 289 
 
 girlhood, and some wound now only a 
 
 scar." 
 
 "Do you think she has been happy here ?■' 
 
 " Very happy. She is universally liked, 
 and thus her womanhood must be so far 
 satisfied." 
 
 " I wonder if it were a great renunciation 
 to leave Marshlands ? " 
 
 " What events have happened to her, 
 assuredly would happen there. It might be 
 a pain, it might be a relief, to leave them. 
 Memory is less poignant, more consoling, 
 when away from the objects associated with 
 certain incidents. It is easier to believe then 
 that ' duties are ours, and events God's,' 
 because we attach more importance to the 
 duties — at least, I think so." 
 
 " It seems to me that you have thought a 
 great deal," Juliet said, with one of her rare 
 smiles, "and '.I, in my conceit, expected to 
 find no crerm f thought anions vou all. I 
 must have been terribly conceited indeed, 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 JULIET. 
 
 when I was dissatisfied with this place years 
 ago, thinking- myself too good for it. Mr. 
 Brunskill, is that old felt wideawake still in 
 existence ? How I used to lon^ to know 
 where you had bought it ? " 
 
 " I bought this at Newbridge," Brun- 
 skill said, taking off and smoothing the one 
 he was wearing. " Its predecessor mounted 
 in smoke to heaven lone aeo." 
 
 "It deserved a chariot of fire for the 
 speculation I used to indulge in over it, the 
 interest it gave me, the castles in the air I 
 used to build, of mysteries and intrigues and 
 disguises. And yet I daresay you would 
 have told me at once where it was bought, 
 had I asked you." 
 
 " I will tell you now, if you care ? ' he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, very much," she exclaimed, eagerly. 
 
 "It was bought at Carlisle." 
 
 Her face fell, as he expected it would. 
 
 " That tells me nothing," she said.
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 291 
 
 " Not even the tradesman's name, you 
 see," he remarked. 
 
 " Of course I might have known you 
 
 would not have told me had there been any 
 
 clue." 
 
 " Clue to what ?" 
 
 " To where you came from, to ' 
 
 I came from Carlisle." 
 
 <( 
 
 << 
 
 But I have never been to Carlisle." 
 " What has that to do with it ? " 
 " I am certain I have seen you some- 
 where else than here. Are you sure you 
 have never been to Marshlands, or Coombe, 
 or London ? Why have you never been to 
 Marshlands ? My father has asked you 
 there again and again, I know. It would 
 have been so natural that you should have 
 gone to visit them." 
 
 " I have been as reluctant to go as you 
 to come here, I suppose," Brunskill said, 
 unable any longer to resist laughing, " but I 
 have been more punctilious than you, Miss
 
 292 JULIET. 
 
 Laybourne ; I have always written to 
 decline my invitations if I could not accept 
 them." 
 
 "Ah! Miss Gliddon has been telling 
 tales!' Juliet exclaimed, " then I was right 
 — you have mutual confidences. I declare 
 you are as great a tease as ever you were, 
 and it suits you. You don't look half so 
 anxious as you did an hour ago. Is it not 
 strange that I, jaded and blasee and washed- 
 out, after the London season, should come 
 down here and bring you some of the Elixir 
 vita f " 
 
 " You flatter yourself it is Elixir vita; it 
 may be opium, and " 
 
 " Oh no, it is not. You would not con- 
 fess to it if it were, because you wouldn't be 
 able to resist taking it, even though vou 
 knew it to be noxious." 
 
 " And you are neither jaded, blasee, nor 
 washed out." 
 
 "What am I then?" she asked, flashing
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT 293 
 
 round upon him and standing still, drawn to 
 her full heieht. 
 
 "Brilliant, handsome," he said; "my 
 prophecy has come true." 
 
 " Is that the chief merit of the fact, in 
 proving your wisdom ? " 
 
 " It is not the least, in my opinion." 
 
 " How have you borne to live here all 
 these years ? Have you never longed to 
 travel, to go into society, to mingle with men 
 of learning and wit ? It is the most pre- 
 posterous thing I ever knew that a man like 
 you should be content to teach village chil- 
 dren," Juliet said. 
 
 " I am content," he said, simply. 
 
 " Aren't they all blockheads ? ' she 
 asked, stopping to smell a rose that 
 was struggling out from some stifling 
 clematis. 
 
 " By no means," he said ; " indeed you 
 must know it. You have heard of young 
 Ormrod, from the Quins, if you have not
 
 294 JULIET. 
 
 met him. He is an exception, one among 
 others, I assure you." 
 
 " Oh ! I have met him," she said, and 
 walked on, leaving her blush among the 
 flowers. " But do you really think he is 
 clever ? " 
 
 " I believe Mr. Ouin thinks so, which is 
 more to the purpose." 
 
 " But don't you consider it a mistake for 
 him to adopt him ? It seems such an anomaly, 
 a carpenter's son received into the family of 
 an R.A. I should think he will certainly 
 disgrace his new position. He may find the 
 restrictions irksome, and make low friends of 
 his own. Was he disposed at all to low 
 company ? " 
 
 Brunskill laughed. 
 
 " He is far too eacrer for self-advance- 
 ment to do anything compromising," he said, 
 ''besides which he had no low tastes, he was 
 always above his position here, and I can 
 imagine him revelling in what you call the
 
 PAST VERSUS PRESENT. 295 
 
 restrictions. He had the love of a child or a 
 Disraeli for the more glittering side of life, 
 would have chosen peacocks rather than 
 flowers in his garden, if he could not have 
 had both." 
 
 " That is no fault." 
 
 " Oh no, quite the reverse in his case. 
 Artistic perception compels a taste for the 
 beautiful and magnificent, I suppose." 
 
 " And you really think him suited for his 
 
 position ? " 
 
 " He will probably be famous one of 
 
 these days, and will deserve his fame, for he 
 
 will work hard." 
 
 "You give him a good character," Juliet 
 
 said. 
 
 Brunskill stopped, looking thoughtfully 
 down the valley. 
 
 " On the contrary," he said, carefully clear- 
 ing his boots from dust on the grassy edge 
 of the sunk fence, " I give him no character. 
 Character is a question of morals, and still
 
 296 JULIET. 
 
 more of principles. As yet they are only 
 sprouting. The test of the crop is in the 
 threshing out." 
 
 " Certainly," said Juliet, and could say no 
 more. She felt as though a cold douche had 
 been turned full upon her. 
 
 END of vol. 1. 
 
 Simmons & Botteu, Printers, Shoe Lane, E.C. 
 
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